#me; you got any localized numbing first aid around here

[whereisthedamndaddymanual]

Shall we discuss Arthur

I said they are our slaves. It isn't a matter of pride it's just the truth.

Uh yes Sir, here are the documents from 1925. Who filed them, ah well the answer to that feels complicated. I have them though, so take it for what it's worth.

Maybe it was that rascal Aaron Burr

I won't know if he says anything about them. I do have a tendency to leave him speechless.

At the same time of course he would choose me as an apprentice. Like, name someone not womb bonded to me that would have been better. And the womb bonded got to experience it anyway.

[333sth]

dove. (frankie morales)

chapter i. previous.

pairing: frankie morales x ofc (’dove’) no use of y/n.

warnings: mention of ptsd/military service, language, violence, brief mention of torture/kidnapping, injury detail, fighting.

summary: frankie was going to propose, until dove found the ring and ghosted. even santi can’t track her down.

rating: mature. wc: 1.6k

next

Dove was a nickname coined by an old general during her training. He was a traditional man, though not disrespectful. It was a term of endearment that probably softened the influx of powerful women breaching into the male territory. He’d drawled, ‘I ought to call you Dove – I ain’t never seen a girl so swift, yet so fuckin’ lethal.’ She kept the boys in line too, he’d noted. When Benny got too reckless, or Tom’s temper ran away with him, she was the first to snap them out of it. In environments where peace was a very distant concept, she played the peacekeeper.

One time, during a two-month deployment in Nigeria, the group was shoved in the back of an ancient pick-up truck for six hours. Dove was wedged between Will and Frankie, sweltering in the humid air. The stale smell of sweat mixed with blood and diesel was permeating the air, and they were three hours from the nearest checkpoint. To pass the time, she asked them what they’d do if they weren’t special forces.

That was easy for Will – he’d be a teacher of some kind. Benny waffled about sports, making some brash comment about how he’s got to channel all his aggression somewhere. Tom and Santi couldn’t come up with anything that suited them more than the forces, which was not surprising. Frankie would still be a pilot somehow. Dove had never seen him more comfortable than in the pilot’s chair.

Dove dreamed of owning her own bar or café, somewhere relaxed and laid-back. A beach perhaps, somewhere quaint and peaceful, where the air is warm well into the late evening and the waves are gentle, collapsing onto the sand like white noise. She imagined the hum of conversation meeting tinkling music, beach lanterns dotted around the decking to cast an ambient glow beneath the stars. Maybe a chef on weekends could make bar snacks. Tom had snorted at that, throwing a jab about how she can burn the water they use to make their dried food sachets.

The men had recalled this conversation, desperately trying to fathom where Dove might have taken off to. It was met with an aching nostalgia for the type of teammate she was too. That conversation had been a tactic, a peaceful one, to prevent the terrible concoction of adrenaline, exhaustion and heat forming an argument in that truck. She was a natural tactician as well as a good friend.

Frankie had recounted each country they had been stationed and exactly how Dove had felt about them. She had loved Argentina, even when she got shot and Will spent three hours with his finger crammed in the wound to stop the bleeding. But she also liked Jamaica, Brazil and Hawaii. None of their contacts in the forces had any trace of her, not even Santi’s in South America. Her family were none the wiser – they brushed it off, her dad mumbling something about it sounding like her usual antics. 

All he had was a scribbled note that read, ‘I need space. I’m safe. I love you.’ It was folded neatly in his wallet, like he was carrying the last piece of her that he had. 

*

Mexico. That was where she was. A small town on the West coast that had enough life to keep her occupied, and the guarantee of anonymity.

If people asked, she was a retired nurse, which wasn’t entirely untrue. She told them she spent a lot of her career in humanitarian aid, to explain the occasional jitters on a rowdy Friday night and the nasty scars. There was a particularly gruesome one leading from the base of her throat up to her bottom lip from a knife fight. She told them it was shrapnel, flung from a collapsing building, and she was lucky it didn’t catch her jugular. The locals had gasped in awe at her heroism. She’d flinched against the memory of how her own knife buried into her attacker’s throat instead. 

A few days into her move, Dove had found what could only be considered a derelict shed on the beachfront. It was probably the remains of an old boathouse. With some help from the locals, she had restored the ageing planks of wood. What was spare formed the bar and some rustic furniture. She pieced together a jumble of second-hand bar stools, chairs and lanterns that made for an eclectic combination. It had character and history in its walls, rather than some swanky, expensive build devoid of any personality. It was exactly what she had dreamed of, huddled in hypothermic temperatures or insomniac in her cot at base, sleep beyond her reach.

It didn’t change the fact that every time she entered her bedroom, the old polaroid of Frankie pinned to the wall hits her like a ton of bricks. Frankie knows she took it – it was pinned to the fridge at their home before she left. It’s quintessential Frankie, sat with his arms folded to his chest, biceps straining slightly against an old denim shirt that was getting a little too snug post-retirement. It was at a barbecue, his skin tanned and flushed from a day in the sun drinking, tousled hair peeking out from the sides of a dog-eared cap. Every time Dove glances at it, she wonders if he still has that hat. 

‘Of course he has,’ the voice in her head snaps back. Any piece of clothing she’d suggest replacing would be countered with, ‘over my dead body’. The man was sentimental, a little too attached to his home comforts. She’d also bought it him in a seedy gift shop in the middle of nowhere as a joke. 

“To add some variety,” she’d said. He would never let it go now.

Once, Veronica had eyed the photograph on her mirror and asked, “Who is he then? An ex?”

Veronica, or Roni for short, had lived in the town her whole life until university. When she graduated and moved home to save money, she needed a job. Dove needed a friend, so she took her on as a bartender. She was young and giddy, but harmless. More importantly, she was too self-absorbed to notice or even care that her thirty-something year old boss had bullet holes in her back.

“Something like that.” Dove had replied, rifling through her sorry excuse for a makeup bag. She’d closed the bar early to have a rare night off in the next town over, which had considerably livelier nightlife. 

“You never talk about relationships. Or men.’ Roni observed, peering over Dove’s shoulder to eye another photograph. It was a group picture of the boys, huddled in the same fraying booth in their favourite bar back in Florida. “Looks like you were spoilt for choice.”

Dove scoffed, meeting her friend’s twinkling gaze in the mirror. “Shut your mouth. They were friends from work.”

“Were? Does that mean you can’t set me up now?” 

“They’re almost twice your age. You’d tire ‘em out.” Dove set down the lip-gloss she dragged out for special occasions. “Come on, I’m not getting any younger either. It’s already passed my bedtime.”

Thankfully, that was enough to amuse the younger girl into linking her arm and hauling her out the door to the taxi, no more questions asked.

*

The hollering of spectators and thudding of skin slapping against the mat was reduced to a distant buzzing in Frankie’s ears. It was dimmed by the incessant ramblings of Santiago and Tom, discussing the files Santi had put together on Lorea. He could feel the reawakening of his rusty military senses as he follows the familiar tactics, mentally registering his agreement or noting what he might do differently. He doesn’t vocalise it though, because he hasn’t even agreed yet. Joining the debate would inadvertently signal his agreement. He didn’t want that.

There was a shadow lingering in the space on the bench beside him. It was an empty presence, not Will, who was hooked on the cage of the ring yelling encouragement to his brother. Not Benny, thumping his leather gloves together with his teeth pulled harshly over his mouthguard, judging his competitor with a predatory glint in his eye. 

The opponent was a monster, but he lumbered like his limbs were filled with lead. Frankie notes that Benny, nimble and tall, will have a breeze tiring him out. Dove would have joked that it wasn’t worth coming, that they’ll be sat here until their asses are numb watching Benny play cat and mouse. His chest twinges. Sometimes it’s too easy to remember what she’d do, what she’d say. He wished he knew what she’d make of Santiago’s proposition. She always saw through Pope’s glamourisation and Tom’s greed. 

What Frankie misses while he observes his pitiful surroundings is Tom and Santi descending into a hushed conversation. Tom nudges Santi, “You got anything on Dove?”

Santi sighs, long and solemn, “Maybe.” As Tom’s face quirks in interest, he holds up his finger, “It’s just a hunch.”

“A hunch is better than what we’ve had in the last year.”

Santi takes a sip of his beer, casting a glance at Fish, whose eyes are trained on the floor and the swirling contents of his cup. He knows him well enough to know his thoughts are the only thing that have his attention.

“I worry about him. We all do.” Tom whispers. “Getting busted just made things worse.”

“Don’t get his hopes up, man. It’s nothing solid. It’ll crush him if I’m wrong.” Tom nods solemnly before Santi continues, “A friend of mine saw an ex-Delta in a bar, a woman. He knew ‘cause of a tattoo she had on the nape of her neck.”

Tom’s eyes widen. In front of them, Benny lands a sickening punch on his opponent’s nose, complimented by an audible crack. He’s barely breaking a sweat, dancing around as the guy heaves and stumbles forward. 

Santi’s gaze doesn’t break from the ring. “Mexico. I think she’s in Mexico.”

[writteninsunshine]

He’s Going The Distance - Chris Redfield/Ethan Winters - SFWish

Title: He’s Going The Distance

Author: Reno

Fandom: Resident Evil 7: Biohazard

Setting: Medbay, Post-Dulvey Incident

Pairing: Chris Redfield/Ethan Winters

Characters: Chris Redfield, Ethan Winters, Random Nurse

Genre: Hurt/Comfort/Romance

Rating: M

Chapters: 1/1

Word Count: 1386

Type Of Work: One-Shot, Part of the For All These Times series, Whump Bingo Fill #2

Status: Complete

Warnings: Gay, Slash, Yaoi, MLM, Pre-Slash, Canon-Typical Violence, Dissociating, Blood, Deep Wounds, Trans Male Character, Trans!Ethan Winters, Possible OOC for Chris, Medical Equipment, Medical Treatment, Stitches, Sutures, I.V.s, Pain Meds

Disclaimer: I don’t own anything.

Summary: Was Ethan truly so used to pain that he didn't notice that?

AN: Hey guys, it’s me again! Just thought I ought to say, if you want vague updates and to talk to me more, I have a writing Tumblr, too! Twitter is Sunshinecackle, and Tumblr is Writteninsunshine! I also have a writing Discord that is currently pretty dead. xD If you want it, please contact me on Twitter!

More whump fic bingo! I’m really enjoying these, they’re too much fun to write. Oops, I like to punish Ethan even if he doesn’t deserve it. He’s so whumpable. I hope you guys are enjoying this, I know I sure am. This one is for my editor, Gryph, who is the best editor I could ever ask for. MAJOR shout out to her!

Resident Evil Fic Masterlist

Ethan Whump Bingo Fic Masterlist

He’s Going The Distance

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

There was an old thought resurfacing as Chris looked at Ethan. A man who could live through anything was what S.T.A.R.S. had wanted, Ethan would have been welcomed into the fold. The man was a machine when it came to surviving anything. Despite this, he seemed too oblivious to notice when something was wrong with him. All the healing fluid in the world couldn’t help the man with how much constant pain wracked his body. It was almost impossible to discern one pang of pain from the rest. That hand was a nasty wound, the staples not quite sanitary when they’d been secured into his skin.

But that wasn’t what he’d noticed just now.

“Ethan,” He began, his voice soft and wary as if speaking too loudly might shatter the other man. “You’re bleeding.”

“I am?” His voice sounded exhausted, hoarse, and so soft Chris barely heard him.

Tugging him closer for inspection, he unbuttoned Ethan’s shirt and pulled it away like a pair of curtains. Yanking up the undershirt he wore, Chris paused a moment to stare. Unable to help how his fingers splayed over the other’s stomach, eyes taking in the thick scars beneath his pecs. His thoughts turned away from the injury for a second, he only stopped when he reached the center of Ethan’s chest. He took in the soft peach fuzz there with a quirk of his lips he wasn’t in control of. Finally, his fingers fell over the thick gash leaking over Ethan’s pale skin, and the touch made Ethan recoil some. 

“Don’t,” Chris warned, eyes narrowing a little as he reached around, pulling Ethan close again by his waist, a hand on his middle back, “You’re hurt. I’ll fix you right up.” 

Leaving Ethan for a moment, he returned with a basin of warm water and a few washcloths. Where he’d gotten them from, Ethan didn’t know, and he couldn’t find it in himself to care. 

Dragging one wet cloth over the blood, he cleaned Ethan up despite his hisses and gasps of pain. What was the best option was going to hurt, so Chris started by applying a local anesthetic gel to the area around the wound. He must have found it when he brought the rest of his supplies, Ethan figured. He winced, flinching when Chris’s hands got too close to the weeping injury, but he sucked in a deep breath and bit the thin skin on the inside of his lip. It was all he could do to keep himself from making any more noise.

“I’m going to have to give you stitches.” Honestly, Chris was worried that Ethan was going to start leaking organs. It was deep, and he could almost touch the other’s rib bones. Ethan had really taken a beating, and it was hard to fathom how he hadn’t noticed this. Then again, he was in shock after everything that had happened, after all of the mental and physical trauma he had taken. Maybe it wasn’t such a strange occurrence. 

After all, he was a civilian. He hadn’t been meant to find these kinds of things. If he had stayed away, he would have been blissfully unaware, but there might have been a worse problem on Chris’ hands by the time they arrived at the scene.

“Okay.” Letting out the breath he’d been holding, Ethan nodded just slightly to save him from aggravating his pounding headache, “Just… Do it quickly. I don’t feel good.” Swaying, he felt his knees begin to buckle, and Chris caught him in a tight embrace. This wasn’t going to work with Ethan standing, anyway.

Hefting him up bridal style, Chris carried Ethan like he weighed nothing. Sitting him down on a nearby gurney, he removed his shirts and set them aside. They were stained, torn to hell, and bloody. He’d have to get him a change of clothes. Helping ease him to lay down so that his right side was facing out, he ran a hand over the other’s chest in a hope to help calm him. Maybe it wasn’t entirely innocent, but he was trying to stay focused here.

“This might hurt, but I promise I’ll be quick.” All Chris got in return was a soft murmur he couldn’t hear, let alone understand. If nothing else, Chris was efficient, and Ethan looked like he was going to faint. That might help him do this without Ethan bellyaching the whole time. Stepping away, Chris grabbed a first aid kit, opening it up and setting it beside Ethan on the cot. Digging out a needle, some antiseptic, and surgical thread, he worked the thread through the eye of the needle and set to work.

The laceration was likely already infected, if not by something typical, then by the mold Ethan had been exposed to. With a little sigh, Chris poured some of the liquid over it, making sure to use gauze to get it inside. The forceps he had grabbed entering it made Ethan grunt, but he was too tired to try and fight it. Chris diligently worked on cleaning him up, wiping at more blood before grabbing the sterilized needle. He wiped it down again with a clean antiseptic wipe before starting with the initial stick. Ethan didn’t seem to notice this, due to the numbing gel, and Chris was glad for it.

With the easy glide of the needle and his skillful hands, he made quick work of the stitches, hoping not to bother Ethan too much. Once they were tight, he cut the cord and cleaned up the wound once more, wiping away the gel with a few medical towelettes, before drying the area. To make sure it would stay clean, he rubbed another cloth damp with warm water on the site before running more of the wipes over it. A dry rag then worked over the glistening flesh, and he didn’t stop until he had patted him dry.

“Ethan, I need you to sit up. I have to wrap this.” Chris spoke, breaking the silence in the room they were in. Unfortunately, it seemed that Ethan had fallen asleep, or maybe passed out, so he had no choice but to gently shake him awake. “Ethan, you have to sit up.”

Ethan nodded absently, slowly pushing himself up with the other’s aid. Bracing himself on his shaking arms, he let Chris wrap him up with gauze from his stomach to his shoulders, surprised by his gentle hands. Once Ethan was bandaged up, he was allowed to lay back once more, and Chris didn’t think about his next action. Kissing Ethan’s forehead gently, he petted a hand over the skin and the other’s sweat-damp hair.

“You should be alright, now. I’ll keep an eye on this.” Voice quiet, he smiled slightly, hoping to keep him at ease. It didn’t seem like Ethan was going to panic, though, too worn down to do much but flutter his eyelashes. “Sleep, now. I’ll get you some pain killers when you wake up.” God knew he’d need them. Moving the gurney around so that he could be more comfortable and closer to the setup for the I.V., Chris sighed in relief. Already asleep, or so he hoped.

Settling in a nearby chair, Chris pulled out his phone. He’d be stuck here for a while, for sure. It wasn’t like he had anything better to do, he’d been set to guard Ethan while his tests were being done.

Ethan didn’t wake for what felt like hours, and when he did it was with a groan of pain. Chris was quick to give him water and a shot of morphine that he was instructed to administer through the I.V. that a nurse had given Ethan. At the very least, he was going to be taken care of.

“Thanks.” Ethan managed, his voice cracking halfway through. 

“You need care.” That much was obvious. Chris combed a hand through the other’s blond locks once more. “If that means I have to do it, then so be it.” There was an odd fondness he felt for Ethan in this moment, watching him nod, his eyes glassy and distant. “You’ll be okay.”

With any luck, he’d bounce back from this. He’d been through hell already, what was another ordeal to save him?

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

AN: There we go! It’s not super shippy but I’ll still tag it, just in case. Also, this probably makes more pain for the start of The Village, but that’s okay. I might write something about it when I’ve seen more of the game. I got it preordered for my birthday but it’s at my friend’s house until I can see her again. I’ve been watching it, however, so I’ll get there eventually. I hope you guys enjoyed it!

Prompt: Ethan Doesn’t Realize He’s Injured

[morkleemelon]

off the ice || chapter 4: don’t look back

previous || m.list || playlist || next

pairing: college hockey player! mark x fem. college figure skater! reader

genre: fluff, sports au, college au

word count: 6.5k

warnings: blood, mention of surgery, description of injuries, swearing, financial struggle

author’s note: huge thanks again to my beta readers @writing-frog​ and @skiimmiilk​ for being a great help to making this story better! the slow burn fire is finally burning in this chapter and I’m so excited :) if you haven’t been listening already, I highly recommend the playlist for this chapter! enjoy~

“What do you mean ‘it’s fine’?,” you sobbed, gripping the side of her hospital bed. You wanted to give your best friend a hug, but you didn’t want to risk hurting her more. Yuna’s right leg was pinned into an apparatus, the intricate metal carefully holding together the broken bones, her usual perfect skin marred by scratches of red and patches of blue. 

“I mean what I said”. Even with a sore voice and her current situation, Yuna managed to speak with dignity.

“And Ms. Kim is right,” the doctor agreed, jotting down a prescription on her clipboard, “the surgeries went well and she is in stable condition. The good news is that with proper rest and physical therapy, she will be able to walk again. Now, it’s my duty to be honest with you. You said you’re a figure skater?”.

“Yes”. Yuna uncurled her fingers, inviting you to hold her hand. You accepted it, bracing both of you for the bad news. Ten sat at the other side of the bed pressing her other hand to his lips.

“While we cannot rule out the possibility, the likelihood of you being able to skate again is very low. Especially for the next few years”. 

Yuna’s tough façade started to crumble at the shocking reality and her lips trembled as she choked back tears. You pressed your forehead to her hand as you hid your own tears from her. 

“God damn it!”. Ten yelled, getting up and kicking away the stool he was sitting on. The loud bang was followed by the sound of quiet weeping. “I shouldn’t have let you out of my sight. I shouldn’t have told you to go to the car first. None of this should’ve happened, god damn it”. The older boy cried into his palms as he placed the blame on himself. 

“Please settle down and refrain from disturbing the patient,” the doctor warned, “but we would like to talk to you about the details of the accident, Ms. Kim, now that you’re awake and stable”.

Yuna nodded, a few tears escaping and rolling down her scraped-up cheeks.

“Your right leg is broken in three places upon impact with the vehicle: two in the femur and one major area in the tibia. You then sustained minor external injury as you fell to the pavement, scraping your arms and face. We will run additional tests later on to determine if you also have a concussion. If you can remember any details of how this accident happened, please describe them to me and we can notify the police to help find the suspect”, the doctor continued.

“I,” Yuna cleared her throat, “I was at a party last night and I had a bit to drink. We stayed pretty late and Ten is close with the host, so we just decided to sleep over. Then this morning, I woke up early and I wanted to go on a drive to clear my head. Ten had to get something so I left the house first. I- I checked both ways before I crossed the street to his car, but before I knew it… it came out of nowhere and I was on the ground. I don’t… I can’t remember anything about it. The next thing I remember was being in the ambulance with Ten”. 

“I heard the whole thing happen,” Ten added softly, “I was inside the house at the time and I heard the screeching tires and Yuna screamed. By the time I ran outside, the car was gone and Yuna was bleeding on the ground”. He closed his eyes and clenched his fist. “All I could do was call an ambulance. I- I didn’t see the car or the bastard driving it. All I could do was sit with her in the street while we waited. She wasn’t waking up and all I could do was sit with her. I couldn’t even move her because I was afraid it would make it worse and she was bleeding everywhere. All I could do was sit there”. 

Tears stream down your face as you listen to Ten break down. The normally bright and optimistic man now had his face in his hands, hiccupping uncontrollably at the thought of how close he came to losing the love of his life.

“Hey,” Yuna groaned, struggling to keep her own voice steady, “baby, I’m okay. When we met, you were hurt and struggling, but you got through it because we were together. We’re still together and we can get through this too”. She touched her fingers through his hair gently. 

“Thank you for your cooperation, Ms. Kim, and both of your friends. The police are currently asking for witnesses for your hit-and-run case and will update you with any findings. These are your prescriptions”, the doctor slid the piece of paper onto the counter, “the nurse will come find you later to talk about your treatment. For now, I’ll leave you all alone”. 

The room fell silent, only interrupted by the occasional sniffle as the doctor shut the door behind her.

“Hey y/n?”. Yuna turned her head gingerly to you.

“Yeah?”

“I’m sorry I can’t do the competition with you now. I promised I would but…”

“Don’t even… how could you worry about that right now?”, you sobbed, “don’t you worry about it, Yuna, the competition doesn’t matter at all. I’m just glad you’re okay right now. You should focus on getting better, not worry about me of all things”. 

“Y/n is right,” Ten agreed, “you were there for me when I got hurt. And when I thought there was no way out, you held my hand and pulled me up from the darkness. Doctor says you have a good chance of walking, so let’s get you there first. Then we’ll work on beating the odds and getting you back on the ice again”. 

“You guys…” Yuna smiled slightly, careful not to strain her bruised jaw. 

“I’ll come visit you as much as I can,” you promised, “I can bring my sleeping bag, clothes, and a jar of peanut butter. We can just be roommates here instead. There’s free AC and disney band aids too, it’ll be great”. Your attempt to lighten the mood was well received as the couple chuckles together. 

“By the way, I called your parents while you were in surgery and they’re on their way over now. They should actually be here soon,” Ten noted.

“I’ll leave you guys then,” you offered. There was a two visitor limit and you didn’t want to intrude on Ten and Yuna’s chance to have some private time before her parents bombarded her with concern. Not to mention Mark has been sitting in the waiting room for a few hours now and you wanted to be respectful of his time too.

Offering your last words of support to Yuna, you shut the door quietly behind you. Dabbing at your watery eyes with the edge of your sleeve, you attempt to fix your run-off makeup using your phone camera. Everything felt kind of numb. The events of the last 24 hours were surreal and staying up the whole night with Mark certainly did not help as the tiredness was catching up to you. Concern, upset, worry, and frustration formed a thick cloud in your thoughts. Your brain was like a jammed printer and the thoughts were not processing. You were in shock to say the least.

You shuffle your way down the hall to the waiting area and look for Mark’s familiar blonde hair. You spot him fast asleep in his seat, arms crossed over his chest as he leans his head back against the wall. His mouth is slightly agape, forming a soft ‘o’ as he breathed steadily in and out. Seeing him sleep so peacefully made you relax a little. 

At least there was something good about today.

“Hey,” you whisper, shaking him gently. His eyes blink open slowly, wincing at the bright hospital lights. 

“Hey,” he croaks, rubbing his eyes as he sits up straight. “How’s Yuna? Did you get to see her?”.

“She’s…,” you pause, “she’s okay. She said she was okay when I saw her just now and the doctor said she’s stable but…,” your voice trails off. 

“But what?,” Mark asked gently, placing a comforting hand on your back. You look around to make sure there was nobody around who could overhear. A few people sat around the waiting room a ways away, texting on their phones or flipping through the free health magazines. The receptionist’s monotonous voice droned on as she answered a phone call.

“The doctor says that Yuna might not be able to skate again,” you murmured. Even though the doctor made it clear before, saying the words out loud felt extremely surreal. You imagined if it were you lying on the hospital bed hearing this news. To not be able to skate again… it was too awful to comprehend. Tears roll down your cheeks before you could help it, dangling from the point of your chin before falling onto your green volunteer shirt. 

Mark thought about what he could say in reply to the devastating news, but decided it was best to not say anything at all. Pulling you in for a hug, you cry silently into the crook of his neck. You wrap your arms around his torso and hold on for dear life. 

The next few weeks pass by rather uneventfully after the incident, at least comparatively. Police were still on the case of Yuna’s hit-and-run perpetrator, but they struggled to find witnesses when the crime occurred so early in the morning. Even the local CCTV didn’t cover the area where it happened and the driver was still ultimately at large. 

The Lee’s and your other friends texted in the group chat plenty and you grew much more comfortable with having them around. Mark drives you to the hospital to visit Yuna a couple times a week and the three of you would eat lunch together in her room for a small sense of normalcy. It was a tough transition for you nonetheless- your best friend and roommate who you were used to seeing every day now was now seemingly so far away and your time together was reduced to a few hours a week. However, the initial shock of the situation eventually faded and the two of you came to terms with how things were. Yuna and you agreed to not cry about it anymore until she got started on physical therapy and gave recovery her best shot. Thankfully, Ten was there with her everyday and night, so it was bearable for her. 

Mark’s always been sweet about your comfort zone, too, never pushing you to talk about your feelings yet at the same time, always there for you when you needed him. Neither one of you brought up the almost-kisses, the first reason being you weren’t ready to remind yourself of the horrible things that happened afterwards and the second being that Mark wanted to respect that you needed time to process it. 

So the days tick by and seeing Mark became part of your daily routine. It was something you looked forward to when you got ready in the morning and although you didn’t really know it, it was something you needed to make your day feel complete. His good heart shined more and more to you everyday as you chose to continue to accompany him to Sunday volunteering. You got to witness how Mark’s eyes glowed whenever he talked to the people he served. He treated everyone there as if they were his own family and even though many of the people he helps are much older, he continues every conversation with sincerity and maturity. 

In addition to walking you to class everyday, Mark now has a special seat next to you in the front row of your economics lecture, leaving Jeno and Ten snickering behind you as they watch your close interactions. You ate lunch at the willow tree by the basketball court on the days you weren’t visiting Yuna. After a while, you grew used to the dirty looks from the girls across the court, even glaring back when you met Hillary’s fiery stare. Nonetheless, you developed a comfortable social routine and everything was going quite well, except for one abundant issue weighing heavily on your shoulders.

The middle of October rolls by and you grind your way through your evening shift at Frankie’s. Thankfully, it was a Tuesday, so late-night stragglers weren’t an issue. You finish scrubbing down the counters in the kitchen and wipe your hands on your waitress apron. Unfortunately, it was your turn to close so you were the only one left working tonight. Your back ached from the hours of waiting tables and your cheeks hurt from the wide smile you offered all of your customers, rude or not. Sighing, you count your tips for the day.

A bell chimes from the door.

“Sorry we’re closed-,” you stop your words as you see the figure illuminated by the low diner lights. 

“Is it too late for me to talk with the pretty waitress?” Mark grins, unzipping and taking off his wind breaker. You roll your eyes but your smile tells him you aren’t actually annoyed.

“The pretty waitress is covered in barbeque sauce and all purpose cleaner. Proceed?”

“Oh no, not barbeque sauce! Cancel request! Cancel Request!”

You laugh, throwing a nickel at his dramatic show. 

“Wait, give that back to me. I need every tip I can get,” you say, holding out your hand to receive the coin. Mark obediently picks it up, handing it to you as he takes a seat at the bar. You thank him, flipping through the crinkled, greasy bills from the tip jar. The creeping disappointment must have shown on your face because Mark broke the silence.

“Not a good night?” His words were careful. He understood you were under a lot of stress recently, but he didn’t have the heart to pry further and make you tell him why, which you appreciated. Mark assumed it was about Yuna or grades, but you never confided the real reason of how much your financial situation really scared you.

“Not a good…” you debate telling him everything. On one hand, you didn’t want to come off as needy or desperate. You were infamously bad at sharing your burdens with others. On the other, you wanted to tell Mark because you know he would listen and it would make you feel better. “Not a good anything,” you finally admit, setting the scraggly bills down on the clean counter between you. 

Only $26.84 for the whole night.

Mark’s soft brows were creased in concern as he waited for you to elaborate. He rested his chin on his knuckle, watching you pensate your feelings carefully. You meet his soft gaze, his eyes telling you that it’s okay. You let your shoulders relax, not even realizing the tension they were carrying.

“I…,” you start, letting out a small sigh as you walk your way around the counter to sit on the stool next to him. He spun his stool so he was sitting facing you. You pick at the mysterious stain on your apron. 

How do I even tell him about this? Hey Mark, I’m broke! I might drop out because I don’t have money for school, thus ruining everything my parents and I have worked for. 

“I guess I’m just worried,” you resolve after a minute, “I’m worried because, well, because of money”. You wince at hearing the words out loud but continue before you could take it back, “my parents are working really hard to get the money for my tuition, but things aren’t looking good for next semester”. You continue to tell him about how you’ve been picking up extra shifts to try to save up, but skating fees and money for basic necessities eats whatever you earn right up. The thought of quitting skating to save money came to your mind, but you never followed through because that was as much of a necessity as anything. A miracle occurred with the skating competition, only for some sick bastard to hurt Yuna. You asked around but everyone already had a partner or were too busy to participate in the competition. So now you could either go rob a bank or take a gap year and hope you’ll be able to return. Mark listened to your qualms quietly until you finished.

“The competition, did you ask people who aren’t on your team?,” Mark inquired, resting a reassuring hand on yours.

“Yeah, I even asked the girls on JV, but nobody wants to do it since they think they can’t win,” you confirm with a sad nod.

“That’s so dumb,” Mark stated, “you’re like, the best skater ever. Even the worst girl on JV could win if they did it with you”.

You look at him in surprise. His thumb ran comfortingly across your knuckles, sending tingles down your arm. A blush creeps onto your cheeks as you look back down at your joined hands. To be honest, you weren’t really sure what you guys were: officially, you were just friends at the moment, but anyone could see that there was something there. As of late, too much has been on your mind for you to possibly sit down and ponder it. Neither one of you has confessed feelings of any sort, but the night at the lake couldn’t just be ignored. And do normal friends hold hands like this?

“Right, tell that to them. Nobody wanted to be my partner, so yeah, I’m kind of in a pickle with tuition right now”

“Well can anyone be your partner?,” Mark asked.

“What do you mean? Like, just ask random strangers to skate with me?”

“No I mean like… I could do it”. His expression was serious, alluding that he meant every word of his ridiculous proposition.

“You could-” you stop to consider, “I mean I guess? I don’t think Coach Tanya said anything about the participants needing to be on the team… or be a girl. But there’s a big problem we’re not considering.”

“What problem?”

“You don’t know how to figure skate”. You free your hand from his and punch him lightly in the arm. 

“But I play hockey and I’ve skated all my life,” Mark bargained, pointing to himself smugly and shrugging, “how hard can it be?”

“How hard-” you wheeze. You laugh out loud as the serious boy looked on indignantly. “Figure skating is miles different from what you guys do. Y’all go, what, forwards and backwards? Can you do a jump?”.

“I can too do a jump,” Mark defended.

“Okay, what about a single axel jump?”

“Uh…”

“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” you giggle, grabbing the counter and spinning your stool around. Mark watches you endearingly.

“Y/n” the sound of your name stops your childish break and you look at him expectantly. “What if I practiced every day. I can learn your uh- single axis”

“Axel,” you correct.

“Axel. I can learn this axel jump and I can practice it and whatever else you need so you can do the competition”. You couldn’t tell if he was being serious, but your heart skipped a beat nonetheless.

“Deadass?” 

“Deadass,” Mark nodded. 

“Why… why…”. You struggled to find the right words.

“Because I like you,” Mark interrupted, “and I want to do this for you because it would make you happy. I’d streak across campus fully nude and screaming if it made you happy”. 

Did he just...confess?

“It would,” you nod seriously.

“It would? Which part? The competition or-”

“No, the streaking,” you shake your head, ignoring the steady increase of your heart rate. You press your lips into a flat line and nod to feign seriousness. Mark paused before getting up. He reached for the hem of his shirt, sighing before lifting it up over his head. 

“Let’s get this over with,” he sighed, reaching for his belt buckle. You shriek, shielding your eyes from his half-nude appearance. Although you didn’t want to admit it, you let your eyes linger on his lean torso through your fingers.

Damn, maybe hockey does have some benefits. 

“I was kidding! Please put your clothes back on!,” you cry. You heard him laugh as he pulled the fabric back on. 

“Okay I’m decent. I’m decent,” Mark assured, taking his seat next to you again. “But seriously, I meant what I said and you don’t have to reply until you’re ready. I completely understand if you don’t know yet. Just know that I am here for you and I,” he grabbed the edge of your stool and pulled it firmly so you were facing him, “really like you. As more than friends”.

You felt surprisingly confident; the stress of life always went away when Mark was around and you forgot all about the scattered pennies and nickels on the counter. Although his confession was so sudden, you had a feeling it was coming eventually. It didn’t feel shocking, but more like… finally. That being said, you were unsure of what to say. You weren’t sure you were ready for a relationship and most of all, you weren’t sure about your feelings for him. The last thing you wanted was to say you like him back and have it end up not being true. 

Like always, the understanding, patient look in Mark’s eyes told you that he would wait for you to reply when you’re ready.

“Okay”. You smile. 

“Okay”. He mirrors.

“Let’s do it, the competition,” you decide.

“Really?”

“Yeah, let’s give it our best shot! After all, it’s a crowd vote and your popularity might gain us favor,” you tease, poking his chest. “What time is it?”

“It’s 9:48pm, why?,” Mark replied, checking his lock screen. You hopped off your stool and began untying your apron.

“You drove here right?”. He nods. “Then there’s somewhere I wanna go if you’re willing to drive”. You shove your tips for the night into your bag. 

“You know I’m always down for you,” Mark smiled, grabbing your jacket off the rack and helping you into it. He stood in front of you and zipped you up without you asking, fixing the hood so it was proper. You watch him in silence and awe as he smooths down the wrinkles by your collar carefully and slings the strap of your bag over his shoulder without a word. It’s always these things, the little things, that leave you speechless.

The drive was pleasant. Mark put on your favorite radio channel and the two of you vibed comfortably to the acoustic music, the only interruptions were your quiet directions to the desired destination. You examined Mark’s face as he focused on the road, tipping his head back and forth to the beat with one hand on the wheel. It was dark, but the passing street lights illuminated his features in mesmerizing flashes, almost as if they were afraid to show his face for too long, the beauty would be too much to handle. His cheekbones were especially accentuated by the small smile on his lips. Looking at him made you feel… calm.

You pulled into the familiar parking lot. The blue neon lights above the building reading “Skate City” buzzed with electricity as the two of you got out of the car. 

“You wanted to come here? To a kid’s roller rink?”. Mark chuckled as he shut the driver side door. 

“Make fun of me now but you’ll see why” you rolled your eyes, walking through the building door which Mark held open for you.

The interior of the building was just like you remembered: the dark, ragged carpet was covered in colorful squiggles and dots resembling an abstract representation of worms and confetti. If that wasn’t bad enough, the matching wallpaper and UV lights topped off the hallucinogenic nightmare of a roller rink. Usually, it was also filled with the screams of children. Due to the lateness in the day, the rink was empty and usual disco funk was turned off. You would think it was closed if it weren’t for the man watching TV behind the counter.

“Mr. Joseph,” you call out with a wave. The man grunted, pulling his feet from off of the counter and shuffling through the mess of papers to find his glasses. He was an unassuming man in about his early forties, balding, pot-bellied, and proud. Nobody would guess that he was the man who taught you to skate all those years ago.

“Why, is that Miss y/n?,” Mr. Joseph exclaimed, rounding the counter to hug you.

“How have you been, Joe?”

“Well, you know me. I’m gettin’ by. Who’s this fella over here?”. Joe adjusted his specs and squinted at Mark.

“This,” you nudge the shy boy forward slightly, “is my friend, Mark. Mark, this is my family friend and former coach, Mr. Joseph. Also known as Joe,” you introduce.

The two men exchange a firm handshake.

“Nice meeting you, Mark. You treating her right?” Joe narrowed his eyes.

“Um so,” you cough, saving Mark from the awkward question, “Joe, we need skates for Mark”. 

“Wait but I already have skates, y/n-,” 

“No, you have hockey skates, Mark. You’re gonna need proper figure skates if we’re gonna do this competition right,” you explain. 

“Competition, huh,” Joe gruffed, waddling into the back room and motioning for you to follow. 

“Yeah, I don’t know if my parents told you, but Yuna was in an accident and now she can’t do the pair skate with me. Mark’s a hockey player but,” you glance at him with a smile, “he offered to pick up some skills and be my partner”.

“Here,” Joe smacked a pair of skates into Mark’s arms, “try these, boy”.

“Thank you, sir”. Mark bowed and went out to the bench to try them on.

Once he was out of sight, Joe leaned down to you, “you like this boy?”.

“Stop!,” you cry, covering your reddening ears with your hands.

“I’m just saying,” Joe held up his hands innocently, “I can tell he likes you by the way he looks at you. Even from meeting him just now”.

“Yeah… I just,” you stop to think about it. Well it’s true he likes you...

Do you like him?

You look to the door where you could see his shadow lacing up the new skates. You wish he would hurry back. Being without him felt like something was missing. Even if he was right around the corner, it didn’t feel good that you couldn’t see him and feel his reassuring presence. Realization began creeping in and you turn to look back at Joe’s I-told-you-so expression. He gave you a pat on the shoulder, “Make sure he’s good to you”.

Mark’s figure reappeared at the doorway, oblivious to your pounding heart and emotions which were becoming slowly more apparent. You watch endearingly as he stepped awkwardly into the room wearing the skates, stretching out his arms to maintain his balance. 

“I think they fit!,” Mark beamed at you, causing the butterflies in your stomach to migrate all around. 

“That’s good, boy. Take them on the house,” Joe guided him back out to take them off before he could hurt himself. 

“Oh no, sir-”

“Please, they were collecting dust in that storage room. Nobody wants men’s figure skates anymore these days and I’m glad to help y/n out” Joe dismissed. 

“Joe,” you stop him, wrapping your arms around Joe’s neck to give him a big hug, “thank you,” you whisper. 

“Of course, kiddo” he pat your back, “you make me proud”.

After chatting for a bit longer, you bid your goodbyes to Joe as he locked up Skate City for the night. In the car, you hold your breath and turn towards Mark. Strangely, your head was in the clouds as you examined his face, a face you’ve grown so familiar with in the past few weeks, yet seemed brand new. Suddenly, he leaned in close, close enough to count his pretty eyelashes, warranting your breath to hitch in your throat. Unaware of your, Mark places the box of skates in the backseat and sits up straight again to buckle his seatbelt. You let out the breath you didn’t realize you were holding.

Right, I shouldn’t get ahead of myself.

“So, are you tired or do you wanna do some skating today?,” you finally ask.

Mark flashed you a crooked smile, starting the car, “Y/n, I’m always down for you. School rink?”.

You nod. 

The whole drive back to the school was noticeably more awkward, at least to you. You tensed  at every word he said and felt your heart clench when he hummed along to the soft radio tune. Saying nothing or giving short, one word replies, you didn’t trust your voice to say more. Instead, you opted to look out the window at the passing scenery for the fear of Mark noticing your flushed expression. You tug uncomfortably at your jacket collar, beginning to regret asking him to skate tonight. Ironically, and perhaps foolishly of you, you’ve received his confession yet you’re unwilling to admit the good news of mutual feelings to yourself. What should you do or say? Surely it’s not right to just say ‘I like you! I figured it out haha let’s date!” out of the blue. 

Pulling into the sports center parking lot, you notice the locks on the front door.

“Oh crap, I forgot it’s a weekday. The rink is closed after 11,” you mutter, slightly relieved at the thought of heading home to sort out your feelings alone. 

“Don’t worry, we can sneak in through the side door,” Mark answers nonchalantly, getting out to open the car door for you. You don’t disregard the kind gesture and instead feel the familiar pressure in your chest again. 

And sneak in you did. 

Mark had clearly done this a few times judging based on the way he led you confidently to the obscured side door which was propped slightly open with a rock.

You went your separate ways in the eerily empty stadium to your respective locker rooms. Splashing your face with cool water, you attempt to rein in your fiery flush. 

How should I bring it up? Or do I wait? He already said he likes me, but what if he didn’t mean it? 

After changing into your skates, you take a deep breath and head out to the ice.

He was already there waiting for you by the railing. Mark must have heard your footsteps approaching and he turned to give you a warm smile. 

“You’re right, y/n, these skates are kinda different”. He tapped the toe pick into the padded floor.

“Yeah… right,” you mumbled, struggling to meet his bright eyes. 

He’s so cute.

Pale moonlight streamed through the glass ceiling panels and illuminated your surroundings. Mark’s hair made his face glow silver and his eyes sparkled with the reflection of the moon. His face fell at your weak response, reading it as disinterest.

You open the gate and skate out onto the ice in front of him. Mark tentatively skated out to follow you, wobbling slightly at the different sensation. You reach out to grab his arms and steady him, meeting his gaze briefly before blinking away. You loosen your grip on his sleeves, the contact making your feelings go wild.

For a few moments, the two of you silently glided across the ice. For the first time ever, it seems, you weren’t sure what to say to him.

“Listen,” Mark finally spoke, struggling to a stop. He looked down at his skates thoughtfully, “If it’s about what I said earlier, if it’s about me liking you and that made you uncomfortable, I- I take it back. I feel like I didn’t give you a chance to say no if you wanted to-”

“No it’s-,” you interrupt, skating slightly ahead, “It’s not that”. 

“Then why are you acting so strange?,” Mark asked, struggling to keep up.

“I just,” you circle to a stop at the middle of the rink. How do you even begin to explain how you feel? Never in your life have you felt like this about anybody. Never in your life have you felt so special and so cared for than when you were with Mark. You would have been lucky enough just being able to know him, but he even likes you. Out of all of the people he could have chosen, he chose you.

Mark careened to a halt behind you, waiting for you to finish. You take a deep breath.

Now or never.

You turn around to face him. 

“What you told me in the diner, tell it to me again”. Your voice came out weaker than you had intended.

Mark’s eyebrows were furrowed in confusion and worry that you were upset with him. He wanted to pull you into a hug, tuck that piece of hair back behind your ear and tell you it’s okay if you didn’t love him back.

“I-,” Mark cleared his throat from his emotions, “I said that I like you, y/n. I like you as more than friends”. He looked down towards his feet but before he could blink, he was crushed in between your arms as you jumped to hug him. Your face fit perfectly into the crook of his neck and you breathed in his familiar, warm scent as he wrapped his arms delicately around your waist. The force from your impact caused both of you to drift slightly, but you kept steady. Not brave enough to look him in the face, you whisper your confession to his ear.

“I’m ready to answer you. I… I like you too. As more than friends”

Mark’s grip tightened around your waist as he lifted you slightly off the ice. Spinning around, he curled his fingers into the fabric of your sweatshirt as if he never wanted to let you go. Your heart swelled at the feeling as you held onto his sturdy shoulders. Neither of you needed to say anything more. He pulled you close so there was no space left and you listened to the gentle rhythm of his heart beating for you.

Pulling away at last, you rest your forehead against his. Your eyes fluttered closed but you could feel the tip of his nose brush gently across yours, his warm exhalation fanning across your lips. 

“You don’t happen to have your phone on you, do you?” Mark mumbled deeply, savoring the moment.

You let out a small giggle, “no, do you?”.

“Nope”

And with that, you tilted your head up ever so slightly and Mark cupped your cheek to bring your lips together. You melt into his kiss and touch, allowing the way his soft lips moved against yours to express his silent affections. Exhaling through your nose, you sigh into the kiss, moving your hand to rest at the back of his head to pull him in deeper.

Finally.

Mark ran his thumb affectionately across your cheek, his lips speaking of all the times he’s wanted to do this. Your fingers lace their way through his soft hair, loving the way he reacts as you tug against the strands slightly. 

A loud bang from a closing door causes you to pull apart finally. The bright beam of the security guard’s flashlight flashes across the ice as the two of you look on like deer caught in headlights. 

“Hey, you two! Get out of there!,” the guard shouted, pointing a finger at your embracing form.

“Run!,” you whisper yell, pulling him quickly towards the gate. The two of you run as quickly as you can in your skates, pulling them off before you enter the hallway. 

“Hey! Stop right there!,” the guard yelled, stumbling down the stadium stairs.

“Quick! In here!” Mark tugged you into the boys locker room, shutting the door before the guard could see and ushering you quickly to hide in the gap between two lockers. You squeezed in with him, panting softly as the adrenaline pumped through your body. Mark’s arms wrap around your body to pull you closer as the guard opens the door. The flashlight flicked menacingly across the dark room. You hold your breath as it comes particularly close. Finally, seconds that feel like hours pass and the security guard grunts before deciding to move on. You exhale in relief. 

Mark rests his chin on top of your head and you realize how closely you’re pressed together. You giggle into his chest, loving how warm he felt. 

“I can’t believe that I get to hold you,” Mark whispers. His fingers draw invisible shapes across your back.

You nuzzle your face into his tee shirt. “Well I can’t believe we’re doing this in the boy’s locker room after being chased down by security,” you mumble against the fabric. His chest sounded a low vibration as he chuckled back, moving his hand up to stroke your hair. 

“You are so, so beautiful, y/n,” he moves to kiss the top of your head, “I don’t know the words to express how beautiful you are to me”. 

You press deeper into his body at the words you’ve always wanted to hear. Lifting your face up from his chest, you press a small kiss to his lips, heart jumping at the still-new sensation. It was sweet, his lips ghosting over yours breathlessly as you nestle your nose gently against his in a slow eskimo kiss. 

“I’ve liked you for so long,” Mark whispers in between kisses, “I’ve wanted to do this for so long”.

You answer by gripping the fabric of his collar to pull him in deeper, moving your lips rhythmically against his. 

“I think I’ve liked you for a while too,” you admit as you catch your breath, “I just didn’t understand it. Or some part of me wasn’t ready to admit it”.

“That makes sense” Mark rests his forehead on yours, smiling, “I would have waited a thousand years if that’s what you needed”.

Again and again, he captivated you with his words. He was so good to you and never made you feel like you were anything less than perfect. Day after day, his patience with you never faded and slowly, you let him break down your walls. His comforting smile and optimism always filled you with reassurance and peace. 

So standing there, making out in the boy’s locker room, illegally, in the dead of night on a Tuesday, you became sure. You were sure that you wanted him in your life. You were sure you wanted to try to be a part of his. As you pressed your lips to his and as he ran his fingers through your hair, there was no turning back.

previous || m.list || next

[you-call-it-a-dude]

I just got my wisdom teeth out today. So please enjoy this old Bechloe fic from my fanfiction.net account about Beca getting her wisdom teeth out! Not all my stories from ff.net have been moved to ao3 so if you’re interested feel free to check them out here

Words of Wisdom

"Beca, I know you're nervous, but please stop bouncing your leg. You're shaking the whole car." Chloe said, reaching across the center console to put her hand on Beca's knee to steady it.

"I'm not nervous." Beca replied, gripping Chloe's hand tightly. "I just- aren't I too old to be getting my wisdom teeth out? That shit happens when you're like twenty."

———

"That's true. You are. But because you don't know how to stop eating Reese Cups, you keep getting cavities in your wisdom teeth and I'm sure our insurance is very annoyed with how many fillings you've gotten the past two years. So now it's going to be all taken care of!" She gave Beca's knee a reassuring squeeze before returning it to the wheel to turn into the parking lot of the dentist's office. She pulled into a spot relatively close to the entrance and killed the ignition. She grabbed a book from the backseat and tucked it into her purse before getting out of the car. She was about to lock the door before she realized Beca hadn't got out of the car. She made her way to the passenger side and saw her wife in the seat with her arms crossed. She threw open the door and placed her hands on her hips. "I'm going to count to three, Rebecca. We already have two children, I don't need you acting like a third one."

"I'm not Frankie. That doesn't work on me." The redhead cocked her eyebrow at Beca, accepting the challenge.

"One…" Beca kept her gaze forward, refusing to look at her wife. "Two…" She snuck a glance at Chloe and saw her sporting her 'mom face'. She was getting a little bit nervous. "Two and a half…Don't make me get to three." The brunette refused to back down. Chloe just sighed loudly. "Three." Before Beca knew it, two strong hands were grabbing her by her biceps and literally dragging her out of the car. Chloe slammed the door and locked it before Beca could try and get back in. "Seriously, Beca. I don't have time for this. Please just cooperate." Beca let out and exaggerated sigh and grumbled.

"Fine." Chloe beamed a big smile and linked her arm with Beca's, leading her into the dentist's office.

Once they checked in, Chloe filled out Beca's forms because the brunette had absolutely no idea how to answer those questions. Just as Chloe handed the clipboard to the woman at the front desk, the dental hygienist called out Beca's name. Chloe kissed her wife's cheek. Beca stood up and looked down at Chloe.

"You're not coming?" She asked with a pout on her face.

"She can be with you until you fall asleep." The hygienist interjected politely. Chloe smiled and stood up. She put her hand on Beca's lower back and gave her a little push in the direction on the room.

The hygienist led them to the room Beca's surgery would be performed in. She instructed both girls to take a seat and Chloe shot Beca a stern look when the brunette attempted to sit in the chair that was meant for her. She pointed to the dental chair and Beca sighed in defeat as she slid in the chair. Chloe reached over and grabbed Beca's hand, squeezing it for reassurance. The oral surgeon walked in a few minutes later. He was a gentleman who looked to be in his early fifties. He shook both of their hands, introduced himself as Doctor Camden, and pulled up his stool.

"Alright, Mrs. Mitchell. I'm going to be taking out all four of your wisdom teeth. Luckily they aren't impacted, so it should be a relatively easy procedure. We can even keep you awake for it if you'd like."

"I wouldn't." Beca said curtly, making Doctor Camden laugh.

"Okay then. I'll give you local anesthesia and twilight sedation as opposed to general anesthesia. Does that sound okay?" Beca was too nervous to ask questions so she just nodded in agreement.

"I'm sorry, what does all that mean?" Chloe asked respectfully.

"Local anesthesia will numb up her gums. I'll apply a numbing gel to the area first, and then I'll inject it into her gums, just like when getting a cavity filled. Twilight sedation is a very light form of general anesthesia. We will give it to her through an IV and she'll fall asleep. She won't feel any pain and she wont remember the procedure. She'll still be out of it when she wakes up, but we won't have to monitor her breathing like we would if she was under general because she wouldn't be completely out. I hope that answers your question."

"It does. Thank you."

"How about we get started then." Doctor Camden washed his hands thoroughly before putting on a pair of latex gloves. "I do apologize Mrs. Mitchell, but I'm going to have to ask you to step out now."

"Of course." Chloe stood up and pressed a kiss to Beca's head. "I'll be waiting for you. You're okay, baby. I love you." Beca frowned and watched her wife leave the room.

"Shall we begin?" Beca nodded and sat back, letting the hygienist clip that crappy paper bib around her neck. The surgeon began to lower the chair and Beca gripped the arms tightly.

Beca's had her fair share of cavities. Too many cavities are why she's in this predicament. But, Beca can't handle pain. You would think someone in and out of the emergency room as much has her would be used to it by now, but that's not the case. She secretly likes to blame it on her girls, mostly Chloe. Saying they've made her soft and Chloe babying her when she's hurt makes her mind think it's okay to be a wimp blah blah. In reality, the brunette has always been this way, but now she has someone to blame it on.

Once her mouth was numbed up and it was kicking in, Doctor Camden felt around the top of Beca's left hand, looking for a vein. He kept his thumb over the vein he would insert the needle in and cleaned the area. Beca gritted her teeth and cringed as the needle went in and sighed in relief when she actually felt no pain. He taped the needle in to keep it in place.

"Okay, Beca. IV is in and you should start feeling sleepy, okay?" Beca nodded. She could feel her eyes getting heavy.

"My hand hurts." She mumbled.

"Hold on, I'll fix that." He readjusted the tape and upped to dosage a bit, knowing it would be difficult for her to fall asleep if her hand was bothering her. "Better?"

"Ye-" Beca mumbled out the rest of her sentence. Doctor Camden had no idea what was said, but he caught the beginning of the word 'yes' before Beca knocked out.

/

Chloe sat anxiously in the waiting room. She brought a book from home to read, but she kept getting distracted by texts from Aubrey. The blonde was sending Chloe updates on Frankie and Callie, but was also expressing the excitement of seeing Beca coming of her anesthesia. Aubrey and Beca have buried the hatchet years ago, but they have a very playful and teasing relationship that Stacie and Chloe find amusing. Aubrey just sent Chloe a picture of Frankie and Callie on the couch, watching The Little Mermaid. The eight month old was sitting comfortably between Frankie's legs and Frankie had her arms wrapped securely around Callie. She pouted at the cuteness and quickly made that photo her new lock screen. Just as she put her phone back into her purse and was ready to pull her book out (thinking she still had a ways to go because it has only been forty-five minutes), Doctor Camden came out of the room.

"Mrs. Mitchell?" Chloe looked up and smiled at him.

"Finished already?" She grabbed her and Beca's coat and stood up.

"Oh yes. All four of her wisdom teeth grew in perfectly straight so it was fairly easy." He spoke and he led Chloe to the room Beca was in. "She's just waking up now so she might be a little groggy and goofy. I want her to stay here for thirty minutes, just till the sedation wears off a little. Then you can be on your way." He opened the door for Chloe and she thanked him as she entered the room. He shut the door to the room once Chloe entered.

She could see the back of Beca's head. The brunette was rocking her head side to side and making a noise similar to a whine. She sat on the chair next to the dental chair and draped the coats on her lap. When she finally got to look at Beca's face, she couldn't help but smirk a bit. Beca had her eyes closed, still rocking her head side to side as if she were dancing to her own whines. Her cheeks were huge and she could see the gauze stuffed in her cheeks. Chloe took this opportunity to take a quick photo before she placed her hands on Beca's knee to get her attention. The brunette cracked one eye open and looked at Chloe.

"Hi, chipmunk." Chloe said as she bit back a laugh. Beca opened her other eye and smiled at Chloe for a moment before her face dropped in confusion. She reached up and touched her cheek, furrowing her eyebrows. She trailed her fingers across her cheek to her mouth, touching the gauze. "Leave it in there, baby." She looked up at Chloe as she gripped the gauze between her thumb and index finger, ready to pull it out. "Beca, I'm serious." She grabbed Beca's hand and pulled it from her mouth.

"I need to take it out!" She attempted to shout, but it came out tired and muffled. She pouted and lifted her hand up to touch Chloe's face. "You're so pretty, babe. Are you a parking ticket? Because fine." Chloe threw her head back and laughed at Beca's failed attempt at a pick up line. "I wanna get up." The brunette started to turn in her spot, ready to roll off the chair. Chloe put her hands out and grabbed Beca's hips to keep her there.

"You need to stay in the chair, Beca." Beca turned back onto her back and smirked.

"I'll stay if you give me a kiss."

"I can't kiss you right now. Please just stay in your seat for me? I'll love you forever."

"Oh god! That's even better! I'll stay in my seat." Chloe grabbed Beca's hand and kissed lightly over her Band-Aid.

"Good girl. Thank you." Beca smiled and looked lovingly at Chloe.

"I love you, red panda."

"I love you, too." She placed a soft kiss to Beca's temple.

"Chlo, I really love you." She looked up at Chloe with watery eyes.

"Beca, baby. Please don't cry. I love you too."

"Yeah, but I just love you, Chloe." Chloe pushed hair from Beca's face.

"I know, sweetheart. I know." Just as Beca was about to respond, there was a knock on the door. "Come in!" Doctor Camden entered the room holding some paperwork and a packet with an oral syringe.

He stood at the desk with the computer and began highlighting things on the paper. Beca began humming and singing loudly to herself so Chloe stood up and made her way to the surgeon so she could hear him explaining things. He started to explain to Chloe how to clean her gums, things Beca can and can't eat for the time being and everything that Chloe needs to know to take care of Beca.

"Babe!" Chloe turned her head when Beca called out for her. She saw the brunette holding one of her bloody gauze in her left hand.

"Beca, I told you not to touch those." By now Doctor Camden saw Beca had taken the gauze from her mouth excused himself to get more.

"Catch!"

"Beca don't you dare!" Beca attempted to throw the gauze, but instead of letting it go mid-air, she let her arm go through the motions of throwing and let the gauze go when her hand was inches from the floor. "Rebecca, quit it." Chloe said through gritted teeth. Doctor Camden returned moments later and quickly inserted the gauze into her mouth.

/

Chloe finally got Beca home. After the whole gauze fiasco and Beca dubbing herself as 'speed racer' when one of the hygienists wheeled her out to the car. Getting Beca out of the car was a lot easier than getting her in the car. Beca was eager to get inside and take a nap. She spent the whole car ride telling Chloe how she was going to 'nap so hard she was going to wake up needing another nap'. When she led Beca into the house through the garage, Frankie immediately ran up to Beca and hugged her legs. Beca looked down at her daughter and smiled.

"Hi mama! Why your face like that?" Beca looked up and Chloe with a worried expression on her face.

"What's wrong with my face?"

"Ah, I thought I heard you, Beca." Aubrey came into the room with Callie in her arms. Beca gave a lazy solute.

"General." She leaned down a bit to get eye level with Callie. "Hi, chunky monkey." Callie furrowed her eyebrows and gave Beca a dirty look. "Hmm. Tough crowd."

"She's probably wondering why your cheeks look like hers." Aubrey said, adjusting Callie when she started getting fussy.

"Where's Stace?" Beca asked, looking around the kitchen.

"In here Becs!" She heard Stacie shout from the family room. Beca pointed in that direction and unsteadily walked into the family room. Stacie was sitting on the couch with her legs propped up on one of Frankie's toys. The taller brunette was now seven months pregnant and she just looked over it. Beca plopped down next to her best friend and smiled wide, making bloody drool slip from the corners of her mouth.

"Ew, Mama B. That's gross." Stacie grabbed a baby wipe from the package resting next to her on the arm of the couch and she wiped the drool away gently.

"You're so nice to me, Stacie. I love you." Beca said tearfully. She laid her head on Stacie's shoulder and sniffled. Stacie patted Beca's head softly.

"Okay, Becs. I love you, too."

"Can I take a nap on your boobs?" Stacie shrugged her shoulder nonchalantly, scrolling through her phone. Beca shifted so she was lying comfortably on Stacie's chest. Stacie continued to absentmindedly play with her best friend's hair while she looked through Facebook. When she noticed the smaller brunette starting to drool she carefully placed a baby wipe on her shirt, under Beca's mouth.

/

Beca had been sleeping on Stacie's chest for around thirty minutes. She was snoring loudly in Stacie's ear, but she didn't really care. She had been really hormonal lately and found comfort in cuddling with her best friend. Frankie came running into the family room around this time, Callie crawling behind her as fast as her little hands and legs can take her. Frankie stood between Stacie's legs and patted on her knees.

"Aunt Cee, mommy says lunch time!" The toddler said excitedly. Stacie pushed some stray hairs out of her niece's face.

"Is it? Did she tell you what we are having? Cause your little cousin is making me really picky." Frankie nodded and put her hand on Stacie's baby bump.

"Uh huh! Mommy said," Frankie paused and scrunched up her face, trying to remember what her mom told her. ", she said floppy hoes." Stacie laughed loudly, jostling Beca and making her jolt awake. She wiped the drool off her face and stared tiredly at Stacie.

"What's so funny that you laughed loud enough to shake the earth?" Beca asked, slightly annoyed.

"Frankie, tell mama what mommy made for lunch."

"Floppy hoes!" She said confidently, throwing her hands in the air. Callie finally made it to the couch and giggled at her silly older sister.

"I don't think that's right, kiddo." Beca said groggily, wincing at the pain she felt in her mouth.

"Thank you for relaying that message, Franny. Your mama and I will be there in a minute."

"Okay!" She jumped and ran out of the room and back to the kitchen, leaving Callie on the floor with a pout on her face. The baby sighed dramatically and began crawling towards the kitchen, smacking her hands on the hardwood loudly as she did so. Beca guessed that was her version of stomping away angrily.

"Let's go, chipmunk. I have floppy hoes to eat." Stacie said, laughing lightly as she shoved Beca off the couch. "I need your help getting off the couch though." Beca stood up and held both her hands out for Stacie. The taller brunette gripped them and Beca yanked her up, expertly avoiding getting impaled by her pregnant belly.

Beca groggily followed Stacie into the kitchen. Aubrey stood up to make sure Stacie got into her seat okay. Chloe stood up and grabbed Beca's hand, leading her to the kitchen sink. She pulled out the packet the papers the doctor gave her as well as the oral syringe. She read the packet to herself and grabbed the box of salt from the cabinet and filled a bowl with warm water. She added the salt to the water and filled the syringe with the salt water. She carefully pulled out the gauze and flushed her gums. Once her mouth was clean, she gave her some ibuprofen. Beca took her seat next to Frankie and the redhead set a bowl of applesauce in front of her. Beca groaned in displeasure and looked up at Callie who seemed jealous that Beca got applesauce and she was eating pureed carrots and buttered noodles.

"I'll trade you, Callie Cat. Actually, you can keep the carrots." Callie smiled at Beca and the spoonful of carrots that Chloe just fed her came spilling out of her cheeks.

All the girls sat around the table and enjoyed their lunch of sloppy Joes. Chloe talked about how Beca acted after her surgery and the brunette rolled her eyes and refused to believe it. Stacie told Aubrey and Chloe about Frankie calling their lunch 'floppy hoes' and when the toddler saw it made everyone laugh, she began to repeat it. That earned her a scolding from Chloe and a 'mom look' from Beca because was too damn tired and in too much pain to discipline.

After lunch was finished, Aubrey decided it was time for them to head home. She knew both Stacie and Beca were exhausted at this point and wanted them both to get some rest. Once they all said their goodbyes, Chloe flushed out Beca's gums again and replaced the gauze in her mouth.

"Becs, would you be opposed to napping down here? I want to be able to take care of you, but the girls won't be happy being confined upstairs. I'll try really hard to keep them quiet."

"Babe, I'm so tired I could sleep comfortably on a rock." Beca tiredly shuffled over to the couch, ready to lie down.

"Wait!" Chloe put her hand on Beca's shoulders to stop her. "Sleep on the recliner. Just for now. I was reading that it's good to keep your head upright." Beca just nodded and made her way to the recliner, pressing the button to raise the footrest, but keeping the top half of her body upright. Chloe grabbed a blanket from the linen cabinet and covered Beca up. Beca mumbled a half-assed 'goodnight' and fell asleep.

Chloe was able to keep the girls quiet for about forty-five minutes. They could only stay interested in Frozen for so long, especially when they had a sleeping and hurting mom to bug. Frankie, being the instigator she is, decided that she needed to be sitting on Beca's lap in order to enjoy the movie quietly. Frankie climbed on to the recliner and sat herself on Beca's lap. Because Callie was basically Frankie's shadow at this point, she crawled her way over to Beca's chair, started smacking on the arm of it and began whining. Chloe sprung up from her spot on the couch and picked up Callie. The tiny redhead immediately began squirming and started to cry.

"Shh, Callie. Mama is sleeping. Come sit on my lap." Chloe sat back down and nestled Callie on her lap. The baby didn't like it at all and she reached her arms out towards her sleeping mama. "Alright. Jesus." Chloe stood up and tiptoed to Beca. She carefully pulled back the blanket a bit and placed Callie under it, tucking part of it between the sides of the chair to create a pouch. Beca cracked an eye open at the movement and instinctively wrapped her arms around both her girls.

"I've got them." Beca mumbled sleepily. She absentmindedly began to rub both Frankie and Callie's arms softly with her fingertips, making both of them drowsy. "If they're falling asleep, turn that fuckin movie off." She added after fifteen minutes. Chloe grabbed the Xbox remote and exited out of the DVD playing. She opened Netflix and browsed through it, settling on watching Parks and Rec. She turned down the volume and snuggled back into the couch. "Will you turn the light off, too?" Beca said not even a minute after Chloe got comfortable. The redhead sighed and stood up, making her way over to the light switch and shutting it off.

"Anything else before I sit back down, babe?"

"I need a kiss." Beca said with her eyes still closed, but Chloe could see her smiling around her gauze. She bit her lip and made her way over to Beca, pressing light kisses all over her face, making her sigh contently. She also placed a kiss on both Callie and Frankie's forehead. Both girls were now sleeping comfortably on Beca's lap. The redhead made her way back to the couch and sprawled out, enjoying not having to share the space. "Hey, Chlo?" Beca asked a few minutes later, startling Chloe.

"Yeah, baby?"

"I love you so much, dude." She said, with a slight whine in her voice. Chloe chuckled and looked over at Beca, who somehow managed to fully knock out in the span of about two seconds.

"I love you, too, Bec."

[need-a-fugue]

The Weight of Winter

Written for @wonderlandmind4​‘s Fall Winter Writing challenge. The prompt? “Jack Frost can fuck right off.”

Characters/Pairing: Bucky x Reader

Summary: You find comfort in the snow, in the eerie silence of winter. But Bucky’s just not into that shit.

“For the last time,” he mutters, words meting through tightly clenched teeth as he tosses the bag into the corner and tightens his metal hand around your hip. “We are not on the run.”

A final woosh of cold air blows past you, tiny tinkles of sleet and snow pelting the back of your neck as he ushers you the rest of the way into the room and kicks the door shut behind you. “Just let me have my fun, old man,” you pout, head heavy on his shoulder, legs nearly buckling beneath you.

“I don’t understand you SHIELD agents,” he grumbles, shaking his head back and forth as he takes care to lower you gently to the edge of the bed. “Mission’s over. It’s done. We’re in a safe house – ”

“Motel,” you correct, the word firing over the top of a pained hiss as his fingers begin peeling away the sticky fabric around your wound.

Bucky rolls his eyes – “Safe being the operative word.” – and shakes his head again. “And you’re… fantasizing about being on the run?”

“First of all,” you begin, voice low and far weaker than you expect, the sound alone causing your breath to hitch with a sudden – albeit fleeting – swell of dread. No need to worry, you remind yourself yet again. Because you never need to worry when you’re with him. “There is no SHIELD anymore,” you go on, struggling to fortify the statement. “So I’m not a SHIELD agent.”

His face tightens, brows shrinking together into an anxious scowl as he watches you feign composure. “Whatever,” he spits out, his concern quickly morphing into frustration.

“And secondly,” you continue, small, crooked smile blooming across your sallow face, “safe is all well and good… but danger can be so damn much fun. And sexy.”

He trains his eyes on your blood-soaked middle, refusing to look up and meet your teasing gaze. A deep swell of anger overrides that side of him that normally sparks and flames at your odd sensibilities, your quirky sense of humor, your unflappable desire to keep from showing any pain or fear. Ordinarily, he finds it all strangely enchanting, perhaps even admirable. But not now. Not here. Not like this. “You’re still in danger of bleeding to death,” he mutters harshly under his breath. “If that does it for you…”

You flinch away from him and flop backwards, falling onto the stiff mattress with a dramatic sigh, arms and legs askew. Bucky blows an impatient breath out of his nose and crawls up the bed to finish removing your nearly shorn tac suit. “It’s barely a graze,” you breathe out, muscles inadvertently clenching as his fingers work beneath the thick, leatherlike fabric. “I’m fine.”

“Knives don’t graze, sweetheart,” he replies with a raised brow. “They cut and they stab. And what you are is cut and stabbed.”

You let out another sigh – one filled with more than a hint of defeat – and you give into the exhaustion that the day – and blood loss – has wrought, allowing your body to sink down atop the scratchy comforter. Allowing Bucky to do what he needs to do. What’s the point in playing down your injuries when he’s the one tending to them, anyway?

You turn your head, gaze traveling to the far side of the small room, to the wide picture window there. Curtains frame either side of the slightly frosted glass, leaving the stunning view on full display. A sprawling clearing right outside the motel. A dense forest of snow-capped trees, branches heavy with the weight of winter, looming just beyond. All of it beginning to dim and darken in the blueish twilight. “I trust you,” you murmur softly, barely a whisper, final word catching as he tugs away the last of the sticky, blood-soaked suit.

He lets out a short scoff, little more than an irritated huff blown sharply through his nose. And he rises and spins to retrieve the large black bag from the corner. Zip. You hear him tug it violently open, sharp clinks and scratches echoing through the otherwise silent room as he digs through the bag’s contents. You know what’s in there. You know what he’s looking for. The fully stocked first aid kit, complete with styptic and a suture set. A full bottle of vodka, because you were always either going to celebrate with swigs or choke on a scream while disinfecting.

“Don’t get the clean clothes all bloody,” you chide weakly from the bed, eyes still trained on the tranquil beauty outside. Bucky’s bag is always packed with a fresh set of civies – one for you now too, ever since that tumble you took into a scummy pond a few missions back. He’s always got them buried beneath the other essentials, packed neatly away with care. Vaguely, you recall laughing at him – long, long ago. Mocking – You’re like a damn boy scout – back before you ever realized how much you would benefit from his preparedness.

Another scoff sounds as he continues to dig around, plucking out items and either palming them easily in his large hands or dropping them to the floor with a dull thud. But you don’t turn to see what exactly it is that he’s doing. You don’t need to. Frankly, you don’t care. This isn’t the first time he’s patched you up after a rough mission. Isn’t the first time either of you have been tasked with staunching the flow of blood from the other, stitching skin and haphazardly bandaging wounds that would make local clinics and hospitals just a bit too suspicious.

He knows what he’s doing, and you trust that. You trust him. So you keep your gaze trained on that window, on the melancholy dusk beginning to gray out the bright white field, draping a shadow across the snow-heavy trees in the distance.

It had started just after you exited the expressway, giant white flakes suddenly filling the sky, dropping lazily about you as he drove. As dark red blood seeped into your palms – into his wide open palm as well – as the two of you hurried deep into what had begun to look like a true-to-life winter wonderland. The further you crept into the thickly wooded hills, tree branches already glistening pearly white above, the more the car struggled for purchase – Bucky cursing all the way, steering with just his tightly gripping metal hand, refusing to let you go with his right – on the whitened roads. And the less everything seemed to hurt.

“It’s beautiful,” you mutter blankly – not for the first time – as you continue to stare longingly out the window. Your eyelids grow heavy, once reeling brain now slowing in time with the gently falling flakes beyond.

Bucky’s head pops up, sees yours turned away, your gaze locked onto the gradually graying expanse outside the tiny, musty motel room. “It’s a snow storm,” he says after a moment, annoyance creeping back into his tone. “Shit could’ve killed us out there.”

A quick – and painful – laugh vibrates through your body, your eyes pinching shut against the ache as you swivel your head towards him. The mattress dips beside you, and when you open your eyes again, he’s there, his warm hip pressed to yours, his bloodied hand once again resting on the wound in your side. His brow is scrunched with worry and dread, and you almost let out another laugh, one fond and wistful, as you reach up and trace a finger down the length of his all-too-serious face. Almost. “You think everything’s out to kill us.”

His tight expression uncoils just a bit at hearing your voice, feeling your touch, seeing your tired eyes lock onto his. “I see what the world shows me.”

You feel the scratch of his stubble tickle your palm as you flatten it atop his cheek, let it linger there for a fleeting moment before ending with a swift pat and letting your hand fall heavily back to your side. “Well, I see snow,” you hum out, blinking your eyes shut again as your head shifts back towards the window.

His fingers – both flesh and metal – begin to press and tug at your side, wiping away some more blood before – “This is gonna hurt.” – a splash of vodka spills over your exposed skin and down into the wound. It burns, causes you to jolt and stiffen and recoil, even as his hands pin you down. “Sorry,” you hear him mutter, barely a whisper, as breath returns to your lungs in fits and starts. As Bucky’s vibranium thumb takes a break from tending the gashes in your side to instead absently stroke a tender trail along your rib.

“I know you have some lidocaine in there,” you say with a twisted smile, voice strained as the blaring pain slowly recedes into a dull ache. “Could’ve shot me up with some of that first.”

He shrugs – “Need to see where I’m injecting it.” – and pulls away the gentle caress to begin his work.

All the while – as he numbs the large wound in your side, and another smaller one above it, and then begins to stich you up, his fingers swift and well-practiced – you stare out that window across the room and urge yourself to get lost out there, out in the cold, numbing winter landscape. “Is it Siberia that made you hate the snow?” you ask after several long, silent moments.

“Yes,” he answers pointedly.

Your tone shifts, becomes a bit gloomy, voice echoing a soft sentiment buried deep in your soul as you say simply, barely a whisper, “We could be there right now. We could be anywhere.”

Bucky continues to focus on his work, his words coming out clipped. “We’re in Pennsylvania. Not Siberia.”

“But it could be anywhere,” you murmur softly, tiny smile spreading across your lips. “We could be on the run. Together. Going… somewhere. Going anywhere.”

He’s silent for a long moment, nothing but the steady in-out of his breaths mingling in with your own more strained, more shallow ones. “Stark should have the extraction team here in a couple of hours,” he says finally, his voice tight and tense.

You let out a deep sigh, your wracked body somehow – despite the dull throbbing and disconcerting numbness – managing to relax into the bed. “Can’t just let me have my fun, can you?”

“This isn’t fun,” he spits out, words commanding despite the slow, deep, oddly soothing tenor to his voice. “I don’t even want to think about us being out here without any help on the way.” A long, languid breath spills out of him and you feel the warm press of his flesh hand atop your ribs, the gentle brush of his thumb returning and setting off a tiny, itchy tendril of delight – of love – in your core. He leans down over you, presses his forehead to yours, his breath hot on your cheek as he mutters, “I just want to get you home, doll,” before dropping a quick kiss to the corner of your mouth and springing back upright to finish his work.

You watch him for a moment, as he cuts down some gauze and tenderly tapes it to your side. As he deftly maneuvers a long bandage around your torso, whispers through clenched teeth – sorry…damn… sorry, doll – when the shifting of your body causes you to grimace and quiver.

When he’s done, you return your gaze to the outside world, the nearly full moon reflecting off the snow to breathe light into a space that is otherwise total darkness. Shuffling and clanging and snapping all sound in your periphery as Bucky dumps the spent supplies back into the duffle and strips off his tac suit, the heavily buckled jacket falling to the floor with a weighty slap. The water runs in the adjacent bathroom, his hulking shadow falling out onto the floor just beneath the window, just in your line of sight, as you listen to him hurriedly wash his hands. Desperately scrubbing away the evidence of your injury… of his own agony.

“Do you think it’s snowing back at home too?” you ask once the water shuts off.

“God, I hope not,” echoes out from the open bathroom door in an exhausted tenor. He steps out into the dim light of the room and tosses a quick glance outside, no doubt checking for threats rather than taking in the wonderous scenery that you’ve been living in for the past who knows how long. He lets out a huff, tugs on a clean T-shirt, and leans over to flip off the bathroom light.

“Jack Frost might be paying a visit to the compound right now,” you say with a crooked grin, your voice thick and tired, slightly slurred. “You never know.” The weight of your lids is becoming too much to bear, no matter how you struggle to keep them afloat. You blink – once, twice – so much time in between that you miss seeing the strides that carry him across the room.

The bed dips beside you and you open your eyes one last time to see Bucky tactfully lay down beside you, curling close without disturbing your still throbbing body in the least. He leans in and drops a swift peck to the very tip of your nose, his pale blue eyes holding tight to your gaze until your lids flutter shut again and sleep finally begins to overtake you. Then he lays down his head, barely a breath away from yours on the pillow, and he mutters, just loud enough to cut into your snow-white dreams, “Jack Frost can fuck right off.”

[anxiousnerdwritings]

Lights Out 

                                                  Prologue

It's a cold and cloudy, wintry Tuesday morning, the type of day you would rather be curled up in your home with something warm, then out in the freezing cold. The streets were calm and quiet than usual, which was odd regarding Gotham City. People were bustling about through the biting chill of the breeze to their destinations, not paying any mind to one another. Among the bustling crowd is a (h/c) girl making her way to the local cafe, where she works as a barista and baker. Briskly walking to get away from the cold, she weaves her way through the crowd with thoughts of warm coffee and fresh baked goods in mind. Walking up to the front doors of the cafe, she unlocks the door letting herself in, heading to the backroom. She opens her locker and puts her stuff inside before heading behind the front counter. Putting her apron on she starts baking the pastries for the day. While preparing the mornings stock of goods,  she hears the cafe door chime, she looks up seeing her coworker walk in. "Hey Y/n. Here early as always." she says groggily. "Hey Amelia. Yeah you know I have to be here early to start baking." Y/n laughs. "Right, we'd be out of business without your delicacies. I get that but how can you be up so early?" Amelia yawns, "Well I actually wasn't sleeping. I had a couple of papers due, so I stayed up to finish them," She admitted dusting off the remaining flour on her apron, finishing the pastries. "Alright, alright, but you better go home and get some sleep after your classes," she says with a hand on her hip and the other pointing in a scolding manner. "Yeah, yeah, yeah." 'Ameila, always the mother hen,' Y/n laughs to herself, getting back to work.

        After finally opening the cafe for the early morning rush of freezing commuters, Y/n gets to work taking customer's names and orders while Amelia gets the pastries ready. It's not long before the rush comes to slow, a few people sitting around taking in the warmth before beginning their day. It's almost time for Y/n to end her shift after she takes her last order of the day, a tired looking college aged guy walks through the door bundled up in an expensive looking winter jacket with a hoodie underneath and a pair of joggers. "Hey there, Tom. Here for the usual?" the cheery (h/c) girl asks, " Yes but I think I'll try one of your pastries today." He says with a tired smile,  " What would you recommend Y/n." "Sure thing Hun. I like most of the stuff here except the lemon tart, but that's mainly because I don't care for the bitterness so early in the morning, add your plain black coffee to the mix and you're in for one hell of an after taste." She laughs and he chuckles before she continues, "But my favorite is the apple and cinnamon muffin, especially for a cold morning like this." "Yeah the lemon and black coffee doesn't sound so good, but the apple cinnamon sounds like what I need. I'll take that," Tom chuckles, paying for his coffee and muffin.

      'She seems happy even for this early in the morning,' I think. 'But isn't she always.'  Smiling to myself as I walk to my usual table in the back, I sit down and pull out my laptop checking over a paper for my first class before thinking back to the barista. I come here every morning before class for my regular coffee, trying to keep my eyes open. I use to make the long trek a few blocks away from campus before this place opened up right by my apartment. I made the lazy decision to try the place out when I couldn't make myself trudge the extra few blocks. I thank my tired state of mind for that everyday since. My first time here, it was packed, I almost walked right out, but something stopped me. With my feet rooted to their spot in line, I patiently waited my turn. When I got to the counter with my beverage already in mind, a black coffee, can't go wrong with that. I lost my train of thought though once I was greeted by the barista. 'Hello, what can I get you this morning?' Came her sweet resounding voice. I could tell she was trying to hide the tiredness in it and she was doing a good job at it too. If I didn't know any better I'd think she was a natural morning person, but being a detective aided me with miniscule things like that. 'Uh, yeah. Could I get a black coffee?' 'Sure thing! What's the name?' 'Tom,' I reply not thinking clearly, being caught off guard by both her and my tiredness 'Okay, Tom, that'll be out in a few,' she says handing me my change. I walk off to the farthest table in the back and wait for my coffee. "Order for Tom! One black coffee and a cinnamon muffin!" I'm pulled from my musings by a familiar voice calling my "name". I mentally face palm every time I remember the encounter. If Dick, Jason, or even Damian were there, they'd give me so much hell for it. I get up from my spot to get my order. "Here you go. Hope you enjoy the muffin." She smiles as I take my coffee and muffin back to my table. Sitting down again, I can't help but note the same smile she always wears, looks more like an accessory than genuine at this point. But I don't think she's realized that herself yet. 'God, what am I thinking. I don't even know the girl and I'm already trying to wrap myself up in her' I sigh putting my laptop back in my bag and leaving. As I'm walking to campus, drinking my coffee and eating the apple and cinnamon muffin, I can't help but think about how the muffin melts in my mouth. Warm and soothing, with a sweet and crisp taste. It really is good, no wonder it's her favorite. Reminds me of the cute barista,"Y/n," I whisper her name. As much as I try, I can't help but smirk as the name rolls off my tongue.

            A few minutes after "Tom" left, Y/n ended her shift, heading to her first class of the day.  The only thing on her mind being the new murder mystery book she'd gotten from the bookstore a few days before. She just couldn't wait to continue reading it again. If it wasn't the book on her mind then it was the next episode of her other new obsession; Crime Time Mysteries. A new TV series about old and new cases some solved and some unsolved. Some of the cases even happened in Gotham. Not that that was a surprise. It's the one thing that keeps Y/n in town. As odd as it sounds, crimes have become a big part of her life, in regards to books, movies, and the media. Her father was a crime author. She grew up helping her father with his ideas. So it goes without say why she can't help but be pulled in by the enigma that is Gotham. Even at the cost of her own freedom. 

                                                             Accused

What's going on?  

Where am I?

      Why am I covered in blood?    

Amelia?

        Amelia, where are you?  

   Sitting up, you looked around trying to gain your bearings. Once your eyes focus on the room room around you, you can tell your on the bathroom floor in Amelia's apartment. 'What the fuck is going on...?'  Helping yourself up, you stagger out of the bathroom, you hold yourself up against the hall walls, your legs feeling like their jelly, you have to force yourself to stay leaning on the wall. Staggering to the living room, you drag yourself from the hall to the kitchen counter, using it as leverage to support your body weight. Getting to the entrance of the kitchen leading to the living room, you slip on something, falling on your ass. Laying on the guard, you can feel something sticky all over your arms and legs. Lifting yourself up on your knees, you look at your limbs and around you seeing some sort of dark liquid all over the floor in the dark apartment.    Registering the metallic smell of blood, your not fully comprehending what you've walked out on. Your head is pounding and your whole body is numb but hurts all the same. You try to get yourself up again but fall, laying on the ground, you just stay there trying to focus on gaining your senses back.  

   Your jolted out of nowhere, having blacked out, by the sound of banging on the apartment door and you hear yelling too. Having gained feeling back in your body, you sit up again, looking around and taking in your surroundings. Your completely horrified to find yourself covered in blood. Getting up you try to stand up but you trip over something, looking over your shoulder, your petrified to see Amelia's dull, blank eyes staring at you. Screaming you try to crawl away from your dead friends body. Too caught up in your own horror, you don't notice the apartment door being kicked open. Gotham City's police department is rushing into the apartment and surrounding you. Your so confused and frightened, you're being yelled at, accused of murder.  You don't know what's even going on. You're being pulled up harshly and thrown into a wall, having your Miranda rights shouted to you. You're so out of it, you don't register your body throwing and flailing around trying to get out of the officers hold. You can't even hear your own voice as you scream that you didn't do anything.

   Finally being able to weasel yourself away from the police officers, you run to the apartment window, throwing yourself through it. Rushing after you, the officers aren't able to grab you before you've thrown yourself through the window pane, and begin to fall along the side of the apartment complex. Landing in a dumpster, you lie their for the briefest moment, before launching yourself out of the dumpster. Hooked on pure adrenaline, you're barefoot, covered in blood, wearing sleeping shorts and a tank top running down the empty alley trying to look for somewhere to go.

   Coming across a hole in the side of a building, while wandering around an alley, you try squeezing yourself through the hole, being able to get yourself through. Pulling yourself into the building, you look around seeing the place is some warehouse that looked abandoned. Sighing to yourself, you walk around, wandering up a staircase leading to an office. You sit yourself under a window, trying to calm down from all the adrenaline, you take the time to really take in your appearance. You're covered in blood and dirt, with bits and pieces of glass in your skin. Your tank top and sleep shorts are ripped and torn, and your bare feet are caked with more dirt, blood. There are even some pieces of rocks, gravel, and glass in the bottom of your feet. Trying to figure out what the hell happened, you try to focus on remembering the last thing you did. But you can't think straight, your head is throbbing. Curling in on yourself from the intense pain, you let yourself fall into a heap on the ground, giving into the overwhelming pain, you let yourself drift off again. But there won't be any peaceful sleep from this day on, only the restless need to run. Run for your freedom, for your life.  

A/n: This is a story I’ve been working on my  wattpad account. I have a few other WIPs on there too, that I might post later on depending on the feedback I get on this one, This is the story regarding the mystery/thriller obsessed Reader who ends up being accused of her best friends murder. While on the run she meets a local hero who can already tell that Y/n is innocent. They offer to help her prove her innocence. With her knowledge of crime based media, the hero and Y/n compile all the evidence that’ll prove her innocence, once and for all. Along the way they’ll come across heroes and villains alike, who all have their own intentions for being involved. 

[krsnbgirl]

Timing || Dancer!Kuroo x Dancer!Fem!Reader || One Shot

Summary: Timing with Kuroo was never right. You met him through a studio collaboration and immediately the chemistry between the two of you was undeniable. The catch? He was finding his way in life and you were in a relationship. Now that time’s past and you’re each at different stages in life, will time be on your side? 

Pairing: Kuroo Tetsurou x Fem!Reader 

Word Count: ~6k

Warnings: Light swearing, Final stages of moving on, Emotional cheating (?), visual aids for choreography purposes. 

Author’s Note: I’ve really been on a writing spree lately and have been dying to write a Dancer!Kuroo fanfic. I came across an old one-shot I abandoned in my drafts and decided to revamp it and have Kuroo as the main character ^^~ I hope you guys like it! Also currently working on a Kageyama x Reader Series if you’re interested! Let me know what you guys thought of this one shot though, love you guys! xoxo, Ren 

You sighed as you stared blankly at the laptop screen in front of you. You were seated against the headboard of your bed with your legs crossed, just like how you’d sit in grade school. Running a hand through your hair, your eyes were glued on the picture that was enlarged on your Instagram feed. ‘I didn’t think he’d move on that quickly…’

In the picture was your ex-boyfriend standing in front of the entrance of the local amusement park with the new girl he was talking to. A slight heavy feeling came into your chest as you exited the browser and pushed the laptop to the side. You pushed yourself off of the bed and rearranged the sweatshirt you were wearing. Making your way towards your desk, your eyes landed on the cork board that was filled with different Polaroids. A nostalgic smile came upon your face as you sat down in front of your desk and took the photo pinned at the top-right corner into your hands. Your ex had his arm tightly around your waist as you both cheekily smiled at the camera. His head was comfortably resting on yours while you were pinching his cheek. You leaned against your chair as you played with the photo, memories flooding your mind. It was when you reached your one year anniversary with your ex. It happened during your freshman year of university and he decided to take you to the amusement park to relive your childhood memories. Now with your third year of university coming to an end, things were different. You bit your lip as your hand hovered over the trash can that was tucked underneath your desk. The Polaroid hung at the edge of your fingertips as you debated to finally put a closing to your most serious relationship to date. You and your ex had broken up around a year ago on mutual agreements. Going to different colleges and having such hectic schedules took a toll on the both of you. It eventually came down to the point where you had naturally drifted away from each other because of how different your circles and interests were. With a sigh, you turned over the photo to look at the message that was written on a small stationery note taped to its back. 

To the most special girl in the world:

Life always seems more exciting when you’re around. 

We managed to get through a year, so let’s aim for forever, yeah? 

You’re the only person that understands me and gets how I think. 

I love you, princess. - Terushima Yuji 

Terushima was your first serious relationship having been best friends since high school and transitioned into being a couple as you matured into young adults. You were each other’s serious firsts and now that time’s passed, you realized that it was a part of life. One person could be your everything at one point and at some point, one outgrows the other if effort doesn’t come from both sides. In the end, you guys decided to still stay as friends. When the breakup was still fresh, you couldn’t believe it right after it happened. It didn’t actually hit you, but as time passed, the pain started to settle in and eventually you became numb to it. You were so used to having him by your side for so long and it hurt to see him move forward with life as you were just barely getting over him. You thought you’ve been doing fine after so long, but after seeing him post about a new girl, reality finally hit that things were never going to be the same again. An unexplained feeling came over you as you let that kind of realization settle over you. You were thankful that you could still be friends with Terushima, but now there were certain boundaries that you had to respect because he was no longer yours. He had a new girl in his life that he clearly loved and you were still single and finally ready to take the world on again. It was a good run while it lasted and you didn’t regret any moment of it. You felt as if you had come full circle with everything involving your ex. Rather than throwing the Polaroid away, you tucked the photo into the small memory box you kept in your desk. It would serve as a reminder just how much you’ve grown since that moment, plus first loves always had a special place in a person’s heart even after growing out of it. 

“(Y/N)? There’s someone here to see you.” your roommate, Megumi, said as she poked her head into your room just as you closed the drawer of your desk shut.

You cocked your head to the side in curiosity as you got up and followed your best friend into the living room of your shared apartment. 

“But I wasn’t expecting any visitors…” you murmured. 

Megumi shrugged and replied, “I didn’t expect this person to come all the way either.” 

As Megumi stepped out of your way and plopped herself onto the couch, you gasped and quickly walked over to hug the person who was standing by the TV, looking at your photos along the wall.

“Tetsurou!” you happily exclaimed and laughed as he spun you around. 

“Hey, chibi-chan.” he greeted as he set you down and ruffled your hair. 

“I thought you were going to teach a workshop in a studio in Seoul? What are you doing here in Tokyo? The last thing you told me was that you were in Paris.” 

Kuroo smirked and said, “Well I had to cancel Seoul when Oikawa called me to headline one of the workshops for his studio. I couldn’t say no to an old friend, now could I? So....” 

You arched an eyebrow and crossed your arms as he leaned down to meet your gaze. “I need someone to help me teach the piece I was planning on doing today. So, why not the person who co-choreographed it? 

You couldn’t stop yourself from excitedly jumping and grabbing his arm. “You still remember that piece when our studios trained together?” 

The latter nodded and straightened up, a warm smile spreading across his face. “Of course, chibi-chan. It’s one of my favorite pieces that I’ve ever choreographed to.” 

With an amused smile, you nudged him in the stomach. “You’re such a dork.” 

Kuroo chuckled and turned you around by your shoulders, pushing you towards your room. “Well what are you waiting for, slow poke? Go and get ready! We have about two hours to get it down before Oikawa starts to sass us!” 

A warm feeling spread throughout your chest as you rushed into your room to put on something more suitable to dance in. You rummaged through your closet and slipped on an over-sized graphic T-shirt with a pair of black biker shorts.. Quickly, you threw your necessities into your duffel bag and exited your room. Kuroo and Megumi were catching up as you made a pit stop in the kitchen to grab water for you two. 

“Alrighty, I’m set!” you smiled and tossed Kuroo his water as you made your way towards the shoe rack by the door. 

As you guys slipped on your shoes, Kuroo pointed towards the shoes you were wearing and laughed. 

“You were always the sneakerhead, huh?” 

You playfully winked as you straightened up from retying the laces of your latest pair that you copped as a special little treat for yourself. “I got them recently after getting paid from my last dance gig. I got a hefty sum from it, so I decided that it was finally time to drop a little more than usual.” 

Kuroo smiled to himself despite rolling his eyes at your statement. He opened the door for you and the two of you exited your apartment. Once you reached the lobby, you greeted the doorman as you made your way towards the spot where Kuroo parked. You smiled widely when Kuroo stopped by a slick, black sports motorcycle. Letting out a low whistle, you admired the vehicle as you slowly circled around it. 

“And you finally got a motorcycle license. This is a total beauty, Kuroo. I’ve been waiting to get on this type of baby for a while.” 

Kuroo laughed and tossed you the extra helmet he had in his storage compartment. “Just like you said, we gotta spoil ourselves once in a while right? Now c’mon get on.” 

You waited for Kuroo to get settled first before getting on the back seat of his bike. An excited squeal escaped your lips as he revved up the engine. He slid down his visor before turning around to slip yours down as well. You bit your lip as he smirked at you before turning his attention towards the oncoming traffic. 

“Better hold on tight.” 

Shaking your head at him, you comfortable wrapped your arms around his waist as he began to take you guys to the studio. You smiled widely as you watched the city speed past you, a lively feeling spreading throughout your body. Ever since the breakup happened, you managed to keep yourself busy in order to take your mind off things. Though you were constantly picking up dance gigs and doing other side jobs or even simply cleaning up the apartment, there was always this empty feeling inside of you. But now that Kuroo was back and with you, it felt as if he helped you break the chains you locked yourself up with. Looking up at the bright sky, you breathed in the fresh air and enjoyed how the wind surrounded you. You felt alive. You felt free and genuinely happy for once. The world now looked brighter and you were happy that Kuroo was able to bring that out of you. Tightening your grip around his waist, you mentally thanked the heavens for bringing him back to you. 

----

As you  monitored the class while Kuroo taught the combination of the piece, you smiled to yourself as you listened to his dorky references. He managed to squeeze in a couple of science puns and you bemusedly shook your head as the whole class laughed, but also understood what he was trying to get at. You held in your breath as you went towards the front of the class to take over his spot so he could also monitor everyone’s progress with the choreography. He gave you a reassuring squeeze on the shoulder because of the unexpected variable that was added into your guys’ equation. 

Once people started filing in for your class. Terushima and his new girl were part of the last few that trickled into the full class.  He managed to catch you as you walked back in after taking a look at the roster and you were shocked to see them there. While Kuroo was trying to pick music for everyone to stretch to, Terushima walked up to you and introduced you to her. Apparently, she was also a dancer and wanted to take Kuroo’s class. When you met eyes with him, you couldn’t help but smile back at him once he gave you a small smile. The pain that you used to feel wasn’t there anymore and you realized that you really did move on just like he did. Turning your attention back towards the mirror, you met Kuroo’s gaze through your reflection and he gave you a nod of encouragement. You let out a deep breath before gathering everyone’s attention to continue where he left off to finish the piece. 

Going over the last eight count, Kuroo ended up joining her in the front to teach together and they finished the workshop. You grooved to the music and let it take control of you as Kuroo danced beside you. When you heard the students having a fun time, you couldn’t help but laugh and smile. Everyone was grooving along with each other because it gave off that happy-go-lucky vibe that anyone could freestyle to. You didn’t even notice Terushima and his new girl as you surround yourself with other dancers. Kuroo would also try to divert your attention away from Terushima if he noticed your eyes wandering. It was hard to kill off old habits and you were glad that Kuroo was there to help you. 

It was finally time for you and Kuroo to watch the students do it in groups without your guidance after splitting it in half. You leaned against the mirror as Kuroo did the routine full out while they were marking** it. The way that he moved was something that you admired a lot about him. He was always able to sit in the pocket and fully complete his moves despite his tall stature. You smiled to yourself as you watched the students’ expressions as he walked away and stood next to you. Shouting some encouraging words to them, you smiled at the students before restarting the music for them. As the entire class watched the first group, you leaned against the speaker and Kuroo nudged your arm. You gave him a questioning look and he nodded towards the back corner of the room. **(Marking a piece means going over the choreography with half the energy to really go over whatever a dancer is struggling with. It also helps figure out the right timing for certain moves.)

“You hanging in there?” he asked as you both watched Terushima hand the girl a towel to wipe off the sweat. 

You shrugged, not really knowing how to answer. “I mean I didn’t really feel sad when I saw them in the beginning. But it’s just weird to see him in person, y’know?” 

Kuroo chuckled and ruffled your hair as he noticed your eyebrows scrunch up and a small pout on your lips, continuing to listen to your small rant. “I tried not to really pay attention, but it’s hard when they’re showing excessive public displays of affection. God, were we that bad when we were together? And he just so happens to be dating another dancer, make it make sense.” 

“There, there. Do you think he’s just trying to fill up that empty void since the both of you guys broke up?” 

You grunted as you pushed yourself off of the speaker and said, “I don’t know... Honestly as long as he’s happy, then I guess I’ll be fine.” 

“That’s my girl.” he praised and slung his arm over your shoulders.

You huffed and flicked his temple. He groaned and said, “Damn, I forgot how strong you could be sometimes.” 

You two laughed as everyone clapped for the first group. As the second group filled the floor, you made your way to the front to do it while they marked it. You mentally groaned seeing that said ex and new girl were in your group. Your expression deadpanned and you looked in the mirror to see Kuroo hunched over his phone, trying to contain his laughter. Sighing, you shook away any last negative thought and looked at Kuroo once more. Although still laughing at your luck, his attention was on you and gave you a reassuring smile. ‘You got this, chibi-chan. Ignore them and dance for yourself,’ he mouthed as the music started. Listening to his advice, you ignored everyone around you once more and just danced to your heart’s extent.

There was a reason why the both of you decided to make choreography to this song when you guys were originally assigned as partners. When you sat down together to come up with an idea, you guys were equally going through a rough time. Kuroo was kicked out of his house for choosing dance over his family’s business while you and Terushima were constantly fighting. On your first night of practice, you ended up having a heart to heart with Kuroo. The both of you unintentionally opened up to each other because dance is being vulnerable with yourself physically and emotionally. After spilling out all of your emotions, you guys decided that you simply wanted to be happy. Dance was an escape for you and Kuroo. Kuroo shared the same passion and love you had for dance because you both related over how dancing helps release the day to day stress that piled up. It was just better to live in that moment of dancing all of your emotions out. When it was time to do it for the showcase, the both of you not only had the fastest combination, but your piece’s intentions really showed through the moves and expressions that were displayed on that stage. It was in that moment where you and Kuroo wanted to show the world what dance meant to each other. The song, the moves, and the meaning behind it shared their untold stories. You smiled widely as you watched yourself in the mirror and did the footwork with ease. Adding your own style and facials into it, you felt yourself letting go of everything that was hanging over your head for so long. After being reminded of the origins of the piece you taught with Kuroo, you didn’t care if you were going all in on it while the other dancers were marking it. Dancing with Kuroo by your side was the most you’ve felt alive in the longest time and you weren’t going to let this small moment of yours go to waste. 

You smiled breathlessly as you ran back to Kuroo once the piece was over and it was time to watch the dancers once more. He handed you your towel and bottled water before patting you on the shoulder. 

“You were amazing, cutie. I haven’t seen you dance like that in forever. You spark’s come back.” 

Gulping down the water, you shrugged before giving him a bright smile. You tossed your bottle on the top of your bag and tiredly leaned against him. “I guess I just needed something to help let myself go.” 

He adjusted his position so you could comfortably lean your head against his shoulder and you guys continued to watch the class. 

“Let yourself go or to finally get some closure?” Kuroo asked. 

“Both I guess…” You murmured as you found yourself smiling at Terushima and his girl dance to your and Kuroo’s choreography. 

“I’m assuming tonight was something that really helped you then, huh?” 

You nodded as everyone clapped for each other. Kuroo warmly gazed down at you and squeezed your cheek. “Then I’m happy that you’re happy.” 

He walked off to let everyone get some water and you sighed, feeling grateful to have Kuroo in your life. Ever since he walked into your life, Kuroo always knew what to say when you came to him for advice. He was always willing to listen and be upfront with you if you were being stupid. Without knowing, Kuroo slowly became your best friend because of your shared love of dance and constant meetings for this piece. When he walked back to your shared corner, you couldn’t stop yourself before pulling him into a hug. 

“I know I say this a lot, but...just...thanks for everything.” you murmured. 

He set his head on top of yours and tightly hugged you back. “I’m always here for you, beautiful.” 

You laughed and slightly pulled back to lightly smack his chest. “Oh stop it with these pet names, you dork.” 

He let go of you as you told everyone to move to the front of the room. His focus changed towards his phone as he set up the music, a small smirk on his face. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, chibi-chan. You’re cute and beautiful. I’m simply stating the truth.” 

Kuroo only ever jokingly teased you, but seeing how he was being sincere with that compliment, you felt the heat creep up into your cheeks. Coughing to hide your blush, you rolled your eyes at him. “Ha, you’re so funny. Now c’mon, they’re expecting us to do it for them.” 

He chuckled and let the music play as he grabbed your hand. You shook your head at him as you bit your lip, letting him lead you to the middle of the studio. As the both of you danced, the world around you two disappeared. It was just you and Kuroo, looking at the mirror and dancing the routine. You could feel Kuroo’s energy right next to you as you danced and interacted with each other. It brought back memories of your late night to early morning practices. Getting to dance with him once more brought back all of the jokes and heart to hearts that were exchanged during your shared bubble tea and food runs before or after rehearsals. All in all, you were starting to get the old butterflies you chose to ignore when you first met Kuroo. 

When your attention came back to the present, you and Kuroo had finally finished the routine. Falling to the floor, everyone threw their shoes** at the both of you and you guys couldn’t help but laugh. All you felt was bliss as you laid on your back and Kuroo sat up, setting his elbows on top of his knees while you caught your breath. You looked up and smiled at Kuroo. It kind of surprised you how quick these old feelings quickly resurfaced and decided to just go with the flow. Throughout the night, Kuroo had been calling you different types of pet names and showed excessive skinship. You weren’t mad at it, but you were still unsure if he was implying something or being his regular affectionate self. **(Shoes being thrown at the choreographer or dancer doing the choreography is a sign of respect and admiration for killing the piece)

Everyone in the room began to chant for the both of you to do an encore since it was the end of the class. You groaned and Kuroo stood up, offering his hand for you to take. He easily hoisted you up and said, “You know we can’t keep the crowd waiting, right?” 

You rubbed your forehead, trying to think up another piece you could do together, but over the past two years you collaborated with Kuroo multiple times. There was so much choreography that you guys shared and you puffed out your cheeks since the class wouldn’t let up with their chanting. 

“What else is there?” 

Kuroo gave you a mischievous smile before heading towards the stereo. He turned towards you, walking backwards and said, “Put your sweater on or else you’ll get cold.” 

It didn’t register in your mind right away to what he implied as everyone quieted down. Everyone watched in anticipation as Kuroo scrolled through his phone for the specific song. Nevertheless, you followed his instructions and put on the sweater that you brought to wear after class ended. As the soft melody filled the air, you gasped and snapped your head towards Kuroo who was putting his sweater on as well. He smiled at you and walked up to you as you guys got into place. He nodded at the student he asked to press play for you guys to mark it and the both of you began to effortlessly move together. 

This piece was made when the strong emotions you felt for each other was at its peak and your studio directors requested that you and Kuroo collaborated once more to represent your studios at a prefecture competition. The theme of it was ironically love and in the short time period given to you and Kuroo, the choreographed piece was what you two used to speak about your unspoken feelings for each other. You smiled to yourself as you continued to mark the piece since it was a bit on the lengthier side. It was honestly one of your favorite pieces of choreography ever and your mind flashed back to how it came to be. 

“(Y/N), what do you think we should do this time?” Kuroo asked as you guys sat on the floor of one of the many rooms your studio provided. 

You shrugged and sighed as you laid on your back with your legs stretched out. “I don’t know, Tetsu...it’s up to you.” 

Kuroo looked at you as you curled onto your side and focused on your phone. Pursing his lips, he turned his attention towards you and set his phone to the side. 

“What’s wrong, (Y/N)?” 

You felt him tap your shoulder and looked behind you to meet his gaze. He gave you a look and you caved in to tell him what was bothering you. Sitting up, you curled your legs into your chest and set your chin on top of your knees. 

“I didn’t want to bother you...but I feel like Yuji and I will never bounce back after this break that he wanted… As much as I try to still check up on him, he’s grown so distant that I don’t recognize his new behavior sometimes...Do you think there’s another girl? I just don’t know what to do anymore, Tetsu… I just- I just don’t want to be in the dark anymore. Aren’t we supposed to get through everything together? I don’t get it, is it me? Who am I kidding? There is another girl, I saw him flirting with her after his class in their classroom.” 

“Don’t you say that ever again, (Y/N).” 

You blinked as he quickly cupped your face to stare into your empty eyes. He could see the unshed tears in your eyes and it pained him to see you so broken. Kuroo hated seeing you constantly being hurt by Terushima. He didn’t expect to fall in love with you in a span of three months of dancing together, but he did. The way you were able to welcome him so warmly and easily understood what he struggled with, Kuroo found himself falling hard. Whenever he danced with you and interacted with you, there was this unspoken connection that he’s never felt with anyone before. After the first showcase ended, you guys stayed in touch and had a weekly tradition of hanging out at each other’s apartments. When he was overseas, he missed the hell out of you and when you would cry over the petty little arguments with Terushima, Kuroo wished he had a plane ticket to go back to you. 

“You are more than enough, chibi-chan.” he reassured you and pushed some stray hairs out of your face. “Terushima lost sight of the beauty he has by his side and it’s his loss if it ever came down to it. Hell, I’ll immediately take you from him if you’d let me. That girl doesn’t compare to you, at all.”

You smiled weakly knowing the weight that was carried in his words. Leaning into his touch, you sighed and he caressed your cheek. “You know I would do anything to take the pain away from you, (Y/N).” 

You tightened the grip that you had around his wrist and he leaned his forehead against yours. The feelings that grew for Kuroo was something you stopped denying a while ago, but still a part of you couldn’t let go of Terushima because of how long you guys knew each other and that you were still in a relationship with him. It confused you because when you were with Terushima, you knew you wanted to be with him. But at the same time, it felt the same whenever you were with Kuroo. A part of you wished that you had met Kuroo first because he gave you the solace and warmth you’ve been seeking for. Your rationality spoke to you as you slowly pulled away, a sad smile on your lips. 

“I know you would, Tetsu...But due to the circumstances right now...you know I can’t. We can’t.” 

Kuroo felt you slipping away from him and decided it was time to be selfish for a bit. He didn’t want to let you go and wrapped his arms around, burying his face into your neck. 

“Please...let’s just be selfish this one time. If he gets to flirt with all the girls he wants on this so called ‘break’ between you two, can’t I have chance? Just until this showcase is over. I just want to show you how much you mean to me and how you are worth the entire world.” 

He looked up at you and without thinking, you cupped his cheek and Kuroo sighed into your warm touch. 

“Use me if you’d like, I don’t care. You know how I feel about you and I just hate seeing you hurt so much.” 

“Tetsu…” you murmured and he noticed the hesitation. 

He gave you a small smile before pecking the inside of your wrist. You watched as he stood up and walked over to the speaker then plugged in his phone. The faint sound of the piano filled the air as he made his way back to you and gently helped you to your feet. Kuroo smiled down at you and started to freestyle around you. It was the best way you guys could be vulnerable with each other when the words couldn’t come out. You hugged your arms to your chest as you watched him. His touch ghosted over your body and you bit your lip as he stood behind you. 

“For now, just forget about everything and dance with me.” 

In that small room, you gave in to the feelings that you tried so hard to suppress. Closing your eyes, you let your body naturally move against his as you danced along to the music. The song spoke out to you because the singers were doing the talking for you both. As you danced with Kuroo, your eyes never left each other the entire time. Interchanging moves and interacting through your eyes and body movements made you feel complete. Kuroo had managed to easily break down your walls and you smiled at him as he grabbed your hand, guiding you across the floor as you did a series of chaine turns*. As the song ended, you landed into his embrace and he lovingly smiled at you. You smiled back at him and he set his head on top of yours. 

“I think we just found the song that we’re going to use for the showcase, right chibi-chan?” he said as he tried to catch his breath. 

You nodded and in that moment, the both of you came into the silent agreement that you’d be selfish for the next two weeks. While preparing for the showcase, you met up with Kuroo every day to practice and improve your choreography to be the best that it could be. That was when Kuroo’s affectionate side really came into play. He shamelessly flirted with you and the skinship he’d do with you was nonstop. Kuroo took advantage of the small chance you gave him and never wasted a moment. He respected the boundaries you put up and when allowed, Kuroo would only kiss you on the cheek or forehead.

When the showcase ended, the two of you stood on the roof of your apartment. You admired the view and he wrapped his arms around your waist. The air around you guys was heavy as you silently leaned against his embrace. 

“So this is it, huh?” he asked softly as he inhaled the comforting scent of your shampoo, tightening his grip around you. 

You nodded silently and turned around, resting your hands on his chest. A solemn expression could be seen on your face, not wanting to make a move just yet. Kuroo kissed your forehead and you relished in the comforting feeling he gave you. 

“I wish I met you first.” you mumbled as you buried your face into the nape of his neck. 

“I know.” 

“I’m sorry…” 

“I know.” 

“You know that I li-”

“I know.” 

Kuroo cupped your face and gave you a small smile. It didn’t quite reach his face and you bit your lip as you felt your eyes water. 

“I just can’t let go....” your voice trembled.

“I know.” 

“You deserve better.” 

“I’m willing to wait.” he simply said and leaned his forehead against yours. 

“Why?” you whispered as you both closed your eyes, soaking as much of each other as you could. 

“You’re worth every moment.” 

It was quiet for a couple of moments and once you felt like you were ready, you stepped out of his embrace. He ran his hand through his hair and stepped back as well, admiring the beautiful features of your face. 

“I’ll see you whenever, chibi-chan.” he muttered as he felt his heart clench at the fact you wouldn’t be the first thing he saw in the morning. 

“See you...Tetsu…” 

You were brought back to reality as you ended the mark with his hands in your sweater and the class screamed for you guys to do it full out. He met your gaze and asked, “Are you ready, beautiful?” 

As you got back into position to do the choreography, you nodded and the air around the two of you changed. There was no hesitation between you two as you spoke your unspoken feelings towards each other. Overall you felt the lightest you’ve ever been as your gazes never left each other. It was just like you guys danced it the first time, but this time nothing was holding you two back. You danced with your heart and Kuroo could feel the familiar warmth and radiance he missed from you. As you stood in front of each other, dancing out the lyrics of the song with the movements of your hands, you talked to each other through your gazes and the music. 

One love, two mouths One love, one house No shirt, no blouse Just us, you find out Nothing that wouldn’t wanna tell you about, no

When the music picked up, Kuroo led the dance and you can feel how much you missed his presence. His touch burned against you as you finished up the routine. The world disappeared around you two as you felt him grip your hands in the pockets of your sweater. He leaned his forehead against yours and you were both breathlessly smiling at each other. 

“Woah…” he said as he slowly stood up straight. 

You squeezed his hands before they left your pockets and bit your lip. “Woah, indeed.” 

You laughed as he dorkily bowed at the class and motioned their attention towards you. As they cheered for you, you shook your head with the brightest smile never leaving your face. He took your hand into his once he walked up to you and you guys bowed to the class, saying your thanks. It was time for the students to do the choreography you taught one last time and the two of you walked off to watch them. Once in your corner once more, you didn’t hesitate to lean yourself against him and he slung his arm over your shoulders. His head rested on your shoulder as you watched the class through the mirror. 

“So...what was that?” you murmured.

“I don’t know, chibi-chan. You tell me.” he responded. 

You turned your head to look at him, your cheeks blushing. “Oh you most definitely know, Tetsu.” 

“Hm? I don’t know what you’re talking about.” he said as he nuzzled your cheek with his nose. 

“I’m ready.” you softly said.

“I know.” 

“That was fun.” 

“I know.” 

“I missed you.” 

“I know.” 

“You’ve been such a tease this whole day.” 

“I know.” 

“You already knew, huh?” 

“Maybe~” he replied in a sing-song tone. 

You hummed in thought and turned your attention towards the class once more. 

“Hey, (Y/N)?” 

Your eyes widened as you felt him lighty kiss your lips before quickly pulling away. It was short and sweet, but had such a big impact on you. Butterflies fluttered in your stomach and your heart raced as he kissed your cheek before walking away to join the freestyle circle that happened at the end of the routine. You laughed in disbelief as you felt your cheeks burn. He walked backwards as he reached the edge of the group and winked at you, holding out his hand for you to join his side. 

You took a deep breath and smiled to yourself. It was time for you to move on from your past and dancing with Kuroo helped you realize that. You were finally happy with where you were at and slipped your hand into his as the class made way for you two to be the center of attention once more. 

The timing was finally right for you and Kuroo to fully love each other.

[kestrelmando]

Writer Wednesday - The Phone Booth

The great @autumnleaves1991-blog has put together a weekly “Writer Wednesday” where she provides an image prompt.

This one is Jack “Whiskey” Daniels/f!OC.

Set in my, as of yet, unpublished f!OC x Whiskey series “Whiskey Smash”. Basic relevant background info; Whiskey and Mezcal (my f!OC with previous mob ties) were partners in Statesmen, just barely dip their toe into catching feelings when a near death experience with Mezcal scares him away due to his past. They haven’t talked/seen each other in a couple years at this point.

Warnings: Swear words, descriptions of a fight, impalement with a high heel, descriptions of wounds

-- 

A mission hadn’t blown up in her face like this is a long time, a really long time – the last one was years ago on that dingy rooftop where he had finally finally yanked her in and kissed her only for the night to end with her shoving him out of the line of fire. Three bullets later, two doses of Ginger’s experimental clotting serum, 3.5 liters of blood loss and she had woken up alone.

Just a note next to a vase of purple hyacinth and white amaranth; ‘I can’t do it again. – J’.

Oh, and she’d protested heavily on taking a mission in fucking New York. He was running the NYC branch, he could find someone local but Champ had insisted. It was supposed to be a simple recon mission; blend, listen, collect evidence.

Mezcal had wined and dined all evening, batting her eyelashes and smiling with doe eyes. She was this close to sticking her hand into the right pocket when someone had recognized her. He locked eyes with her across the room and recognition rippled across his face instantly. One of her father’s high level enforcers – hard to forget the boss’s daughter especially when she all but disappeared.

He knew better than to cause a scene in a private residence with stupidly rich people floating around between them. What the hell was he doing here? She made her excuses, off to powder her nose, and slipped into the empty side hallway. There was a small window in the butler’s pantry three doors down or she could try just walking out through the foyer and the front door. He’d be expecting the foyer, the cleanest exit was usually the simplest, so she made for the pantry.

She slipped off her heels and carried them, the click being far too loud on the marble floor, and quietly slid the pocket door open. The window was small, almost too small, but she was confident she’d make it and more importantly – the enforcer wouldn’t. Mezcal slid the door mostly shut and quickly went the window, shoving the frame up and grimacing at the chilly fall air.

A hand closed around her ankle just as she was halfway out, one knee dangling and the other in an awkward bend, and yanked her back. Her shoulder and head crashed against the upper window pane and frame with a crunch. Dazed, she dropped one shoe to the ground and swayed. Still, her free hand locked around the window frame. She would not be pulled back into the house – the other shoe came up, stiletto first, and embedded into his cheek.

The enforcer howled with pain, ripping it from his face with an arc of blood, and wrapped his beefy hands around both legs before dragging her back inside. They both tumbled to the ground at the momentum and she rolled to her feet, hands raised and ready for a fight.

 --

 She didn’t know how long she walked. Her head was swimming, ears were ringing. The cold autumn night bit at her bare feet and tattered dress. It was just like some rich asshole to have his home nearly on the slopes and away from everyone and everything else.

Eventually she stumbled onto a tiny town – if you could call it that. The storefronts were all long closed and she considered breaking into one for a phone and some warmth when she saw the lone phone booth. It stood out like a sore thumb, a relic even, but more secure than using a phone inside one of the stores.

She dutifully trudged to the booth and slipped inside, grimacing and checking the coin return for any spare change. At least one thing went right; seventy five cents in quarters rolled into her hand. Mezcal paused, she had to pick the right person to call and seventy five cents wasn’t going to give her long. After a mental run through of possible contacts, she sighed and let her head slump against the booth.

It had to be him. Goddamit, it had to be Whiskey.

He was all but guaranteed to be at the office still and the New York City branch was only a hour and an half by car. She squeezed her eyes shut tight, willing herself to forget his forlorn face all those years ago when he said he didn't like going home to an empty bed. 

She slid the quarters into the phone and dialed the number she would never admit she knew by heart; Whiskey's direct line. 

It rang twice before he picked up, voice stretched and thin, "Whiskey."

The air left her lungs and her tongue cemented itself to the roof of her mouth. Absurdly, she felt tears prick at her eyes. Even tired and lacking its usual ridiculous bounciness, it was the most beautiful sound she'd heard in ages. He sighed into the receiver.

She finally found her voice, "It's me." 

He breathed her name like a prayer, "Mezcal," he paused and then pressed on more urgently, "What's wrong?"

"I'm in New York, Middletown. I need extraction. I...I was unable to get back to my planned exit."

"Darlin' are you hurt? Where in Middletown?"

She leaned out of the phone booth looking for a street sign, "Oak and Main, phone booth."

"Are you hurt?"

"Nothing a good night's sleep won't fix."

He muttered something she didn't quite catch before saying, "Sit tight,  extraction comin' in a hour."

Mezcal hung up the phone, and slid the phone booth door shut in a vain attempt to stem the flow of cold air. She sunk to the floor and drew her knees up to her chest, wrapping her fingers around her numb toes.

--

Time was immaterial; all she knew was cold. The thin dress offered no insulation and both shoes had been lost on the grounds of the target's home.

Headlights cut through the night and she raised her head to see an unmistakable white bronco and a familiar stetson emerge from truck.

He didn't send a driver.

She tried to unfold her frozen limbs but everything was sluggishly moving. Instead, she reached over and slid open the phone booth door.

He caught he gaze over the hood of the bronco. Whiskey hurried over to her and immediately bent to help her up, hissing at the iciness of her bare arms.

She let herself be pulled up, mumbling, "You didn't have to come."

He knew her meaning; he could've sent someone. Instead he just replied, "Yeah I did."

They walked back to the truck, Whiskey's hand on the small of her back, and he opened the passenger door for her. The interior light of bronco illuminated her face and his face quickly morphed into alarm. He blurted out her name, her real name. "Kenna?" 

"You should see the other guy." She attempted with some bravado.

He gave her a once over in the light and all but lifted her into the truck, "Where the fuck are your shoes?"

"Just... let's go. Get the heat on, I'll tell you on the way back."

Whiskey nodded tightly but shut her door and got in on the other side. He turned on the truck, got the heater running, but didn't make a move to go anywhere. Instead he flicked on the overhead lights and reached into the back, broad shoulder brushing against her, and fished out a Statesmen first aid kit. 

He opened it with a snap and began pulling out various items, not glancing up from the kit, "Start talking."

"Recon, potential medical front for a bioweapons dealer. Wasn't supposed to see any action."

She sucked in a breath when she caught his eye. Those damn eyes. His brow had that knit in it and his gaze was the same soft one it had been that night all those years ago. She pointedly did not look at his mouth.

He reached up and tucked his fingers under her chin, turning her head to apply antiseptic to a small cut near her temple and on a few scrapes along her arms. Next was a prototype field ice pack, he gave it a few vigorous shakes and the small pouch froze. 

His fingers swept across her cheekbone, just below her black eye. "And who did this, sugar?"

Silence loomed between them and he frowned, anxiety swirling in his gut the longer she didn't say. His other hand crept up to cradle her neck.

"Kenna--"

"An enforcer. One of his enforcers, Jack."

The knit in his brow increased, his lips turning down into a frown. "Do we need to go take care of it?"

Mezcal smiled grimly then, "No. Dumb city kid was too enraptured by the fancy dumb waiter. The new, modern hydraulic dumb waiter."

Whiskey smirked at that and pressed the ice pack to her swollen eye. She told herself it was just her icicle limbs thawing in the warm truck, but a wave of heat rolled through her as his gaze openly drifted down her body. 

He picked at the tattered line of a slit in her dress, just above her knee, "Anywhere else we need to address?"

Her mouth was a desert, "Just the usual flesh wounds." 

Whiskey hummed and slid the slit over slightly to investigate, the fabric sliding across her legs and opening further up her thigh.

Like a goddamn curtain opening on a reminder of their last op together, the dress revealed the raised, white, puckered scar of a bullet wound. The same wound that nearly bled her dry in Jack's arms. 

Mezcal slowly raised her head to meet his eyes and she could see it happening in real time; his eyes became distant and his expression closed off. Her heart clenched -- goodbye Jack, hello Agent Whiskey. He moved his hands to wheel and they set off back to New York City.

Later, as she took a company car to drive back to Kentucky that night, she didn't bother saying goodbye. They were back to strangers.

[dicedungeons-and-dragons]

Scales

Note: As most of you know my campaign has well as truly taken over my life and I’ve been writing little (and not so little) stories based around it. And I’ve decided to post them from time to time, they’re going to be tagged ‘cotd fics’ if you want to blacklist them, I’m also sticking them under a ‘read more’ but I know they glitch a lot so sorry if it doesn’t take. Here’s a little one because I’ve been plagued by the fact that dragon bloodline sorcerers canonically have scales. 

His mother noticed when he was five. 

She found little patches of pebbled skin on his shoulders, along his elbows and knees, and running along his spine. The skin wasn’t red, or itchy, or like any rash she’d seen but she’d been worried and taken him to the local physician anyway. The older man hadn’t known what to make of the tough little bumps either and had given them a special lotion. Waylan got in the habit of putting it on the patches every night and morning, but the pebbled skin never went away. 

***

His father takes notice of it when he’s nine. 

His mother has been dead for eleven months and things are different now. There’s no more music constantly drifting through their home, his father works longer hours, and Waylan is silently expected to care for himself. The expectation is distant. His father doesn’t call him a burden, doesn’t scoff or roll his eyes when he asks for something, but he makes a point of showing Waylan how things are done in the house and where things are so that he doesn’t have to ask for them again. So Waylan learns how to make and tend fires around the house, for warmth and cooking, how to do his laundry, and eventually, where the first-aid kit is. 

He burns his hand on the fire poker, not having realized that he’d left it resting too close to the roaring flame he’d brought to life. His father heard his scream from across the house and he’d come running. The sharp red line already had two blisters bubbling up inside of it and his father had picked him up and taken him straight to the bathroom, setting him on the edge of the tub before rooting around in the small dresser that sat beside the door. He’d put a thick cream on the raw skin, wrapped it, and warned Waylan to be more careful. 

When he’d taken the bandages off a few days later the blisters were gone, but a distinct line of that pebbled skin had risen in their place. 

***

Waylan figures it out when he’s fourteen. 

After his hands catch fire, after he can suddenly hold a piece of wire and talk to someone over a hundred feet away, after he realizes he has magic. And once he realizes it he starts to research, finding scant moments to slip away from his father when they’re in Creta so that he can buy as many books as his bag can hold about the arcane. And when they’re home he reads. He learns about the different sources people have for their abilities. There are people who use words and songs to pull their magic from the strings of the universe, people who through their own means and study are able to learn the craft like a science, people who draw power from the natural world, and people who are just born with arcane magic. Though his mother had taught him to play piano when he was still little he doubts his fumblings there are the source of the fire he can feel burning under his skin. So he figures he must have just been born like this. 

And there are plenty of records of other born sorcerers. There are some who can’t contain their magic and strange, sometimes destructive, things happen around them. But he understands what Sabroth and Dojhan say when they speak draconic and he’s never been taught. And he thinks that maybe he should be more surprised to find out that there’s dragon blood somewhere in his family line. But he’s more relieved just to find some answers. He reads the chapter on mages with dragon blood four times that night. And when he goes to bed he traces his fingers lightly over the raised rough skin along his shoulders and the backs of his forearms. 

Scales. Thin and flesh colored, not the metallic (or dare he think, chromatic) color of his ancestor, but another remnant of them. Something left behind to protect him. 

He stops using the strange lotions from his childhood. 

***

Gadreel doesn’t notice them until after they start to date. 

That’s not a surprise really. The protective patches blend in with his skin, they’re pretty nondescript until they’re felt. Gad’s fingers twitch where they’re curled around his hips, his calloused fingers taking note of the unexpected tough texture. 

“Scales,” Waylan mutters against his throat. He wants to try and press himself closer into Gad’s lap, but he’s still unsure and off balance. The stump of his arm aches and it would really kill the mood if he fell over because he couldn’t catch himself. 

“Scales?” 

“Dragon blood.” He says in draconic, nipping sharply along the edge of his jaw. He taught Gadreel the tongue he’d been given by birthright. “Now fuck me.” Waylan adds in the orcish Gad had taught him. 

He doesn’t comment on the patches of scales he finds as he runs his hands along the rest of his body. 

***

Ray finds out shortly after. 

She is their resident healer, though both Lugh and Vani can make due in a pinch, and he is the resident torture victim. He’s got a lot of healing to do. Ray chatters away at him when he seeks her out to take a look at his arm. She healed a lot of the damaged, closed the bone over the marrow and stopped the bleeding when they’d found him. But the damage to the muscles and nerves required a check-up. So he lets her chatter and waits patiently as she finishes unwrapping the bandages to get a better look. 

“Oh,” he doesn’t look at her or at the rough stump of his arm. His stomach twists and sinks. That wasn’t a bad sound necessarily, but he doesn’t like the idea that she’s surprised by some new development with the injury. “Does this always happen when you’re hurt?” Teeth clenched, he finally glances down at the stump. 

The scales are thicker, thicker then he’s ever seen them anywhere on his body, almost as defined as Dojhan’s. They’re an unhappy, flushed raw color where they’re swelling around the stitches Ray’s supposed to be removing. 

“Never been hurt like this before.” He grunts in response. Ray mulls that over for a second. He wonders what inane thing she’ll come up with this time and half wants to yank away from her touch. He’s not half bad with a medical kit himself, he could probably take care of this on his own the slow way. 

But instead Ray just says, “Tell me if anything hurts.” And starts trimming away the black thread. When she checks the bandages on his chest as well they find a similar line of rough thick scales. 

***

He notices after a few more months of traveling with the party that the scales don’t go back to the way they were before. 

The ones around the stump of his left arm are still thick and rigid, a protective insulation against the potential discomfort of his mechanical prosthetic when he manages to procure one. As are the ones tracing the wound left by Gadreel’s axe. But he starts to notice the scales growing thicker in other places. Along his other arm, down the front of his chest and thighs, spider webbing out from the slash the Crimson Sign left across the hollow of his throat. The more they fight, the more his magic grows, the more scales he feels on his skin. They’re still invisible save for the pink tinged ones that line his scars, but Waylan can’t help but note the changes. 

The scales are for protection and the gods know he could use as much as he can get traveling with this lot. And when he leaves them, leaves Gadreel, only a few days after the winter solstice to travel to one of the most isolated and dangerous places in the world, he's grateful to carry that protection on his skin.

***

He tells Corzaren. 

They’re in the ruined castle, and after weeks he’s finally persuaded the undead creature to remove his armor. Seeing what two hundred years of decay has done to the knight is strange, but in a different way than he’d expected it to be. Waylan had known that Corzaren would be nightmarish. But the skeleton in front of him with red coal bright pinpricks of light burning in its eye sockets isn’t frightening really. Though he wonders if he’d feel differently if he didn’t know Corzaren as well as he does. 

“Can I?” He raises his flesh hand. 

“Of course.” Corzaren leans forward, still far taller than him even without his thick armored boots and helmet, and lets Waylan carefully cup his fingers over the bones of his face. It is strange to see the mandible part and hear the words slip out with no assistance from lips or tongue. The bones are rough under his fingers and the heavy thrum of necrotic energy that keeps the knight’s soul bound and animating his corpse makes Waylan’s hand start to go cold and numb after a few moments. 

“Can you feel this?” He asks, drops his fingers down to the creature’s neck so he can carefully touch the interlocking pieces of his spine. 

“Vaguely. I mostly note the pressure. I imagine I feel your touch as much as you can feel this.” He reaches out and runs his fingers along the metal arm. And the magic and machinery that keep the prosthetic going does transmit some of that sensation to him. Mainly a whisper of pressure, and a slight twinge that he suspects is the arm’s magic reacting to Corzaren’s necrotic energies. But no registration of texture or temperature. 

“Do you want me to stop?” 

“I am content being as close to you as I am able.” That makes his heart do a funny thing behind his ribs so Waylan just settles for tracing careful fingers along the thin bones of Corzaren’s instead. They feel brittle, like even he could break them without much effort, but when he does press a little more roughly he finds them solid as steel under his hand. Corzaren doesn’t even acknowledge the attempt, and to be honest Waylan wouldn’t have even tried if he thought for a second he’d actually do the other man harm. 

When Corzaren’s touch moves from his prosthetic to his cheek he doesn’t say anything, just leans in to the touch slightly as he continues his inspection of the knight’s skeleton. There’s no flesh left on him, and Waylan’s a little grateful for that. He thinks this would be a lot more unpleasant if Cor looked like some of the bodies mouldering away on the lawn. Instead the old bones are clean, and scarred. A deep gouge in his rib here, a nick along his vertebrae there, and notably a crack, long and thin a few centimeters from his sternum on the left side of his ribcage. When Way’s fingers hesitate there Corzaren says, 

“When Westly finished the ritual he asked me to fall on his blade. He was too far gone to sever his own soul from his body, but if I was willing then he could sever mine. Spare me the fate that was coming for everyone in the castle.” 

“And avenge him and his mother?” 

“No, Westly was a kind man, I don’t think revenge would have ever crossed his mind.” 

Waylan doesn’t say anything when Crozaren’s fingers drop to his throat. He’s not wearing his necklace, and the pale pink scar smiles along his throat. “Same person who did almost all the rest of it.” Is all he offers in explanation. He hasn’t told Corzaren about the Sign yet. He’ll get around to it eventually. He doesn’t flinch as the thin bones run over the scar, but they make a loud rough sound in the quiet room despite the soft touch. The undead creature pauses and then does it again, as if he doesn’t know quite what to make of the discordant and unfamiliar sound. “I grow scales over my deepest scars.” 

“Were you anyone else I would think that was a metaphor.” 

“Good thing I’m not then.”

***

Terran knows he has scales after the first five minutes they speak. 

Which is fair, he supposes, considering the man is a real dragon and an old one at that. He’s been around long enough to have seen other sorcerers. 

(“Do you have any kids?” He asked one day when the thought crossed his mind. 

“Absolutely not.” The other had replied with such an air of disgust Waylan couldn’t be sure it wasn’t intentionally exaggerated as a joke. “I have far more important things to do than contend with offspring or run around spreading my seed like a base animal, unlike some.”) 

Waylan doesn’t realize how nice it is not to have to explain himself until he suddenly doesn’t have to. When they start sleeping together and Terran’s hands find the patch of scales running along his sternum, Waylan's mouth automatically opens to speak. But Terran doesn’t hesitate, just scrapes the whisper of claws between the interlocking pattern before continuing on. He doesn’t even blink. And the thing is Waylan never thought he was particularly self-conscious about the patches, but having them treated as if they are no more interesting than any other piece of skin loosens a coil of tension that he hadn’t even realized was taut in him. Terran neither pays them special attention nor ignores them. And that bland acceptance is something Waylan didn’t even know he wanted. 

Over the course of the next few months that treatment has Waylan not thinking about them as if they’re anything strange or special either. It’s just his skin. Not his skin and the patches of scales. It’s all just him, and it’s no more worth acknowledgement than his eyelashes or fingernails. 

So maybe that’s why he’s so confused when Terran starts muttering, voice low and angry, one rare sunny afternoon as they’re laying tangled in a pile of furs together. He feels the dragon’s fingers on his spine, pressing and pulling at his skin, it’s not painful, but the skin is still tight. The draconic letters he’d had Terran carve into his skin finished healing a few weeks ago, but it’s still tender. 

“What’s got your tail in a twist?” He mumbles into the cradle of his flesh arm, reaching back with the metal one to push Terran’s probing fingers away. “If you wrote it wrong I’m going to kill you.” 

“Oh no pet, it’s worse than branding you incorrectly.” He hisses, smacking Waylan’s hand away in response and putting his fingers back on his skin. “You’re marked correctly, and I’m afraid I’m debating the merits of killing you.” 

A few months ago a statement like that would have actually frightened him. Now, “If you’re going to break up with me at least wait until Corzaren comes back so he can sooth my heartbreak.” 

Terran swats him on the ass. “I’m being quite serious, brat.” 

“Sure, why are you dumping me?” 

“Because your scales are coming in.” Terran half snarls. 

And that does give him pause. “My scales? You’ve already seen my scales.” 

“Not these,” to accentuate his point he grinds his thumbs along the inner curve of his shoulder blades. Waylan makes a surprised sound in the back of his throat, the scales there must have gotten more pronounced because Terran puts a fair amount of pressure when he touches them and they ache as he draws his hand back. 

“Ow.” 

“Suck it up I have bigger problems.” 

“You know what, you’re a jackass, I’m dumping you.” He makes precisely no move to extract himself from the furs and go find his scattered clothes. 

“Your wing plates are starting to grow.” Terran finally says. 

“What?” 

“They serve as a place for you to focus your magic and manifest your wings once you’re able to sustain that kind of power.” Waylan considers this for a moment. He knew that sorcerers like him could eventually learn how to create wings and fly, he didn’t know there would be a physical change to accompany the magical one. 

“Okay, so why are you mad?” 

“Because your skin is pink.” 

“Yes. Sorry I can’t be as sallow and pale as you.” 

Terran pinches the back of his neck this time and Way yelps. “You are my blood,” he hisses in draconic. “And we do not come in pink.” 

Ah. So that's it. “So you’re saying you won’t love me anymore if we clash colors?” 

“I should have known from your affinity with fire.” He laments. “But with your eyes and hair I had hoped. A metallic would be better than--” He lets out a string of curses, mostly in draconic, but Waylan thinks he hears the rough incomprehensible sounds of abyssal thrown in as well. 

“Would you rather I be green?” Like you. 

“That was never a possibility, pet,” Terran finally says, huffing out a sigh before pressing a kiss to the back of his neck. “You’re far too terrible at manipulation and subterfuge for starters.” He doesn’t bother taking it as an insult. “But really? Couldn’t you have been gold? Brass even?” 

“I can’t control my blood.” 

“Have you tried?” They’re quiet for a few minutes. And eventually Terran’s hands return to his shoulder blades and he runs his fingers over the scales again and again. 

“When do you think I’ll be able to fly?” Waylan finally asks. 

“I’m not sure, it’ll depend on how quickly you develop your gifts. But I think you’ll enjoy it.” He makes a soft sound of agreement in the back of his throat. “It will be torture to fly that slowly, but when you can perhaps I can teach you a thing or two.” 

“You’re going to still want to be seen with me if I am red?” 

“I suppose, and if I change my mind swatting you out of the sky will be a very efficient way of solving that problem.” Waylan huffs, but doesn’t say anything. After all, Terran doesn’t stop pressing soft reverent touches to the forming wing plates. 

He’s twenty-one when he learns he’s going to have true scales and the wings to match. And he’s greatly looking forward to showing them off. 

[tiny-smallest]

a test of heart c1: deal

Rating: G Characters: The Prince, The Princess, The Witch Warnings: none Description: After the Witch strips his princess of everything as he looks on and weeps, the prince's grief as he sobs over his love's unconscious body gives way to rage. In his fury he makes a deal with the Witch on behalf of his beloved.

Can he overcome the hurdles of her challenge, or will he fail?

Also on AO3!

—

aka: The Witch is kind of a giant asshole and while the story never vindicates her she gets no kind of comeuppance at all, and whether or not the prince's parents do is also up in the air, so I will take a hammer and lightly fix the canon

—

He must been sobbing for at least four hours. The grass might have been properly watered with his tears as a substitute for rain if not for the salt in them.

She, of course, had left soon after the wolf's body had slumped softly to the forest floor in unconsciousness. What happened now was of no consequence to her; she had done her half of the deal, and now it was time to set out to use the influx of magic from that deal to fix what these two cretins had done to her forest.

It was somewhat on the grueling side, even for her. The blaze had thankfully not leveled the whole thing, but it had touched a not-insignificant portion of it, including literally all of her most frequented areas. It was with much grumbling that she set about fixing it. How could two young idiots cause so much damage?

She coaxed the grass to grow again, freshening the soil first before bringing forth the undergrowth, then bringing the trees back to life. Area by area, she repaired the forest, satisfied as the woodland monsters tentatively began to return to their haunts. The Witch liked them no more than any other person who lived in the forest, but their absence meant the local ecosystem was out of sync. Rather bad for someone who lived there.

Lived here. Right. She would have to reconstruct her home, too. And without everything inside-

She grit her teeth. Well. That project had to start sooner or later.

She hadn't expected company when she returned to the site of her home, though. That was a surprise. Of course, she expected the wolf to still be out cold--she would have to toss her somewhere later--but the huddled form of the human was nearly a full-blown shock.

His wails and sobs had weakened to soft weeping, but his arms remained around the unconscious wolf's neck, his tears sliding down his pale, wan, tearstained face onto the grass below.

"Could you stop that?" she asked idly as she turned her back on him to survey the ruins of her cabin. "I just brought that grass back to life, thank you."

He made a choking noise and then dead silence.

She fixed some of the rocks meant to be outside the cabin as she spoke. "You know, I'd run if I were you. She's not going to remember you when she eventually wakes up and you're a tasty snack to her. There's no point in staying."

Silence for a moment and then, hm. He actually spoke. A hoarse, numb whisper; she halted in her construction to listen to it, surprised he spoke at all. "And go back to what? She is the only love I have ever known."

"That sounds very much like not my problem, but it's equally not my problem if you wait around until she eats you." She materialized a wooden sign for the front of her house. "... Unless it happens on my front lawn, I suppose. I'm sure your guts and bones would be of decent quality to use in my potions, but I don't care to extract them from the ground or from her maw, and I hardly have time to bother with that sort of thing when I have an entire cottage to reconstruct. So if you could leave, I would appreciate it."

Another choking noise.

She paused for a moment before shrugging and was just about to disintegrate one of the blackened beams of rubble when she heard it.

"You."

The fire in that voice, like the hissing of an impending inferno, could not possibly have come from the small, weak thing bent over the wolf's body, but when she turned to see what new annoyance had manifested in her forest, she found herself staring into the burning eyes of the prince whose sight she had just restored, smoldering beneath his bangs.

It was such a shock she forgot how to breathe for a moment. The wind ruffled their hair and clothing, time standing still.

"What." She didn't know what this was the start of but it was best to shut it down as quickly as possible.

Even her iciest voice didn't extinguish those eyes. He sat back from his hunched position and would have looked quite ridiculous as he stood, with his dirty, battered feet, filthy, ragged nightclothes, short stature and soft face... if not for those eyes.

"You took our happiness. Why?" His fists clenched. Adorable.

"Well, the inferno, for starters." Idiot. "But it wasn't like she deserved to keep all of those things anyway."

His teeth bared. "You're wrong."

Her head jerked back. "Excuse me?"

"Yes, she lied to me. It hurt. But she was right; I wouldn't have accepted her aid if I'd known her true identity; I would've been too scared. I stand here today with healed eyes because she lied. It was wrong, but there wasn't a right choice to make. The forest fire was entirely my fault because I was the one who refused her help even when it made sense to, putting my feelings above the safety of the whole woods, and so I dropped the lantern when I fell! But despite fire being her greatest fear she came for me! Me, who had yelled at her! And yet you call her selfish!"

The witch beheld the small human and his trembling fists, his burning eyes, and a laugh erupted from her throat. There was a rush of wingflaps from above. "Oh you are rich, human! You think any of that was selflessness? She did it because she wanted to keep you! Her happiness mattered to her more than anything else!"

"Then why did she not keep me blind."

A pit lodged itself in her gut, freezing her from the inside out. She looked at him.

"She could have. She could have kept her memories and her human form, and turned down the deal, and walked away with me. I wanted her to, even. I begged her to! You were there! But she refused to even try to take it back. Righting her wrong, even if it was accidental, was what mattered most to her- because- because I mattered most to her."

The Witch snorted, shaking the ice from her heart and smacking the black beam to disintegrate it into dust. "Fairytale nonsense. Go home and cry to your mother about it."

"Did you ever tell the truth."

The ice returned.

Slowly, she turned back around. The prince's eyes were green, she realized somewhere in her mind. Summer green. Summer forest green.

She hated them.

"What."

"You mocked her earlier, asking if she became more honest when she apologized. Then you taunted her with her mistakes. She would've agreed to the deal without all that nonsense manipulation you did; you did it to be cruel. Or maybe, since you think so little of her, you thought she really wouldn't do it without you pushing her. But did you ever become more honest?"

"I have no idea what you're talking about."

"The girl. Witch..."

He was not going there.

"Did she ever learn who murdered her brother?"

"THAT. IS ENOUGH." The space between her hands gathered dark magic to throw at him, to shut him up, shut him up forever-

"I'm going to take that as a no, because if you had told her the truth, you'd have delighted in throwing that in my face." His look was near placid now, watching her. Truly, the moron must not care if he died. "And on top of that, you were even more selfish still. It was your deeds that got her killed. You let her believe you weren't as terrible as the stories made you out to be, didn't you? Surely you didn't actually rip families apart as payment for the wishes they asked out of desperation and necessity rather than greed. Surely it wasn't you who separated lovers, parents from children, siblings, the elderly from their families."

"THEY ASKED FOR IT!" She threw. Her aim was off, still shaky because she was tired, of course, from all that bullshit earlier. He watched the tree explode several feet away from him, and she cursed.

"Allow me to recap." He began to tick points off on his fingers. "You demanded lives for the price of your help for the wounded, sick, dying, the poor. You killed her brother. You divulged none of this to her so she could make informed choices, and so she stayed, and you grew to love her. Your behavior changed to accommodate for the feelings you felt for her and what she taught you, but still, you never told her the truth. She died for that truth from people rightfully angry at your cruelty, and wrongfully too quick to action where it concerned her. And then- then-"

His face scrunched with disgust.

"Then, instead of allowing her rest, and allowing her to be with her brother, whose soul I assume was released accidentally in the rampage, you kept her. You bottled her in a jar, because you, Witch, were the one who was too selfish to let go.

Not my princess."

She pointed a finger wrapped in dark magic at him. "Give me a reason," she breathed, "why I shouldn't blow your pretty little head from your shoulders."

"Because I'm right. And you know that. And you hate it. And killing me won't prove me wrong; it'll just make me dead."

The steel in his eyes didn't waver. Didn't look away. Didn't blink.

"And then you'll have to live with the echoes of my words for the rest of your probably-immortality."

Her hand trembled. If she'd had the magic to spare, she would have transformed into the beast again, stomped him into the earth, left a red smear all over the grass near his precious little princess-

His princess. His wolf, rather.

Her face split into a truly terrible smile that peeked through the mask a little with its intensity. The laugh that tore from her throat was much louder this time, cracked and high-pitched, manic. She wrapped her arms around herself and shook with the force of it while he stood and watched.

"All- all right," she wheezed, wiping one of her many eyes as it subsided. "All right, little prince- If you are so sure in your righteousness, then how about a little wager?"

"What sort."

She picked up her staff, clearing her throat to steady herself. "I'll alter my conditions," she said sweetly with a wave of her stick. "She is still a wolf beast, but! This can change."

"Go on." Still his expression remained the same. Her fingers tightened on her staff, the previous mirth from earlier starting to vanish. "It will take you some time to leave the forest," she said flatly. "I estimate about a week, and perhaps a week more to deal with whatever is waiting for you back where you came from, given your earlier comments. Given that, I allow you one month from tonight. I will return her memories to her, locked deep inside her head. You have one month to coax them to the surface. Should she recover her memories and accept your feelings, my price for healing your eyes will be forfeit. She will regain her shapeshifting abilities, she will keep her recovered memories, but she will not get back her singing voice."

"That is fair. It was part of an earlier deal." Show some damned emotion, brat! Wasn't her voice what you loved to begin with!? "What if I fail."

Her grin returned. "I claim your soul. She will be given her memories back, if only to languish about how her sacrifice failed."

She saw the shift in his eyes. A spike of pain- was that fear? Ah, that felt good.

His mouth pressed into a grim line. "I'll do it."

Well, well. "So be it."

She waved her staff over the body of the sleeping wolf, watching the light gather around her, swirling upwards like light met smoke.

"It is done."

The prince nodded and reached down to smooth some of the fur from his beloved's face before straightening and turning to leave.

"Remember. One month."

"One month," he echoed back at her before turning around again.

She watched his form disappear into the darkness of night, letting out a low cackle when he was out of sight, looking back down at the sleeping wolf.

"Silly girl. He might think he wants this right now, but that will fade in time once he is back where he came from. Humans and monsters were never meant to be friends. Whether he attempts to see this through to save his own skin or dismisses it as empty threats, your sacrifice will be for nothing."

She couldn't wait.

[buckysforeverprincess]

Can Our Love Survive? Ch. 16

James ‘Bucky” Barnes x Reader, Natasha Romanoff

Words: 2844

Warnings: Alcohol use, mentions of drugs, violence, parental abandonment, loss of virginity. This chapter has a lot of shit!

A/N: Hello, lovelies! This chapter is told through Bucky’s POV and contains his back story so, I’m sorry about the length, but I thought you should know what he’s had to endure and a little bit about the bull shit he’s had to go through. Hope you all enjoy and please let me know what you think!

**TAG LIST FOR THIS SERIES IS NOW CLOSED**

Bucky had been in his own world for days. After the fight, Steve had taken him home and tended to the brunet, making sure he was good and okay to be home by himself. Bucky let the blond know he’d be okay and could handle himself, even said he’d see him at school tomorrow, which must’ve been the right words to say to get the boy to leave. Bucky saw Steve out the door and once he was gone, he let out a breath and pressed his head up against the cool door. There was no way in hell he could ever show his face around that school again after what went down tonight.

It didn’t take long for him to pick himself up and let the guilt and anger take over and he made his way to his father’s liquor cabinet, pulling out a bottle of Jack and sucking it down, hoping the dark substance would numb the pain he felt inside for hurting you. It wasn’t the first time he’d lost himself in a bottle and it wouldn’t be the last. If his father was going to keep a healthy supply, why shouldn’t he partake?  George Barnes either didn’t notice or didn’t care how much of his liquor he lost to his son. Hell, he might notice if he was ever home and wanted to be a better parent to his son, but that wasn’t in the cards for Bucky. No one wants to parent a loser son.

Pounding. He’s not sure if it’s coming from his head or somewhere else, but which ever it is, it’s enough to wake him from the drunken sleep he knows he was in. Reaching out, he grabs his and brings it to his face, opening one eye to check the time and he sees the notifications on the screen alerting him to the missed calls and messages he’s missed, all of them from you. Groaning, he puts the phone back and closes his eyes, choosing to let sober Bucky deal with that nonsense later, however life was not about to let Bucky get what he wanted.

 The pounding increases in tempo and strength he realizes it's not in his head and doesn’t appear to be ending anytime soon, so he haphazardly rolls himself out of bed, and makes for the direction of the sound he thinks is coming from the front of the house. Maybe it’s an animal, but what creature could be so persistent and determined to wake him after only a few hours of sleep? Whatever it was, they were going to have words and it’ll be a fight to the death once Bucky gets his hands on it for disturbing his pathetic drunken existence. He hoped they knew just how fucking rude they really were.

As he gets closer to the unbearable sound, it dawns on him the noise is coming from the front door and whoever is behind it is a certifiable asshole for adding is his throbbing headache and he’s had enough of the incessant racket. “I'm fucking coming!” He yells, trying to get whoever’s making the noise to stop but they are paying him no attention and continue to pound.  

“Ugh, fuck, stop!” Bucky opens the door and sees Nat grinning with a metal baseball bat in hand.

 “Bout time you opened the goddamn door.”

 “Fuck, Nat!” Bucky covered his eyes to shield them from the sunlight, too much for his hungover state.

 “You look like hell Barnes.” She comments and pushes her way past him and enters the house without his permission.

 “Didn't realize I was entertaining guests.” He shuts the door and walks to the living room following behind her.

Nat takes a seat on the couch and looks him over. “When's the last time you showered?” She’s quick to notice his disheveled appearance and matted hair.

 “Why are you here?” He counters, not yet ready to acknowledge his hungover state.  

“Jack, Johnny, or Jim?” Bucky watches her eyes spot the few empty bottles scattered around in various locales in the living room.

 “Jack and Jim mostly, but Jose did make an appearance. Care to join me?” He grabs the bottle of Jack Daniels sitting on the end table where he left it.

 “No thanks, I'm a vodka kinda girl.”  

Bucky shrugs. “Suit yourself.” He takes a drink of the bottle in his hand, the hard-liquid burns going down, but he doesn't care. The object is to get drunk again and forget this is his shitty, fucked up life.

“You're gonna make yourself sick.” Nat watches him continue to ingest the liquor like it’s Kool-Aid.

 “Uh huh. That's the point.” Bucky moves on shaky legs and walks to a recliner, plopping his body down and put the bottle right back up to his mouth.

 “What would your girlfriend say if she saw you right now?”

“Girlfriend?” Bucky laughs. “I lost her, so there’s no one around that gives two fucks about me, thank you very much!”  Apparently, Nat doesn’t find this amusing and glares daggers at him. “I did what I do best and because of that I’m back to being single again. Got any one else you’d like to throw in my face?” There's anger in his voice, but Nat knows it's just the alcohol talking.  

“James, you didn't lose her. She's worried about you.”

 “She shouldn't be.”

“James, she loves you. You'd know that if you answered your phone.”

Bucky shakes his head with a smile and takes another drink of liquid courage. “No one loves me. She should forget about me just like everyone else.” He puts the bottle down on the coffee table and gets out of the chair, disappearing down the hallway, stumbling as he goes. It doesn’t take him very long to make it to his bedroom and grab his proof, heading back to the living room and holding out a piece of paper to Nat. “I'm not worth loving.”

Nat takes the paper from Bucky and he backs away until he gets to the recliner and falls back into it. He watches her eyes travel to the paper and her body visibly relaxes.

“James,

I'm going away. Be back in a few weeks. You're on your own for Thanksgiving.  Dad. I memorized it. Pretty good, huh? What other kids do you know get left alone for a holiday? None I bet.”

Nat frowns up at James, her face etched with sorrow. “I'm sorry.”

 Bucky chuckles and shrugs, trying to play it cool as best as his hungover allows. “I'm not. He could care less if I live or die. I found that note the night of the fight. Came home and the fucker was gone! What kind of parent leaves their kid for weeks at a time and over a holiday no less?”

“Obviously one not vying for parent of the year.” She stands up and walks over to him, kneeling in front of him. “You don't have to stay here, ya know? You can come stay with me or with Y/N and Steve-”

 “I can't stay with them!” Bucky is quick to interrupt. “I hurt someone in their home, I can never go back there…I'm not welcome anywhere!” He breaks down and tears begin to well up.

“Hon, you are welcome. Why do you think I'm here?”

 “Cause I beat up your boyfriend and you want to extract your pound of flesh?”

 Nat’s the one chuckling now. “Ex-boyfriend,” she corrects, “I couldn't condone the words he said about Y/N.”

Bucky nods and relaxes, some of the previous tension at seeing the red head fading with her admission. Sam’s words that night hit him hard. He couldn't imagine how Y/N felt about them. “How is she?” He asks, his guilt beginning to eat away at him for ignoring the call and texts. Bucky knows he should’ve answered them but he was scared to to face the truth of his actions costing him the girl he knows he already loves so deeply.

“Honestly… not good. She hasn't been talking to anyone and starting to withdraw again. One thing’s certain, she misses the hell out of you.”

 Looking down at Nat, he throws Nat his best attempt at a smile. “I miss her too.” He gets up from the and walks over to the window, stares out at the front yard. “She deserves better.”

“You are her better!” Nat pushes up from the floor and moves to stand behind him. “She’s so happy with you. You've made her happier in the past month than anyone ever, including her twin. Y/N loves you and needs you right now just as much as you need her!”

Bucky turns around to face Nat, a fierce determination in his eyes. There’s something he has to say and if he doesn’t do it now, he may never have to courage to do so ever again. “You should sit down.”  

 “I just got up.”

 “Natasha… sit.” He commands. Nat hesitates for a moment but does in fact do what is ordered, her eyes stay glued to him.

Bucky takes in a deep breath and lets it out, centering himself for the tale he’s about to tell. “I was born here, lived in this very house with my mom, dad, and sister. Dad was an ass hole, but he provided for his family without fail and we never wanted for anything. He was the kind of guy that spent more time at work than at home and when he was home, none of us were ever good enough for Mr. Perfect, George Barnes.  

There were good times, like holidays and vacations, but more often than not, things were bad. I swore he never liked us. He would always comment on how embarrassing we were or how grateful we should be to him. He often told me I'd never amount to anything and I'd be lucky if the Army took a loser like me. I was only eight when he said those words to me.

I can’t remember if he was always angry or he became angry as time went on. Maybe it was work or maybe he no longer wanted a family. Whatever it was, he never stopped yelling and fighting, constantly making my mom cry until one day she decided enough was enough. She filed for divorce and we moved to Indiana with my grandparents, never looking back or wanting to mend things. I was ten when we left, and I could see dad didn't care. He was free and no longer had us to burden him or hold him back. And we could now move on and live our lives with George Barnes.

Indiana was great and I had some amazing friends. They never thought I was a screw up and thought I was cool because I came from Brooklyn. We smoked, drank, got high, did all kinds of shit kids do, but God, we were idiots. We got busted a couple times breaking into houses just because we were bored, because in small town Indiana there ain’t shit to do and idle hands and all.

You’ll never believe I lost my virginity to the sheriff's daughter. We were both high from the joints we got from our friend, and neither of us knew what we were doing but it still happened, and I fucking hated myself for it afterwards. It’s something I can never get back or do over no matter how much I wish I could. My first time will forever be tainted in my mind.  

So, imagine my surprise when a month after losing my virgin status, my partner comes to me and says she’s pregnant. I freaked the fuck out and panicked. I was fourteen! What did I know about raising a kid? I didn't even know I could make one. I had no idea what to do, so I got drunk and stole a car. I was planning on driving as far away as possible and never fucking returning to this hole in the wall town for as long as I lived, but my plan was short lived. I didn't make it too far because I couldn’t legally and ended up crashing the car through the town’s grocery store window causing a fucklaod of damage I could never afford to pay back. I got charged, had to pay fines and do community service. Mom and dad were so mad… try having to endure that wrath. Eight out of ten would not suggest it. Come to find out, she wasn't even pregnant and made the whole thing up. It was seriously the beginning of the end for me.

Then mom got a boyfriend. He was nice at first. They dated for a while and eventually said she was in love and they were gonna get married. I wasn’t excited because I knew he didn't like me but there wasn’t anything I could do. I wasn’t about to fuck things up for her because I thought she deserved a good life after what our dad put her through. I just didn’t think I was the one that would pay the ultimate price for my mom’s lack of judgement.  

He started to get violent. Mom said it was nothing and told us not to worry. We knew better. We could see the bruises and marks he left behind. She told us he was just going through a rough patch and he'd change, but it was a lie because abusers never do. I’m pretty sure he forced her to lie, but what do I know? I’m just a dumb kid, who’s gonna listen to me anyway?

One night, I came home drunk, which was a constant state I might add given everything I had to endure in that god forsaken town. When I walked inside, I heard her boyfriend yelling at her. I tried to walk away, but I heard him hit her and I got angry. I couldn't take it anymore and my drunk fueled anger got the best of me and the next thing I know, I'm sitting I the back of a police car while the police question my mom about what happened. I didn't remember beating the shit outta him. He was unconscious and rushed to the hospital. My mom told them I was drunk and just beat him. She never told them about what he’d don’t to trigger the beating or the repeated abuse she was receiving at his hands. My mother hung me out to dry and abandoned me, holding steadfast in her story, protecting the man she’d known for a couple of years and not the child she carried for inside her for nine months.  

In the end, my dad was called and flew in from Brooklyn. My choices were stay there I do jail time, or I go back with my dad and never step foot in that little town again. Either way, I would have been neglected so, why not do it with the option to be free? I chose Brooklyn and as you can see, not much has changed for me. I'm so fucked up and no good for anyone! All I do is hurt people... that’s all I’ll ever be good for.”

“You never hurt me.” Nat and Bucky turn to see Y/N standing in the living room.

 “How much did you hear?” Nat stands and heads over to her, wrapping an arm around her shoulders.

 “Enough.”

“Why are you ignoring me?” She look at him with soft eyes.

 He's now sitting on the couch with his head in his knees. “I'm a fuck up.”

 Moving closer, she sits beside him on the couch and rests a hand on his leg. “I don’t think that about you.”

 “You should. I don't deserve you! You shouldn't want me… I’ll only hurt you. Just go! Leave, like every else! Go!” He yells, his eyes filled with tears.  

“Y/N, he's drunk, let's just go.” Nat grabs her arm, but she pulls away from her.

 “I'm not going to abandon him like everyone else. That's most likely the reason he’s drunk.” 

 Hearing your words warms his heart. Bucky knows he shouldn't have lashed out at you like that. Just another instance of him being a dumbass.

She takes her hand and places it on his cheek, caressing it softly. “Do you love me, Bucky?”

 The tears have started to streak down his cheek, all the emotions hitting him at once her can’t hold them back any longer. “Yes…,” he whispers.

 The response makes her smile and she leans in, kissing him gently on his lips. “Do you trust me?”

 Bucky hesitates for a moment, nodding his head with a half-smile. “More than anyone.”

She stands up in front of him and holds out a hand her hand in offering. “Good, cause I'm not leaving here without you. You're coming home with me.”

Even half drunk, he knows the key to his future is standing in front of him and all he has to do is take her hand.

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[psychopersonified]

KIdnapped!Q - Part 2

Continued from Part 1 here.

---------

“The boyfriend don’t feed you??” she shakes her head and sends a glare at Bond’s direction indicating what she thinks about his efforts.

Q nearly spit takes his tea. He forces it down, choking in the process.

Bond clears his throat. “I think… you’ll find the boyfriend tries his best,” he grinds out, still looking straight ahead, his tone betraying more than a little indignation.

-----------

Notes: The event told roughly from Bond's POV especially the first half. Plus the aftermath. This is me trying to get into Bond's head. Also, let's all get on Bond's case shall we? 

Towards the end, there is exposition of technical plot. I've tried to interject it with humour and also to use this opportunity for character development.

Some parts borrowed heavily from Spectre (movie) but does not take place in that universe.

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

Level 5 Lobbby, SIS (MI6) HQ

Kneeling beside Q in the Level 5 lobby of MI6 HQ, Bond vacillates between being livid at himself and overwrought with worry for Q. The young man is crumpled unconscious on the marble floor. He had seen it coming. Q was already too pale in the car, lips almost colourless. He had to call Q’s name twice before he responded to exit the vehicle.

He should have dealt with it in the parking garage, instead of turning Q into a spectacle here in the lobby. He recognised the symptoms of hyperventilation when he saw it. Bond was hoping to get Q to medical before helping him recover.

He checks Q’s pulse, rapid but weak. He’s breath is still shallow. If medical doesn’t get there in the next minute, he’s going to pick Q up and carry him there. A crowd is forming around them. Level 5 lobby is the main exchange lobby inside HQ - where the ‘public’ meets the ‘secret’. The floors above level 5 house the Executive and Operational branches. Level 5 and below that are the public facing areas - accounts, administrative, HR, logistics, cafeteria, etc. To get to the upper levels, they have to change to the restricted lift banks further to the rear of the building.

And now, it’s right in the middle of the workday morning. Curious staff from both upstairs and downstairs are standing around staring. Bond wants badly to tell them to -piss off-, but it would just make rumours spread faster.

Dr. Chen arrives just then with two of her aides, a crash cart and a gurney. Together they put Q onto the gurney, checking his vitals on the way to Medical.

“BP  87/60. Pulse 110. Oxygen saturation 92%. Glucose levels 61mg/dL,“ One of the medical aides report.

“He’s borderline hypoxic and in hypoglycaemic shock. Prepare glucagon shot, and glucose IV drip.” Dr Chen orders as they fit Q with an oxygen mask.

Knowing Q, he likely hadn’t taken breakfast yet that morning either. He was still asleep when Bond left for HQ. Add that to the fact that Q barely had dinner the night before; appetite suppressed by the cold he was having - he was running very low on reserves.

—

The treatment room doors close in his face. One of the senior nurses had brandished a folded stethoscope in his face like a weapon and told him to stay. That was Maria, a straight talking matronly nurse of Pilipino descent, the only nurse in medical that isn’t afraid of his 00-status despite being nearly a foot shorter than him. So he’s now left pacing the corridor outside.

—

Earlier that day

When his phone buzzed that morning with a security alert ::Lobby Alert:: , 007 was in a meeting in the operations centre with M, Tanner and 004 running through plans for the next mission in Libya. A local warlord was buying guns presumably to fight ISIS insurgents but intel has it that he’s gone from fighting them to suppling them - profits were better.

007 had excused himself to a corner to check the app that would give him access to the security cameras in Q’s building. The sight of the three men at the door with the battering ram had him on his feet in an instant - heart in his throat. The distress signal came through seconds later.

He was out of the conference room door in seconds and into the main operations area where the wall of monitors stood. R was there and had apparently received the same alert - the warning flashing red and urgent across one of the monitors.

“007, Sir!” R called out to him from across the room, “Q’s distress signal was just activated.” R looked to Bond like he might have an explanation.

M and the others in the conference room had followed him out when they noticed him leave abruptly.

“I just received the same alert. Security cameras show three men attempting to gain access.” Bond held up his phone to indicate how he knew.

Panic flickered across R’s face for a moment; but her training kicked in and she started calling out orders to the minions around her, “Executive Protocol Q! Attempted forced entry at Quartermaster’s residence in progress. I want CCTV feeds around his residence. Get the police on the line, how fast can they get a patrol unit there-...”

What happened next was a flurry of activity. Bond’s only deference to protocol was to turn to M and nod his leave before sprinting out. Tanner caught up with him at the lifts, a tablet in hand. He swiped his Chief of Staff card and tapped a short code that would give him (or more accurately M) preferential lift access in emergencies.

“M says to take his car. R can patch through the feeds and update us on the way.” Bond would normally object to having someone tag along with him, but in this instance a government vehicle with its blues-and-twos flashing would get them through traffic quicker.

By the time they got to the parking garage, they were joined by another team of agents. Tanner had the keys to M’s Jaguar and took position as driver, he signalled to one of the other agents jump into the front passenger seat - leaving 007 to stew in the back. The remaining agents followed in a separate vehicle.

-

“Tanner... a little more speed would be appreciated.”

“007, why don’t you pay attention to the tablet and help R out?” Tanner suggested politely.

-

007 flung the door open before the car even made a full stop. He engaged the second assailant just as Q made it across the Jag’s bonnet to the other side. Bond would later dispute the police report that indicated excessive force was used to subdue the assailant. A broken nose, partially crushed windpipe and dislocated knee was hardly excessive in his line of work.

—---

Present

Dr Chen emerges from the treatment room 15 minutes later.

“He’s fine. He’s fine.” Chen holds up her hands to placate Bond before he can do his double-0 looming. “Oxygen levels are back to normal and blood glucose readings are back up. He just needs rest and some food in him.”

Q comes fully around in half an hour. The glucose and oxygen supplement doing wonders. He’s sitting up on the recovery bed having tea and biscuits that Bond managed to retrieve from Q’s stash in Q-Branch.

Mallory and Eve are present as well, intercepting Q before Bond has had a chance to see him privately. Pleasantries done, M leaves the room and gestures for 007 to follow him out, leaving Eve to continue her conversation with Q.

—

Outside Recovery Room A

“007, It’s been a trying day. How are you?” M opens.

Bond makes a non-committal sound, “Sir. I know you didn’t want to see me to discuss my mental health.”

M sighs. Why must everything be so difficult with this one.

“Fine. I want to discuss Q’s protection detail for the next few weeks until we get this threat sorted. You are off the Tripoli mission next week, 004 will be taking lead,” M offers.

Bond would normally protest, but this time he makes no move. Internally he is relieved. This saves him from having to come up with an excuse for why he won’t be going.

“We’re going to have to move Q to a secure location. MI5 has safe houses and resources we can tap into— “ Mallory sees the snarl forming on 007’s lips and quickly adds, ”—but I have a feeling you are going to want to have a say in it.”

Bond backs down and considers a moment. “I still have my place. The floorplan is easy to secure. A few upgrades and it should be adequate.”

“And the rest of the detail?”

“I’ll… need two more officers. Better yet, field agents in line for the 00-program. Consider this their asset protection training.”

M nods in approval. But something is left unsaid. M decides that it is time to get it out of the agent.

“How long has it been going on?” Bond knows M is not talking about the protection detail anymore.

“Just over a year.” He says matter of fact looking at a point past M’s shoulder. Bond isn’t volunteering more information than that. M doesn’t look surprised. If anything, he looks thoughtful.

Both men are clearly uncomfortable with the personal segue of the conversation. A pause and they both look away and clear their throats at the same time.

M ends the discussion on something they are more accustomed to, “Well, I trust you have this area under control. Tomorrow morning, we’ll reconvene to discuss any information R and Forensics can recover.”

Bond nods. “Very well, sir.” The fact the M hasn’t removed him from the case is consent enough.

——

Inside Recovery Room A

“How are you?” Eve rubs his blanket covered shin.

“Aside from it being one of the worst days of my life? Alright all things considered.“

Eve reaches over to give him a tight hug, more for her own sake than Q’s, “You had everyone so worried!… Thank goodness for the pen.”

“Yes well… Bond’s penchant for pilfering Q-branch equipment finally came in handy.”

Eve ruffles his hair and presses a kiss to his cheek, “You did really well today. I’m so proud of you.”

Q shrugs, what can he say? He doesn’t feel particularly proud. More numb if anything now that’s it’s over. Eve seems to sense this and goes for humour instead, ”Did Tanner tell you? He put 007 in the backseat of the Jag on the way to you.”

“I did wonder about that…” He could imagine Bond’s ire at having to relinquish control and wait patiently. Eve and Q share a conspiratorial smile.

“The rumour mill is spinning in overdrive; thought you might to know. It was quite the spectacle this morning in the lobby.”

Q pinches the bridge of his nose; mortified. “Not my finest moment I’ll admit. I’ve single handedly destroyed what little street cred Q-Branch had left.”

“Oh Q... that’s not what people are talking about—,” at his blank look, she unlocks the phone in her hand and pulls up the internal messaging app. She scrolls to a video and selects it before showing it to him.

It was of Q crumpled dramatically on his side just in front of the lift banks. 007 is crouched over him, one of his hands cradling Q’s head. Tanner is standing nearby, phone to his ear. The video captures 007’s other hand coming up to touch the pulse point at Q’s neck. A few moments later the agent looks up, taking in the crowd, his eyes a blazing blue, expression tinged with fear. Dr. Chen arrives soon after, cutting off the view from that angle.

Oh… OH…- In his mind, Q had expected the incident to be far more comical. A tech boffin kissing the floor from panic induced hypoxia has the potential to be the stuff of comic legend; if schadenfreude was your cup of tea. But the video was far from amusing. Poignant would be a more accurate description. Bond will be a handful to deal with later.

At the sobering thought, Q changes the subject, “Did I make the tele?”

Eve grins and nods,”All morning… breaking news and all. It’s being spun as a possible terror attack, as shots were fired and we need to maintain your cover. Mallory negotiated a quid pro quo with MI5. They are getting credit for the quick response in apprehending the suspects in exchange for publicly copping to counter-terrorism failure.”

“There were quite a lot of shots exchanged. Was anyone hurt?” Q recalled the street was rather busy.  

“Aside from the assailants, none seriously. Some civilian injuries, but all stable.” That assuages his guilt somewhat.

“Has anyone been to the flat?”

“Forensics is taking a look now.”

“Derek, the officer in the lobby? Is he—“

“He’s just out of surgery. Critical but stable.” This is why Q loves Eve, she knows everything.

“Don’t suppose anyone knows what happened to the cats?” Q is a little sheepish to be asking about his pets when human lives were threatened this morning.

“The cats are fine. Emily from forensics found them huddled in the laundry room. She’ll bring them back here at the end of her shift,” Eve reassures him, “But at the moment, your lion is loose and prowling the halls.”

Ah right, “Eve… does everyone know?”

Eve smiles at him, “Q... everyone’s known for months. Including Mallory.”

Just then the door opens and Bond reenters. Eve takes her leave. She pats Bond on his bicep on the way out and he acknowledges with a nod. When she’s cleared the doorway, he closes the door and locks it behind her. Finally. Some privacy.

Bond is silent intent when he comes to sit on the recovery bed facing Q. He removes the mug of tea from Q’s hands and sets it safely aside - gently demanding.

He leans in to wrap his arms tightly around Q, crushing Q against his chest. He runs his calloused hands over Q’s back, neck and into his hair - then buries his nose in that unruly mop of hair, breathing in deeply. When he’s a little calmer, a little more composed - he relaxes his hold to nuzzle Q around the temple before going in for a kiss, hands still stroking the sides of Q’s face and neck.

Q’s glasses are askew from all the petting. “Alright… I’m alright…. ,“ He soothes the agent, and has to take hold of Bond’s hands to quiet him. He knows Bond in this unsettled mood - a predator caught off guard, challenged… insecure. Bond would very well take things too far to reassure himself if Q lets him. And this isn’t an appropriate time or place.

“Are you still going to Tripoli on Monday?” Q tries to distract the clingy agent.

“No. M stood me down… I’ve been reassigned as your PPO,” Bond rumbles softly into his hair.

“Aren’t you a little overqualified to play bodyguard?” Q needles him.  

“Hmm… you deserve the best,” he mumbles into the corner of Q’s mouth.

Q snorts at the backhanded compliment Bond’s paid himself.

Bond whispers, “I’ve been told I’m rather good at what I do.”

Bravado. Let him have it- Q thinks, “You’re incorrigible.”

“And you’re precious,” Bond had not intended that to be out loud, and is a little embarrassed even before Q calls him out on it.

“Gah! You’re incredibly mushy today,” Q pushes him away lightly, mock cringing.

Bond leans back, but his hands have escaped and have wandered around Q’s waist, thumbs caressing the ticklish flesh, “Considering the events of today, I think I’m entitled.” Bond leans back in for a kiss.

Pillow talk. They’re engaging in pillow talk in the middle of the day in Medical. -Surreal- Q thinks.

The door handle rattles. Bond squeezes his eyes shut and exhales in exasperation -Seriously, can everyone just piss off!

Undeterred by the universal sign for a request to privacy, the person the other side raps on the door.

Bond goes to unlock it. Q picks up his tea to hide his mirth.

The door opens to reveal Nurse Maria sporting a -very- disapproving scowl. She’s back to check in on Q’s condition. She keeps her eyes on Bond as she enters, keeping him at bay with her stare alone. Bond moves away to a decent distance and stands at parade rest, eyes straight ahead; the very picture of obedience.

She turns to Q and fusses over his vitals and starts removing the IV drip.

“Rest. No more dangerous stunts. Eat more... Too skinny. Tsk!” she makes a sound of disapproval.

“The boyfriend don’t feed you??” she shakes her head and sends a glare at Bond’s direction indicating what she thinks about his efforts.

Q nearly spit takes his tea. He forces it down, choking in the process.

Bond clears his throat. “I think… you’ll find the boyfriend tries his best,” he grinds out, still looking straight ahead, his tone betraying more than a little indignation.

“Hmph…” Maria huffs unimpressed, as she fluffs Q’s pillow.

Mercilessly she adds, “Maybe the boyfriend is too busy. Always travelling. You should tell him to slow down. Spend more time at home.”

All this she directs at Q but there is no mistaking who the words are actually for.

“I’ll umm… I’ll make sure to let him know.” Q tries to defuse the situation. If it comes down to an actual contest of words between those two, Q’s not sure Bond would win.

——

Quartermaster’s Residence

Late that afternoon, once forensics is done collecting evidence, Bond is back home - well technically Q’s place. He speaks to Emily, Head Forensics Tech onsite for an update.

“Place is untouched, only damage appears to be the door. Nothing appears to be out of place, but you’d be able to tell better than us. It doesn’t look like the assailants bothered to search for anything. Which confirms the suspicion that they were not after anything, but Q himself.”She informs him - which to Bond is the worst case scenario. Q has something they want, and if the failed attempt today does not dissuade them, then they will try again.

“We’ll have some technicians back onsite to secure the door at least temporarily and do a more thorough sweep… Right then, cats are in their carriers in the laundry room. Do you still want us to take them to HQ?”

“No, that’s fine. I’ll take it from here. Thank you Emily.” Emily pats him on the shoulder much like Eve did before leaving.

Bond has two other agents with him:

Agent Monica Chalmers, former Squadron leader in the Royal Air Force, calm, tough as nails with surprisingly good hand to hand combat skills for a pilot.

Agent Peter Coyle former Major in the Royal Marines, good all rounder but with a dormant sense of rebelliousness that Bond see lying just beneath the highly disciplined exterior.

Both are experienced field agents and nine months into the Double-0 program and top of their batch. He’d consulted 009 earlier for his recommendation and Bond remembered them from the selection weekend ten months ago when he assisted 009 in the testing process.*

Bond gets them to help pack a few bags for Q as well as collect any projects and papers he was working on - directing them where things are and pointing out the items he wants packed.

When they’re done and about to leave, Bond emerges form the laundry room with his own bag and a cat carrier, “I hope the both of you like cats.”

Chalmers is quick to indicate affirmative. Coyle hesitates a split second too long; 007 smells blood and smiles sharkily. “Well you do now,” and promptly hands over the carrier case to him.

-—-

Notting Hill, Chelsea

Then they swing by MI6 to pick up Q before heading to Bond’s place in Chelsea.

They have a polite dinner, all four of them standing around the kitchen bar, because Bond’s bachelor pad lacks any real furniture. Bond refuses to be embarrassed. The place smells musty from disuse, and the overhead lighting is harsh and unflattering. It’s in a very nice part of town, but the place is frankly depressing. Q’s only been here a handful of times. Barely furnished and incomplete, it represents Bond’s past - he still comes by time to time especially after missions where he’s had to do some morally questionable things. He comes here to shed the proverbial filth so to speak; before returning to his present, his life with Q. Psychological compartmentalisation in physical form.

Q had let the cats out to explore. Jellicles the younger tuxedo cat is curious, zooming about the place and chattering to himself. Q thinks his boldness is due to the place not smelling entirely alien. Bond had to pull the cat off the hanging kitchen lights at one point.

But Spot (after Data’s cat) the older orange moggie is having none of it. The big former street cat is attempting to climb Q’s jeans, wanting to be held and cuddled. Q finally gives up and picks up the cat and hitches it to his side like child - the large moggie is as heavy as one too. With the cat mollified, Q can finish his dinner.

After dinner, Q transfers the cat to Bond’s arms before excusing himself to shower and get ready for the night. Bond is in his usual white shirt open at the collar, gun holster still around his shoulders. The orange cat fidgets in his arms, head-butting him under the jaw. Jellicles who was lounging on the kitchen bar now feels left out and is reared up on his hind legs, front paws on Bond’s other shoulder, meowing incessantly. “Yess, alright…,” he sets down his fork in mild annoyance to pet the cat along his long sinuous spine and get him to sit back down.

Agents Chalmers and Coyle exchange a look. Here is the idolised spy, the revered Double-0 agent, the man himself in his private setting and nothing lives up to expectation. The cognitive dissonance throws them.

Bond ever the observant one catches their open stares, understanding immediately. His voice is low, tired even, heavy with the the years of service and untold horrors he’d witnessed and done, “They lie in the brochures. I hope neither of you are doing it for the lifestyle.” And that concludes Bond’s pearl of wisdom for the day.

When they’re done clearing up, Bond gives them their instructions.

“Familiarise yourselves with the floorplan, entry and exits. Let me know what improvements we need and an escape plan for contingencies.”

“In the evenings when I’m around, you won’t need to stay. Check in with the police guards outside and have them keep watch of the building. But I won’t be here all the time. At some point I -will- leave to go after whoever is behind this.”  

“The both you will need to take turns sleeping on the couch. Or make alternative arrangements for him if the threat becomes untenable. We’ll discuss more tomorrow.“

With that, they’re dismissed.

——

That night, when the lights are out, and they’re both scrubbed clean of the days’ stress  - Bond crawls into bed behind Q. Q can sense it in the cautiousness and light tremors in Bond’s movements, like he’s trying to keep it together.  

Once his guard drops, James is near inconsolable. Wrapped possessively around Q, hands everywhere, legs tangled - his face is buried in the back of Q’s neck. The man is silent, except for the harsh and erratic breathing - and not the good kind either. The back collar of Q’s pyjamas is wet with tears.

Q does his best to soothe, petting and rubbing the muscled arms wrapped around him. He brings the man’s hands up to his face and kisses the cuts and bruises on his knuckles. “James, I’m alright…. I’m right here…” he whispers over and over.

He doesn’t try to stop the emotional breakdown, better to let him have it. Q feels a little guilty, he’s feeling somewhat detached from the days’ traumatic events. Maybe it’s because he got to panic while it was happening and it is now out of his system.  He’s cool and calm now while James suffers the emotional fallout.

Q recalls the video that Eve presented to him earlier in the afternoon. The camera capturing with stunning clarity the raw emotion behind the agent’s blue eyes. If the agent knew about the video, he’d make the person who took it will disappear. Which reminds Q to make a mental note to nuke the video from the messaging platform in the morning.

James is past the tears now and demanding more. The soothing caresses turning to something more serious, more consuming. Q is more than happy to give. They comfort each other until they’re both exhausted enough to fall asleep.

---------

Saturday 10:00  

SIS (MI6) Ops Centre Level 9 - Operations Room C.

R is providing sitrep. Images flash across the wall of screens to the front of the room.

“…—The ambulance was stolen from the Forest Hill Station south of London. Three assailants. Two in custody--” Their mugshots appear on screen:

Assailant 1 sports a bandaid under his chin. “…— is under medical observation for possible head trauma from hitting the cobblestone street—…”

Assailant 2 is much worse off, broken nose, a large hematoma under the right eye, and ugly bruising across the throat. “…— is also under medical observation for a partially crushed windpipe and dislocated knee.”

“Hospital will not release them for questioning until Sunday or Monday at the latest. Human rights and all. Third assailant was cornered by our agents, but opened fire into the crowd. Luckily there were no serious injuries. Agents stood down to avoid risk to civilian population and the assailant escaped on a stolen motorcycle.”

“Facial recognition places them as local members of a south London crime syndicate. Armed robbery, money laundering and the likes - serious crimes but nothing on the scale that would suggest going after a head of department in SIS.”

“Hired muscle. Nothing more. So that if the attempt fails or they get caught, it can’t be traced to whoever ordered it,” M concludes.

“Yes, sir. But they would have to know where to drop the asset off if it were successful though.” Agent Chalmers chimes in.

“Note the unusual timing; in the middle of a workday morning meant that they had to know that Q would be home at the time. That he was relatively unguarded—“ that Bond wasn’t home, was left unsaid. “—which means they were watching. Or told when to initiate the attempt.” Tanner added.

Q is only half paying attention to the discussion. Mark from IT-Branch came in earlier to hand him three new boxes of electronics - bless him. A new phone, laptop and hotspot router (because Bond’s place has no telephone or internet); unboxing them was like taking a hit for an addict in withdrawal. Q is preoccupied with setting them up and re-downloading data from the secure cloud services. He feels nearly like himself again. He had spent most of yesterday without them and he didn’t know what to do with himself.

“The place was untouched. The target was Q. What worries me is motive. Why would anyone take such a risk to provoke MI6 by abducting the Quartermaster knowing we would have the motivation and resources to go after them. Not unless the payoff is something that would massively change the way they forward their agenda. It has to be something they need him for. Something they can’t replicate, not even if they had the plans.” 007 concludes.

M who was rocking lightly in his chair whilst listening stops, leans forward and sighs. He looks over at Q, “What have you been working on?”

Mallory couldn’t keep track of all of it. Yes Q-Branch spent millions in R&D but they made the government (and by extension secured SIS funding) at least ten times what they spent. Declassified plans, schematics and programming codes sold at auction to private defence, Infosec and engineering companies for tens of millions.

The Q-Branch minions might be the butt of jokes at times in SIS, but their work not only kept operatives alive but helped keep the lights on in MI6. It is no wonder that MI5 wanted a slice of that pie. Sometimes M wondered why Q hasn’t left to go work in private. He’d asked him that once, and all he got in reply was something to the effect of ‘reigning in egomaniacal tendencies with public oversight and knowing which side you’re on’.

“Take your pick—” Q huffs in mild frustration, then realises who he was speaking to and adds,”—Sir.”

Q’s feeling tetchy this morning. Aside from tech withdrawal, his cold had gotten worse so his nose is completely stuffed. The general fatigue that accompanies a cold is exacerbated by his aching leg muscles from all that running the day before. Then he’d discovered he’d ripped a nail right off the finger bed in his haste to remove the hard drive so it stings when he types. He’s feeling a full on sulk coming. Bond already bore the brunt of his crabbiness this morning attempting to get him ready to come in to HQ.

“What about the project you’ve been working on with Mark? With the Shadow Network?” R said trying to be helpful.

“What about it? And please, I prefer Gemini Network - sounds less villainy.”

“I heard Mark say it could be a game changer, that it will give us the upper hand when it comes to controlling information.”

“Well in theory….” Q is being a little evasive.

Mallory looks over at Eve and tips his chin up at her. Eve knows at once to go and fetch Mark. They’ve learned over the years that when Q says something is ‘in theory’, it means he’s already gone ahead and built a proof a concept it or at the very least it tested the theory.

Mark enters the operations room like he’s been summoned to the headmasters office. “Sir? You asked to see me?”

“Tell us about the Gemini Network.” M dives right in without preamble.

“You mean the Shadow Network?” Mark looks for clarification.

“Why does everyone insist on calling it that?…” Q is slightly miffed.

Mark begins, “Well, the concept started years ago when we first used it to trap Silva in his earlier days. Quantum was trying to undermine your predecessor through Q-Branch, cascade of equipment failures leading to the death of a field agent. Basically we built a replica of Q-Branch systems and let Silva run his virus in it to learn what he was doing.”

“Since then we’ve evolved and developed the concept into a full shadow network that now protects MI6 systems. We created an AI shepherded by our cybersecurity team that patrols our systems; learning the normal functions - what’s secure, what’s not.” Mark pauses to check if everyone is still following.

“The idea is that when an anomaly in the system is detected, the AI isolates the suspicious node and shunts it into its shadow network. The shadow network presents itself as a legitimate fully functioning system and lets whatever suspicious activity continue unchallenged. But all the while it is watching and learning. It then flags the human team who can then decide if it is harmless or a legitimate threat. We can then use what it learns to patch the actual system. Think of it like an evolving immune system for cybersecurity. The more it learns the more robust it gets.”

Q then reasons, “The AI represents thousands of hours of machine training and learning, valuable in it of itself. But not impossible to recreate - though having MI6 as a training ground does make it harder for anyone to catchup to it.”

Bond notices Mark’s excited body language. The man is almost bouncing on his toes, “But… I’m guessing there is more to this…?”

Marks looks to Q and they have a non-verbal exchange. Those two are thick as thieves when it comes to programming, though Mark still refuses to transfer to Q-Branch for the sake of his sanity. Bond has met Mark numerous times, he likes the guy. Mark looks up to Q like an adoring little brother wanting someday to be just as good. Which means he’s an enabler who goes along with Q’s ideas without any sense of self preservation.

“Recently, Mark and I found a new application for it. We managed to package the AI into a worm that can be used to infiltrate a target network. It will still require us to inject it behind a firewall, either through hacking or physically. But once inside, it starts watching and learning - filtering traffic internally between nodes; as well as incoming and outgoing traffic outside of the network. It will sit dormant until activated…”

Eve’s eyes are wide, “Oh boys, what have you created?”

“…When activated, it will deploy the Shadow Network, into which we can shunt specific network traffic. A) The captured node still thinks its in the master system and functions normally. B) The AI then replaces the captured node with a mimic so to the master system, nothing is amiss.”

“The beauty of this is that it does not require us to crack security. When authentication is required, the AI simply returns the node back in to authenticate before shunting it back out. Do you see? We can compel any system to unlock its door by hiding behind the captured node.“ Mark points out looking like he’s about to explode with excitement.

Even Tanner is stunned now. R, who has heard it all before and told them repeatedly how dangerous of an idea this was - has her hands pressed together as if in prayer covering her mouth

“The node itself is tricked into thinking it is still interacting with the master system - which makes it voluntarily reveal information which we can collect or use as we see fit. Alternately we can seed it with misinformation to bring back to the master system.”

“Its the ultimate spy - Agent 1001.” Mark declares gleefully. His attempt at humour falls flat. If he‘d added Ta-Da! at the end of it, Bond was going to cuff him behind the head.

Mark pulls himself together and continues, “In practical terms it means we can change literally any information - while both sides remain unaware because there are now two truths depending on which network you are interacting with. ”

“But that’s just the start—.” Q takes over.

“There’s more?“ Mallory drawls out, feeling a migraine coming.

Q is apologetic, “What’s the most secure form of record keeping at the moment? …Blockchain. A set of records linked cryptographically together, with a distributed ledger that technically guarantees security. You can’t change any data in a block retroactively without changing all the subsequent blocks…. not unless you have consensus of at least 51% of all the nodes in the ledger.“

“Q… As riveting as this exposition is, get to the point.” Bond’s tone is a warning, his consonants sharper. Even he’s catching on to where this is leading and dreading it.

“Yes alright..” Q doesn’t get why everyone seems more upset than impressed.

”The point is, theoretically if we manage to get the worm into a peer-to-peer network and let spread throughout, we can apply the Shadow Network concept to launch a mass ‘eclipse attack’ on the distributed ledger. The nodes in the network must stay in constant contact to compare data for consensus. If the AI shunts off enough of the nodes into its Shadow Network and manage to trick 51% of the nodes into accepting our version of the chain before returning it, we change the ledger. Change the ledger and—“

“—You’ve hacked blockchain.“ Eve finishes for him, disbelieving.

“So are we talking about bitcoin?” Agent Coyle hazards a guess.

“Oh Agent Coyle… cryptocurrency is just the beginning. Just imagine any database that depends on blockchain for its immutability. Voting records? Supply chains? Financial records? Anti-counterfeit measures? The Shadow Network lets you - Change. Your. Digital. Reality.” Q finishes with a flourish; in purely intellectual terms, the concept is truly quite clever.

Tanner looks to Mallory alarmed,“Sir… 35 central banks are now experimenting with issuing digital state currencies on blockchain. At least 10 will be going ahead in this year and another 15 in the next 2 years.“

Silence. You could hear a pin drop.

Bond who has been standing off to the side of the monitors in his characteristic agent pose, legs apart one hand in his pocket; exhales loudly and points out ominously, “So whoever controls the AI, controls the Shadow Network and everything it can do - the Shadow Master. “

All heads in the room turn to Q….

“Yes, that would be one way of putting it. Personally, I prefer the term Shadow Architect,” Q chortles at the absurdity of the comic villain names.

But no one one else is laughing. And they’re all looking at him expectantly. Except Mark, he laughs at all of Q’s jokes.  

-Christ-. Bond is torn between wanting to strangle the oblivious idiot himself and wanting to put the genius in a glass cage for his own safety.

A moment later, Q has a dawning realisation about what he’s managed to get himself into this time.

“It..Its just theoretical!” Denial.

“Technically this belongs to SIS…” Bargaining.

“We just thought it would be a helpful tool for our operatives to turn the odds in their favour!” Anger.

“What in the world possessed me to think…” Depression

“Owwh shit.” Acceptance.

Q stops his pacing in front of the monitor wall and collapses into a chair nearby. Elbows on his knees, head in his hands.

When he’s done cycling through emotions, M raises and eyebrow,“Well, I’m glad we’ve all come to the same conclusion,” M’s sarcasm flies over his head.

——

As a result of the meeting, Q & Mark are sent away to put their project into a secure vault in the servers - until M knows what to do with it. Q feels like they’ve just been sent to ‘time out’ - to think about what they’ve done.

Once he’s done that, he goes to Q-Branch to serve out his sentence.

Q-Branch is the only ‘secret’ arm in SIS that is located between the garage and basement bunkers. It’s more practical that way as larger projects (cars, boats, etc) would be a logistical pain to move if they were on the upper levels. Three whole floors make up Q’s lair that he shares with thirty or so minions.

It’s Saturday, so only a skeleton crew is present most of them are working in the floors below. None are in the office areas.

Bond is still in the meeting upstairs with M and the others. So Q makes himself tea and sticks his nose in the steam curling out of the mug to open his sinuses. He’s running through the theory he’s told the others in his head - trying to poke holes in it. But no, the simulation running on his computer is telling him how terrifyingly efficient the AI would be once activated.

The main doors to Q-Branch offices hiss open. Q doesn’t turn around, knowing who it is. Bond comes to sit a little noisily in a swivel chair next to him, facing the other way. He’s radiating ‘we need to talk’ vibes, but even then Bond usually just invades his space until Q speaks first.

“James, I’m sorry about being a tosser this morning. I shouldn’t have taken it out on you. The eggs were fine.” Q makes a peace offering. And since no one is around, he reaches out to trace a finger around Bond’s tie pin.

Bond doesn’t move away which means he’s forgiven. Thats the thing with Bond, he’s not really a man of many words when he’s not actively trying to charm a mark. So when he does want to talk, best pay attention.

“Whats the damage?” Q asks.

“Mark is going to need his own protection detail.”

“Oh, he’s going to love that….” Poor Mark is going to have to explain that to his Bumble dates.

“Well, it might teach him not to be such an enabler and grow a pair around you.”

“Hah! Tell it to his face.”

“I did. Now, stop making him do things that will get him in trouble. You don’t want that on your conscience.” Bond chastises. The poor guy is like Igor to Q’s Dr Frankenstein.

Suitably reproached, Q doesn’t have anything to say for himself. He continues playing with Bond’s tie.

“Mallory is thinking of forming an internal oversight committee to run risk analysis on Q-Branch projects. He doesn’t want to accidentally end up with a cyberworld equivalent of a Manhattan project in his lap.

“He’s afraid I’ll turn into Ozymandias…,” then remembering that Bond probably didn’t get the reference, ”Antagonist, very smart, tries to take over the world.” He supplies by way of explanation.  

Bond laughs a little, “If you do turn villainous, does that make me your henchman?”

Q considers, “More arc nemesis I should think. Don’t pretend that M won’t send you to shot me if I do. And don’t pretend you won’t either.”

“Are you expecting me to refuse?”

“No Mr Bond, I expect you to come get me.”

----  To Be Continued ---

[drethanramslay]

Part 5: Life and Death

Pairing: Aurora x MC (Iris Everette)

Word count: 4.2 K words

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4

Warning: Physical Abuse, Emotional Abuse, torture, mention of suicide, violence slight description of blood. This chapter takes a dark turn and I am warning you guys.

Author's note: I usually keep this for the end but I just wanted to say, keep a box of tissues on standby.

Taglist: @miyakokurono @agent-breakdance @trappedinfandoms @vampiregirlsblog @openheart12 @sekizincimektup @lilyofchoices (let me know if you want to added or removed from the tag list)

Songs: Iris by Goo Goo Dolls , Numb by Declan J Donovan , Forever and Always by Parachute

Forgive me if there are any mistakes

"Seems like we will be here for sometime." Aurora said as she slid down to sit on the floor. Iris sighed as she sat opposite her.

A beat of silence passed over them, no one knowing where to start. Many times Iris opened her mouth and closed it like a goldfish, but nothing came out.

How did we come to this?

"I'm-" Iris began.

"Sorry." Aurora blurted out.

"What are you sorry for? You didn't do anything!!"

Aurora stammered. "I-I- I am so sorry that I called for a break when you were going through shit. I am so, so horrible and such a ginormous asshole-"

"NO." Iris moved towards and held her hands. "Do not for a second think that you are an asshole. You are an angel on this earth. A fucking blessing for my worthless self. You are- just...wow. I am so fucking lucky to have met you."

Aurora gave a small giggle. "You are not worthless babe." Iris smiled.  If she had a future, she would have spent all of the time making her smile and laugh.

"God I missed making you laugh so much.."

"I miss you too... You and me...are we good?"

Iris gave a fragile smile before sighing. "All my life, I have been alone. I had learnt from a young age that the world is evil place and that you can only depend yourself...when you left me, I could have spent a few days moping around and eventually gotten over you. It would have sucked but I would have been okay."

"Are you saying that you don't want me anymore?" Aurora's bottom lip quivered.

"No...the old me would have packed up and moved on....But I don't want to do that anymore. I don't want to live alone anymore. I don't want to run anymore. I want to be with you. I want to see you happy. I want to share the good, the bad and the ugly..."

Aurora leaned forward and hugged Iris. Iris clutched on to her like she was the anchor in this shit storm. Aurora placed a kiss on her crown. A pregnant pause later, Aurora spoke up.

"Adara...what did you mean by 'don't waste tears on a dead woman'? Are you....sick?"

Iris sighed. "No I am not sick. Just that my luck is fantastic... Guess it's story time because I am just tired of hurting you and me.."

"I was adopted by Grayson Alejandro and Francesca Everette- Alejandro. My mom could not have babies as a result of a bad accident that's why they were forced to adopt. My mom loved me as if I was from her own womb, and not for a single moment did she make me feel neglected. She would sing me Spanish lullabies and hold me when the thunder would scare me. There will always be a place in my heart for her." Iris teared up a little. Aurora squeezed her tighter, not letting her go.

"My dad? Not so much. He always resented my mom for a problem which wasn't even her fault. And he hated me, because to him, I was just an outsider stealing away all his wife's love. He had his days when he he actually acknowledged that he was a  father and was a good husband... But those were so rare that I could count those instances on one hand.

When I turned ten, his business started dipping into losses. He made couple of bad investments, which just made situations worse. Instead of using his fucking brain and doing something about it, the fucker would go and get drunk. Initially, he would just head to his room and sleep it off... But then, shit hit the fan."

Iris took a deep breath, bracing herself to continue the story.

"I was home alone one day, just doing my homework on the dining table. My mom had gone out to get groceries. I was pretty comfortable staying by myself. He entered home, drunk as usual but, he was angry. I could feel his wrath, emitting from him like seismic waves. He wanted to vent it out. And what is better than a small ten year old girl-" Iris choked.

"He picked me up by the scruff of my neck and threw me across the room. I hit the wall hard and landed on my side. I was in shock. I didn't understand what had I done. When I proceeded to ask him what was wrong he became even angrier. He grabbed me by my hair and slapped me, screaming that 'I' was the reason behind his ruin. That I was just a cursed child."

"I ran to my room when I heard my mom's home keys jingling. I went to the adjacent bathroom and tried to provide first aid as best as I could. I had such a nasty bruise on my hip, that I couldn't sit for a couple days. But I played it of, and prayed that this was a one time thing."

"It again happened within three month's time. The frequency and the intensity of the beatings slowly increased. He broke my left wrist twice in a matter of eight months. He had become daring and it was becoming hard to hide it from my mom. I didn't want her to know this. She was already stressed with the financial situation and I didn't want her to be beaten up by Grayson."

"I had turned thirteen and that was the first time he made me bleed. Earlier it was just throwing me around, kicking me and a ton of nasty bruises. It was so bad. I think I had forgotten to switch off the hallway light that one night. So, he stormed into my room and dragged me out to the kitchen. He bent me over the kitchen counter and he took a steak knife-" Iris sobbed. Aurora was flabbergasted. She had tears streaming down her face.

Iris took a deep breath to centre herself. "The scars you see on the back of my legs? That was his tally. A track on how many times I misbehaved. I have 24 full lines and a half. I just lay there screaming till my throat was sore but he didn't once stop." Iris' hand unconsciously reached for the back of her legs, feeling them through her scrub material.

"Did he ever r-"

"Thankfully no. Otherwise I would have ended my damn life."

Aurora sobbed. "Please don't talk like that Adara..please.."

"I'm sorry Rory..." Iris kissed he cheek as they lay in each other's arms.

"He used to beat me up when my mom was not around. One day, she found him and the meltdown that happened..." Iris shuddered at the memory.

"Did he ever abuse your mom?"

"Emotionally? Yes. Physically? He just backhanded her once when she tried to step in. After he was done beating me black and blue, my mom would tend to my injuries. She would cry and try to kiss them better. She always put forth a strong front, to keep our hopes alive and to keep me motivated. But we knew, that nothing would ever be okay as long as he was around."

"When my mom was hospitalized, god, it was hell. He stopped me from going to school. He would lock me in my room, give me food once a day. He didn't allow me to go meet my dying mother. He tried breaking my spirit by making me weak so that he could easily treat me as his punching bag. Some days I was so bruised that I looked like a Dalmatian."

Aurora was full fledged crying. Ugly sobs poured out of her, her heart breaking for this beautiful trauma in front of her.

Iris continued, rushing to unload all her baggage. "When I got that call that she was going to die, I escaped through my window. I ran to the hospital just in the nick of time. My mom had tears in her eyes when she saw my state. I held her in my arms and comforted her, just like she used to do for me... She told me that she had collected money which was just enough for me to finish high school and get through college. She gave me her will, because she trusted absolutely no one. She apologized for not being brave enough. She told me to never let my-"

"-spirit break.." Aurora completed the sentence, remembering the night she stitched her up in the empty hospital room.

"Yeah... I said my goodbyes and she passed away in my arms. When I reached home, entering through my window, he was waiting there. He wasn't even drunk.. that day I got one of the worst thrashing ever. Broken wrist, black eyes what not. He cut of the electricity to my room. He cut the water supply to my room as well. He even went as far as to nail my window shut." Iris blinked and more tears fell on Aurora's scrub.

"How did you get out?" Aurora asked as she caressed Iris's hair.

"My room was facing my neighbor's  window and they were so close that you could look into the room. Two weeks after my mom passed away, a family moved in. My current lawyer, Thomas's room, was facing mine. When I saw him move in, I immediate stuck a help me sign on the window. It took some time but then it finally caught their attention."

"We conversed through the window and I told them everything. Thomas's dad was a lawyer and we slowly came up with a plan. They both came home one day when I was still locked in my room half dead from thirst and starvation. My father greeted them and let them in. They laughed and chatted. Thomas's even asked him if he had any children, and guess what he said... He didn't?! That motherfucker was so mental that he forgot about his daughter who he hit seven ways to Sunday."

Aurora just held on to Iris, kissing her crown repeatedly.

Shit. This just is so fucked up...

"They bugged my house with hidden cameras and microphones. The local police had been informed and they were just waiting for the right moment. And that moment came."

"Grayson was pissed when he came home that day. He unlocked my room and dragged me to the living room. He wanted me to get water for him or something but I was so weak that I couldn't even pick up a tray. So I tripped and fell. And, he went ballistic.”

“He picked me up and threw me into the coffee table. It shattered under me due to the force. The scars on my back, it was because a six inch long glass had embedded in my back. It was so close to my spinal cord that even if it would have moved a little I could have been paralyzed neck down. He kicked me so hard that I fractured my ribs. He brought his favourite steak knife to carve another tally mark. At that moment I thought I was gonna die. And, I wouldn't have minded that. I would be in a happy place with my mom. I would be free from all this."

"I waited for the final blow but it never came. Police had stormed in and they were restraining him. Paramedics were running towards me and then I blacked out."

Aurora shuddered. Her heart ached so much. Thu carry such a painful party, sure would have taken a toll on anyone. Even the most beautiful roses have thorns, to protect themselves from predators.

"Thomas's dad represented me free of cost. They were going to jail him for 25 years but I don't know how, his lawyer reduced it to 12 years. And as he was leaving the court room, he said quote unquote- ' Don't for a moment think that I am going to give up. When I come out, I am going to come for you and kill you."

"After that I stayed with the Mendez family. They were literally blessings on earth. They paid for most of my bills. Mrs, Mendez, after I came home from the hospital, made sure I ate four times a day. And Mr. Mendez employed a home tutor, to cover up the portion left, so that I could graduate on time. And Thomas, god he is such a sweetheart. Initially, if any male touched me I would go into a full fledged panic attack. He would always be there whenever I had an attack... He would watch shows with me and kept me company whenever he had free time. It had been so long since I felt someone loved me."

"You deserve every good thing in this world Adara. You are always worth it."  Iris gave a fragile smile.

"Thomas had gotten out of law school and I was his first client. I had to go through intense physiotherapy to regain my strength. I was in and out of hospitals, be it for follow-up surgery or therapy."

"Therapy helped a little but I don't think anyone can every get over something like this. I discontinued it when I entered med school because I wanted it to be a fresh start. I could have gone and worked in Seattle or any place I wanted but I came back to Boston. To my roots. To be closer to my mom. And now, he is back. I was running from him when you found me."

"Oh MY GOD. I AM GOING TO KILL THAT SON OF A BITCH. LIKE HOW DARE HE TRAUMATIZE MY GIRLFRIEND!! THE HELL HE IS GONNA LAY A SINGLE FINGER ON YOU. HE IS GONNA CATCH THESE HANDS I-" Aurora's angry rant was interrupted by a giggle.

She looked down and saw her giggling. "Gosh. OMG you look as angry as a little kitten. So cute." Iris giggled again.

"Hey! These hands can giveth life and taketh them as well."

They laughed a little more, before they settled in a comfortable silence.

"Why do you think people say I love you?" Iris asked.

"I dunno man. Maybe because they love each other." Aurora snorted, kind of confused by the sudden change in topic. Her heart was beating faster.

Oh it's happening. Aurora stay calm. STAY FUCKING CALM.

"Yeah I know but I honestly feel there is a difference in 'I love you' and 'I'm in love with you'. The former is with family and friends who most of the times stay loyal to you. But the latter is when you have romantic feelings towards a person. It is just so weird y'know? There is just a difference of one word yet the meanings are so different."

"That's true. But why the sudden change in topic? Not that I mind." Aurora asked breathlessly.

Iris turned towards Aurora with vivid green eyes. "Because I am in love with you Aurora Lucille Emery."

Aurora's breath had been taken away for the second time that evening.

She loves me. SHE FUCKING LOVES ME.

With tears in her eyes, she cupped Iris' face, "I am completely and utterly in love with you too Iris Adara Everette. I have been since the day you broke Vincenzo's hand. I loved you even when we were on a break. And I will, continue loving you till the last breath."

The way Iris' face lit up, was one of the best things she had ever seen in the world. Their lips met and they could feel firecrackers burst around them, their hearts bursting with the amount of love they had for each other.

They were sitting on the floor of an elevator, which was stuck in a storm, but nobody gave a damn.

This was their moment.

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

"So what do we do Thomas?" Aurora asked as she rubbed Iris' back. They were in Ethan's office, deciding what is the steps they need to take. Ethan was pacing in the office, his eyes looking like a slow brewing storm.

"Well first of all, we are going to apply for a protective order. Iris I know how you feel about it but that was a decade ago. The laws now will protect you better. Trust me." Thomas spoke in a very somber voice.

"Okay. Tell me what I need to do." Iris took a deep breath.

"Grayson was made aware of the restraining order filed against him by you. And since he violated them twice once by calling you and the second time by showing up at your work place, we can hold charges against him and that can throw him in a holding cell temporarily."

"That's good right? We need more time so that we can send his ass packing into prison." Aurora spoke with such determination that Iris was blown away.

"Now, Iris correct me if I am wrong, he threatened you, right?"

"Yes. He said that he would kill me. I can send you the voice recording now if you want."

"Yes, that would be perfect. Now I want you to listen to me carefully. I know that no court would be open now. So, go home and get your evidence ready. You will go to court the first thing in the morning tomorrow and sign the affidavit asking for the Protection Order. They will give you temporary one before they set a date for hearing."

"Do you have your restriction order on you right now?" Thomas asked.

"I have it with me. I will send a photo." Ethan piqued in.

"Good, good. After you assemble your evidence, go and stay in a hotel for the night. Take a friend or your girlfriend with you. It's so that nobody can get caught as collateral. And you can stay safe."

"Ethan and I will take her home and then head to a hotel." Aurora spoke into the phone.

"Yes. And I will be coming down tomorrow as soon as possible, 'kay? Luz would like to meet her aunty Iris as well."

Iris gave a small smile. "Thanks Tommy. See you tomorrow."

"Yeah, bye Iris. Please stay stay and don't you fucking die."

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

"If you don't come down in five minutes, I will call the police and the fucking army to storm your penthouse. And no, I'm not taking any criticism." Aurora spoke in a stern voice.

"Yes ma'am." Iris gave a fake salute. Despite things being bad, she felt some hope. Hope that this could end once and for all.

Hope. What a wonderful thing.

"I am going in with her." Ethan said as he unfastened his seat belt.

"Okay let's go." They both stepped out into the Boston night. Iris took a deep breath, smelling the night wind with hints of the sea. When she stepped into the lobby, she expected to see Hugh, their security guard but he wasn't there.

Huh. Strange. Must have gone to take a leak probably. Iris brushed off her doubts.

They stepped into the lift and she pressed the button to the penthouse level.

"Thank you Ethan."

"For what?"

"For helping me. You are my boss and you didn't have to-"

Ethan rolled his eyes and stopped her. "Shut up Everette. You are like a younger sister and I would really like to to see that asshole behind bars. So relax."

They reached the her home and she unlocked the door and entered.

"Go and get your stuff. I will be waiting in the living room."

Iris turned to head towards her room. She started packing her old papers, her restriction order and enough clothes for a night into a messenger bag. She was fast and thorough in her work. She was about to head out of her room when a crash and bang stopped her in her tracks.

It could not have been Ethan. Ethan was not clumsy and he had the hands of a surgeon. Stable and sure.

She picked up her trusty pocketknife and hid it in the sleeves of her leather jacket. She knew it wasn't much but it would atleast help her evade the attacker.

She slipped into the darkness, walking softly, making sure her footsteps weren't heard. She almost screamed when she saw Ethan's body, lying face down. She quickly rushed to his side, bend down and pressed two fingers to his neck.

She felt a pulse. It was weak but he would survive.

In the quiet environment of the penthouse, she heard the soft click of a gun. She froze in her place.

"He will survive. Didn't do much damage. But can't say the same about you mija. Get up. No funny moves."

Iris slowly got up. While she was at it, she sneakily speed dialed Aurora's number, so that Rory could hear some part of the conversation and call the police.

"Lift your hands."

She raised her hands above her head and turned around. "Grayson." She spat his name. She hoped that she won't be stick with this guy for a long time.

Stall him. Attack only when necessary.

"God you need to start showing me some fucking respect." He slowly stepped out of the shadows.

"I don't show respect to dickheads."

"Wow. When did you get so ballsy? The old you would be whimpering on the floor."

"I grew up. Matured with time. Can't say the same for you. You look like a wrinkly ball sack."

God Iris why can't you for once use your fucking mind and shut your trap. It's a life and death scenario, dammit.

"I'm gonna enjoy tearing you limb by limb." Iris looked around, assessing the place. The entrance was blocked by him and there was no point running into her room because that would be nothing but a dead end. The only place which looked like a safe bet was the kitchen island, where Sienna's knives set was placed. Finding the fastest route she turned her flashing eyes towards him.

"Try me bitch."

He let out a war cry and started shooting at her. Iris ducked and lithely slipped behind the island counter. She felt a twinge of pain in her arm, where the bullet grazed her but she didn't pay any attention to it. She grabbed the sharp knife and waited with bated breath.

I need to get that gun a way from him.

"Oh, so we are gonna play hide and seek huh? Ready or not here I comeee." Grayson sang out.

She waited and waited and when she saw his shadow approaching her she leaped out her hiding place and struck his hand, forcing him to drop the gun. She kicked it under the fridge. She vaulted herself with the help of the kitchen counter and kicked him in the chest.

"Now this is a fair fight." Iris gripped her knife tightly and ran towards him.

She sent a flurry of jabs and hook shots on him. He cowered, trying to block the best he could do. Her knife sliced his stomach and blood poured out in copious amount. But that victory was not very long lived. He punched her on the face, momentarily disorienting her. He took the hand with the knife and smacked it against his kneecap, resulting in her to drop her weapon.

"You bitch!!" He aimed for her in the stomach again but this time, she was prepared. She blocked and hit both her hands on his temples. She then thrust her palm upwards, breaking his nose.

"You should plan for retirement, probably in a jail cell asshole." Iris taunted, enjoying the blood gushing down his face. She knew it was sadistic but this man, tormented her for six consecutive years. He deserved worse.

"Aaarrghhhhh!!!" He tackled her and landed on top of her, knocking the breath out of her. He wrapped his hands around her throat and started choking. "I wanted to extend this playtime with you but you aren't being cooperative-" he squeezed some more. Iris was choking and her vision was getting darker on the periphery.

I won't go like this.

Iris started flapping her legs, trying to get a good hit but, Grayson's grip was tight. "Adios, puta."

"Why don't you adios your ass outta here!!" Aurora screamed as she hit his head with a baseball bat.

If iris wasn't half unconscious, she would have found it hot. Coughing, she tried to get large gulps of air into her screaming lungs.

Aurora was relentless, she continued to beat the fucking shit out of him. She hit him so hard that the fucking bat broke. Iris had her jaw on the floor. She tried to get up but a sharp pain went up her hand and leg. She saw that she has another bullet embedded in the meaty part of her thigh, bleeding profusely. Her wrist was sprained and she had a black eye.

Grayson, even though he looked more like human pulp, kicked Aurora's legs out and she fell. That guy is like a cockroach, Iris groaned internally. They wrestled and stood up. There were punches and curses thrown at each other. He was about to attack Aurora when gunshots rang through the air. The police were at the door and they had shot.

Grayson collapsed and groaned in pain. Aurora stood there, catching her breath. She slowly let out a long breath. She turned towards Adara and smiled. She tried walking to her, but she stumbled.

Falling.

"RORY NO!!" Iris dived forward, ignoring the pain in her leg, to catch the falling woman. She caught her in her arms and when she looked down, she saw a knife sticking out from her stomach. Blood was just pouring out fast and pooling around them, like a red halo.

"Rory you fucking idiot." Iris cried out.  She took out her top and pressed against the wounds but, there were too many stab wounds.

That son of a bitch!!

"Don't worry..... Doesn't hurt." Aurora wheezed out, but she winced.

"Don't fucking lie to me. Why would you fucking do that?!" Iris cried out, feeling completely and utterly helpless. She tried to stop the bleeding by applying pressure, but it didn't help. More and more blood poured out, just like a river.

"We need EMT's right now. We have three casualties and two of them are severely injured." The policewoman spoke into her com.

"You...are free...now." Aurora gasped out. The pain was too much. Too damn much.

"What is even the fucking point of being free when you are not there?!" Iris cried as she pressed her head against Aurora's.

"I...love you...so much.. I am so-" Aurora coughed, and blood coating her lips. "-so greatful to have...met you."

"No Rory!! I want to have a future with you. I want to marry you, adopt children with you. Get fat and old with you. Spend every waking moment beside you. I love you so fucking much, I can't see my future without you in it. Don't you get it?! There is no 'me' without you!!"

Tears rolled down Aurora's eyes. At this point, it was hard to differentiate whose tears they were. "I am so lucky...to die in the arms of a...woman I love...nobody gets...that."

The darkness was slowly calling out to Aurora like a siren. It was so so easy to just slip into the other side. So tempting. There was just a single rope tethering her to the world.

Iris. Her Adara. Her little red.

"Rory NO!! You feel fucking stay alive for me okay?! You are gonna fucking fight this and survive. I just can't loose another person I love to that son of a bitch!!"

"It's okay little red... Go live your life for the two of us....Make me ...prou-"

"RORY FUCKING NO!! HEY LEMME GO HEY- RORY PLEASE BABY STAY ALIVE STAY-"

.....

...

..

.

I had to take breaks while writing this because it became so hard to type with blurry eyes.

before you guys come at me with pitchforks, there is an EPILOGUE. Be on the lookout, you do NOT want to miss that.

Thank you for giving me a chance to share this story with you guys:)

[that-70s-page]

Paper Rings

Pairing: Roger Taylor x Reader

Summary: You are worried about not being enough for Roger now that Queen has become successful, so he shows you how much you mean to him. 

Warnings: Angst, fluff, light language, brief mentions of alcohol

Words: ~4k

A/N: I wrote this in dedication to my younger sister, who absolutely loves Taylor Swift. She’s forced me to listen to Lover, so her new song paper rings inspired me to write some good hearty FLUFF.

p.s. this turned out waaay more angsty than I expected :p

You lay on your rug tapping your fingers against your thigh, eyes searching aimlessly about your room. You reach a hand up, disrupting the rays of dust that seem to float only in the sunbeams that streak the air in front of you.

You know that the dust fills your entire room, but in that moment you are a child again, and the dust is a living entity, floating down and swimming through the air in purposeful patterns. The small particles only exist where the sun paints beams through your room, disappearing along with the warm rays.

You are lost in thought when your eyes reach your desk, lingering on the small framed photo that balances crookedly on the edge next to the glass of wine that you had let grow stale.

You both look so happy and young in that picture. When had that changed?

Roger’s hair is longer and curlier, but he still has that cocky, rock star smile even when back then he was selling clothes with Freddie at a stall in Kensington market.

When had you gone from being broke and hungry all the time, but happy just to be alive and together, to being comfortable adults, but feeling like something was missing?

It wasn't that you were unhappy.

You loved Roger, and you knew that he loved you just as much, but lately things just felt different.

Queen had become very popular, and Roger was spending more and more time with the band, recording, touring, and partying. You loved to watch him perform, but it was difficult for you to understand the appeal of the rockstar life. He often came home late, drunk, or too exhausted to spend much time alone with you.

You knew that it was everything Roger had ever wanted; the fame, the fortune, it was what he had been craving since before you had even met him.

But when you two had met, he had not yet gotten a taste of having real money and being a popular musician, and you were enough for him.

Now it sometimes felt like you were drifting, waiting for the day that he realized he could do better; numbing yourself in anticipation. Distancing yourself to somehow cushion the fall.

Even if he loves me, it doesn't mean he won't leave me.

Those were the recurring words that floated through your head as you lay on your back staring at the photo your friend had taken when you had first started dating Roger.

You had met him at a college party that your friends had hosted in your building. You had gone outside to find some peace and quiet, but hadn't gotten very far. Someone had fallen into the pool in your yard, and his friends were drunkenly trying to help him get out. He was fully clothed and absolutely hammered, so his weak attempts at paddling himself to the stairs made it look as if he had never learned to swim. His companions weren't having much luck in aiding him either, and the soaking, drunk blond was trying so desperately to get out of the water that he pulled his tall, poodle-haired friend into the pool. You had first laughed at the inanity of the boys, but had soon noticed that while the tall brunette had successfully escaped the icy cold pool, the blond was struggling to keep his head above water, his sodden clothing pulling him down. Upon noticing, you had immediately rushed to the shallow part at the stairs to help him, the lifeguard training you had done in your teens at the local pool still drilled into your brain. His two friends watched you with a mixture of hilarity and concern, the soaking wet poodle of a man shivering beside the shorter brunette. The blond was wet and embarrassed, but surprisingly uninjured. Even more surprisingly, he was incredibly attractive and charming, even in his soaking, drunken state. You helped the boys dry off and invited them inside, and had quickly grown to be close friends.

And the rest is history, right?

Strangers to friends, friends to lovers, but what was left for you?

The only thing past marriage was kids, possibly grandkids, and then death.

You scold yourself for sounding so nonsensical, and remind yourself that there was plenty in between, that it was the little things in life that made it all worth it, like waking up in the middle of the night and just watching him breathe, or the way he would always confide in you about his songs before showing them to Brian or Freddie. Hell, you hadn't even gotten a steady job yet, and Queen had years of success ahead of it.

But what if he gets bored?

His new lifestyle will surely introduce him to new, better things. New music, new places, new people. 

Better people. 

Plus, there will be plenty of groupies and fans that will throw themselves at him, despite his relationship or marital status.

Maybe if you were engaged, things would feel more secure.

But you don't want to force it, and you can't tell if marriage is something Roger even wants.

Sure, the two of you had talked about it, and you had certainly hinted at wanting a proposal, but Roger had been oblivious, and was away on tour so much that a wedding just seemed impractical.

Maybe you should be the one to propose. Or the two of you could elope, like Deaky and Veronica.

But in your heart you knew you had always secretly wanted a cliche, romantic proposal, and a beautiful wedding with all of your friends and family.

But what does Roger want?

You know he is secretly a romantic, after having dated him for two years, but you also know that he is easily distracted and has a difficult time settling down. He may love you, but he also may not want to spend the rest of his life with you.

You feel something sting your eyes and slide down your cheek, and you blink at the realization that you had started crying. Your chest has become tight, and your throat aches with the effort of holding back the fat, salty tears that have finally breached from your eyes. 

You take a heavy breath, willing yourself to calm down, but thinking about Roger has worked your nerves up to feverish hysteria, and you can feel yourself being pulled into the suffocatingly tight grip of an anxiety attack.

Just as you begin to feel lightheaded from your unsteady breathing, you hear the front door open and footsteps trip into the kitchen.

Roger’s home early, you observe, trying to compose yourself with deep, even breaths before he notices and questions you about your tears.

Thinking about your future is scary, but actually voicing your fears aloud to the love of your life is bloody terrifying.

His rasping voice calls for you from the kitchen, hoarse from a long day of rehearsing the set. You try to call back, but his name is replaced with a desperate wheeze as you feel yourself being drawn back into your anxiety, tendrils of worry wrapping around your throat and choking you, stealing away your voice.

When he doesn't hear you answer, Roger goes to your bedroom and opens the door quietly, expecting to find you napping or engrossed in a book. Instead, he finds you sitting on the floor with tears streaking your face, puffy and red from your crying.

You gaze up at him tearfully, frustrated with yourself for allowing him to walk in on you like this. But when you see the look of worry and overwhelming love in his eyes as he rushes to sit beside you, you can’t hold back your sobs any longer.

He pulls you in closer to him as you bury your head in his neck, sprinkling his t-shirt with your tears. You take heaving breaths as he slowly rubs along your back, trying desperately to release the pressure on your lungs.

After a few moments of listening to your silent sobs, Roger pulls away to gaze at your face, all of his love and compassion for you eminent on his features. He cradles your cheek in one of his callused hands and blinks slowly at you, his mouth pursed slightly in worry. You gasp for air between each sob, leaning your face into his warm palm and closing your eyes against his skin. He gently traces his thumb over your eyelids and lips, and then moves his hand to wipe away your tears.

“What’s wrong, love?”

You open your eyes and shake your head slightly, sniffling and blinking rapidly to clear away your tears.

“Talk to me, Y/N. What’s going on?” he whispers, his eyes showing such tenderness and emotion that you feel your heart swell in your chest despite your overwhelming anxiety.

“N-nothing Rog, it’s nothing, I’m just feeling *hic* r-really anxious and shitty right now. I’m sorry you had to *hic* come home to this, I’m a right mess, please don't let me ruin your day,” you plead through your onslaught of tears, looking up at him through clumped, wet eyelashes.

His eyes widen slightly and he grabs for your hands, holding each tightly in his own and leaning in, lips parted in a half frown.

“Oh love, please don’t apologize, I wouldn't want to come home to anything else. I mean- besides a relaxed, happy Y/N of course, but you could never ruin my day, you're the reason I look forward to coming home from the studio, I love every bit of you, alright?”

You nod, but don't meet his eyes. His words just make you more anxious, feeding your fears that he doesn’t mean it anymore, as if he was trying to convince not only you but himself that he loves you.

“Now tell me what’s got you anxious, I don't fancy coming home to see my girlfriend crying on the floor and not knowing what’s wrong, ” he speaks softly but fervently, still holding your hands as if they are the only things keeping you there with him.

“I know, I’m sorry, I just feel like- sometimes it seems like you’re never here anymore, even when you are. I know that sounds awful, but I just can’t help but think that it has something to do with me,” you flit your glassy eyes from his face to the floor, feeling exposed and guilty.

“Oh darling, it has absolutely nothing to do with you, please don't get it into your head that anything is your fault. I’m sorry if I haven’t been around as much lately, the band takes up so much of my time,” he looks genuinely upset with himself, and you feel even more guilty for making your troubles seem like they are his fault.

“I know you’re busy with the band, and I’m so glad that you are finally achieving what you deserve, I’m just worried- I’m so scared that- that-” you break off, both from the fear that accompanies telling Roger that you’re scared he’ll leave you, and from the renewal of tears that burn your eyes at hearing yourself out loud.

“What is it, love? Please let me help, you’re scaring me darling,” he breathes, trying desperately to make you meet his eyes again. 

“I can’t, Rog, I can’t- you’ll hate me, you’ll wish you never came home. I can’t tell you, because I don’t want to ruin everything with my stupid insecurities!” you sob, disgusted with yourself for breaking down again and for making Roger feel responsible.

As he stares at your shaking, crying frame, he feels his heart break a little, cursing himself for being so completely helpless when it came to calming you.

“Love, look at me, please look at me- I don’t know what you’re talking about- Y/N, I could never hate you, no matter what you do or say. God, I love you so much, just- let me fix this, tell me what’s wrong, I can’t help you unless you tell me,” he stumbles on his words, the unfamiliar feeling of tears pricking his eyes as he watches you fall apart in front of him.

He stops his rambling when he feels your arms wrap tightly around his torso and pull yourself closer to him, tangling your shaky hands in the fabric of his shirt.

“I love you, I love you so much Rogie, God I love you, please don't ever leave me, I don't think I could bear it. I love you- so, so, so much,” you sob into him, feeling his heartbeat increase beneath your cheek that is pressed against the bare skin of his chest.

Roger’s entire body tenses around you and he stutters frantically, “I-I love you too darling, what on Earth would ever make you think I’d leave? I could never, not when my entire future depends on you. Please believe me when I tell you that I plan on spending the rest of my life with you... I love you so much, angel. Christ, sometimes it hurts, you know? You’re my everything, and right now my everything is worrying me. Please show me what I can do.”

You couldn’t answer him if you tried, your breath coming in short gasps, body stiff and tired from fighting to get air to your lungs for so long. All you can do is finally meet his gaze, and when you do you notice that there are tears in the corners of his eyes. You stop breathing altogether at the sight of Roger crying, and he notices with a frightened expression. 

“Y/N, you’ve got to breathe love. Come here, take deep breaths with me,” he shifts your trembling body in his lap and presses his chest against yours to show your lungs how to properly take in the air, counting to four in between each intake of breath, lungs exaggerating each pump.

You fight to stay focused on his steady heartbeat and the movement of his chest beneath yours, your mind running desperately to escape from the dark, fuzzy feeling of not getting enough oxygen. 

“That’s right, love, you’re doing so good. Just keep breathing, I’ve got you. You’re ok, I’ve got you.”

You feel Roger’s hand rubbing smooth circles into your back, and you divert your attention from his breathing for a moment to focus on the gentle massage, muscles relaxing underneath his warm palms. He pauses when he notices your breathing almost return to normal, and you lift your head from his shoulder to gaze into his shining blue eyes. He stares back, all the confusion and fear gone from his eyes and replaced with a look of admiration.

“You don’t have to say anything if you don’t want to, darling. Just tell me when you’re ready, I’ll be here for you,” he whispers, brushing the hair from your eyes and tracing your cheekbones with long, delicate fingers.

“No, Rog, I want to say it, I was just so scared of how you might react. I didn’t- I didn’t trust myself to tell you without hurting you,” you manage to speak, voice cracking from the effort. 

He stares at you with large, understanding eyes, waiting patiently for you to continue. You take a deep breath, intertwining your fingers with his and playing with them nervously, trying to channel all of your anxiety into the motions. He gives them a gentle squeeze, as if to silently tell you that everything is ok, and you blink at him gratefully, squeezing back with trembling hands.

“Ever since you went on tour, I’ve started to think more about the future. Our future… Rog, I’m so scared that we won’t make it. I’m scared that you’ll get bored with me, and that once you become famous- because I know Queen is going places- you’ll realize that you can do better, and then I won’t be able to do anything about it, because no matter how much I love you, no matter how much I want you to stay forever, I could never force that on you,” you let out, feeling a wave of relief wash over you as you finally told him about the fears that had been a crushing weight on your heart for so long.

You meet his eyes, afraid of what you might see in them. Would there be anger, or remorse? Or worst of all, confirmation that what you had said was true?

But when you make contact with those familiar blue eyes, you see a mixture of fear and desperation, his irises swimming in tears that make the blue turn into a bright crystalline sky. He opens his mouth, but no sound comes out as he ceases the nervous twitching of his fingers around yours. After what seemed like eons, he finally speaks.

“Y/N…” his voice is soft, so quiet that you almost don't hear him.

“I- love, wait here. Just- give me one moment, I'll be right back, please don’t move,” he whispers, as if he is afraid of coming back to an empty room.

He stands up slowly, letting your hands fall limply to your sides as you stare back at him in confusion. He can see the hurt in your eyes, and he knows that you had expected a different response.

“I love you so much, ok? Just wait here.”

He says it with a shaking voice, and walks swiftly out of your bedroom. You hear him rummaging about in his desk drawer, until he makes a quiet exclamation of relief and slowly returns to your room, standing just inside the doorway. You stare at him, wondering what he could possibly have had to get at a time like this, until you see him slowly approach you.

Both of his hands are behind his back, as if to hide something, and he sits back down in front of you. A small smile plays on his lips, but the nervousness in his gaze overpowers it and you wonder anxiously what he is thinking about.

He brings one hand out from behind him to reach for yours, holding it tightly and caressing it with his thumb as he stares at you. You stare back, holding your breath in anticipation of what he was going to say. He keeps his eyes on you as he brings his other hand shakily out from behind his back, his face showing a mixture of affection and complete terror, a look you had only seen once before. The day he asked me to be his girlfriend, you remember bitter-sweetly, trying to read his eyes for any hints at what he was going to tell you.

You notice nothing in them that gives away what he is about to say, and glance down at his other hand that now hovers in front of his chest.

And then you see it.

Holy fuck.

In Roger’s right hand, he is holding a small, velvety orange box. His fingers wrap delicately around the satin fabric of the casing, and his knuckles had gone white from the effort of trying to stop his hands from trembling.

“R-Rog?”

“Y/N...I am so unbelievably in love with you,” he breathes, releasing your hand to slowly open the small box.

It’s as if this were the first time you were hearing him say it. It might as well have been, because you can feel your heart stop beating, and your whole body tingles with anticipation.

“I-I bought this months ago, but I couldn’t figure out the right time to give it to you. I know it’s unexpected, and I know these probably aren't the best circumstances, but maybe- maybe this will help you, you know? If you agree- if this is something you want, then you won’t ever have to worry about me leaving, you won’t ever have to think about our future and be unsure, because I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life.” 

He pauses for a moment to observe your reaction, taking in the miniscule movement of your head and the twitch of your lips. You hold your breath, your wide eyed stare urging him silently to go on, to ask the question that was balanced precariously on the edge of his tongue, waiting to be tipped over and made tangible for you to answer.

“I want you, darling. Forever. I’ll never stop wanting you, despite what you may think. I can’t fathom a world where we aren’t together, I need you in my life,” he says softly as he slowly takes the ring out of the box to hold in front of you between two fingers.

“Fucking hell, I’d marry you here and now if I could, but I need an answer first. Will you- will you marry me?”

His voice wobbles as he finally lets the words tumble past the barrier of his lips, and he lifts your hand towards the ring slightly, as if the movement itself is the question.

Your heart feels as if it might leap out of your chest, and you have to remember to breathe, sucking in a deep inhale of air. You don’t know whether to smile or cry, so you settle on both, your eyes filling with fresh tears as your lips curl upwards into a trembling bow. But these tears feel different against your skin; they lack the hot, salty pain that you had felt moments before, and instead fall on your face like fresh raindrops, watering the flowers that bloom on your cheeks and cooling the heat of your blush.

For a moment, you forget to answer, and you notice fear flash in Roger’s eyes at your hesitation. You frantically nod your head, not trusting your voice to convey the answer.

The fear immediately leaves his gaze and is replaced with a look of relief and elation, and he brings your hand closer to the ring, eyes darting from your fingers to the shining silver band before he slowly slips it onto you. His mouth morphs into a wide grin when he sees the ring on your finger, fitted perfectly to your delicate hands and reflecting the light coming in from the window. 

You finally regain your ability to speak, and rush to confirm your answer with words.

“Y-Yes, yes Rog, God you have no idea how much I want to,” you continue whispering yes as he pulls you in for a deep kiss, his hands coming to your face so he can keep you there. His tongue darts against your lips and you sigh into his mouth, tangling your arms around his neck and in his hair.

You break apart for air but keep your faces as close as possible, your noses brushing against each other and your breath mingling. The feeling of the ring on your finger is a comforting weight that you have already become used to, the cool metal warming above your hot skin, and you smile at Roger as he looks at you through hooded, content eyes.

“M’so glad I get to marry you. Been meaning to for a while now, but I had to find the perfect ring, and there aren't many jewelry stores around here,” he smiles back at you, his warm breath fanning over your cheeks as he lets out a small laugh.

“It is perfect, Rog. It’s absolutely gorgeous, how on Earth did you afford something like this?” you speak, twisting the ring around your finger with your other hand.

“Pulled a few strings, made a few calls. It was nothing, love, the price doesn't matter, all that matters is that now you can’t get away. You’re all mine,” he smirks slightly, hands sliding down to rest on your waist.

“I’m all yours, Rogie,” you agree, leaning in for another kiss.

“Y’know, I would've married you with paper rings, but this is much better,” you whisper playfully into the kiss, and you feel him laugh against you.

Everything felt right in that moment; it was just you and him, and your surroundings had stilled and faded, washed away by the feeling of his lips on yours and the ring resting on your finger. The dust continued it’s leisurely path along the sunbeams, but you paid it no notice. The wine sat on your desk, stale and forgotten until the next day. The sun slowly sunk under the horizon, and the Earth slowly turned as night approached, and your world was perfect.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Take Cover

Series Summary: After the events of Civil War, Steve and his team are stuck in their compound. Following a mission, you disagree with your stalwart leader but he does not take kindly to your defiance.

Sequel to Insubordination, Pulling Rank, Misconduct, and Furlough

Chapter Description: The reader struggles to relax on her vacation.

Warnings: non-con/explicit sex, violence, mentions of birth control/contraceptives. Obviously 18+ (like this whole blog)

Note: Okay so this got fucking crazy. It starts out slow but I promise, it is worth it. Drama, smut, darkness! Omg, thank you guys for your patience and I hope this was worth the way. Love you ❤

Thanks for reading. Feel free to send an ask, reblog, or reply of your thoughts:)

Even upon returning to you room, you were not to meet with any sleep. You were still tender and mortified. Steve had used you so easily. The more you allowed him to bend and contort your body to his whims, the more it tore you up inside. What had happened to the man you had once respected? Something was missing inside of him. And you couldn’t help the tremor every time you thought of him cumming inside of you. Of the possibility that he would linger within you.

You sat on the floor beside the ebony dresser carved with tribal insignia. You unpacked your bag into the drawers as the sun rose just outside your window. You felt so numb and yet there was a pain deep inside of you. You stood as you closed the drawers and changed into the outfit you had set aside. A billowy blouse and torn jeans. You did your best to look human in the mirror and slipped into a pair of flats.

You stared at your door before you found the will to open it. Your hand slowly turned the handle and you clicked it shut carefully behind you. You listened for any noise of your team. You neared Steve’s door and pressed your ear to the wood; you could hear his sound snores from the other side. Bastard. He was entirely unfazed by what he was doing to you. A bitterness settled on your tongue and you walked quietly down the hall.

You found your way to the throne room by chance but only after getting lost several times. You were surprised to find Shuri there. She was staring out the windows of the palace onto the mosaic of wilderness mixed with industry below. You neared her and she swore in her own language as you spooked her; your reflection appearing just beside hers in the glass. You smiled meekly and tucked your hands in your pocket.

“You’re awake early,” She grinned at you in the window, “I’d thought you and the rest would be sleeping off your jetlag.”

“I’ve always been an early bird,” You returned, “I was actually hoping to ask you something. Um, or someone. Not really sure who to ask.”

“That’s what I’m here for. To answer questions. If it’s not that white boy in my lab prodding at my work, it’s my brother.” She chuckled.

“I was hoping to travel around the city today...just for an hour or so. Cooped up in that compound…” You stared down at the colourful streets. “I’m getting a little stir crazy.”

“Ah, yes, I can get you a car. And my brother had your credentials prepared. They’re in the lab waiting for you.” She turned to you at last. “It must be hard; leaving it all behind for the solitary of that place. I told my brother, it was little more than a prison. So boring.”

“I’ve found that the friends you lose are worse than any material,” You said solemnly, “Some things you know you can never get back.”

“I think you and the white boy would get along. You’re both rather pessimistic,” She shook her head, “Why don’t you come with me and I’ll get you sorted.”

“Thank you,” You followed her as she turned away. She flicked her fingers over her shoulder for you to follow and you did so eagerly. A couple hours away had only been a fantasy; the last you clung to in surviving the horror of your reality.

-

Wakandan currency, a fake passport, a map, and a mod to Google translate and you were ready to go. A car awaited you downstairs and you slid into the back with a suppressed sigh. You felt almost free even if you knew it wouldn’t last. You asked the driver to take you to your first and most important destination and wrung your hands eagerly. When he stopped, you stepped out with a thanks and stared up at the pharmacy. That at least resembled its western counterpart.

It was a full five minutes before you worked up the courage to enter. You looked around the shelves of beauty products and medicinal aids. You walked down the center aisle and meekly approached the pharmacist’s counter. You neared with a nervous smile, waiting behind the other customer as you clutched the thin strap of your purse. 

It was your turn and you stumbled as you stepped up to the counter. “Um, I...is there any way to request a private consultation?” 

“Certainly,” The woman smiled; her braids twisted back in a ballerina bun. “Come with me, hon.”

Her English was clear and you were relieved that you didn’t need the app to understand her. She led you to a small room and assured you that the pharmacist would be in soon. You sat in the clinical white chair and shook your leg. When at last another woman appeared in a white coat, you greeted her in a small voice and she closed the door behind her.

“Hello, I’m Anula. How can I help you today…?”

“Y/N,” You introduced yourself, “I, uh, I, well, I’m sure you can guess that I’m not from around here and I wasn’t sure even if you could help…”

“I can try,” She smiled warmly, “Do you have a passport?”

“Y-yes,” You unzipped your purse shakily and held out the document provided by Shuri. She took it and read it over carefully.

“You are a guest of the king,” She turned to the fourth page; a large stamp with a panther’s head on it.

“I am,” You confirmed softly.

“Anything you need would be covered under the Crown’s hospitality.” She assured you.

“Even without a prescription?” You wondered.

“If it is required, we can arrange a doctor’s visit within the hour,” She offered, “Really, we are not so strict as America. Our healthcare is here to care, not to profit.”

“I...I need birth control.” You admitted shyly; your voice didn’t feel like your own. “And...Plan B, if you have it.”

She nodded but not judgement marred her face. Her expression was that of understanding. “Easy. We can have the birth control readied within twenty minutes. Just a few questions first and the Plan B is not a problem at all. I’ll have my staff put it together at once.” She stood and offered her hand, “You don’t have to be afraid. Not here.”

-

You swallowed the pill at the counter and left with slightly less anxiety. You hid the rest of your haul in your purse and walked along the street as you stopped in the local shops. You paused to watch the traffic and rush of people around you. You could just disappear. You laughed at yourself darkly and continued to the corner to meet the driver. Steve would find you, you knew that.  

By the time you returned to the palace, your head was achy and your stomach had begun to roil. You thanked the driver again and dragged yourself up the royal stairs. Inside, you traversed the maze as best you could and eventually found your way back to the throne room. From there, you could recall the path Shuri had led you along last night.

Wanda turned the corner at the same time as you and you nearly took her out as you grabbed onto each other. She giggled and you tried to but the unexpected run in had only spiked your already fragile nerves.

“I’ve been looking for you!” Wanda greeted in her subtle accent, “Nat’s in the common room with Shuri. She wants us to play some games with her.”

“Oh?” You raised your brows and resisted the urge to touch your stomach. You felt sick. And tired. “I don’t know. I’m exhausted.”

“And yet you went running around Wakanda,” She mused, “What were you doing anyway?”

“Just...exploring. As much alone time I’ve had during my suspension, doesn’t really feel like I’m alone, you know?” You spoke quietly.

“I know,” Her hands clung to yours, “But you shouldn’t always be alone. Please...for me. You can just watch.”

“Okay,” You gave a reluctant smile, “You know I can’t deny you.”

“I know,” She preened.

“I’ll just put my purse away and catch up to you, okay?” You slowly untwined your fingers from hers.

“Alright, I’ll walk slow…” Her eyes washed over your features before she finally stepped past you. “You better catch up.”

-

You sat on the long sofa as Shuri, Wanda, and Nat moved along with the figures on the television. You would’ve loved to play but you felt like shit. You were mostly just tired and quite tempted to fall asleep on the couch. Instead you just leaned on the arm and yawned. After Shuri came out the victor of the Shakira battle, Nat turned to you with a mope.

“Come on, Y/N, just one song,” She pleaded. “Maybe it will wake you up.”

You squinted at her and sighed. You definitely felt like a party pooper. You hated it. These last months you had been shrouded in gloom. You just wanted to enjoy life again; even if it was something as small as a round of Just Dance. You dropped your shoulders and grinned. You pushed yourself to your feet.

“Fine, where’s my controller?” You asked and Wanda smiled over Nat’s shoulder.

You took the small controller, slipping on the wrist strap, and lined up with the rest. “No, not Despacito,” You argued as Shuri began flicking through the catalogue.

She settled on some Lady Gaga instead, “Fine. Something a bit more palatable for you.”

You started moving along with them as best you could. For someone trained to fight, you weren’t the most co-ordinated. You blamed that on your lack of rhythm and sleep. You were really starting to enjoy yourself as you forgot your eventful arrival the night before. You ignored the movement you sensed at the other end of the room, lost in the rhythm and shared giddiness. The song ended and Shuri gloated again as she came out on top.

“Shit!” Nat’s natural competitive nature was starting to boil over. “I swear. You’re cheating.”

“Or you’re getting a bit rusty,” Sam taunted and you turned.

He stood just inside with Steve and Bucky at his shoulders. The three were thoroughly amused by the scene and you would’ve dropped your controller if it wasn’t for the strap. Steve’s eyes were on your formerly swinging hips and you knew he had seen a few too many of your ill-timed moves. You unhooked the strap from your hand and set the controller aside. You looked away, trying to avoid a direct stare down only to catch Wanda’s pale eyes. Slowly she peeked over at Steve and you saw the thoughts swirling.

“You four are like the second coming of the Spice Girls over here,” Sam teased as he crossed the room.

“And it looks like Scary just showed up,” Nat countered.

Steve and Bucky trailed behind; the former moved like a predator. The warmth of his gaze lingered on you. You crossed your arms and kept your distance. You edged closer to Wanda and whispered as you turned your back to the room. “I think I’m going to lay down now.”

She nodded, her eyes still glued to Steve. “I’ll come with you. Just to make sure you’re alright.”

“Wanda--”

“I insist,” She looked at you at last. “Come on.”

You waited as Wanda excused you and followed her to the door. In the hallway, you walked in silence, picking blindly at your nails.

“I don’t look into peoples’ heads anymore. I don’t like it.” She began quietly. “But I can still get a sense of what’s within. It doesn’t take my powers to see there is something going on.” Your eyes were wet as she spoke and you gulped. You couldn’t talk; wouldn’t. “Tell me and I can help you. We’ll all help you.”

She stopped short and turned to you. Your eyes were stuck to the carpet. “I can’t…”

“Even if you don’t tell me, I know. Something isn’t right.” She touched your elbow gently, “What has he done to you?”

“I let him do it.” You raised your head, staring her down defiantly as a single tear slipped down your cheek. “I can’t stop him and neither can you.”

Her face paled and her fingers gripped your arm. “Oh, Y/N… I can. We can.”

“No. I don’t want you to,” Your lip trembled. “This isn’t your problem. It’s mine and--” You inhaled and shook your head, “I don’t want everyone to know what he’s done. It’s humiliating.”

“I won’t tell them then, but I can stop him. Please.” You lowered your head and her hands cradled your chin, forcing you to look at her.

“If you do, he’ll make me leave. You too. We’ll all have tossed it away for nothing.” You croaked. “At least when he’s out there, when’s he’s leading the team, he’s saving people. What is my life against theirs.”

“He’s not the only one helping--”

“Don’t! Okay! Don’t you understand? If I do anything, I’ll be left out in the cold. All alone.” You pushed her hands away. “And what do think will happen to you? You think he’ll let your little tryst with Vision continue? He’ll find a way to tell Tony.”

“That doesn’t matter. You’ll have me and no one could ever keep me from Vis.”

“No, he could. That’s what you don’t get.” You backed away. “Wanda, if you’re my friend, you’ll just let it be. I’ve enough regret on my shoulders.”

You spun and marched away from her. You could feel her watching you. The tears spilled freely as you turned the corner and you sniffed them back as you wiped them away. How had everything become so fucked up? Why did you always have to fuck things up so entirely?

-

There was a knock at the door after the windows had grown dark. It was late. You had heard the doors of the others as they had returned for the night. There wasn’t a second knock. The door opened unanswered and you didn’t need to roll over to see who it was. Steve’s heavy footsteps neared the bed and he huffed as he stared down at you. You stayed still beneath the covers with your back to him.

“There’s a pool on the other side of the palace,” He sat down and the bed dipped beneath him. His thick hand was on your hip, “Hot tub, too. Thought you could use a few laps, soldier.”

You didn’t respond. You didn’t move. You just laid there.

“You know the rules,” His voice deepened, “Keep it up soldier and I’ll have you running down the halls.”

“Yes, sir,” Your voice was small as you rolled onto your back. You pushed yourself up carefully as you faced him.

“Why’d you leave so soon today?” He asked as you draped your legs over the edge of the mattress.

You looked at him sharply as you stood. “Are you serious?”

He chuckled and grabbed your arm. He dragged you towards the door as he spoke. “No, I just like watching you squirm.”

“Wait, shouldn’t I get a bathing suit?” You tried to plant your feet but only tripped yourself. He kept you from falling and opened the door with his other hand.

“You won’t need it,” He smirked and pulled you into the hall. The door closed behind you just as swiftly and you were struggling to keep up with his long stride. You were still half asleep. Irritable even.

“Stop,” You tried to wriggle free of him, “I can walk by myself.”

“Oh, are we gonna be mouthy tonight?” He clung to you even tighter as he pulled you onward. “Because I can put that mouth to good use.”

“Just, Jesus Christ, let me just walk,” You planted your heels and were surprised when it drew him to a full stop. “Please.”

He turned and looked you up and down. You were tired and worn out. You just wanted to feel like your body was still your own. He rolled his eyes and shook his head. He grabbed your forearm and shoved you ahead of him. “Then walk, soldier.” He ordered as you stumbled.

You righted yourself and pushed your shoulders back as you walked. You weren’t sure where exactly you were going. At the corner, Steve directed you with a single word, “right,” then “left,”; his directions carried on through the halls until you reached a pair of carved door which glowed with an unnatural lustre. “Inside,” He commanded.

You reached out and slid your fingers through the handle and pressed inward. Within was a sparkling pool of water at the centre of the room. There was a lounge area along the far wall with reclining beach chairs and a round table with chairs. At the other end of the pool, was a smaller basin; steam rising from its core. The door closed behind you as Steve followed you inside.

As you stood admiring the ethereal glow set by the windowed ceiling upon the room, two hands rested heavy on your shoulders. “You’re tense,” Steve remarked. You could hear the smirk in his voice. You withheld your dry retort of him being the reason for that and instead lowered your chin. “The steam should loosen you up.”

You drew away from him as you crossed your arms. It was laughable that he should even pretend to care about you. Painful even as you recalled those days when you truly thought he had. How could you have known those years ago that this valiant crusader would become so corrupted?

“I thought we were past this, soldier,” Steve was close again. His hands were on the hem of your shirt. “But I’m always up for a fight.”

You sighed and remained as you were. “Sorry, Captain.”

“Very good,” He pulled your shirt up your torso and you pliantly raised your arms.

The loose tee was easily lifted over your head and he dropped it at his feet. He grabbed the waist of your pajama shorts and you resisted the urge to fold your arms across your bare chest. He tugged the shorts past your thighs and they fell naturally to the floor. You were entirely naked before him; a familiar vulnerability swept over you. The strength left your limbs and you closed your eyes in shame.

“Your turn,” He grabbed your wrist and turned you to face him. You stared up at his dark eyes; they used to be so bright. “Undress me, soldier.”

You reached over numbly and pushed the cotton up his stomach. He stooped to help you get it past his arms and shoulders, the tee discarded with your own. You were eager to be done with the ritual but he caught your hands and placed them on his broad chest. Your palms were pressed to his firm muscles and he held them there. Slowly, he slid your hands down his torso and you struggled not to pull away.

“You’re already wet, aren’t you?” He asked as he stopped your hands at the low belt of his pajamas. He removed his hands and nodded. “Go on.”

You gulped and pulled the elastic past his erection carefully. You bit down as you contemplated letting it snap back at him. That wouldn’t be good. Not for you. You rolled his pajamas past his thighs and let go. They puddled at his feet and he stepped out of them. He pressed his cock to your stomach, “Touch me.”

Your eyes went to his stomach; frozen there as you brought your hand blindly to his cock. You ran your fingers along his length and gripped him firmly. He shuddered and his hand wrapped around yours. He guided you up and down a few times as his breath came in dusky growls.

“Come on,” He pulled your hand away from his cock and clasped it in his. He led you along the polished geometric tile toward the steamy hot tub at the end of the room. He released you and nudged you ahead of him. “Get in.”

You cautiously neared the brim and dipped your toe in. You descended the underwater steps one at a time as the hot water embraced you. Despite your company, it was welcoming. You just wanted to sink under and never emerge from the depths. Your feet met the bottom and you crossed to the ledge which lined the basin’s perimeter. You turned and sat, the water moving noisily around you.

Steve’s eyes were on you, his head lowered in predatory observation. The corner of his mouth twitched and he descended into the tub with a splash. He sat on the bench across from yours and spread his thick arms over the edge of the hot tub. He hung his head back and sighed. Your legs and arms crossed without thought. What was he doing?

“Just relax,” He lifted his head and peeked at you with one eye. “It’s nice, isn’t it?”

Slowly, you tried to do as he said. You dropped your arms to your side and set your legs side by side. You stared at him as he just sat there, totally at ease, as if unaware of your presence. Despite the soothing waves of the jets and warmth all around, you just couldn’t relax. The more you watched him the angrier you were. You thought of your conversation with Wanda; of the shame that still burned in your spine. What if someone were to stumble in here with a similar idea as Steve? How would you explained the two of you skinny dipping so late at night?

Your shoulders were just above the water and you peered down at the distorted vision of your body. You turned your hands palm up and tried to trace the warped lines along them. You didn’t feel like a person anymore. This man across from you had made you feel like nothing more than air. You weren’t truly there; a part of you had broken. The same part of him that had fractured, only in a different way.

The water shifted suddenly and you looked up just as Steve pushed through the water. He settled beside you, his arm stretched behind your shoulders. You stiffened and raised your head. You focused on the far wall; willing yourself to drirft away. His hand was on your cheek; his wet fingers left a trail down to your jaw, then your neck, and along your collarbone. His heat added to that of the water as his fingers crawled beneath the surface.

He nuzzled your neck as you fought to stay still. His teeth grazed your throat, tickled even, before he bit down. The sharp twang caused you to grunt and you pushed against his head desperately. 

“Stop! Don’t!” You could feel him sucking, your flesh throbbing. He cupped your breast and finally let go. You knew there would be a purple welt left in his stead. You reached up to touch the teeth marks which framed the blemish. “Why would you do that?”

“Because, you’re mine,” He rasped into your skin as he rested his head against your shoulder. He toyed with your breast as he spoke; kneading pinching, and tweaking. “Wanda knows, doesn’t she?” You swallowed but didn’t answer. “But you told her not to do anything, right?” Again, silence. “Right, soldier?”

“Yes, Captain,” You whispered.

“She’ll mind her business if she knows what’s good for her and the robot,” His hand slid down your stomach, “You’ll keep her from doing anything stupid.”

“Yes, Captain,” You gritted out as he pushed between your legs.

“Good,” He pressed two fingers against your clit and held them there. He applied more pressure as he raised his hand and breathed in your ear. “I can feel how wet you are.” He dipped his fingers lower and you felt it too. “It’s all for me, isn’t it, soldier?”

“Y-yes,” You stuttered out as he dragged his fingers back to your clit.

His rough fingertips flicked back and forth and your thighs tingled. His breath was hot on your cheek as he played with you, caressing you gently only to deepen his touch. When you were ready to dissemble, he let off and slowly built you up again. He drew circles this time and you bit your lip as you tried to hide your face from him. His other arm wrapped around you and he pulled you close so that his lips were flush to your temple.

As the tension spiraled around his fingertips, he retreated again and you grunted without thinking. He chuckled, his free hand was on your head as he held you even tighter. “Do you want to cum, soldier?” He asked. “Hmm?”

“I...Yes, Captain,” You said breathily.

“Then ask,” He snarled.

“May I cum...Captain?” You forced out as his fingers kept a delicate pace.

“Mmmm,” He purred, his fingers sped up and you gasped. “Yes, you may, soldier.”

Your back arched as he stirred your nerves and the tensity met a fever pitch. Your hand was on his thigh without thinking, your nails digging into his flesh as you came with a suppressed moan. He didn’t stop until you were shaking against him. You felt so weak; so helpless. Why did your body do this to you? Why did you allow it to?

Steve’s body rippled the water as he moved. He came up in front of you as he spread your legs wide. He lifted you as he brought his knees up onto the bench. He reached down to align himself with your legs splayed around his thick torso. He rubbed his cock along your folds before pushing inside and you sank back against the ledge. He pressed himself to you, your shoulders against the lip of the tub as he impaled you entirely.

You were trapped between him and the wall of the tub. His arm bent behind you as he began to work in and out of you slowly. He bent his head and nuzzled your hair, inhaling you as he picked up his pace. A rush of water added to the whirlwind as you were rested just in front of a jet. You moaned and braced the side of the tub as Steve rutted into you in sharp jolts. His grunts filled your ears as he covered your body with his. You felt as if you were suffocating against him.

Steve thrust deeper and harder into you. The water splashed around him noisily and mixed with the animalistic noises that rose from both of you. Your walls were trembling, clenching around his cock as you came again. Your entire body shook as you were caught in a cluster of delight and detest. He slowed and his motion grew more deliberate.

His pelvis rocked against you in long thrusts and his head dipped down beside yours. He groaned, a gravelly rasp in your ear, and you felt his release. He bottomed out as he spasmed erratically. He leaned against you heavily and stilled, his breaths deep and throaty. You trembled and your heart raced. Your lungs felt as if they were filled with rocks and your body locked up.

“Get off!” It was a thin croak. “Please, get off of me.” You pushed on his shoulders. “Get off!!” Your voice only grew louder as the panic swept over you. “Steve, get off of me!”

He sat back, still inside of you as he caught your hands as you struck out at him. “What the fuck?” He tried to still you but you couldn’t stop. “Get a hold of yourself, soldier.”

“No, no, no,” You twisted your arms away from him. “I can’t--can’t---breathe.” You clutched your chest.

“Shh,” He made to pull out but only pushed back in again. “Let me calm you down.”

“No!” A wave of anger came over you as quickly as the panic.

This time, you didn’t miss. Your fist met with Steve’s jaw and his cock slipped out of you as he staggered. You brought your legs up and kicked him away from you. You struggled to push through the water and evade him but he latched onto you swiftly. You swung around with your elbow and caught him in the mouth. As he stumbled, you shoved him and he caught himself on the edge of the tub. You acted without thinking; you grabbed a hank of his dark hair and bashed his head into the raised lip.

You let go and retreated without looking behind you. He groaned and rolled over so that he was sat limply on the bench. His head lolled and blood ran from his lip and eyebrow. You covered your mouth as you blindly climbed the steps. Slowly his hand came up to hold his battered head. The adrenaline coursed through your veins and you searched around for your clothes. You dressed clumsily as you rushed across the room.

You could hear the water move and you knew he would come after you. You ran to the door and glanced back. Steve gripped the side of the tub as his other hand cradled his head. He was unsteady but not unable. You pulled open the door and dash out into the hallway. Your wet feet clapped on the floor as they echoed away from the pool room; away from Steve.

+

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