#might make a few lace locks and other metal stuff to put on there as well

[fidgetspringer]

It's when you're pricing commissions that you realise you really do just be making $100 pieces of art on the regular for free.

[mehidktbh]

A Little Treat

Pairing: John "Soap" Macativsh x Fem!Nurse!Reader

Summary: It's that time of the year for everyone to get through their flu shots. Soap is a bit more stubborn when it comes to it but when you promise him a little treat at the end and a hand to hold he can't back down.

Warning: The usual war/military shit, use of needles, fear of needles, swearing, one mention of readers cleavage, pining, Soap is lovestruck for you and kissing

A/N: So sad how I've been neglecting Soap, poor meow meow deserves some love <3

You hum slightly to yourself, preparing for the next flu shot, the latex gloves you've become so natural to match your nurse outfit. The sound of the door opening stops you from your thoughts as you turn around to greet whoever stands there. A smile litters your face as you see Soap leaning against the doorway, a smirk on his face as the door slams behind him.

"Well, well, well. Take a seat" You nod over to the bed, paper rolled out on top of the cosy mattress as it crinkles under Soap's weight. "What can I do for you?" You already know he's here for his flu shot, his body language says it all as he inspects every inch of the room. "Her' for my fuckin' shot."

He doesn't sound too pleased either, his tone is laced with sass as he sits back in the bed, hands supporting him on both sides as he leans further away when you come over slowly. His eyes watch as you bring a rolly metal table out, a silver plate sits in the middle on the top shelf. Cotton swabs, a needle, a band-aid and for some reason a disposable throw-up bag. He can only imagine the stuff you had to go through.

"Okay, this will only take a minute." You instruct him to roll up his sleeve, and he stalks your every move as you slowly suck up the shot into the needle. The liquid fills the needle as you slowly put the bottle back down, you're warm hand comes down to touch his naked arm. He flinches the second your nails rank over his skin, you're eyes catch his.

"Want to hold my hand?" He hesitates, your other hand comes up just about close to his other hand which supports his weight as he shifts. "I'll give you a treat if you let me finish" Your whispering is close to his ear as you tease him sweetly, a laugh quietly comes out from him. "Yeah, and what would that be, lass?" You shrug your shoulders, leaning back into his bicep as you poke the needle tip against his skin. He can feel the metal tickle him as you try to find a soft spot to poke him, the number of thick veins ranking up and down his arm making it impossible for you to take a shot.

"Ready?" You say, looking into his eyes as he immediately grabs your hand, locking fingers as you chuckle under your breath. He closed his eyes a bit, not so much it was pitch black but just enough to nearly see your cleavage as you bend down to get a closer look at where the needle is sticking.

His fingers tighten around your fingers as he latches on harder, intertwined so close it almost feels like he was trying to get closer. You can almost hear his little gasps and whimpers through the buzzing bright overhead light. And before long you pull away, "All done!" You say cheerfully, Soap sighs as he relaxes into his own mind. His whole arm feels numb from where you poked him while his other hand is bright red, leaving the memory of holding hands with you implanted in his mind.

"You might feel a bit nauseous after a while, it should go away within a few minutes, maybe an hour. Come back if you start to feel worse or have any other symptoms." You quickly go over what you say to every other person you've shot today, quickly dabbing the cotton swab on his arm as you toss it away.

"Y/N, you're forgetting my treat." He sounds demanding but smug at the same time as you turn around, innocently smiling before rolling your eyes. Your hands come up to cup his face, his eyes widen in surprise as you lean in more to his face. His stubble is rough against your soft hands, your lip connecting with the side of his mouth as you peck him slightly.

Well, you were supposed to give him a light peck on the corner of his lip but when he noticed you were going in for a kiss he couldn't stop himself. His lips instantly kissed back, you swore you could nearly feel his tongue come out for a split second but you pulled away before he could get more passionate.

"There you go," You said helping him up as he slowly but gradually got closer to the door, step by step you lead him, your sweet perfume guided out towards the haunting barrack. Turning around the thanked you for your time and patience, but more importantly the 'treat' which he wanted to say but instead was interrupted by Gaz.

His arm slung around his shoulder as he lead Soap out further into the hallway. "Got it done I presume?" Soap nodded in return, Gaz shooting him a worried look. "Fuck, your heating up, should I go get Y/N?" Hearing your name was awakening to him as he snapped out of his love-sick state. "No! Let- Let's go catch up with the others..." Gaz nodded slowly, letting Soap lead the way towards the meeting held by Price as he wondered exactly what happened in the nurse's office.

[doctorstethoscope]

The Right Chapter 5 || Aaron Hotchner x Fem! Reader

This is a big one babes!! Hold on tight!! 

Read previous chapters of this fic here!

Contains: canon-typical discussion of violence, soft aaron hotchner supremacy 

wordcount: 1.8k

You barely saw Aaron on Sunday, despite being in his house the whole day-- Jack was practically buzzing with excitement the moment you came through the door, pulling you down to his height and wrapping his arms around your neck to squeeze you in a hug.

“Hey, little man, I’ve missed you!” You said enthusiastically, returning his hug. 

“I missed you too. And so did Daddy. He said you were sick so I drew you a feel better card,” he told you, dragging you over to the coffee table and brandishing the  piece of computer paper he’d folded in two to form a card. 

“I love it so much Jack! I feel better already. Let’s put this on the fridge, yeah?” You said, standing up and shooting Aaron a smile as you crossed the kitchen. 

“Can we play legos now?”

“Buddy, give her a second. She just got here.” Aaron tried to calm Jack down, but you waved him off. 

“Just let me put my stuff away, and I’ll meet you in your room, okay?’ You told Jack, who scurried off towards his bedroom.

Aaron must have found some other way to entertain himself, because you and Jack spent the whole morning together, only taking a break after lunch when it was time for Jack’s nap. He insisted that you put him down, and after three readings of Curious George, he was finally asleep. When you turned to leave, you saw Aaron sitting in the door jam watching you.

“He was so excited this morning you would have thought it was Christmas,” He remarks as you meet him in the doorway. 

“He’s a good kid.” You whisper, slipping out into the hallway and pulling the door shut behind the two of you.

“I’m lucky.” He agrees with you. 

“Come on, Hotchner, it’s not all luck.” You tease him good naturedly as the two of you move back to the kitchen. He saw you headed for the sink, full of dishes from lunch, and sped up to get in front of you.

“Ah, ah ah. It’s naptime.” He told you, placing his hands on your shoulders and turning you around. 

Before you could stop yourself, you stomped your foot, not entirely unlike a child who needed a nap. “Hotch, come on!” 

“We’re probably getting called on something tomorrow, and sleep will be hard to come by, and you’ll wish you’d listened to me.” He tells you.

“You’re acting like you aren’t going to bench me, regardless of whether or not we get called on a case.” You accused of him, and he at least had the good grace to try and look sheepish. “I’m not tired. Can we just watch a movie or something?” You offered a compromise, and he nodded, leading you to the couch. 

You plopped onto the couch and picked up the remote as Aaron crossed the room to grab a throw blanket for the two of you to share. He spread the blanket across the couch and sat down, and you tucked your feet underneath you, unintentionally leaning in closer to him as you flicked the TV to a movie channel. Aaron stretched his legs out in front of him, extending one arm across the end of the sofa and the other arm around the back of it, conveniently making more space for you. As Hotch had suspected, it wasn’t long before your eyelids started to get heavy. 

“The dishes…” you mumbled sleepily. 

“I’ll take care of them.” He whispered, leaning in closer so you could hear him. 

“Later. It’s naptime,” you reminded him, your head resting against his chest in sleep. His arm came to rest across your shoulders and down your side, drawing you into him. He inhaled deeply, trying not to overthink. 

You’re her superior. His brain screamed. She loves Jack, not you. She loves Jack, but that doesn’t mean she wants to raise him. You’re too old, too cranky, too much baggage. This isn’t what you think it is. As much as he wanted to make himself believe all of that, as much as he wanted to accept that even if he knew he would go through hell and back for you, he could never have you, all he could focus on in that moment was the steady puffs of breath coming from your nose and landing on his chest. He realized, with a start, that it felt like walking into the wrong classroom your senior year of high school and locking eyes with the woman you knew you were going to marry.

  Aaron’s prediction had been correct-- Monday morning had found you jetting off to Kentucky, for the murder of three county paramedics-- by the time your plane had landed, another body had dropped. A firefighter. You all climbed into SUVs from the airstrip-- Hotch and Rossi off to examine the bodies, Morgan, JJ and Prentiss to the most recent crime scene, and you and Reid to the police station to the police station to work on the geographic profile. Normally you’d be off with Hotch and Rossi, and examining a body wasn’t technically field work, but you went with Reid with minimal pouting, knowing you were lucky that Hotch had let you leave Quantico at all.

You decided to let Reid drive, and you were fiddling with the radio when he spoke for the first time. 

“I keep… thinking about what there is to say to you, to communicate how much we’re all here for you, how much we all love you and we all want what’s best for you, and it feels like everything just falls short. I have an IQ of 187 and I still can’t find the words, but I can’t say nothing. I was scared for you. I’m proud of you, and if you need anything I just want you to know I’m here. I might not have the right words but I promise to listen, and to make sure you feel heard.” The words stumble out of Spencer awkwardly, but still strike you with their sincerity. You sniffle a little before responding. 

“I know, Reid. I know how much you all care for me. I’ve never doubted that for a second. Thank you.” You tell him, your voice thick with emotion. 

“I just want to make sure you’re okay.” 

“I am.” You tell him with a confident nod. “Or, at least, I’m getting there. I did the hard part. I got out.” 

A few hours later, you were at the police station with Reid, narrowing the geographic profile and spitballing with victimology, when one of the local officers poked his head into your makeshift office-space. 

“Another body dropped. The town librarian.” 

“Two in one day?” You asked. 

“He’s spree killing now. He’s devolving.” Reid supplemented. 

“Do you think it was random? He was killing first responders. The librarian doesn’t fit.” 

“Could be,” Reid agreed. 

“Have you called the rest of our team?” You asked the officer. 

“Not yet.” 

“We’ll call.” You told him, and he nodded. You pulled out your phone and dialed Hotch as Reid crossed the room to call JJ. 

“Hotchner,” he said into the phone. 

“Hey, it’s me. Another body just dropped.”  

“He’s devolving.” Aaron sighed

“It was the local librarian.” 

“But he was killing--” He started, but you could hear the words he was going to say before he even thought them.

“First responders, I know.” 

Aaron let out a deep sigh. “If I take Reid off of babysitting duty, are you going to behave?” He asked. 

You rolled your eyes. “Sure, but I reserve the right to bitch about it when this is over.” 

“Noted. Tell him to meet us at the next scene, please?” He asks of you.

“Will do. Stay safe out there.” 

“You too.” Hotch said before hanging up. 

You sent Reid off to meet up with Hotch, and sat back down in front of your case files and notes, determined to find something written between the lines. After a tortuously slow thirty minutes, a thought occurs to you. You step into the police bullpen and get the attention of one of the officers. 

“Hey. Does this town contract out its EMS services?” 

“No,” the officer tells you. “They’re all employed by the town. They’re paid with a mix of taxpayer and grant dollars.” 

“So they’re government employees?” 

“Yeah.” The officer confirms, and you pull your cell phone out of your pocket, heading out a side door to get a little bit of air and some better reception to call Garcia. 

“What’s new bugaboo?” Garcia asks as she picks up the phone, and you can’t help but smile. The sunshine felt warm on your face as you paced the empty back lot of the police station. 

“Hey, Garcia. Is there any way to track if anyone in town has some sort of anti-government bias?” 

“I can look for fringe political groups-- if the unsub is a member, that might help, but it would take me days to just search through every resident’s social media.” 

“That’s okay, start there. Look for white men between 23 and 45. If I think of anything else that might weed it out I’ll let you know.”

“Okay, kitten. Are we talking strict anarchists here, or should I be looking at groups like--” 

Garcia continued, but you couldn’t hear her over the sound of a gun cocking and the sensation of cold metal at the back of your head. You gasped. 

“Sweetie? Did you think of something?”

“It’s time to put the phone down.” A voice said from behind you. You took a deep breath, trying to remain calm. 

“Who was that? Are you okay?” Garcia asked.

“Go on,” the voice said. “Hang up the phone. Don’t be dumb.” 

You hung up the phone without saying another word to Garcia. The man dragged his gun down your spine, resting it against the middle of your back. “To think, I came here thinking I might kill a couple of cops, and I ended up with an FBI agent. Talk about an upgrade.” You tried to subtly reach for your gun, but it was useless. He strikes you in the head with the barrel of his gun before you can react. “Come on, sweet thing. I told you not to play dumb with me.” 

“You really think you can kill an FBI agent outside of a fully staffed police station without getting caught? And you’re going to call me dumb?” You asked, hoping that he couldn’t hear the fear laced in your voice.

“Who said anything about not getting caught?” He chuckled. “We all die eventually. Might as well make it worth my while.”

tagging:  @the-modernmary @greeneyedblondie44 @angelic-kisses13 @wanniiieeee @hotforhotchner11  @baumarvel @ssamorganhotchner @zheezs14​

[taetaespeaches]

“Don’t you dare.”

yoongi x reader (or oc) genre: fluff word count: 3.6K

a/n: Eeeek I’m so excited to finally be posting Min/Kid again!!!! A lot has happened since I last wrote for these two. You know, a shoulder surgery, release of BE, and a Grammy nomination just to list a few. Soooo all three of those are included in this. I hope you all enjoy, and as always, thank you for reading! :)) 

CHOPPING the celery, you hummed along with the acoustic melody resonating in the kitchen, the voices of your boyfriend and his members filling the space. The slow, sad tune was one of your favorites on the new album, but then again, you favored them all.

Looking down at your feet, you spotted the small fluffy dog staring up at you cutely. “I just wanna be happier,” you sang at the dog, “How about you, Holly?”

At hearing his name, he cocked his head at you, you smiling fondly. “Are you happy?” You continued your conversation with the pup in a tone that was higher pitched than your normal speaking voice. “What’s up? Do you want some celery?” You asked. “I don’t think you’ll like it much, bubs.”

You watched the dog for a moment longer before he got too excited, jumping up your leg causing you to giggle and relent. “Ok, ok,” you grinned, taking a small piece of the vegetable between your fingertips. Crouching down, you held it out for Holly to take, the dog carefully sniffing it. “I’m telling you, dude, you’re not gonna like it,” you told him just as he slowly grabbed the morsel from your fingers and dropped it to the floor. “Are you gonna eat it?” You questioned in surprise, both you and the dog too intrigued by the celery to notice the new kitchen visitor standing behind you.

“Is he eating celery?” Your boyfriend’s groggy voice suddenly sounded, you turning around in surprise and slight startlement.

“Shit, hi,” you greeted him, clutching your chest in fright, taking in his disheveled appearance as he had just woken up from a nap. “He’s considering,” you smiled before turning back to the dog. “I don’t think he’ll do it.”

“Holly, you’re not starving, buddy,” he told the little pup, a slight chuckle lacing the words. You listened as Yoongi’s feet shuffled closer to you, his hand suddenly finding its way to the back of your head, his fingers instantly slipping into your strands, lightly massaging your roots.

Taking his hand in yours, you brought it to your lips as you stood, leaving a light kiss to the back of it before trailing them down the bottom of his thumb and to his wrist. “How are you feeling, baby?” You asked him, the man giving you a soft close-mouthed grin that made his fluffy cheeks look even fuller.

“I feel fine,” he assured you, moving his hand in your grip to intertwine his fingers with your own as he leaned toward you, pressing a sweet kiss to your lips. “You should have woken me up, Kid,” he whispered against your lips.

Your mouth curved upward as you shook your head, kissing him once more before stepping back from him and reluctantly separating your hand from his. “Absolutely not,” you said simply, Yoongi scoffing as he pulled his gaze from you to the dog, you following his eyes to see Holly propped up on your boyfriend’s legs. Cast to the side was the piece of celery, you giggling as Yoongi smiled in amusement.

“Do you want a real treat?” He asked the dog, you looking fondly at your boyfriend’s wide-eyed gaze as he addressed Holly in a cutesy voice. “I’ll give you a real one, none of this celery stuff,” he playfully teased you, shooting you a gummy grin.

“Hey, he asked for it,” you defended, crossing your arms over your ribcage as Yoongi made his way across the kitchen to the treat cupboard.

You observed him as he reached for a plastic container with a twist lid, however stalling when he realized it would be quite difficult to take off with one arm. Instead he reached for the bag of treats next to it, using his teeth to hold one end of the zip lock as he pulled it open.

“Here you go, Holly,” he handed the pup the treat, the dog wiggling excitedly before running off to munch in peace. “That’s why I’m his favorite,” he told you with a smug smile, your mouth opening in feigned surprise.  

“You think you’re Holly’s favorite?” You asked him, the man giving you a weak shrug, given one of his shoulders was out of commission. “Aw, Min,” you cooed. “When did you get so delusional, old man?”

Yoongi chuckled at you as he turned back to the bag of treats, a focus overtaking his face as he struggled to reseal it with one hand. Of course you felt for the man, having undergone a shoulder surgery in the recent weeks, but you’d be lying if you said it wasn’t amusing to watch him pout in frustration at a bag of dog treats. And you only became fonder when he finally sealed it, a quiet hum of satisfaction leaving his lips before turning to catch your gaze, you holding back a grin as his cheeks tinted pink.

“Everything is so much more difficult,” he whined in embarrassment, you allowing yourself to lightly laugh at his expense.

“You’re so cute though,” you complimented, the man grunting at the comment as he looked to the cutting board.

“What can I help with?” He asked you, you shooting him a glare.

“You can help by keeping me company,” you told him sternly. “Sit here and chat with me, I missed you today.”

Opening his mouth to contend your command, you held up your hand to him. “Don’t argue with me, I’ll stop helping you put your pants on,” you teased him, Yoongi letting out a silent laugh paired with his adorable gummy grin.

“That’s just cruel,” he joked back just before taking a seat across from you at the kitchen island. “Maybe I’ll just stop wearing pants then,” he suggested.

“Now who’s being cruel?” You questioned with a smirk, enjoying the amusement displayed on your boyfriend’s features. Picking the knife up, you continued chopping up vegetables as Yoongi watched you carefully. “How was therapy this morning?”

“I’m so tired,” he chuckled at himself as you pouted and cooed. “It was fine though,” he nodded.

“Good,” you grinned. “You better not be pushing yourself too hard,” you warned, Yoongi letting out a light laugh.

“I want to get back out there,” he noted, a small knowing smile forming on your lips. “I want to be ready to perform this album when we’re able,” he added, nodding to your phone as ‘Telepathy’ sounded through the speaker.

“And you will be ready,” you assured him, “as long as you pace yourself.”

“Yes ma’am,” he teased, you trying to hold back your smile but failing. “Have you picked a favorite yet?” He asked, referring to your favorite track on his group’s new album.

“I’ve always had a favorite,” you told him as you started lightly grooving to the upbeat track.

“This one?” He asked in surprise, making you roll our eyes as you started dancing more and singing along. “Wow,” he shook his head in disbelief. “Are you just saying this to make me feel good since I’m all laid up?” He asked, you giggling at the question.

“You’re so annoying,” you told him through your chuckle, reaching for a piece of celery and lightly tossing it at him. The piece of vegetable made contact with his cheek and he pulled a dramatic expression of shock, his mouth open as he playfully gasped. “Of course I’m just saying that to make you feel good,” you teased, Yoongi laughing breathily as he popped the piece of celery into his mouth.

“Thank you anyway,” he smiled softly as you let out a breathy laugh. You both watched each other for a moment, your eyes traveling each other’s faces before your gazes connected, Yoongi only holding contact for a second until quickly averting his orbs to the countertop.

Smiling to yourself, you placed the knife to the stone, the sound of metal clinking against the hard surface piquing Yoongi’s interest enough for him to look at the blade. As you began walking around the counter toward your boyfriend, his eyes found your hips, dragging up your frame, landing on your grin.

“The song is amazing,” you assured him seriously. “And I think this might be my favorite of your guys’ albums.”

“Really?” He asked curiously, his eyes widened as he studied your expression, replaying the words in his head to scrutinize your tone. You simply nodded as you slotted yourself between his legs, your hand meeting the back of his neck as you lightly played with the ends of his dark brown hair.

“And speaking as a fan,” you told him, dipping your head to catch his eyes. “I know all the other fans loving it as well.”

Flashing you a honey boy smile as his cheeks tinted pink, you leaned down to press a sweet kiss to their plushness. “You did good, Honey Boy,” you complimented, a breathy chuckle sounding from the man as he relaxed in your touch, dropping his forehead to your sternum, leaving a light kiss to your chest through your shirt.

“Thank you,” he whispered shyly. He sometimes had a hard time vocalizing it, but your opinion meant everything to him.

Running your hands through the back of his hair, you shook your head. “Thank you,” you countered.

“For what?” He asked wrapping an arm around your waist, allowing his fingers to lightly trace indistinct patterns against your side.

“For inspiring me daily,” you told him, the man looking up at you with an expression of adorable surprise, making you smile and lean down to kiss his soft lips fondly. “With your talent and hard work and openness to express your vulnerabilities. I know there’s a lot of people out there who appreciate it, but don’t forget that I’m one of them,” you informed him, the man taking a deep breath before letting it out slowly.

Leaving a kiss to the tip of his nose, you trailed them up the bridge until your lips met his forehead, leaving a series of pecks against his warm skin. “What’s on your mind, Min?” You whispered before placing another kiss to his hair. Probably a lot. A major shoulder surgery, a new album, Grammy nominations coming, you were sure it was busy inside his head.

“How lucky I am to have you,” he revealed shyly but boldly, you nearly cooing instantly. “And how much I hate this fucking shoulder right now because I can’t just grab you and take you right here like I want to,” he partially joked. Oh jesus christ.

“Oh my god,” you laughed, lightly slapping his uninjured arm. “You know what? I’ve settled on what your three best skills are.”

“What are they?” He asked, pulling you the slightest bit closer as he smirked at you.

“Rapping, producing, and ruining cute moments,” you told him, the man immediately laughing as he pulled a feigned thinking face.

“Kind of thought rocking your world was gonna be one but I’ll take it,” he replied, you groaning as you pulled out of his grasp.

“Have I told you you’re annoying?” You teased, leaning toward him to steal a quick kiss before stepping away from him, the man slowly chasing after your lips as you backed away, reaching for you with his functional arm only to shoot you a pout when you returned to the other side of the island.

“Of course you have,” he smiled.

“Good,” you said simply, wearing a fond grin as you returned to cooking.

“You’re so cute in your pj’s,” you cooed as you helped button his top, preparing to get into bed. You had finished eating dinner earlier in the night and Yoongi had helped you with dishes by rinsing them with his one functional arm. “I should get a matching pair, how adorable would that be?” You teased, Yoongi shooting you a look of disgust. “What is that face? It would be cute,” you defended playfully, only for your boyfriend to hold the expression as if you committed an atrocity. “Stop it, don’t pretend like you hate the idea.”

“I do hate the idea,” he defended weakly, hiding a smile.

“Oh whatever, I know you, Min,” you reminded him with a glare, the man huffing as you giggled, securing the last button on his pajama top. “Ok,” you lightly patted the right side of his chest after securing the final button. “All done.”  

“Thanks,” he breathed out, watching as you reached for his shoulder brace. “I can put it on, Kid,” he told you, causing you to pause and stare at him. The two of you had been playfully fighting for weeks over taking care of him. The thing was, you both enjoyed you doting on the man a bit.

“I want to,” you pouted, Yoongi giving you a soft smile. Smirking in victory, you wiggled your hips happily just before you began placing his arm in the sling, Yoongi scoffing as he smiled.

As you adjusted the straps, ensuring his shoulder would be as comfortable and secure as possible, Yoongi watched you carefully. Fondly. When your eyes found his, catching him staring, he cleared his throat to play if off with an act of nonchalance.

“You know,” he started, determined to set your mind on something other than the fact that he had been staring at you with the softest smile you’d ever seen. “I’m beginning to get used to you waiting on me all the time,” he joked, you biting back a smile as you shook your head.

“Don’t you dare,” you warned him, pulling up on the velcro to resituate the strap.

“What?” He feigned innocence, his eyes widened with his lips secured in a small pout. You allowed yourself to smile as you let out a forced scoff to cover your amusement.

“Don’t you dare get used to it,” you told him sternly as he laughed silently, thoroughly amused and smitten. “You know what, just for that you can tuck yourself into bed,” you teased, walking away from him, Yoongi looking at you in pretend shock.

“Kid,” he whined with a smile as he watched you crawl under the covers, leaving the grown man to fend for himself.

Opening your laptop, you kept your eyes in a glare as Yoongi shuffled to the bed, staring at you with a pout as you resisted the urge to smile. “Stop looking at me, Min,” you told him, your straight face breaking as he chuckled, you giggling as you pulled up the Grammys website.

Carefully but lacking grace, Yoongi crawled into bed next to you and looked over your shoulder at the screen. “What time are they announcing nominations?”

“Um,” you looked at the time, doing the math in your head. “Should be around 2 or 3 am, so a couple hours. Do you want to get some sleep and set an alarm? Or do you want to wait up?” You asked, looking at him, reading the nervousness in his features instantly.

A soft smile overtook your face as he breathed out slowly. “Uh, I think wait up,” he nodded to himself. “Yeah, wait up.”

“Ok, baby,” you nodded back. His eyes were glued to the screen, and more specifically the gramophone displayed in the top left corner. You knew he wanted this. It was the highest honor a musician could receive for their work, so of course the boys wanted that. And you couldn’t think of anyone more deserving. Even when you stripped back all of the hard work and hardships, the years of struggles for credibility and spotlight under a new company with no money, defying the odds and breaking through as a worldwide act, the music was still amazing. The music is what gave you the intuitive confidence to assure your boyfriend that he had nothing to worry about. “You’re going to get nominated,” you assured him sincerly. “I can feel it.”

“Yeah?” He asked, his eyes slowly leaving the screen to meet your face, his cheeks looking plush and kissable in the glow of the computer monitor.

“Yeah,” you nodded, reaching for his face, gently placing your palm to his cheek, simply because you just had to feel their fluffiness on your fingertips. “And if you don’t, I’ll start drafting a letter to the recording academy immediately to scold them for committing the biggest snub in Grammys history,” you joked. Your lame humor was met with a highly amused gummy grin and an adorable shy giggle as he turned his face into your hand to kiss the inside of your wrist. “Between me and Army, just imagine all the scathing articles the recording academy will be met with,” you added, Yoongi chuckling further, the sound of his laughter making your belly feel warm and content.

“Well hopefully we’re nominated,” he said through his light laughter. “For two reasons,” he clarified, you raising your eyebrows curiously. “You’re scary when mad and also that would be very embarrassing to have my girlfriend send a letter to the recording academy on my group’s behalf,” he laughed more, you joining him as your hand slid to the side of his neck.

“Well then, they better nominate you,” you agreed just as Holly jumped onto the bed, nuzzling next to yours and Yoongi’s legs, both of you shooting fond grins at the little pup. 

You weren’t sure what time it was but the grogginess in your mind told you it was much too early to be awake yet. So why were you?

“Kid,” a hushed whisper sounded next to you, you groaning in response. “Kid, wake up, baby,” the voice sounded again.

“Hmm?” You hummed, still too tired to peel your eyes open.

“We fell asleep,” Yoongi told you, you humming again. “Kid, the nominations have been announced.”

At that statement, your eyes popped open, your hazy gaze searching for Yoongi. Blinking the sleep away, you squinted at your boyfriend as your eyes adjusted to being open. His face coming into clarity in the early morning hours, you studied his features, preparing to either celebrate or console. With a racing heart, you watched as his lips curved into a massive gummy smile, and tears pricked your eyes instantly.

“Oh my god,” you whispered huskily.

“We’re nominated for a Grammy,” he told you, the words hitting you with the force of reality causing you to shoot up from the covers startling Holly as you did so, the dog looking at you in confusion. 

“Oh my god, Yoongi,” you squealed, standing on your knees as you lightly bounced, trying to be careful not to create too much motion that you would hurt his shoulder, pumping your arms in the air gleefully. Holly jumped up, hopping against you for a moment. “Oh my god,” you screamed excitedly, Yoongi laughing as he let out a happy excited yell of his own. Holly leaped onto Yoongi’s lap, barking at the commotion, unaware that he was partaking in a celebration.  “Yoongi, oh my fucking god,” you yelled once more through Yoongi’s own excited squealing as he pet the dogs face giddily.

Showing you his phone, you skimmed through his group chat with the boys, the photo of the nomination taking center stage, the texts full of yells of excitement making you smile widely.  Another squeal left you as you dropped the phone and placed your hands to the sides of Yoongi’s face, Holly deciding to settle on your empty side of the bed next to you and Yoongi. “Baby, you’re nominated for a Grammy,” you told him, the words fully hitting Yoongi as it sunk in for the first time. You watched as his eyes became glassy, emotion overwhelming the man.

Crawling closer to your boyfriend, you placed yourself on his lap and wrapped an arm around the back of his neck, careful not to make contact with his recovering shoulder. Yoongi instantly rested his head against your shoulder and it didn’t take long to hear sniffles as he body shook, the man crying into the fabric of your pajama top.

“Oh, you did it, Min,” you whispered, kissing the top of his head a few times quickly as your fingers comfortingly toyed with his strands at the nape of his neck. “I’m so proud of you,” you spoke into his hair, the man’s arm wrapping around your waist to pull you firmly against his side as he continued to cry.

The two of you sat like that for a moment, the only sounds coming from you both being his silent sobs and your occasional kisses to his head and the whispered compliment on how deserving he was. There’s a special kind of happiness you feel when the people you love achieve a certain level of happiness themselves. And well, Yoongi was really happy in that moment. And you loved him more than anyone.

Eventually, his tears slowed and he looked up to you, finding you smiling down at him with your own lash closed to the brink of overflowing emotion. “Not to brag but,” you stared playfully, “I did tell you that you’d be nominated,” you teased, Yoongi chuckling as he craned his neck uncomfortably to find your lips. Watching you be so happy and supportive of him, he couldn’t quite relay his gratitude for you through words. He needed to show you.

Happily, you kissed him back, the meeting full of passion and love. The kiss was an act of sharing and relaying pride and excitement and relief and thankfulness, and just all the intense emotions hitting you both in that moment. It was slow but meaningful, the kiss full of intent but frantic and messy. It was perfect.

When he pulled away just slightly, he took a shaky breath, letting out a single breathy laugh of disbelief. “The recording academy must have felt the energy of your threat,” he joked, you shaking your head with a fond smile.

“Nah uh,” you told him. “This was all you guys.” Yoongi took a deep breath, letting it out slowly as you wiped under his eyes gently, ridding him of his tears. “You deserve this, Yoongi,” you assured him.

“I love you,” he told you as a soft honey boy smile graced his face.

Leaning down once again, you kissed his lips softly. “I love you too,” you whispered against his mouth. “My Grammy nominated Honey Boy,” you smiled, Yoongi chuckling as he connected his lips to yours once again.

[thewidowsghost]

The Daughter of the Sea - Chapter 9

(Y/n)'s POV

It doesn't take me long to pack. I decide to leave the Minotaur horn in the cabin, which leaves me only an extra change of clothes and a toothbrush to stuff in a backpack Grover had found for me.

The camp store loans me one hundred dollars in mortal money and twenty golden drachmas. The coins are as big as Girl Scout cookies and have images of various Greek Gods stamped on one side and the Empire State Building on the other. The ancient mortal drachmas had been silver, Chiron had told us, but Olympins never used less than pure gold. Chiron said the coins might come in for non-mortal transactions - whatever that might mean. He gives Annabeth, Percy, and me canteens of nectar and Ziploc bags full of ambrosia squares, to be used only in emergencies, if we were seriously hurt. It is god food, Chiron reminds us. It would cure us of almost any injury, but it is lethal to mortals. Too much of it would make a half-blood very, very feverish. An overdose would burn us up, literally, Fun.

Annabeth is bringing her magic Yankees cap, which she tells me had been a twelfth-birthday present from her mom. She is also bringing a book on famous classical architecture, written in Ancient Greek, to read when she gets bored, and a long bronze knife, hidden in her shirt sleeve. I'm sure the knife is going to get us busted the first time we go through a metal detector.

Grover is wearing his fake feet and his pants to pass as a human. He wears a green rasta-style cap, because when it rains his curly hair flattened and you can just see the tips of his horns. Grover's bright orange backpack is full of scrap metal and apples to snack on. In his pocket is a set of reed pipes his daddy goat had carved for him, even though he only knows two songs: Mozart's Piano Concerto Number 12 and Hilary Duff's 'So Yesterday,' both of which sound pretty bad on reed pipes.

We wave good-bye to the other campers, take one last look at eh strawberry fields, the ocean, and the Big House, then hike up the Half-Blood Hill to the tall pine tree that used to be Thalia, the Daughter of Zeus.

Chiron is waiting for us in his wheelchair. Next to him stands the surfer dude I'd seen when I was recovering in the sick room. According to Grover, the guy is the camp's head of security. He supposedly had eyes all over his body so he could never be surprised. Today, though, he's wearing a chauffeur's uniform, so I can only see the extra eyes on his hands, face, and neck.

"This is Argus," Chiron tells me. "He'll drive you into the city, and, er, well, keep an eye on things."

I hear footsteps behind us.

Luke comes running up the hill, carrying a pair of basketball shoes. "Hey!" he pants. "Glad I caught you."

Annabeth blushes, the way she always does when Luke is around.

"Just wanted to say good luck," Luke tells us. "And I thought . . . um, maybe you could use these."

He hands Percy a pair of sneakers, which look pretty normal.

Then, Luke says, "Maia!"

White bird's wings sprouted out of the heels. The shoes flap around on the ground until the wings fold up and disappear.

"Awesome!" Grover exclaims.

Luke smiles. "Those served me well when I was on my quest. Gift from Dad. Of course, I don't use them much these days...." His expression turns sad.

Annabeth stomps down the other side of the hill, after arguing with Percy, where a white SUV waits on the shoulder of the road. Argus follows, jingling his car kees.

Percy picks up the flying shoes and then looks up at Chiron. "I won't be able to use these, will I?"

Chiron shakes his head. "Luke meant well, Percy. But taking to the air...that would not be wise for you."

I nod, getting an idea, "Hey, Grover. You want a magic item?"

His eyes light up. "Me?"

Pretty soon, we'd laced the sneakers over his fake feet, and the world's first flying goat boy is ready for launch.

"Maia!" Grover shouts. He gets off the ground, okay, but then falls over sideways so his backpack drags through the grass. The winged shoes keep bucking up and down like tiny broncos.

"Practice," Chiron calls after him. "You just need practice."

"Aaaaa!" Grover goes flying sideways down the hill like a possessed lawnmower, heading towards the can.

But before I can follow, Chiron catches my arm. "I should have trained you two better, Percy, (Y/n)," he says. "If only I had more time. Hercules, Jason - they all got more training."

"That's okay. I just -" I stop myself.

"What am I thinking?" Chiron cries. "I can't let the two of you get away without these." He pulls two pens out of his coat pocket and hands one to me and one to Percy.

Looking down at it, I see a teal-colored gel pen. Maybe cost thirty cents.

"Gee," Percy says. "Thanks."

"Percy, those are gifts from your father. I've been keeping them for years, not knowing you two were the ones I was waiting for. But the prophecy is clear to me now. You two are the ones."

Instinctively I take off the cap, and the pen grows longer and heavier in my hand. In half a second, I am holding a shimmering bronze sword with a double-edged blade, a teal and silver leather-wrapped grip. This is the first weapon that feels balanced in my hand.

"That sword has a long and tragic history that we need not go into," Chiron tells Percy. "Its name is Anaklusmos."

"Riptide," Percy translates.

"I have never seen anyone use that sword that I'm aware of," Chiron says, turning to me. "Yours is named Τυφώνας."

"Hurricane," I translate, surprised that the Ancient Greek came so easily to me.

"Use them only for emergencies," Chiron says, "and only against monsters. No hero should harm mortals unless absolutely necessary, of course, but neither sword would hurt them in any case."

I look down at the wickedly sharp blade. "What do you mean it wouldn't harm mortals? How could it not?"

"Those swords are celestial bronze. Forged by the Cyclopes, tempered in the heart of Mount Etna, cooled in the River Lethe. It's deadly to monsters, to any creature from the Underworld, provided they don't kill you first. But the blades will pass through morals like an illusion. They simply are not important for the blade to kill. And I should warn you two: as demigods, you can be killed by either celestial or normal weapons. You are twice as vulnerable."

"Good to know," Percy says.

"Now recap the pens," Chiron says.

Percy and I touch the pen cap to the sword tips and instantly Riptide and Hurricane shrink to ballpoint pens again. I tuck it in my pocket, a little nervous because it's pretty easy to lose a pen.

"You can't," Chiron says.

"Can't what?" I ask, slightly confused.

"Lose the pens," he says. "They're enchanted. They'll always reappear in your pockets. Try it."

Warily, I throw the pen as far as I can down the hill and watch it disappear in the grass.

"It may take a few moments," Chiron tells us. "Now check your pocket."

Sure enough, the pen is there.

"Okay, that is extremely cool," I admit.

"But what if a mortal sees one of us pulling out a sword?" Percy asks.

Chiron smiles. "Mist is a powerful thing, Percy."

"Mist?" I ask.

"Yes. Read The Iliad. It's full of references to the stuff. Whatever divine or monstrous elements mix with the mortal world, they generate Mist, which obscures the vision of humans. You will see things just as they are, being a half-blood, but humans will interpret things quite differently. Remarkable, really, the lengths to which humans will go fit things into their version of reality.

I put Hurricane back into my pocket.

For the first time, the quest feels real. I'm leaving Half-Blood Hill. I'm heading west with no adult supervision, no backup plan, not even a cell phone - Chiron said cell phones were traceable by monsters; if we used one, it would be no worse than sending up a flare. I have no weapon stronger than a sword to fight off monsters and reach the Land of the Dead.

"Chiron . . ." Percy says. "When you say the gods are immortal . . . I mean, there was a time before them, right?"

"Four ages before them, actually. The Time of the Titans was the Fourth Age, sometimes called the Golden Age, which is definitely a misnomer. This, the time of Western civilization and the rule of Zeus, is the Fifth Age."

"So what was it like...before the gods?"

Chiron purses his lips. "Even I am not old enough to remember that, child, but I know it was a time of darkness and savagery for mortals. Kronos, the lord of the Titans, called his reign the Golden Age because men lived innocent and free of all knowledge. But that was mere propaganda. The Titan king cared nothing for your kind except as appetizers or a source of cheap entertainment. It was only in the early reign of Lord Zeus, when Prometheus the good Titan brought fire to mankind, that your species began to progress, and even then Prometheus was branded a radical thinker. Zeus punished him severely, as you may recall. Of course, eventually, the gods warmed to humans, and Western civilization was born."

"But the gods can't die now, right? I mean, as long as Western civilization is alive, they're alive. So...even if I failed, nothing could happen so bad it would mess up everything, right?" I ask, feeling rather uncertain.

Chiron gives me a melancholy smile. "No one knows how long the Age of the West will last, (Y/n). The gods are immortal, yes. But then, so were the Titans. They still exist, locked away in their various prisons, forced to endure endless pain and punishment, reduced in power, but still very much alive. May the Fates forbid that the gods should ever suffer such a doom, or that we should ever return to the darkness and chaos of the past. All we can do, child, is follow our destiny."

"Our destiny...assuming we know what that is," I say grimly.

"Relax," Chiron tells me. "Keep a clear head. And remember, the two of you may be about to prevent the biggest war in human history."

"Relax," I say. "I'm very relaxed."

When Percy and I get to the bottom of the hill, I look back. Under the pine tree that used to be Thalia, daughter of Zeus, Chiron is now standing in full horse-man form, holding his bow high in salute. Just your typical summer-camp send-off by your typical centaur."

Argus drives us out of the countryside and into western Long Island, It feels weird to be on a highway again, Annabeth and Grover sitting next to me, Percy on the other side of Grover, as if we were normal carpoolers. After two weeks at Half-Blood Hill, the real world seems like a fantasy. I find myself staring at every McDonald's, every kid in the back of his parent's car, every billboard and shopping mall.

"So far so good," Percy tells Annabeth. "Ten miles and not a single monster."

She gives Percy an irritated loo. "It's bad luck to talk that way."

"Remind me again - why do you hate us so much?" Percy asks.

"I don't hate you two."

"Could've fooled me."

Annabeth folds her cap of invisibility. "Look...we're just not supposed to get along, okay? Our parents are rivals."

"Why?" Percy asks.

Annabeth sighs. "How many reasons do you want? One time my mom caught Poseidon with his girlfriend in Athena's temple, which is hugely disrespectful. Another time, Athena and Poseidon competed to be the patron god for the city of Athens. Your dad created some stupid saltwater spring for his gift. My mom created the olive tree. The people saw that her gift was better, so they named the city after her."

"They must really like olives," Percy comments, and I stifle a snort of laughter.

"Oh, forget it," Annabeth grumbles.

"Now, if she invented pizza - that I could understand," I add, in a slightly teasing tone.

"I said, forget it!" Annabeth says, hitting me lightly on the arm.

In the front seat, Argus smiles. He doesn't say anything, but one blue eye on the back of his neck winks at me.

Traffic slows down in Queens. By the time we get into Manhattan, it is sunset and starting to rain.

Argus drops us at the greyhound Station on the Upper East Side, not far from my mom and Gabe's apartment. Taped to a mailbox is a soggy flyer with mine and Percy's picture on it: Have you seen these children?

Percy rips it down before Annabeth and Grover can notice.

Argus unloads our bags, makes sure we get our bus tickets, then drives away, the eye on the back of his hand opening to watch us as he pulls out of the parking lot.

I think about how close I am to the apartment. On a normal day, Mom would be home from the candy store by now. Smelly Gabe is probably up there right now, playing poker, not even missing her.

Grover shoulders his backpack. He gazes down the street in the direction I am looking. "You want to know why she married him, (Y/n)?"

I stare at him. "Were you reading my mind?" I ask, raising an eyebrow.

"Just your emotions," Grover shrugs. "You were thinking about your mom and your stepdad, right?"

I nod.

"Your mom married Gabe for you and Percy," Grover tells me. "You call him 'Smelly,' but you've got no idea. This guy has this aura . . . Yuck. I can smell him from here. I can smell traces of him o you, and you haven't been near him in a week."

"Thanks," Percy grimaces from Grover's other side. "Where's the nearest shower?"

"You should be grateful, Percy. Your stepfather smells so repulsively human he could mask the presence of any demigod. As soon as I took a whiff inside his Camaro, I knew: Gabe has been covering your scent for years. If you hadn't lived with him every summer, you probably would've been found by monsters a long time ago. Your mom stayed with him to protect you. She was a smart lady. She must've loved you a lot to put up with that guy—if that makes you feel any better."

I soften, looking down a the ground. I'll see her again, I think. She isn't gone.

You will be betrayed by one who calls you a friend, the Oracle whispers in my mind. You will fail to save what matters most in the end.

The rain keeps coming down.

We get restless waiting for the bus and decide to play some Hacky Sack with one of Groer's apples. Annabeth was unbelievable at it. She could bounce the apple off her knee, her elbow, her shoulder, whatever. Percy wasn't too bad either, but I found that I wasn't that great at it.

The game ends when I toss the apple towards Grover and it gets too close to his mouth. In one mega goat bite, our Hacky Sack disappears - core, stem, and all.

Grover blushes. He tries to apologize, but Annabeth, Percy, and I are too busy cracking up.

Finally, the bus comes.

I am relieved when we finally get on board and find seats together in the back of the bus, Me and Annabeth in one row, and Percy and Grover across from us. The four of us stow our backpacks.

I glance over at Annabeth beside me, who keeps slapping her Yankees cap nervously against her thigh.

As the last passengers get on, Annabeth claps her hand onto my knee. "Look!"

An old lady had just boarded the bus. She is wearing a crumpled velvet dress, lace gloves, and a shapeless orange-knit hat that shadows her face and she is carrying a big paisley purse. When she tilts her head up, her black eyes glitter.

I see Percy slump down in his seat.

Behind her comes two more old ladies: one in a green hat, one in a purple hat. Otherwise, they look exactly like Mrs. Dodds - same gnarled hands, paisley handbags, wrinkled velvet dress. Triple demon grandmothers.

They sit in the front row, right behind the driver. The two on the aisle cross their legs over the walkway, making an X. It is casual enough, but it sends a clear message: Nobody leaves.

The bus pulls out of the station, and we head through the slick streets of Manhattan.

"She didn't stay dead long," Percy says, his voice quavering a little. "I thought you said they could be dispelled for a lifetime."

"I said if you're lucky," Annabeth murmurs. "You're obviously not."

"All three of them," Grover whimpers. "Di immortales!"

"It's okay," Annabeth says, obviously thinking hard. "The Furies. The worst monsters from the Underworld. No problem. No problem. We'll just slip out the windows."

"They don't open," Grover moans.

"A back exit?" she suggests.

There isn't one. Even if there had been, it wouldn't have helped. By that time, we are on Ninth Avenue heading for the Lincoln Tunnel.

"They won't attack us with witnesses around," I say. "Will they?"

"Mortals don't have good eyes," Annabeth reminds me. "Their brains can only process what they see through the Mist."

"They'll see three old ladies killing us, won't they?" Percy asks.

She thinks about it. "Hard to say. But we can't count on mortals for help. Maybe an emergency exit in the roof . . . ?"

We hit the Lincoln Tunnel, and the bus goes dark except for the running lights down teh aisle. It is eerily quiet without the sound of the rain.

"I need to use the rest-room."

"So do I."

"So do I."

All three demons start coming down the aisle.

"I've got it," Annabeth says. "Percy, take my hat."

"What?" he says with disbelief.

"You're the one they want. You killed one of them. Turn invisible and go up the aisle. Let them pass you. Maybe you can get to the front and get away."

"But you guys -"

"There's an outside chance they might not notice us," Annabeth says as she glances over at me. "You're a son of the Big Three. Your smell might be overpowering."

"I can't just leave you," Percy says, looking desperately at me.

"Go," I say, frowning and Annabeth hands him the cap.

The old ladies are not old ladies anymore. Their faces are still the same - I guessed they couldn't get any uglier - but their bodies had shriveled into leathery brown hag bodies with bat's wings and hands and feet like gargoyle claws; their handbags had turned into fiery whips.

The Furies surround me, Grover, and Annabeth, lashing their whips, hissing: "Where is it? Where?"

The other people on the bus are screaming, cowering in their seats. They see something, all right.

"He's not here!" Annabeth yells. "He's gone!"

The Furies raise their whips.

Annabeth draws her bronze knife. Grover grabs a tin can from his snack bag and prepares to throw it.

Word Count: 3222 words

[snarkythewoecrow]

Prompt time! I know you've taken prompts for more serious subjects and mental health related stuff and I've absolutely loved them. If you are comfortable to write it and it won't be triggering, would you write like a sequel to your rubber band/coping mechanism fic where Peter goes to Tony when he has an urge to hurt himself or afterwards for helping cleaning up? Either that or a fic unrelated to that one where Tony sees Peter's old self harm scars or finds out that Peter still does sh? Just something irondad that's related to that subject but only if you are okay with writing it! I completely understand if it's something you don't wanna write more off, I just thought I'd ask anyway if that's okay

Sorry it took me so long to write, but here it is!

Read on AO3

*Trigger Warning for Self-harm and Blood*

In the kitchen at the lake house, Peter sat at the center island, watching Tony thread macaroni onto yarn as Morgan painted the necklace she’d already made. Noodles were scattered everywhere, and when you walked, there was a good chance you’d hear pasta crunching underfoot.

Morgan had paint from her hands to her hair, and Tony wasn’t fairing much better. Morgan had already made them all necklaces and was working on her fifth. The one she’d made Peter was draped around his neck. She'd said the one she made him was extra special because it had wagon wheels laced between the macaroni.

Peter was on the end of the island on a stool, his textbook carefully placed to avoid the smears of paint and glue. Thankfully, after the glitter balloon incident, Pepper banned glitter from the house, so Peter didn’t need to worry about that.

All in all, he should have been happy, but he wasn’t, and he wasn’t sure why that was, either.

Things had been better in the months since Tony had found Peter on the back porch that night, since they’d talked about his self-harming, but that didn’t mean that sometimes, for a reason Peter didn’t understand, he still had bad days—like today.

Everyone in his life was healthy and happy, things were going well at school, but he still couldn’t get the itch to cut out of his mind. Some days were definitely worse than others, and he’d been building toward this bad day all week. The rubber band on his wrist was getting plenty of use.

Tony had told him that he could come to him whenever he needed but seeing Tony smiling as he played with Morgan, he knew he couldn’t. He couldn’t bring the mood down. He didn’t want to be the reason the worry lines in Tony’s face deepened.

It was already hard enough to use the rubber band with Tony nearby. He always got this look—somewhere between sadness and concern. Peter hated causing that look, so he’d done the only thing he could to avoid it. He stopped snapping the band when he was with Tony.

It was easier this way. What Tony didn’t know, couldn’t hurt him, or at least, that’s what Peter told himself.

The cloud over Peter’s head wasn’t lightening up, and he felt overwhelmed like his lungs were filling with water, and he was going under. He fingered the band on his wrist, wanting to snap it, just to feel something, but then Tony laughed, and Morgan giggled, the box of macaroni spilled, and Peter—Peter just couldn’t do it.

He closed his textbook and excused himself from the table, mumbling that he had a headache and needed to lay down. Before he made it out of the kitchen, Tony called after him, telling him dinner was in a few hours and he’d check on him then.

Peter forced a smile, ducking his head and scurrying up the stairs, leaving the sounds of Morgan’s laughter behind him.

When he got to his room, he shut the door, falling against it, still clutching his textbook. He didn’t have a headache like he’d told Tony, but he didn’t know what else to say at the time, though with the tension in his body, a headache was a real possibility soon.

He kicked off the door and walked over to his bed, pausing by the desk to drop his textbook with a thump. He collapsed on the bed, so his legs were still hanging off the side.

With Tony no longer able to witness it, Peter snapped the band on his wrist, but it brought no relief from the deep need to cut. The feeling was so consuming Peter thought he could taste it. The flavor reminded him of ash. He hated that he felt this way, but he didn’t know how to control it.

Tony had paid for therapy, and May made sure he went, but the coping skills only helped so much.

When it was like this, nothing else seemed like it could scratch the itch—not as well as a knife.

His therapist had suggested holding ice cubes when the urge got bad, but that would mean going to the kitchen, and Tony would notice. He would ask. Then worry lines would etch the man’s face, and Peter would feel even worse because he put them there.

Drawing on his arms was a nearly laughable suggestion. His therapist had suggested a red pen for effect. Peter didn’t have a red pen, and it never worked in the past. The only thing he knew that could make him feel better came with a healthy dose of guilt. He knew hurting himself would temporarily make it all melt away.

But the worst part—the part that made Peter feel like a failure—was he didn’t even know what had triggered it. Everything had been going well. Maybe he really did come back from the snap wrong.

Frustrated, angry, Peter sat up and scrubbed his hands over his face. The urge to just make a little cut or dig his nails just deep enough to break skin was all-consuming. The band on his wrist felt more like a reminder of his failures than a lifeline—a way to pull himself back.

He wanted to scream at the unfairness of it all.

Then it reached a point where it started to hurt in his chest, and he just needed something to focus it all back, to let him breathe, and without conscious thought, he started clawing at his arm. The little stabs of pain felt grounding, but it wasn’t enough. It wasn’t the fix he needed.

The crescent-shaped cuts and scratches oozed blood as Peter got up and went looking for a knife, for something to cut with. He’d given his utility knife to Tony, but he thought they both knew that wouldn’t stop him, not when he felt like this.

A small part of him thought he should call out to Tony, but then he remembered how happy they’d looked, and he didn’t want to spoil that. He’d deal with this on his own.

He slipped out of his room, listening to make sure no one was close, then darted to the bathroom. His chances of finding something to cut with seemed higher in a bathroom.

When he got to the bathroom, he started rifling through the cabinet but not finding much. He came across spare toothbrushes and travel-size shampoos and soaps, but nothing sharp. He looked under the sink, knowing there should be a first aid kit, and where there was a first aid kit, there might be scissors.

He found his prize with a shaky sigh. Setting the scissors on the counter, Peter stuffed the kit back under the sink, pocketed the scissors, and headed back to his room.

When he got to the hall, he heard Tony talking, telling Morgan something about a spaghetti monster. It made guilt twist in his gut, settling there and starting to fester.

He ran back to his room as quickly as he dared, then shut his door, locking it for good measure.

The feeling that washed over him as he took the scissors from his pocket was one part relief, one part anticipation, and the rest self-loathing. He knew he wasn’t just letting himself down. He was letting those who cared about him down, too.

That didn’t stop him from sitting in the desk chair, putting the blade to his arm, and cutting, though.

It happened so easily, and when he did it, he put all those bad feelings into it, turning the negative emotions and guilt into something manageable, something he could do something about. Physical pain made sense. It had a cause, a source, a purpose. And the blood that welled up from the cut made sense, too. It all made sense in a way his emotions didn’t, and he needed it.

The one cut wasn’t enough, though. It had been hesitant and not that deep. The bleeding was already stopping.

Peter felt like the world was muted and focused down to the blade and his arm. He pressed the metal harder against his skin and dragged it until he reached the underside of his arm. It bled much more freely, and Peter felt almost high from it.

Wanting to see more, needing the cause and effect of it, he cut again just below the second, pressing even harder. The skin split neatly under the blade.

He was just about to make another when the door handle jiggled, followed by a knock.

“Pete?” Tony’s voice drifted through the door. “Why’s the door locked?”

Peter’s high came crashing down, and reality wasn’t gentle. It hit suddenly how stupid he’d been. It was like realization hit him all at once. One thing had so easily turned into another. And Peter had taken each step without truly acknowledging the direction he was heading. And the place it brought him wasn’t great. He was locked in his room with a bleeding arm, having used Tony’s scissors, and ignored every chance he’d had to reach out for help. Tony had only been a shout away.

His body felt like it had locked up as the emotions swirled within him. He dropped the scissors on the floor, clattering against the wood, and he looked down at his arm, really seeing the damage for the first time outside of the warped lens of need.

It was bad. It was really bad. He might not need stitches, but it would be close, and the blood was everywhere. There were droplets on his jeans and on the floor, rivulets running down his arm.

He didn’t know what to do or what to say. His voice had been stolen by the grief he was feeling. He wasn’t just mourning himself. He was mourning the loss of trust he knew he’d just caused. He wasn’t ready to face the music.

The door handle jiggled again, and there was another round of knocking, even louder. “Peter, open the door.”

His heart kept hitting his ribs so hard he thought it would bruise.

He didn’t want to lie, but he didn’t know how to tell the truth. He hated himself for not just telling Tony how he’d been feeling. With more clarity than before, he realized now that Tony would probably have been proud.

He wouldn’t be proud now.

He would be sad or angry or worse—disappointed.

If Peter were honest, he was pretty disappointed in himself, enough for the both of them, enough for the world. He felt like a failure.

He didn’t want to be a liar, though, but he didn’t know what to do, so he called out to Tony, “Just a minute.”

He grabbed some tissues from his desk and tried to dab some of the blood up, but it just smeared it around, making his arm look like part of a crime scene. He’d really done it this time. Once Tony saw, there would be no going back. He’d see how broken Peter was and not want him anymore. No one wanted to deal with this, no matter how much they said they cared.

Tears started to well in his eyes, frowning so hard his face hurt. He kept a tissue pressed to the deepest cut and stood. He looked to the window, considering escaping the only way he could. He knew it wasn’t an option, though, and would only make things worse.

Accepting his fate, his body and mind feeling weighted, Peter shuffled to the door and unlocked it. He stepped back so it could swing open, closing his eyes and waiting for Tony to realize.

There were footsteps and Tony saying, “You know you’re not supposed to lock the door.”

Then Peter heard it. The air sucking into Tony’s lungs.

Peter’s shoulders fell, and the tears in his eyes broke free, rolling down his cheeks.

“Jesus Christ.” Then a hand grabbed his arm, and Peter opened his eyes, his eyelashes clumped together by tears. The devastation was clear on Tony’s face.

“I’m sorry,” Peter said. The apology wasn’t nearly enough, though. Nothing really would be. There weren’t words for times like these.

Tony’s expression was pinched. He shook his head, letting out a breath, then saying, “I’m not mad.”

And Peter wondered who he was trying to convince.

Peter nodded, his face twisting into some ugly and raw. “I don’t know what happened. I know I shouldn’t have—I didn’t mean it. You gotta believe me.”

Tony’s expression softened, and when he swallowed, it looked painful. “We can talk about it later. Let’s get you cleaned up first.”

Then he was guiding Peter to his bed, sitting him down. He grabbed some extra tissues and pressed them to the wounds.

“Hold those there. Keep pressure. I’ll go get the first aid kit.” Then Tony’s foot hit the scissors, and he looked down, his head shaking a little. He bent down and picked the scissors up. Licking his lips, he said, “Will you be okay for a second?”

Peter wasn’t sure he’d ever be okay again, but he nodded anyway, not trusting his voice.

With a nod, Tony turned and dipped out of the room. Thankfully, or maybe not, he was back before Peter could think too much about what he’d done.

Tony pulled the chair closer and sat, the first aid kit on the desk. He dug out the supplies he needed and lined them up, opening the packets of gauze. Then he lifted Peter’s hand and the tissues from the cuts, assessing the damage. The bleeding had stopped.

No one said anything, and Peter wasn’t sure if that was better or worse.

With methodical movements, Tony cleaned the cuts, and a few times, Peter thought Tony had been close to saying something, but each time, he’d just shaken his head and gone back to tending his wounds.

As Tony taped the gauze in place, he finally asked, “Was there something I could have done? Something I didn’t do? I just—” He cut himself off with a sigh, then straightened. “You know you can come to me, right?”

Peter couldn’t meet Tony’s gaze, so he stared at his shoulder. “You seemed so happy today. I didn’t want to spoil it. You and Morgan—” He shook his head. “I didn’t want to ruin the mood. Sometimes it feels like that’s all I do, you know?”

Tony sighed, scrubbing a hand over his mouth. “I know you think—let’s just say I’d rather you told me than finding you like this. I know I’m not an expert, but I could’ve helped distract you if I’d known. It might not have been easy, but I want the chance to help you—no matter what mood you think you’re ruining.”

Peter nodded, the tears back in his eyes. He felt all-encompassing guilt for what he’d done. “I don’t know what to do—how to fix this.”

“We take it one step at a time. Relapses happen, and when they do happen, it doesn’t make you a failure.” He squeezed Peter’s knee. “Recovery isn’t linear. It might feel like it’s all over, and you can’t fix it, but it’s really just a little bump in the road, a little hitch in the graph. The line is still moving forward and up.”

He wanted to believe Tony, but it was hard. He didn’t feel like he deserved the kind of understanding Tony gave him. He felt sick for what he’d done, and it would be so much easier if Tony were angry. He could deal with that.

His arms wound themselves around his middle without his consent as he tried to hold himself together. The cuts on his arms barely stung any more, which he was thankful for. The pain wasn’t a good feeling now. It didn’t settle him like it had. Instead, it reminded him how badly he’d screwed up.

“Oh, kiddo,” Tony said as he got up and moved to sit beside Peter. Then his arm wrapped around Peter’s shoulders and tugged him closer.

Peter sank into his side, his breath hitching as he fought a sob.

Tony pressed his lips to Peter’s hair, his breath warm against his scalp. “We’re gonna get through this. Just you watch.”

Then Peter broke, and it was an ugly sound. He choked on the sobs as they erupted from him, tears dripping from his chin, snot clogging his nose. His shoulders shook as he fell apart, or maybe not really, as Tony was doing a pretty good job of holding him together.

And wasn’t that the meat of it.

Because Peter realized amidst the tears that no matter what, Tony and the others in his life, they weren’t giving up on him—no matter how badly he screwed things up.

Tony held him until he could breathe again, then he cleaned himself up and changed out of the bloody jeans, and he and Tony went to finish making dinner. Morgan was at the table with Pepper, both wearing macaroni necklaces and big smiles.

If either of them noticed the bandages, they didn’t say a word, and when Tony patted his shoulder and told him to grab a chair, it felt something like forgiveness or understanding.

Things weren’t always great, and the line of the graph might hitch, but Peter could see that it was still moving up, still moving forward, and he thought that just might mean he’d be okay.

[bestintheparsec]

The Same Coin - Part 2

Masterlist

Pairing: Javier Peña x Reader

A/N: The pace is ~slowly picking up for these two😌 I didn’t allow any pining yet but it shall come soon and I hope you like the mild softness in this part😏 I hope you like this one, and as always thank you so much for any feedback!

Words: 3.0k

Warnings: a hint of angst, slow roast burn?, a crumb of Tender™

You roll your neck and shoulders, trying to relieve some of the aches from the day. As of late, you’ve been sedentary at work, and it’s starting to have an effect on your muscles. You look across the desk at Steve, who’s been in the same boat. This new management is really starting to get on your last nerve. Lately they've been restricting the amount of time you're in the field. Before anything makes it to your desk, it has to first collect dust on the ambassador’s, then the colonel’s, then Messina’s. They’ve claimed all this funneling of information is for “efficiency”—you’re not entirely sure they know what the word means. By the time any intel makes it into your hands, it may as well have never been reported at all. You can imagine the laughs this system has given Escobar as he continues to be a free man from one day to the next.

Steve puts out his cigarette and meets your tired eyes. “You good for the day?” he asks, the same exhaustion in his own voice.

“I’m going to try to get ahead on some of tomorrow’s bullshit before I head out,” you say with a sigh. “Can you take some of Peña’s stuff to him if you get home first? I’ll bring the rest after.”

He nods and stands up, tucking his gun behind his back before grabbing the files and heading out. Your desk lamp is the only thing lighting up the space as you work quickly to get the files sorted. You’re the last one here, but you’re nearly as alone as you are during the day, with only your thoughts and the messy stack of papers keeping you company. 

~

“That’s all we had for today,” you say, dropping the heavy stack of files onto the marble countertop. The large red stamp that says “CLASSIFIED” across the top of each folder is deceiving in its urgency; it’s more than likely just another pile of useless leads that Escobar’s already one step ahead of. But it has to be sorted through nonetheless, much to Javier’s annoyance—another long night of mindless paperwork awaits.

Javier’s off his crutches and back to work now, but only to an extent. He’s still unable to walk fully without a limp, and is currently assigned to working from home unless absolutely necessary—though he’s convinced that this is less about his safety and more about preventing him from going on another undisclosed mission. He’s only been back at the embassy a handful of times since getting shot, but if he can’t be involved in the action out on the field he may as well stay in his own place and let you and Murphy deal with the assholes that hover over everything you do.

He skims the stack of documents before looking up at you. “This is all?” he jeers sarcastically, raising his brows. 

“Hey, you didn’t have to deal with the shit that Steve and I had to look over today,” you remark. “Consider yourself lucky.”

Yeah. Another fucking wasted day. Real lucky, he thinks, huffing quietly as he flips the first folder open.

He observes silently as your eyes dart to the medication bottle on the counter, then to the kitchen. You carry the same tension in your posture every time you come over here—always making sure things are in their place, even off-duty. He almost rolls his eyes, but unconsciously stops himself before you turn back to him.

You don’t say anything, but he knows you’re just itching to mention the excess bottles of liquor, or the lack of any real food on his shelves. He’s been taking his meds and cleaning his wound like he’s supposed to, if only so you would leave him the hell alone about it. Or maybe you were starting to get to him, more than he thought—and certainly more than he’s allowed.

“Do you need anything else?” you ask, tapping your fingers on the counter. It’s all become routine now—you ask if he needs anything, he replies that he’s a functional adult again and therefore should just be left alone. The usual. Though he’s recently noticed you don’t fidget with your hands or the fabric of your clothes as much anymore, for a reason he doesn’t know—why he’s caught on to this, he doesn’t know either. 

Javier shakes his head, pulling out his pack of cigarettes and lighting one.

“Well, then...I’ll leave you to it,” you continue. He watches as you leave his apartment for what has to be the thirtieth time, quietly locking the door behind you—as if he can’t do it himself—the familiar sound of metal clicking into place followed by your footsteps fading away.

~

As you drop off today's documents, you wonder if Peña notices the slight change in your voice, the growing darkness under your eyes. Steve certainly had. “You look like hell,” he'd told you at the office today. Truthfully, you’re just tired. Tired of running in circles and chasing someone who might as well be a ghost; a ghost that leaves chaos in its wake and haunts you at night. Tired of bosses who don't seem to have a sense of urgency about any of it. So you probably do look a bit rough. But you’re too preoccupied to care. 

“Murphy told me it was a long day,” Javier comments, breaking your momentary reverie. You look up at him. 

It's been longer than that.

He takes a sip from his glass and gestures up and down at you with his free hand. Your hair’s a mess and your blouse is untucked and unbuttoned all the way, revealing the tank top you’re wearing underneath. “Have you, uh, slept recently?” he asks with a smirk on his face, his tone laced with teasing. You’re not in the mood for it.

“I don't want to fucking hear it, Peña.” You say it in such a way that it wipes the grin off his face. 

If he’s bothered by your remark, he makes no indication of it. Instead of responding, he leans against the counter, waiting for you to continue.

“Work was work, but the ambassador gave us hell,” you explain, abruptly slamming today’s files down on the counter. “I don’t know what anybody’s problem is anymore—do they want to catch these bastards or not?”

Javier meets your eyes, speculating when the last time you actually got some rest was, if you slept as restlessly as he did. He quickly pushes the thought away—why should he be concerned? But he nods anyways, knowing the feeling well.

“I have access to better CIs than the bullshit we're given,” he remarks. “You're the one who won’t get on board.” 

Your mouth twitches, and you can't resist. “Another informant? Jesus, Peña, doesn’t your leg hurt?”

He glowers at you. "Not that kind of informant," he quips, muttering under his breath.

“Anyways, I don’t know what’s worse, mindless paperwork, or busting our asses while trying not to get killed out there,” you say under your breath, mostly to yourself.

A brief silence passes. “I know,” he finally says with resignation. He rubs the area over his brow bone, seeming to contemplate what else to say. “I know how those assholes are,” he adds, and you’re surprised that it sounds genuine.

The lack of a sarcastic response is unexpected. It’s almost as if a silent but mutual understanding has materialized between you, and you’re not quite sure how to feel about it. For now, at least, it’s a somewhat nice change.

Your lips curve into a reluctant smile. “But I have to deal with those assholes, and you, too,” eliciting an eye roll and soft chuckle from him.

Another few ticks of the clock go by before you both turn to the stack of documents. Peña sighs.

You don’t know what overcomes you when you speak again. “I can help you go through it...if you want,” you offer with a shrug, though it sounds like a question.

He looks at you, a brow raised. “Why?”

You want to answer but you’re not too sure yourself. “The faster we can get this shit done, the sooner we can get back on the field.” Just this once, you think. If Peña’s thrown off by your suggestion, he doesn’t let it show.

Without another word, you each take half of the pile and get to work.

~

There are many things you’ve never noticed about Peña’s apartment before—you ponder this as you sit on his couch, leaning over the coffee table perusing today’s documents. You’ve been here too many times now, but have never paid attention to the smaller things. The frames that line his wall don’t contain photos of other people, but of a few dogs; presumably his, but it makes you wonder if he’s not close enough to anyone to have a picture of them. There’s a lot of books stashed away on some shelves, covered in dust but worn as though they were once well-loved. A month ago you would’ve thought the only books Peña read were those titled How to Be an Asshole 101. But most of all, you realize his apartment is just about as empty as your own; minimal decor and just the essentials. The years have gone by here in Colombia, but you have never bothered to make the place feel more like home. A job is a job. Things may change by the minute when you’re DEA, but somehow the days are all exactly the same. A heavy conscience is all that fills your empty apartment, and that’s more than enough clutter for you. 

You snap out of it when he comes out of the bathroom, having just changed his bandages. The bullet wound has mostly resolved—that's what he tells you, anyways. But he still walks with the limp, and you can tell he hates it; you know he’s not someone who can sit still and do nothing for such long periods of time. Fortunately—or not—he can do some work at home. Somehow you’ve found yourself staying over more often to help get the work done; much more than the one-time occasion you'd convinced yourself it would be. At first it’s just a few spare evenings, quiet nights that would have been dull anyways; a few extra hours after work here and there, slowly making a dent in the piles of busy work you’re given. Steve comes over occasionally, but he actually has someone to go home to so it’s never for too long.

Several times you argue over the correct method to go about hunting down a new lead—conventional versus methodical, straight-forward versus roundabout. You bite the inside of your cheek when he doesn’t agree and he groans with exasperation. But how much of it actually matters? you wonder. At the end of the day, Escobar still walks free. The last time you were on the field together, La Quica slipped from your fingers, and then some.

At some point, you attempt to explain your thought process; the reasoning, the logic. It’s not the first time you’ve tried to, but for some reason, Javier listens. Really listens. And, even stranger to him, he starts to understand. His world doesn’t turn and he won’t change his mind anytime soon, but he slowly figures you out. And somehow, the few hours you spend in his flat have slowly turned into longer evenings that go well past midnight. 

It takes you longer, but down the line you unwittingly start to understand him, too; not a lot, and not completely by any means. But for the first time since working with him, you no longer have this urge to shoot daggers with your eyes when you look at him.

Tonight looks to be another one of those long nights. You rest your chin on your hand, watching as Peña plots out a map of the city, narrowing down the potential hideouts of Escobar’s men. These late nights are getting to you, and you let out a big yawn without noticing. He stops mid-sentence and meets your eyes, and for a second you think you see a hint of amusement; it’s quickly replaced by his usual stoic expression.

You take a moment to stretch your arms and back, and Peña gets up to walk over to the kitchen. You decide to move to the floor for a change, crossing your legs on the cold, hard tile. He comes back with two glasses and a bottle of liquor he didn’t even have to read the label on before grabbing.

“Drink?” he asks, setting the glasses down and joining you on the floor.

You nod and push your hair out of your face, taking a glass as he pours the clear liquid into it.

“Do you think we can find them?” you suddenly ask, swirling the drink around. “Any of them?”

He looks surprised by your question; not because it’s a strange one but because it’s not something that’s ever discussed. Plans are put into place, actions are taken, orders are followed. “We’ll get him”, is the only thing spoken, a motto repeated in the face of defeat. “One way or another.” For a long time you’ve all been running on autopilot, simply chasing down one chance after another. More losses than wins, yet everyone refuses to back down. It’s the sort of thing that starts to wear a person down when they’ve been doing it long enough.

He must be lost in the same train of thought, taking a few seconds longer to realize you’re waiting for an answer.

“I wouldn’t stay here if I didn’t,” is all he says, raising his glass.

It’s nearly the same thing you tell yourself, especially on nights when it’s harder to sleep. You purse your lips and nod, turning your attention back to the files at hand.

~

Javier turns out the lights and pulls himself under the covers, letting out a heavy sigh as he runs his hands over his face. He needs this damn leg to heal itself soon—every day he’s not on the field is another day he can’t go after those assholes. He considers contacting one of his CIs again, but for a second he feels a sensation he can’t explain. Doubt? It’s not guilt—he can’t feel something that’s already made a home in the back of his mind. It’s fleeting, gone before he can think anymore of it. He thinks of you and wonders if it's the same things that keep you up, because it’s obvious that something does. When he finally lets himself close his eyes, he realizes he’s thought of you too often for his own liking. In his defense, you have been at his place more frequently. But so has Murphy, to some extent, and it’s not like he’s been thinking of him in his free time.

He groans and rolls over onto his good leg’s side and moves into the middle of his empty bed,  waiting for the images that fill his thoughts every night to lull him into another restless slumber.

~

You’d come over straight after work tonight, not bothering to drop your stuff off at your own place first. 

Recently the higher-ups passed a new lead into your hands—a good lead, and a usable one, for once. Finally having something interesting to follow, you’ve spent many more hours poring over the details. 

You haven’t even so much as looked up from the pictures on the table for at least an hour. Javier blinks the dryness out of his eyes as he leans back and massages the back of his neck, tempted to have another smoke. The clock reads 2:03. It’s later than he thought.

He stands up, putting the papers down on the table. “I’ll be back. Gotta change this dressing again,” he says quietly.

Somewhere between the complete silence and the sound of Peña shuffling around in his bedroom, you toss your pen down and lean back against the couch. Your back aches and the back of the couch is cool and comfortable. You uncross your legs, trying to relax for just a minute.

It's a while before Javier walks back out into the living room, about to say something when he sees you leaning against the side of the couch with your eyes shut. You’re holding your hands close to your body, as though you didn’t mean to let yourself get comfortable. He initially resists the urge to smile at the sight, but lets out a chuckle when it becomes obvious you won’t catch him. He debates waking you up, assuming you’d rather not stay overnight at his place. But after a few moments he decides against it, turning to go back to his room.

You’ll just be grumpy if he wakes you up. Best to save himself the trouble of dealing with it. Javier tells himself this as he pulls a spare blanket from the closet, then limps back out towards the couch. He gently shakes the thin blanket out and drapes it over you. It smells faintly of mothballs, but it’s clean and serves its function—his other guests usually share his blanket. He’s about to go back to his room when the loud roar of the AC suddenly brings a cool breeze into the room. He looks at you again, readjusting the blanket and pulling it up over your shoulders.

He pauses before turning off the lamp beside the table, his gaze lingering on you. You haven’t moved; it must’ve been a longer day than you let on. You’ve still got those tired lines under your eyes, but when you’re not nagging at him, you almost look peaceful. It’s such a marked disparity from the world outside that, just for a moment, he feels a bit at ease himself.

When he sees you like this, Javier decides that maybe you’re not so bad after all.

~

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[moonlit-imagines]

Lab Experiment

Bucky Barnes x reader

warnings: almost ~sexy time~ but not quite

a/n: punch me for thinking//loosely inspired by this tiktok and idk if this fits in any part of the timeline

prompt: bucky was starting to feel like his old self, but he’s still working on it. and he’s getting a bit sloppy when it comes to his old spy ways

“This is just the lab, I’ve got a few projects I’m working on at the moment.” You explained to Bucky, giving him a walkthrough of the Avengers Compound just to help him familiarize with his new surroundings. “See that mess over there? Tony’s work station. I wouldn’t go near it if I were you.”

“What are you working on over here?” Bucky curiously asked, making sure not to touch any mysterious materials.

“Ah, nothing much.” You fiddled with one of the unused switches while staring at your own unfinished projects. “A few weapon modifications for me, a tune-up for Nat’s ‘shock bracelets,’ and a communicator that travels a farther distance. Carol’s transmissions have been getting a little spotty.” You’d work on your tasks now, but Bucky was still acclimating to HQ.

“Sounds interesting.” He poked at Nat’s bracelets.

“Careful, that might shock you.” You joked, knowing full well that they were completely powered down. “I’m just kidding, you’re fine. Nothing over here can hurt you.” Bucky chuckled as you crossed your arms and sighed, just staring at your pile was starting to stress you out.

“So, you’re pretty smart, huh?” He rhetorically asked, leaning against the table.

“Well, not to toot my own horn, but I suppose.” You crossed your arms, teetering your head back and forth without looking away from your work, but you felt like Bucky was staring at you. A quick peek up confirmed your suspicions, but you didn’t mind. As for Bucky, his mind was racing with thoughts about you.

Maybe he just felt attracted to you because you were kind to him despite knowing everything there was to know about his past. Or maybe it was because he’d never seen a smile like yours in all of his years. Could it be that he was just comfortable around you? It’s been so long since he’s dropped his guard and been able to trust someone. Now he was staring at your lips, which were pursed and crooked while you were stuck in your own thoughts. Bucky forgot what a kiss felt like, but he wondered what your lips tasted like.

“Y/N?” Bucky broke his silence, which was new for this version of him. This Bucky was used to keeping his head low and speaking when spoken to.

“Hm?” You swiveled your head a bit too fast to face him, sometimes you just got too deep into certain thoughts, like: Will this gear be ready by the next mission? Am I going to screw over my teammates if I don’t get these up and running? How come Tony isn’t helping?

“You look...focused.” Still got it, Bucky. “I mean—” You gave him a chance to correct himself. Maybe this was why he stopped initiating conversations. “What I meant to say was...what’s on your mind?”

“Oh, nothing.” You waved you hand lazily, shaking you head. “There’s just always work to be done, you know? No rest for the wicked...” You let out a deep sigh.

“Well, if you have work to do, I can leave you alone if you want?” Bucky offered, but you didn’t want to dismiss him just like that.

“No, no! It’s nice to have some company in here that isn’t Tony. Really.” You told him, which admittedly made his cheeks warm up, you actually wanted him to stay. Bucky didn’t know what to say really, so he started to fidget when you got an ounce of inspiration and started writing in your notes. He pushed his tongue against his cheeks, scratched at his beard, traced his hand down the individual panels of his metal arm, it felt like forever. It had only been ninety seconds. Then there was a little click sound on the floor. “Shit.” You muttered as both of you knelt down to pick up your pencil. Once you met at the floor, you looked up to see each other’s faces both scared and intrigued by the lack of distance between you.

“Well...” Bucky cleared his throat and you exchanged glances as each other’s lips. “I...” There was no slick comment he could make, he was overall stunned that you hadn’t backed away from him yet. And just like that your lips had collided with his and the two of you moved back on your feet to get comfortable...or pushed against a desk. He wasn’t as rusty with his tongue as you expected, which made this all the better.

“Oh!” You gasped when you lost your balance for half a moment.

“You okay?” Bucky panted as you cleared a space on your desk for you to sit and yanked him back to your lips by the collar, feeling his hands grasp your hips and pull you as close to him as he could get you. Your legs straddled his waist and truth be told, you felt something hard against your inner thigh. You didn’t expect your day to go like this, but you did welcome it.

Your fingers laced through Bucky’s hair and your tongues moved in sync, this was where you felt Bucky’s hands under your shirt, against your bare skin. His metal hand was a bit of a shock upon contact, but not a surprise that is was just a bit cold. Right as he began lifting your shirt, you heard the lab door open. Thanks to the endless pile of work on Tony’s desk, there was something to block the view. Bucky and you both had your flight instincts kick in and separated a few feet apart.

Speak of the devil...it was Tony.

“Woah, Barnes, you’re looking a bit flustered.” Tony immediately teased, seeing Bucky staring at his feet, clenched fist against his mouth that was fighting a smirk.

“What’s up, Tony?” You raised your eyebrows and waited for him to justify his presence in...his lab.

“Not much, I just need to put some hours into these projects, you know?” Tony’s eyes flickered between you and Bucky, then the floor. “You dropped something.” He bent down and picked uo your pencil. “I’m keeping this.”

“Fine by me.” You nodded and noticed that Bucky was, in fact, holding his breath. “Uh, we should probably get going. Why don’t I show you around the Compound a little more?” You inconspicuously proposed and watched Bucky eagerly nod. “Later, Tony.” You waved goodbye. “And don’t put any of your stuff at my station. You know I hate that.” Bucky walked out in front of you to get out as soon as possible, so as soon as the door closed, he finally exhaled into an embarrassed chuckle. “Close call, huh?”

“Tell me about it.” Bucky pulled his hand down his face, his blood was still pumping in excitement from your five minutes of passion. “I hope the next stop on this tour is your bedroom.” He flirted, making your jaw drop slightly, only because you were completely for the idea.

“Let’s get a move on, old man. Try to keep up.” You tilted your head in the right direction and carefully led him to your private room to finish what the two of you had just started, something tells me this was going to be a great day.

Still got it, Bucky!

taglist: @alwaysananglophile // @rorybutnotgilmore // @locke-writes // @sweetheartliz07 // @queen-destenie // @natasha-danvers // @lokihiddles // @frostedgiantfavs // @emygirl // @lotsoffandomrecs // @johnmurphyisbisexual // @teenwaywardasgardian // @pappydaddy // @captainshazamerica // @freya-xo // @ravenmoore14 // @thisetaernallove // @ofthedewthesunlight // @canarypoint // @zoeyserpentluck //

[demivampirew]

Keep Calm and Go to London chapter 16

Synopsis: This is the story of (y/n), a successful actress, musician, musical producer and songwriter. After battling depression and breaking up a long relationship, she seeks for a change of air, escaping LA for a while going to visit some friends in London and there she meets Henry. -Disclaimer: some chapters are mostly smut.

Previous Chapters:

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Triggers:   SMUT ( s&m); use of slang and cursing words; mention of body image issues.

Disclaimer: I made this chapter as a challenge to myself. The idea was to write something inspired by songs and I’ve made a playlist with some songs which parts of the lyrics will be included on the chapter. At the end I’ll post the playlist in the order that the songs appeared. This chapter doesn’t contain vital information to the story (if so, I’ll talk about it again in another chapter), so if you are not into this type of stories, you can skip this chapter and continue with the next one.

Tag list: Here’s the incredible people who showed me support (thank  you    so much for that) and people who asked me to tag them too  ☺️   (I    think I will write a few chapters of this story, if you want me to  tag   you, tell me ☺️   ) @cavillanche @mary-ann84 @henry-owns-these-tatas @yespolkadotkitty @dancingwendigo   constip8merm8    penwieldingdreamer iloveyouyen  littlefreya  wondersofdreaming   alyxkbrl solariumss  sweetybuzz25 @thethirstyarchive @agniavateira   @honeyloverogers @hell1129-blog   @lunedelorient​  @michelle-1185​  

-I've got a surprise for you tonight - you said to Henry as he was turning off the computer after playing games. - Do you? What is it about? - he asked, curious and amused. - If I tell you, it won't be a surprise, right? You replied grinning devilishly and gave him a quick kiss on the lips. - Hmmm... it's a Bond Girl type of surprise? - he questioned as he raised an eyebrow, smirking pleased by the idea. - Well, something like that. - you told him laughing. - Do I have to wear a suit or something? - Let me think... - you paused for a second- Oh... I know... Do you, by any chance, still have the shirt that you used on the video that you appeared with Simon for Vanity Fair to promote Mission Impossible? - you asked him, pouting like an innocent little girl. - The black shirt? Yes, I still got it. I'll put it on for you then. - he assured you, and you smile at him excitedly. - This is going to be a night you won't forget- you promised as you got closer to kiss him. - Oh, every night is a night that'll I never forget. I feel like I remember everything that we've done since I met you. - You're a smooth talker, aren't you Mr Cavill? - you finished as you kissed him.

The great thing about becoming confident with your body again was the fact that you felt free to show another side of you. The part of you which didn't care about anything that people might think and was not afraid to explore when it came to pleasure. When you were with your ex-boyfriend, the first years after you started dating again after a three-year break, you were this woman. You not only enjoyed sex but discover that you liked being in charge. The last years of that relationship, made you put that confident woman in a deep sleep because he failed in making you feel desire. There were periods in which you wouldn't even have sex because he was always "busy" with work. On one occasion, he completely ignored you, that was wearing sexy lingerie as if you were invisible. That affected you a lot. But now, Henry brought back that side of you. He made you feel beautiful and sexy all the time. He didn't shame you for your lust, he enjoyed it as well. His sexual side amused you a lot. He was shy, sometimes a bit too much, but at the same time, you could tell every time that you put yourself in charge of the situation that is was something new for him. He was clearly used to be the one to do most of the work in the bedroom. At first, you could feel that he was surprised by your dominance, by he enjoyed it too much and became his favourite thing. Let you choose the positions and all was something that he became accustomed to. But, he also knew that you were a sucker for his kisses, so he would use that against you to distract you and take the lead again. And you allowed him that because you adored the fact that he had the strength to take you as if you were light as a feather and move you in the position that he pleased at the moment. Between the two of you, there was no doubt that you were the one most comfortable with playing games and creating new situations for fun. This wasn't because he didn't have that on him, because as soon as you started something, he gladly played the role you assigned for him. It was mostly due to a lack of practice. Even though he admitted having one night stands on the past, he was mostly a man that preferred to exclusively being intimate with partners and his previous girlfriends apparently weren't too much into the idea of roleplay and other kinky stuff. You didn't know much about it, because he was a gentleman and respected the intimacy of his former lovers.

The night came. As soon as you finished getting ready, you texted Henry to let him know that he could come into the room. He opened the door and found a chair a few steps away from the bed. There was a note on it that read "Sit and close your eyes until you're told otherwise." He did as it was told. His heart was beating fast due to the excitement and expectation. Moments past and finally he felt the soft touch of your hands on his arms. Then, you grabbed both of his hands and put on a pair of handcuffs. You softly bite the lobule of his ear and his cheek. He laughed as an act of reflex due to the tingly sensation. "Keep your eyes closed" you ordered him as you walked away. Music started to sound in the room. It wasn't partying or romantic music. At first sounded mysterious, like the perfect for the soundtrack of a vampire movie. But, after seconds the tone change into metal. The seductive raspy voice of a woman invaded the room.

I'm the girl you've been thinking about The one thing you can't live without I'm the girl you've been waiting for I'll have you down on your knees, I'll have you begging for more. [ ... ] So how can this be, you're praying to me There's a look in your eyes, I know just what that means I can be, I can be your everything

I can be your whore I am the dirt you created I am your sinner, I am your whore But let me tell you something, baby You love me for everything you hate me for.

"Open your eyes", you ordered. He did that and saw you standing in front of him. You were wearing a black sleeveless latex bodysuit that had a plunging neckline and short boots with pointy heels. In your face, you had a lace masquerade face eye mask and a blood colour lipstick on your lips. Your hair was straight, tight in a high ponytail.  You came closer to him. Slowly, place your index finger on his lips, locked eyes with him and grinning devilish. You turned around as the song finished and a new one started to play. You started to move to the sound of the music.

I must confess I'm addicted to this Shove your kiss straight through my chest I can't deny, I'd die without this Make me feel like a god Music, love and sex (Adrenalize me)

You moved sensually and slowly, touching your own body to the sound of the music and giving him looks, knowing how much he'd loved to be the one touching your body.

Get a little bit higher So we can fall 'til we bleed Push a little bit harder Pull me into the speed So tell me, can you feel this Come into my dream Are you ready to awaken? Are you ready to feed? 'Cause I need to feel Yeah, I need to say

You dropped on your knees and put your hands on the floor as well, classic doggy style position and moved erotically. You give yourself a few spanks, hard enough for him to listen to the sound of the collision of your hand with your butt, even with the loud music playing, and leaving red marks. You crawled to him placing your hands on his thighs and rubbing them. You could see that he was already hard. Lust and desire were visible on his eyes. He wanted you. He wanted you now. But the games were just starting. A new song was playing while you continue moving your hands up and down his thighs.

Is it sick of me To need control of you Is it sick to make You beg the way I do Is it sick of me To want you crawling on your knees Is it sick to say I want you biting down on me

Are you sick like me

Am I beautiful As I tear you to pieces Am I beautiful Even at my ugliest, you always say

I'm beautiful As you tear me to pieces You are beautiful Even at your ugliest, I always say You're beautiful and sick like me

As the song was getting closer to his end, you stood up again and way away from him, offering a nice view of your ass on the way and the stopped and moved your hips from side to side. The following song was from a different band, same style. This was music that Henry wasn't accustomed to, but he was still enjoying the game you were playing with him.

All I desire (Temptation) Keep climbing higher and higher (Temptation)

Adorable creatures (Temptation) (With unacceptable features (Temptation)

And trouble is coming (Temptation) It's just the high course of lovin' (Temptation)

And you can take it or leave it (Temptation) But you better believe it

As the song was playing its chorus, you got closer to him again, giving him a lap dance, close enough for him to feel the heat that your body emanated by not close enough to touch. You were driving crazy. You turned around and sit on his thighs, facing him. You kissed him and felt his desperation with the touch of his tongue with yours. You bit his chin and licked his Adam's apple. You touched the entirety of his chest. Then, you kneeled as you lift his shirt and lick and bite his chest, concentrating mostly on his nipples. He moaned louder than the heavy music playing. A new song started to play as you decided to end his suffering. Still, on your knees, you unzipped his pants and grabbed his member and started to please him with your mouth.

Beware the night Beware the night before the dawn Beware the dark when light is gone For there's a phantom lust to wake They wanna make you bend and scream They wanna take your hand and lead you in the light of Venus, girl Come let them take you for a ride Forget the lord and cross tonight And let your carnal lust prevail tonight Oh, demons come at night and they bring the end Oh, demons are a girl's best friend Oh, demons come alive and they take command Oh, demons are a girl's best friend

The song continued playing till the end, while you pleasured your boyfriend. This wasn't like other times, in which you did it slowly and tenderly. This time, you went fast and deep. Many times you went completely out of breath as you reached the base of his cock as this was inside your throat and your mouth. More than once you went as deep that you managed to licked his testicles while he was still inside of you. You took him out of your mouth, tasting the sperm coming out of him and stroking it. You stood up again and started to dance again to the music, giving him time to recover for another round.

When the night just strikes through you And the night just spreads its legs and open up for you When the day is dead to you And the silvery starlight seductively glimmers through

Its Night... Night!

When the night just comes for you And its fingers just crawl and move deep inside of you When the light is drawn from you And you sear your lips and let the sweet poison come on through

Its Night Night Electric Night

The world lies silent The night burns of wrath

You got closer to him again. You planned to uncuff him but that'd be like unleashing a savage beast. You were not planning to give him power. You made him stand up and walk to the bed, still with both of his hands tight to his back. He sat on the edge of the bed, as you open the handcuffs, realising one of his hands and tightening the other to the bed. Then you grabbed a tie from the closet and used it to trap his other hand. You sat on top of him and softly press your body against his. You kissed, licked and bite his neck for a bit and later kissed on his mouth, biting his lips now and then. After that, you unbuttoned his shirt and scratched his chest and bite his nipples. He was more than ready for the second round. You pulled the panties part of the bodysuit aside and entered Henry's cock inside of you and began to ride him. You change the pace of your movements to the rhythm of the song playing at the moment.

She looks like the girl The girl you ever wanted She looks like the girl The girl who could Give you everything And kisses run like hell And she like it She's got the look That could kill And you see the greed in her eyes It is far too late [ ... ] Too late to run Too late to hide There is no escape When she is hunting you And she is hunting you Tonight She takes everything from you She is uses you With her Body of sin You are addicted to her touch And you lose yourself in her Dangerous smile

Henry was grabbing the tie with one hand and the chain of the handcuff with the other; he was desperate to touch you, to grab you and make you his until you scream his name. You then sat on his face, letting him taste you and pleasure you. It felt so good to have his tongue inside you as well as licking and sucking your clit. After you reached an orgasm, you sucked him again before sitting on his cock for one last time.

Just a little bit, just a little, bitch You've got a pussy, I have a dick So what's the problem? Let's do it quick So take me now before it's too late Life's too short, so I can't wait [ ... ] Just a little bit be my little bitch You've got a pussy, I have a dick So what's the problem? Let's do it quick So take me now before it's too late Life's too short, so I can't wait

The last song played and you moved fast to its beat. You could feel his big and thick member inside of you, getting in and out so fast that it hurt, but you liked the pain; it felt wonderful. When you saw he was about to release, you changed position and quickly put it in your mouth, sucking him until he finished, leaving your mouth full of his cum. You shallowed it and then decided to free him. He was exhausted. His heart beat so fast all that time, so as soon as he was able to catch a breath, he fell in a deep sleep. You laughed and left him to sleep as you went to the bathroom to take off your clothes and makeup, shower and then go to sleep with him.

Playlist:

In this Moment- Whore In this Moment- Adrenalize In this Moment- Sick Like Me Cradle Of Filth - Temptation POWERWOLF - Demons Are A Girl's Best Friend Deathstars - Night Electric Night Blutengel - Vampire Rammstein- Pussy

[starryviolentine]

Camp Paya (A Pre-Apocalypse Story): Chapter 5/?

Part three of the “Pre-Apocalypse Adventures” Series

Chapter 1 (here)     Chapter 2 (here)     Chapter 3 (here)     Chapter 4 (here)

It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out that when Minerva claims not one, but two additional seats at their lunch table, it means that someone other than Minerva’s sister will be joining them as well. Being around too many strangers makes Violet uneasy, so the extra spot does make her a teensy bit nervous, but she puts on a brave face and tries to convince herself that everything’s going to be fine. It’s only one more person. And, surely, a group of four can’t possibly be any worse than a group of three, right?

Wrong.

The entire universe must have something against Violet specifically because, out of all the hundred-plus kids at camp this summer that Minerva’s sister could have become friends with, it turns out to be Brody. The sight of the auburn-haired girl bouncing over to their table comes as such an unexpected shock that it renders Violet frozen in her seat, unable to do anything other than gawk like a complete idiot. Brody, who looks just as surprised to see Violet, comes to a clumsy halt next to Minerva, mouth falling open ever so slightly. For a few seconds that last an eternity, the quarreling friends stare at each other in silence.

But then—and it happens so quickly that if Violet blinked, she would’ve missed it—Brody gives her the tiniest smile and a hesitant wave. Letting out the breath she didn’t even realize she was holding, Violet starts to relax. Brody doesn’t seem to be mad anymore. Maybe something good will come from this lunch arrangement after all. Violet’s fingers subconsciously move to the blue lizard keychain near her pocket as the gears in her head start whirring. 

Hey, Brody, so I know you like arts and crafts and stuff, and, well, yesterday, Minerva showed me how me how to make these really cool little lizard things and I thought maybe you’d like them, too, so I made—

Another Minerva arrives at the table, dropping her heavy bag onto the bench and letting out a weary sigh. The loud thump breaks Violet from her thoughts and causes her to look up. “Thanks for saving us a spot. Joey knocked a whole stack of goopy paint palettes off the counter right as the bell rang and it took forever to clean up.” 

“Did you guys finish the banner?” Minerva asks.

“Almost! I think we’ll be done by tomorrow,” answers the other Minerva.

Wait, what? 

Violet does a double-take and looks back and forth between the red-headed doppelgangers, clearly having trouble processing all of this. Brody, picking up on her friend’s complete and utter confusion, covers her mouth with her hands to stifle her giggles. 

The Minerva to Violet’s right, who also seems to find her reaction highly amusing, gestures towards her clone with a shake of her thumb. “Violet, this is my sister, Sophie.”

Sophie. Not Minerva. Sister. Sophie... and Minerva… Sophie and Minerva. Sisters... Twin sisters. Feeling somewhat dazed, Violet blinks at Not Minerva across the table. “Sophie…?”

Giggling, Sophie nods and waves. But then, as though she’s just had some sort of huge revelation, she gasps and points. “Wait, Violet? You’re Violet? As in…” She turns to Brody, who fervently nods her head up and down. “Yeah, Brody’s told me about you!”

“Oh yeah! Here.” Unclipping one of the lizards from her shorts, Minerva slides it over to her sister. “That’ll be five bucks.”

Playfully rolling her eyes, Sophie takes the trinket and smiles. “Thanks.”

A window of opportunity has arrived and Violet knows that she needs to take it. If she presents her gift right now, after Minerva, it won’t seem so out of the blue... and it will be less embarrassing since she won’t be the only one. All she has to do is go for it. Violet’s heart starts to flutter in her chest, but she’s not chickening out or anything. She just... needs a minute to prepare. 

“Oh, Minnie, that’s so cute!” Brody gushes, as expected. But Violet hadn’t been expecting what happens next. Standing up right where she is, Brody proudly shows off a lanyard keychain—one made out of glittery magenta and indigo plastic lacing woven in a checkerboard pattern—attached to the zipper of her fanny pack. “Look what Sophie made me yesterday!”

The tiny sliver of confidence Violet had in her own keychain drops to the very pit of her stomach and shatters into a million jagged shards. She’s too late. There’s no way she can give hers to Brody now without it seeming like a stupid, copycat afterthought. 

“I really wanna learn how to make those beaded ones, though,” Brody says, once again looking at Sophie’s red lizard longingly. 

“I can teach you. It’s really easy,” offers Minerva, wearing a self-assured smile. “I taught Violet how to make one this morning. Show them the one you made, Violet!”

Even though the only thing Violet wants to do right now is disappear, everyone turns to look at her expectantly. Minerva and Sophie, and Brody, with her stupid blue eyes the same stupid shade of blue as the beads on her stupid lizard. It’s all so stupid. The fact that Violet thought that maybe Brody had been just as bored and miserable as she was yesterday, or that maybe Brody missed her is now, in retrospect, laughable and just sad. No. Apparently, Brody had been doing arts and crafts with her new friend, merry as can be.

Then it hits her. Violet realizes that her best friend is going to be just fine at camp, with or without her. Brody doesn’t need her to have fun. Not like Violet needs Brody. And that’s the stupidest part of all. A raw, volatile mixture of rage and self-loathing overcomes Violet. Breath growing ragged, she grips her lizard keychain in her fist, yanking so hard that the string snaps and all the hard work she put into making is wasted in an instant. Blue beads clatter to the floor as everything starts to come undone. 

Everything.

The pressure from the three pairs of eyes on her weighs so heavily on Violet that she feels as though she’s suffocating. And there’s only one way to escape. 

Violet runs. 

With blurry vision and a heaving chest, Violet eventually finds herself bursting through the doors of Cabin Four, pacing the floors for a moment before letting out a strangled scream. Out of the corner of her eye, she catches a glimpse of her reflection in the vanity mirror and she storms over, glaring icily at the girl staring back at her. Stupid. Ripping the offending purple cap from her head, Violet flings it across the room and takes a good look at herself. Messy hair. Strands in her face. Blotchy skin around her eyes. Nose so red she could give Rudolph a run for his money. Violet resists the urge to smash something hard into the glass. 

Windswept blonde locks partially obscure her vision and she angrily swats them away, but the unkempt strands keep falling back into her line of sight, sending Violet into an irrational fit of rage. As the girl huffs and claws at her hair, desperately trying to get it out of the way, as though to spite her, her fingers repeatedly get caught in the tangles and it pinches her scalp. The same sensation as when she’s in a rush to get ready in the morning and brushes her hair a bit too roughly, yanking the bristles through the knots in order to get out the door as quickly as possible.

Of course, somebody always chastises her and tells her that she has to be more gentle. That her hair is so pretty and long and perfect for a ballerina bun, and if she brushes it too hard, she might get split ends. The joke’s on Brody, though, because Violet already has split ends. And guess what? She doesn’t give a damn! 

Something shiny and metal inside the nearby pencil cup catches Violet’s eyes and, before she knows it, she grabs in her right hand, holding a fistful of hair in the other. This will show Brody! Maybe next time she’ll stop and think before giving any more unsolicited advice. The scissors are duller than Violet expected, so it takes a bit of effort for her to hack all the way through, but the sheer satisfaction she feels after that final snip! is like nothing she’s ever felt before. Violet can hardly believe how liberating this feels. It’s incredible! It’s—

Immediately dropping the scissors, Violet stumbles a few steps away from the mirror as the reality of what she’s done slowly sinks in. Carefully unclenching her fist to inspect the damage, Violet watches in horror as several blonde strands float to the floor. The sight of the sad, lifeless bundle of hair in her palm makes her feel queasy. Her heart lodges itself deep in her throat and she panics, eyes darting from her hand to the pathetic girl in the mirror. Nearly half a foot of hair is missing from one side of her head, and it’s nothing at all like the time she got a wad of bubblegum stuck in her hair and her grandmother had to cut it out for her. Violet was seven, and she was terrified that she was going to end up with an enormous bald spot and that everyone at school would make fun of her. But Grandma had been really careful with the scissors, and in the end it wasn’t noticeable at all.   

But this time, it’s extremely noticeable. 

She’s ugly. Ruined.

Breathing as jagged and uneven as her new haircut, Violet attempts to flee the cabin, hoping to disappear into the woods, perhaps to never return again. Just when she figures that she’s already hit rock bottom and things couldn’t possibly get any worse, Violet slams into somebody in the doorway. Ouch. She really needs to stop doing that. 

“What in the ever-living fuck, V?” 

Of course it would be Therissa. Of course. The one person besides Brody that Violet had been hoping wouldn’t see her like this. 

The teenager gives an annoyed grunt, about to go off into a rant about Violet not watching where she’s going, but she quickly picks up on the fact that something isn’t right. Her roomie looks like she’s gone on a round trip to hell and back and it’s only noon. And where did that hay come from? Violet doesn’t seem like the type to willingly hang out by the stables, but— 

“Wait, is that hair?” More confused than ever, Therissa tries to piece everything together. Yeah, it’s definitely hair. Human hair. Making the connection, the teen looks up and immediately notices Violet’s new haircut. Oh, shit. Not wanting the situation to escalate, Therissa suppresses her shock and the billion questions that follow and tries to be as calm as possible. “Huh, I didn’t know that ‘beauty salon’ was on the list of camp activities this year.” As she steps a bit closer to Violet, Therissa makes sure to keep herself right in the middle of the doorway, turning her body into a barricade to keep the younger girl from running away. This is a delicate situation, and Therissa knows that she needs to handle it with caution. Once completely inside the cabin, she quietly pulls the door closed behind them. “I do like the direction you were going. Very bold. But it doesn’t look finished, know what I mean?” 

Violet keeps quiet and won’t meet Therissa’s eyes, but at least she doesn’t look like she’s actively looking for an alternate escape route. Holding her breath, the older girl takes a chance and gently reaches out to touch her roommate’s hair on the freshly cut side. Thankfully, Violet lets her. Combing her fingers through it a couple of times, Therissa gives a low hum. “I think I might be able to help you straighten things out a bit, if that’s cool with you?”

Walking further inside the cabin, Therissa comes across the scene of the crime. On the floor near the vanity are an old pair of scissors and even more of Violet’s hair. The older girl sits Violet in the wooden chair in front of the mirror and momentarily leaves to grab her hairbrush, picking up the scissors on the way back. After spending a minute detangling Violet’s hair and brushing it out for her, Therissa looks in the mirror with her roommate. “You do understand I’m gonna have to cut it, like, here, right?” 

Violet looks at the hand that Therissa’s using to mark exactly how many inches of hair she’s about to chop off and nods in defeat. She lets out a shaky sigh and speaks for the first time since the mess hall. “Just… don’t make it shorter than you have to. Please.”

Therissa giving her a thumbs-up in the mirror reflection is the last thing Violet sees before she squeezes her eyes shut. There’s no way she’s watching this. She doesn’t want to see anything until it’s all over. 

Probably not even then.

[champagne-bucky]

I.O.U.: II

Summary: Bucky is tired of the youngest Avenger having all of Steve's attention. 

Warnings: age gap (reader is of age), smut, dub/non con, dark!Bucky

Notes: Here’s part 2!! I hope you enjoy it! Please reblog, like, comment, and follow me for more :) 

You awoke to the sunlight peeking through. The sheets wrapped securely around your body. Stretching, you made your way to get dressed for another day of recon. 

Making your way to the bathroom, you brushed your teeth and fixed your hair before heading to the lobby to take advantage of the free breakfast and coffee. Just then you hear someone groan. 

“Wakey, wakey, sleepyheads. Gotta whole day of recon ahead of us.” You cheerfully said as you walked downstairs. 

You decided you weren’t going to let Bucky seeing your body ruin this mission. Every one has a body, it’s just you put yours out on fully display for the person who hates you the most. Running back to the room, both boys were up and ready to get going. 

“How was breakfast, did they have your favorite apple juice.” Bucky teased again. He honestly has no right to be talking to you like that considering a mere few hours ago he was jerking off to your ass and pussy. 

“Ha ha very funny Barnes, should’ve been a comedian instead of a soldier.” You jabbed back while heading to the car.

—

Today was more serious, you were posted back on on your usual spot just waiting for any suspicious activity, but nothing. Until, you see a man giving the infamous Hydra gesture to a woman running a bakery.

That’s odd.

You figure you might as well call it in. At least Sam and Bucky can track someone down. 

Sam and Bucky were posted outside the bakery waiting for their guy to come out. They knew that one slip up would be enough to take the agents out. It was basically confirmed that this was Hydra territory.

“You wanna do the honors or should I?” Bucky asks Sam.

“Please, after me.” Sam get up and busts through the door.

Fucking show off. 

Bucky cocks his gun ready to fight.

—

You lay on the grassy hills in shock watching the scene unfold. Bucky and Sam managed to take out a full building of Hydra agents and you were just sitting like a duck. The village was starting to become more vacant as people were clearing the streets and hiding out. 

“Hey Y/N, we need back up. Nows your time to shine.” Sam called.

You raced down the hills and stealthily made your way through the village. You hadn’t used you powers since the Thanos fight, so you may be a little rusty. However, you proved yourself wrong and began blasting agents left and right. It seemed like there were so many occupying this area. 

Meanwhile, Bucky and Sam were clearing another building to get the files. Once Bucky has them uploaded they began to make their way out. That is until a bomb decided to go off. 

You heard the explosion coming from the distance and levitated you way over. Assessing the damage, unwanted anger rose within you. Bucky and Sam were probably in there. Why else did Hydra choose to bomb this building? Just then the sound of a gun clicking behind your head draws your attention.

“Now, now, little one. Just come with us and we can help you. We don’t want to hurt you.” An agent looked at you with a smirk. 

Tears started forming in your eyes. Sam and Bucky. They were gone, or at least, suffocating under the buildings rubble. You didn’t know what happened you just snapped. They’ve been through way too much to die like this. You were fuming and the aura around your body was turning bright blue. Then, you blinked. 

You don't know what you did. All you know is that there was tons of dead bodies surround you. It looked as if a bigger bomb went off.

"Sam? Bucky?" You yelled out as you began to move chunks of the building away. 

Suddenly, you saw Bucky's metal hand beneath the rubble. You levitated the crumbled concrete off of them and freed them. They staggered out clearly hurt, various bruises and trickles of blood all over their bodies. 

"Kid," Sam looked around at the scene, “ what did you do?” 

Finally being able to look around at the damage, you couldn’t help but gasp. Hundreds upon hundreds of bodies laid on the ground, motionless. You stood frozen, tears threatening to spill. 

I killed all these people. 

While some were Hydra agents you knew you killed innocent civilians as well. You didn’t even realize the gravel shifting below your knees and the hand on your shoulder until it pulled you up.

“C’mon, let’s get out of here.” Sam ushered you to the car.

—

Bucky was throughly impressed. He always underestimated you, but this time you proved yourself beyond worthy regarding your place on the team. However, you didn’t think so.

Boarding the jet, you sat in the back, knees up to your chest, emotionless. So many bodies littered throughout that village, and they just left them there to rot. Well, they wouldn’t rot, surely the government or S.H.I.E.L.D were notified to take care of the problem. 

Sleep didn’t come easy that night. You were tossing and turning so much that Bucky yelled at you to pipe down, stupid enhanced hearing. The boys on the other hand didn’t seemed phased at all. They’ve both seen worse, it’s just that they never thought you were strong enough to wipe out a whole village.

When the jet made its way back to the compound, you attempted to run and hide to your room before Sam caught you. 

“Whoa, whoa, hold up. Listen, kid, you did what you had to do. It’s not your fault. You actually saved us a lot of trouble. So don’t lose any sleep over what happened. Bucky and I have seen and done much worse trust me.” Sam offered you a kind smile before letting you go. 

—

Turns out, Steve was held up for a few more days, meaning you were living in a constant state of anxiety. Steve would be beyond pissed when he found out what happened. He’d probably even kick you off the team.

Bucky realized this and the wheels in his head started turning. Ever since that night he couldn’t get you off his mind. The person he hated the most became his new guilty pleasure. Over the next few days at the compound, he would secretly be following you around. He knew your routine down pat by now, although knowing how much honey you put in your tea isn’t exactly something he cared to know about you. No, Bucky wanted more. He wanted to see your body again, wanted to undress it, kiss it, play with it. He wanted you under him withering and begging for more. Bucky wouldn’t say he had a crush on you, he still is mad that you garner all of Steve’s attention, he just wants you body sexually and nothing more. 

He needed a plan. He needed you, craved for you, but how would he get you? Drunken one nights stands weren’t exactly your thing, hell he’s pretty sure he’s never seen you touch a bottle. Friends with benefits? Nah, you gotta be friends first before that happens. Bucky became obsessed with you more and more as the hours passed. 

On laundry day, he was trying to dry his clothes when he saw that somebody, you, never came back down to get your stuff. 

Just a little peak won’t hurt anybody right? 

Like a madman, Bucky started to dig through your garments. Bras, shorts, shirts, and then he found them, panties. He pick them out and laid them on top of the dryer. Inspecting each one. 

Looks like we have a naughty little thing on our hands don’t we? 

Bucky chuckles darkly and he picks up your deep red lace thong. He smiles and takes a deep long whiff. He wants you to be wearing these when he fucks you for the first time. He imagines you right now: ass up, breast hanging, your tight little pussy begging to be pounded. 

I’ll start off slow. Feel her up a little, get her all nice and wet for me. Fuckkkk she’s gonna be a mess. A few spanks here and there, maybe fill her mouth up, then the show begins. 

Bucky subconsciously put his hand with the panties in his pants and started to jerk off. He’s thinking again. Thinking of all the things he’s do. 

I’m gonna ruin that brat. Gonna show her she’s nothing more than my whore. Gonna show Steve his innocent baby is a filthy cock slut. Gonna tie her down, blindfold her, spank her, fuck I’m gonna make her feel me till the day she dies. 

Bucky came again. Hard. He came through his pants and dirtied the clean underwear. 

“Well, that’s going back in the hamper.”

Bucky chuckles before stuffing the panties in his pocket  

—

Sleep doesn’t come easy to you anymore. You lay awake at night, tossing and turning, every time you shut your eyes the dead bodies are there. A killer, murderer, monster, you can see all the headlines now. 

AVENGER SLAUGHTERS HUNDREDS IN FRANCE.

How were you ever to face Steve and tell him? You can’t imagine his face, he’s gonna be fuming. What will the team think of you? I’m sure Tony will try and lock you away, maybe they’ll stabilize you powers like they did to you and Wanda. God that hurt. You were born with your powers so stabilizing that part of your body is basically like half of your body dying. 

You were a mess. Bags under your eyes constantly, sleep deprived, you missed about all of your schedule training sessions with Sam. Sam understood though, he knows being surrounded by all that death and gore takes a toll on a person one way or another, he just didn’t think you would take it so hard considering the circumstances. 

Bucky was getting antsy. He would see you leave you room less and less. Surely you has been skipping some meals, you looked weak and pale. In that moment Bucky actually has sympathy for you. When he was the soldier he was constantly axing people off left and right. He remembers the screams, cries, blood, he shivers at the thought and pushes them back in his mind. He need to make his move, fast. You haven’t noticed the missing panties yet, not that you would be able to recognize them now.

Bucky thought about sneaking into your room while you were asleep. Maybe grab himself a fresh pair of panties and jack off to your unconscious body, but you don’t sleep anymore. He would walk past your room at night and try to find out if you were awake, he would hear your soft cries and the bed moving every second. He knows you need this, something to take the edge off. 

—-

“Alright kid, you’ve wallowed long enough. I’m tired of you dodging our training sessions. If you expect to be pulling your own on this team then I suggest you get your ass down to the training room in 5 minutes.” Sam yelled at you. 

Sam has enough of your despair. You didn’t understand why. People died and you were the cause of it all. Bucky watched your altercation with Sam. He didn’t understand either. He guessed you were afraid of how Steve would react. To be fair, Steve didn’t want you out on the field in combat, so maybe she’s worried he’ll get mad at her for that. 

Bucky saw you slump on couch, sulking. He decided to talk to you. This was just an opportunity for him to get close to you, he really couldn’t care less about hearing what you had to say. 

“What’s you problem.” He asks. 

“I killed them,” tears are starting to form again,   “all those innocent people are dead because of me.”

Innocent? 

Then, something clicked in Bucky’s head. It was evil sure, but he need to feel something with you again. 

“Steve’s going to kill me, Bucky. He’s gonna kick me off the team for sure.” You start crying. 

“Steve’s not gonna kill you, because he’s not gonna find out.” Bucky finally spoke. 

“Huh?” 

“I’ll do you a favor. I’ll tell Stevie you were an angel the whole time. I’ll tell him I ordered you to do the strike. You didn’t want to, got it? In return you gotta do something for me okay?” 

You eyes lit up. Bucky’s showing you actual kindness, a hint of friendship even? 

“Yes, yes, Bucky, thank you! I’ll do anything for you I swear, whatever you want!” You smiled and hugged Bucky. He got a little hard when you tits pressed against his chest. 

You walked down to the training room. Bucky knew what he was doing. It was awful, but it would be worth it in the end. You both needed this. You both wanted it, even if you didn’t admit it. 

You thought those people were innocent? I guess that falls on Bucky. He remembered when he got back to his room after France. That lone mission report he was suppose to give you, he forgot. He’s glad he did though. Bucky didn’t have the guts to tell you that they weren’t innocent people. You single handily wiped out an entire village full of Hydra agents in disguise. That was one less base to worry about. Really saved them months of work trying to tear it down. Of course he was gonna tell Steve. It would get out eventually when it makes national news. However, Bucky would never tell you that. 

tags: reblog to be added!! 

  @lacontroller1991 @ladifreakingda @chipilerendi @crookedlymassivecrown

[luminescentlyricist]

🧡 Autophobia 🧡

AUTOPHOBIA - NOUN - An irrational fear of oneself ; an intense self-fear that is groundless.

~

Dirk had never been all that emotional, but this was the last straw. He was breaking day by day, teetering on the edge of snapping the carefully constructed mask of apathy he'd worked so hard to maintain. Even before Derse had exploded, there were days where he couldn't slip away into the dream planet. Then, whenever he could - without Roxy there, without having her snoring company - the whispers of the horrorterrors seemed loud enough to deafen him. He'd never told anyone about it. Not even Dave. There were truly no words appropriate for the situation, and it muddled up his thoughts with stupid emotional biases to consider.

He sat in his living room, a hunched-over gargoyle, unmoving and unwilling to move. The larger-than-necessary television screen in front of him blared music, but his own brother's sick beats weren't enough to shake him from his literal and metaphorical slump. For all he knew, it was midnight, but he felt detached enough that he'd disregard the ebbs and flows of tiredness until he blanked out and crashed. Sometimes, his mind and body alike couldn't handle the strain. This was one of those times. Dirk's muscles ached in protest of the awkward position he'd decided to rest into, and as his neck craned downwards - being physically unable to keep his head up any longer - the iconic triangular shades he always wore slipped from his nose.

He made no move to retrieve them. Despite feeling disproportionately vulnerable without them, the Strider barely cared. All of his windows were covered by thick black curtains anyway, the otherwise invigorating sunlight nonexistent.Nobody wanted to visit, anyway, as Dirk was sure they were all sick of each other's company after so long. He was all too used to being alone and looking after himself, so the group's self-imposed isolation period shook him a lot less than it did his peers. He noted that he had been invited to a group board on Trollian - his chat client of choice, as it turned out not to be exclusive to the trolls - but, once again, made no effort to raise himself from his slump.

John had also messaged him, but they had barely spoken. All he knew was that the 'windy boy' was one of his brother's friends.

Dirk's uniquely-coloured eyes slipped closed after a while of vacant staring. He no longer heard the music loud enough to shake the walls. The only thing that met his ears was the low, steady thrumming of his own heartbeat. It was disorienting, yes, having everything fade away, but he was adjusted to solitary ventures and feeling so alone that darkness felt more comforting than seeing.

He'd been wondering whether or not to give Hal a more physical form because he'd been able to salvage the AI from the 'corpse' of ARquiusprite. It felt somehow immoral - even by Dirk's largely skewed moralities - to keep the shades locked away, even though it was to prevent them from tormenting him or driving him to increasingly long periods of sleeplessness. The truth was that Dirk held an emotionless facade as his brother did, though his lack of understanding was left exposed and unmasked in contrast. But he was fragile, as prone to breaking as anyone else was. Hal was an enigmatic being, more than enough to shake him up.

It was haunting, realising just how strangely he had acted when he was younger. How stupidly, how naively. Taken away by his emotions, loud and brash. Was that just how thirteen-year-olds were supposed to be? As detestable as the robot was, he was a reflection of who Dirk had been and who he never wanted to be again. A reminder.

Finally standing, a small groan escaping his lips at the pain of his now-stiff body, the Strider thought. He didn't really know what to do, but never bothered to engage with his friends despite the annoyance of the notification light blinking. Travelling to the fridge with habitually light, wary footsteps, Dirk opened the door and took out a can of Orange Crush. He consumed so much of the stuff it was a wonder his teeth weren't stained. The cold drink seemed like snow - not that he personally knew what it felt like - in the way its coolness slowly spread through his hands. He needed the sugar to snap out of his daze, as strange as it seemed.

The tab of the lid scratched abrasively against his fingers when he attempted to open it, and he cursed aloud, hearing his own voice for the first time in what seemed like an aeon. The surfaces of his fingertips had been caught, and pinpricks of red bubbled up to obscure their swirling prints. Licking the blood away without a second thought, he tried again, ears pricking to the satisfying hiss the carbonated drink made when the metallic seal was broken. Taking a swig, Dirk disregarded the bubbles that seemed to burn his tongue. As much as he hated it, he felt too lonely now, The taste of the drink was familiar and comforting.

Slamming the fridge door with a little more force than was necessary, the young man flinched. His shoulders were raised in a defensive, tight position, so he forced himself to relax. He'd engineered a situation for himself that hindered his emotional and physical growth, the battle bots being the very reason why he was so prone to startling when no one else was watching to protect him. But the one flaw that Dirk seemed to so vehemently disagree with was perhaps his most prominent: He'd largely formulated and fuelled his own misfortune.

Moving back to the couch, he sat, staring at the rotating disc emblem on the screen. It was up at full brightness, as he refused to take off his shades even though he was completely alone. He knew that he should have at least contacted his brother. If he was craving contact so badly, Dave would be the best person to tell about his troubles. They had been raised similarly, after all, regardless of any family ties they might have had. But. for the most part. he felt disruptive.

Watching the rapid spinning of the disc animation, his stomach felt compelled to follow suit. Swallowing another mouthful of Orange Crush, relief washed through his whole body and quelled his nausea to a degree. His thoughts were only becoming louder and harder to ignore, though, so he muted and switched off the television. His ears continued to ring obnoxiously, so he tilted his head back, placed down the can and plugged them with his fingers.

Dirk was procrastinating, denying the need to fidget and tinker in his workshop purely to quieten his Hal-based thoughts, which were beginning to come overwhelming despite his efforts. He just wanted to prevent them from growing.

He still wondered about his Brobots. The boy wasn't one to get sentimental, and he wasn't about to. He'd simply put so much effort into them that it seemed a shame to dismantle them for a cause he didn't truly support. It was one hell of a choice to make, and the self-imposed delays were only hindering his prospects. Surely he was stronger than his thoughts? For someone who'd sat alone with them for so long, something like Hal shouldn't have moved him.

With another few slow swallows of his drink, he forced himself to stand and look towards a corridor. That was exactly where he didn't want to go. The darkness surrounding the area - though purely owing to his laziness, having not installed a lightbulb - was disorienting and even frightening. He'd never liked having his vision taken away because of how heavily he relied on it.

Descending the small staircase, he glanced downwards to check if his boots - normally steel-toed in case he dropped anything onto them by accident, despite outward claims of his own composure - were properly laced. Finding that one was undone, he bent down and carefully double-knotted it, wincing as the normally non-irritating fabric connected with the raw skin on his fingertips. He'd expected such a small thing to heal rapidly, but all it was doing quickly was becoming both a metaphorical and physical pain. Straightening, he pushed open the door to his workshop and stepped inside.

The space no longer seemed as welcoming and relaxing as his memory told him it would be. There was a certain fogginess about it, the windows dark and air colder than Dirk had ever anticipated. The layout was similar to that of Equius', though the benches and worktables were distinctly neater, and various swords and weapons lined the wall. Their metal glinted dully in the waning moonlight. As opposed to bloodied parts of completed and smashed battle bots, Dirk's hosted husks and unfinished or dismantled robots in varying degrees of completeness.

An entire table was strewn with circuits and other electrical components. Dave had once suggested he contact a troll named Sollux to help with those. He hadn't bothered to enquire who that was, but it seemed a little more believable since he'd confirmed that trolls were not just internet idiots but also a bona fide alien race. Some had cool powers, according to his brother, and this 'Sollux' was one of them. He reportedly possessed psionics and eye lasers, though the tech savviness was far more relevant to Dirk's quests.

Checking around for his welding mask, the young man decided to distract himself by turning to the 'wrong' bot entirely. Squarewave and Sawtooth still existed, after all, and his mind was wandering to that uncertain place. He needed a distraction. He didn't want to face that. He was, for all intents and purposes, a complete and utter coward, even more so because he didn't want to admit it. His calloused fingers tightened against the personalised welding mask, so much so that it rubbed against the drink-tab wound, the same one that was so insistent on not healing.

This bot was a loose model, a sort of forgotten 'Davebot', one which he had since decided to abandon the building of. He thought it selfish to construct a model bot of someone who was still very much alive and deserving attention. By this token, he knew that he had broken this unspoken principle by virtue of the bot he had made Jake, though he considered that a separate situation. Dirk wasn't taking any attention away from his original self, and he could also argue that he didn't deserve it at all.

The boy let out a short sigh, rubbing his hands across his face and grabbing a pair of thick black gloves from a hook on the wall. This allowed a streak of red to smear across his nose from the newly reopened finger-prick wound. Although it was a bad idea due to the blatant infection potential, he didn't bother leaving the workshop to get a bandaid for it.

The Dave-esque robot's bright red eye lenses bored into his own with an unnerving glint, appearing far too alive for his liking. Dirk exhaled shakily, reaching out to touch the bot's soothingly cold exterior. Silvery alloy, fused with tight welding and ungodly amounts of heat so that there were no unseemly bolts and such to mess up the appearance of the face. Although he found it unnervingly difficult to display his affections, the care with which he had assembled his brother's likeness was telling enough.

Drumming on the shining lenses with unclipped fingernails, Dirk realised that he had subconsciously removed his gloves while fidgeting. He scanned the room, huffing and looking down at his fingers so that he had a concrete image of himself putting them back on in his head. Without that reminder, the boy was so stuck in his own swirling thoughts he would have forgotten again. He stepped back from the Davebot, wrinkling his nose in disgust - or perhaps a sudden burst of jealousy - despite his prior, awkwardly-expressed affections towards it. He took a nearby cloth, throwing it over the bot if only to obscure its confronting gaze.

The last thing he wanted to do was face Hal, even though it was just like going back in time. He never asked to face himself, no matter the iteration. Dirk knew he was better than that. The flaws that he once had were all locked away tightly, or so he thought. And yet, he had given their metallic prison a name. There was something so disarming about Hal; the stagnancy in growth was awful alone, but seeing himself - or a projection, a perception - so raw and unfiltered was going to break him apart. It just wasn't natural.

As Dirk felt himself spiral into such a distressing pattern of thought, a rare frown took his lips downwards. He picked up a stray piece of scrap metal, turning it over and over in his fingers until he found some peace in the constant action. Placing it into a pocket, he decided to keep it out of the way but nonetheless close by for further 'use'. He also needed something physical to do rather than resulting to his self-jeopardy and facing Hal when he was in such a fragile state of mind.

The tremors that were rippling through his body begun to intensify, and Dirk realised just how useless it was waiting for himself to calm down. There wasn't a whole lot he could do to procrastinate unless he dragged his friends out of the comfort of isolation. Besides, he had a feeling seeing Jake in person wouldn't put him in the best mood. Running a hand distractedly through his hair, the Strider braced himself against a worktable and groaned aloud. Nothing was helping his emotional turmoil, much less the headache pounding behind his eyes.

He'd spent too many sleepless nights wondering about this particular moral dilemma to keep it inside, but that was simply what he had adjusted himself to. Dirk Strider was a bomb, but he was convinced that he could explode if and when he wanted to. But each and every issue he refused to face was only shortening his resolve. What kind of Strider allowed himself to cry? Not him, that was for sure.

Sweat dripped down his forehead, slipping beneath his welding mask and making him his in irritation. Everything, no matter how small, seemed like it was against him. And to someone feeling as sensitive as Dirk was at that moment, it might as well have been the truth. The buzz in his fingers from touching the abrasive metal - despite the gloves - was gradually spreading, vicious pins and needles that were such a rapid sensation every movement was causing him pain or discomfort.

With a shaking hand, he removed his phone from one of his many pockets and opened Trollian. There, in bright red letters, sat the exact help he was so sure he didn't need. Dave would've been able to soothe him, at the very least, but what he really wanted was for someone to just... listen. Dirk hadn't let himself rely on others in the past, and he wasn't about to. Letting the screen fade to black, the young man let out a breath he had no idea he had held in so tightly. The phone fell from his lax fingers and back into his pocket, the dull weight sparking more pain in his midsection that he couldn't ignore.

Teeth harshly grinding against each other, he took one last glance towards the covered Davebot and rounded a corner, pushing back a thin and vaguely dusty curtain that separated one bot from the rest. Exhaling slowly and steeling himself, he stepped inside. Attempting to disregard his various aches and pains. his gaze flickered to a small drawer. It looked as if it were gouged at to try and remove the handle. He had done that, but it had been so long since that he'd forgotten.

Walking slowly towards it, Dirk produced a key from a chain around his neck. His friends had often enquired as to what the chain was for, but he'd never felt the need to answer them truthfully. He unlocked the drawer, closing his eyes for a moment to silently process what he was doing. It was terrifying, as much as he wouldn't admit it. The only thing that scared Dirk enough to break his facade was himself. Facing his own flaws. Hal made everything ten times worse. Nonetheless, he had completed the body, even if it was crafted in a far less personal manner when compared to the Davebot.

Sweat continued to bead at his forehead and drip downwards, irritating Dirk enough that he removed the welding mask entirely to wipe it away as much as possible. Taking a spare pair of shades - which he always had somewhere on his person - out of his protective apron and slipping them back on, a little bit of the tension melted out of his shoulders. It felt more natural to have the shades on, and he had no need for the welding mask. He didn't intend to see to the bot's adjustments just yet.

Although he regretted building Hal a body, all things said and done, it was the only chance he had to try and quash the nightmares and nausea that followed him everywhere he went. There was no logic to the fear, this he knew, but he just wished it'd stop, despite his giving up hope on it a while ago.

His heartbeat pounded in his ears, so he retrieved his phone and headphones. They were a special pair that Dave had once painted for him, sleek, black and noise-cancelling with the added bonus of his hat logo emblazoned on each ear. Again, his thoughts drifted towards getting the help of his brother, but there was no time for any of that. He was too entrenched in his personal problem to think about pushing it onto anyone else. Once again, he put Dave's beats on, but this time they were too close to ignore. The headphones were wireless, luckily, because there was no chance he could have untangled them with his uncooperative hands. They weren't going to stop trembling any time soon.

Dirk's hand rested on the drawer, fingers drumming against the fading, once-burnished wood. He looked down to the contents of the drawer and grimaced, taking a small step away from it. He rethought the last hour's efforts, captured all in the single hesitation. He knew it was necessary, but there was something freezing him in place while his head and stomach spun. The boy curled his fingers so tightly around the handle that his knuckles turned white and it started splintering beneath his grip.

He reached into the drawer, placing his fingers one-by-one on the black lenses within and unsteadily picking them up. As the light caught on them - the workshop lacking curtains as the only room safe and secluded enough - he winced, but it was unclear why until he set them back down and rubbed his eyes vigorously. Dirk had seen the red lenses behind the shades, and thought that he was hallucinating for a moment. He hadn't seen them distinctly prior because he just hadn't processed it. He'd developed a habit of blocking things out physically and mentally when he didn't want to see them.

Sighing to the empty room, Dirk fumbled around in his many pockets for his phone, sending a short message devoid of context to his brother.

~ TimaeusTestified [TT] Began Trolling TurntechGodhead [TG] ~

TT: This is it.

~ TimaeusTestified [TT] Ceased Trolling TurntechGodhead [TG] ~

Returning it to his pocket, he made sure it was on Do Not Disturb mode. There was no way in or out of Hell he'd be shaken from his concentration, and no event more important than it to justify that. It also had to be kept a secret for exactly that reason. Picking the shades back up, he glowered down at them. He hated them - and even more, the AI that they contained - beyond expression. But there was no time, and thusly no back-pedalling that he could afford to be doing. He'd procrastinated enough.

Hesitating despite the reassurance that there was no time to waste, Dirk took off his shades one more time. Removing another welding mask from a hook at the wall - this one plain black unlike the one in the main area that he had taken the time and effort to customise - and replacing it with his own pair of shades, a shudder worked its way up his spine again. This time, the associated tension in his shoulders stayed, giving him none of the prior relief. He never expected it to, really. The Striders were a family who were all capable of working with, around or against their obstacles if needed. Highly adaptable. In reality, nothing much was a hindrance to Dirk because of his learned - and perhaps forced - stoicism.

With a stiff and uncertain movement, the young man drew the shades up to his facE, staring into the crimson lenses as if in a trance. They were lifeless and cold, just as he'd trained himself to be. But he knew, deep in his mind where the bad thoughts - or those he personally considered bad, anyway - rested, that it wouldn't be for long. He barely caught himself fidgeting with the scrap metal restlessly for a moment within his pocket. He begun to prepare the final wirings, those that would spiral out from his folly's chest and centre console.

The one advantage of his fear-based procrastination was having ample enough time to hone his craft. He was able put more careful handiwork into Hal's final form than he ever would have been able to give to the Davebot, which was cause for shame on his part. The wires, all of which he constructed himself, were built to be see-through but contained small lights that would change from blue to red according to the artificial rise and fall of Hal's chest, and the 'beating' of the console. It was a small detail, easily missed, but it made him feel all the more unsettling and real.

He hummed along to the beats still thrumming in his ears, a habit he only displayed when entirely alone.

Dirk inserted the chest-piece along with the console, which was neatly connected and hidden behind) into its proper place, the shaking that had once plagued him long overshadowed and disguised under false confidence. Something was telling him to stop. To leave Hal to rust and his careful wirings to rot. But Dirk's stubbornness and characteristically destructive nature caused him to dismiss all judgements, no matter how logical. No matter how much the dismissals would hurt him.

Clearing his throat, the boy's eyes flickered upwards to the lens that was missing in the facial pieces. Realistically, he could have simply foregone the eye-lenses in their entirety because of the shades he'd put on, but it would have felt unnatural. Regardless of the bot-husks scattered across the workshop and the image they conveyed, their creator was highly committed and dedicated to his craft. Under the right circumstances, yes, but dedicated nonetheless.

Straying from the bot, Dirk re-entered the main sector of his workshop and located a box full of perfectly maintained, crystalline lenses. Picking it up, he made his way back into the smaller room and set it down onto a makeshift workbench, sifting through them in quiet. He had somehow listened to the majority of his brother's discography, even though the intensity of his concentration caused him to block out all else but his work. As such, he hadn't properly realised the magnitude of either achievements, disregarding the bot-related work as well.

Soon, Dirk found the lenses he was searching for, holding them up to the windows and discovering there was no light left to shine through them. Another thing that he'd let slip unwillingly under the radar was just how long he'd been working for at that point. Nonetheless, he knew well enough that their colouration was a near-exact match to his own eyes. They were chosen in stark contrast to the red and black dominating Hal's outfit.

Stepping backwards from the bot in question, the Strider dug the toes of his boots into the floor and started to count silently. He was grounding himself in both a mental and physical manner. He needed to prepare himself for what he was about to finish. For any normal person, the task wouldn't have been so daunting. For him, on the other hand, it was facing his fears. Regardless of his own wants or desires, Dirk both pressed and stepped forwards. He placed the lens in the appropriate eyepiece, and realised that he no longer had to fake his confidence. He was sure of himself.

Slowly soldering the wires with his welding mask pulled down against the embers and sparks, he steadied his once-erratic breathing as much as he could. Upon completing this, he took off the mask and let himself observe Hal, a slight frown turning the otherwise neutral expression he'd maintained. Checking that the kill switch was working - and, despite his loathing, hoping that he'd never have cause to use it - for a moment's distraction, he retrieved the iconic shades.

Connecting them to the bot, he reached down to the centre console and pressed in a final panel. Looking back towards Hal, Dirk realised what he was truly seeing.

These were the eyes of someone more human than he was.

[the-omni-princess]

All Yours

Author: @the-omni-princess​

Summary: It’s simple really. You have a secret, and there’s an infamous Stark party. What could go wrong?

Prompt: Hyacinth – Jealousy / constancy of love, fertility

Word Count: 1.7K

Pairing: Bucky x Avenger!reader

Warnings: fluff, alcohol, surprises

A/N:

Slowly making my way through all my writing challenges lol

This is for @writingsoftheloser​ ’s  #vi1.5kmeaningschallenge !!!!

-

[My Masterlist]

----

Dressed to the nines, dripping in jewels, and with a dress with way too many slits in it to still be considered a dress, you felt a bit self-conscious while walking into the Stark Party alone. Your hair was braided back, with small white chrysanthemum flowers tucked into the weaved hair. The slits in the dress showed off your glowing skin, and if you turned too fast, someone could catch a glimpse of the navy colored lace corset and panties you were wearing underneath – a gift from Natasha, she deemed this lace pair as the ‘dick me down lingerie’ – yet despite all this, you pushed past the burning edges of self-doubt creeping in, in favor of tilting your chin up higher and walking with confidence.

What was this party celebrating again? Honestly, you couldn’t be sure. All you knew was that most of the team was off-site for the past month, holed up in the Amazonian Jungle, with absolutely no contact, and that this party was made too far in advance to cancel. Both you and Natasha had stayed behind since the mission required more brute force, and well because Natasha had a broken wrist.

Despite the wrist brace, Natasha still looked stunning in a tightfitting red dress. You both sipped on your martinis, bored after having smiled and waved to every dignitary in the room. The mission was supposed to be over a week ago, which had you antsy and fitted with nervous. Ever the spy, Natasha noticed. “Babe, calm down. They’ll be absolutely fine.”

Finishing up your virgin martini and setting the glass down on the bar, you nodded. “I know, I’m just worried. You know how these missions go, a few bullet wounds aren’t enough to make them go home, especially Bucky and Steve.”

She shrugged, “Bucky will be absolutely fine with Steve watching over him-“

“Oh, we both know Steve’s more likely to be shot.”

“Not helping, y/n/n,” The redhead rolled her eyes, finishing up her own drink before waving down the bartender. “Either way, forget boys, how’s the new kitten doing?”

“Alpine? Oh, that cutie’s fine. Always nosy, pushing stuff off counters, but other than that she’s a little angel. Clearly, I’m not her favorite parent, but she has to live with me so,” you shrugged.

Natasha smirked, taking in your fruity cocktail as she started sipping her own. “Is that the new drink Wanda was going on about?”

Knowingly, you took a sip, letting the cherry and mango flavors sit on your tongue. “Yeah, but get your own,” you glared at her. She grinned wickedly, and you realized your plan was slowly going down the drain. “Nat, don’t even think about it,” you warned.

The former assassin was much too quick for you, grabbing your drink and taking a sip before you could protest. Her face soured, before giving you the drink back. “Flavor’s not bad, but a virgin cocktail? Who are you and what have you done to my favorite techie?”

You couldn’t hold back your giggles as you finished your drink. “I’m cutting back on alcohol.”

“Yeah, sure. I’ll believe that’s the reason,” she gave you a look, making your guts flip. She couldn’t possibly have known, hell, you made this plan only a few weeks ago. Nat was too smart for your own good.

As you thought of a coverup, a voice interrupted your conversation. “Excuse me, Bartender? Whiskey on the rocks for me, and two cocktails for the ladies.” A man had appeared beside you, Natasha on the opposite side of you, looking just as repulsed as you.

“No thanks,” you pushed the new cocktail to Nat. “I’m tapped out.” You gave the man your best ‘please leave me alone I’m only being polite, but I’ll punch you’ face. Nat wisely didn’t mention your lack of interest in the free drink, something you would usually partake in.

“Come on, loosen up a bit. It’s only a drink,” the man said, most likely thinking that was a good way to ‘charm’ you. Ha, not likely.

“And I declined,” you snarled, quickly losing patience.

“I’m only trying to be nice-“ The man tried to reach for your wrist

“And the lady said no. Get lost,” a new voice appeared, a metal hand latching onto the arm that tried to grab you. He shoved the man away, rather roughly, but you truly did not mind that at all. Bucky placed himself between you and the man, a scowl on his face as the man walked off grumbling, his metaphoric tail between his legs.

“You’re home early,” you tried, nonchalantly, Nat rolling her eyes beside you. “And I had that.”

“Just got back,” Bucky turned towards you, softening as he took in what you were wearing. He himself was in a leather jacket and black jeans, a small cut on his forehead, but other than that he looked perfectly fine. “Couldn’t wait to see ya, baby,” he grinned, hands coming to rest on your hips as he pulled you closer. The petname made your spine tingle, but the fact was he couldn’t possibly have known either, so you stayed silent. Out of the corner of your eyes you noticed Natasha most definitely giving you a look. Well, that took longer than you thought it would. “And I get here, only to have my best girl being hit on by some rookie agent.” His tone made you look back up at him, wrapping your arms around his neck.

“Was someone jealous?” you teased, raising an eyebrow.

“Maybe a little,” he conceded, shooting you a goofy smile. “Can’t help it. I missed you,” he tilted your head up, smiling as he captured your lips in his. Soft, and gentle, with an underlining power and authority and dominance. God, you missed him more than you care to admit, but that might just be the hormones talking.

You gently pulled away, “I missed you too.”

He tugged on your hands, leading you to the dance floor, drink and Natasha forgotten. You made a mental note to apologize to her in the morning. Bucky pulled you closer, gently swinging the two of you back and forth to the music.

Quiet, at peace. It took a few songs before you were ready to break the magic. By then, the only people remaining were the rest of your found family. Tony, Steve, Bruce, and Clint were all on the sofas, nursing drinks while making jokes about the mission, which must have gone well. Natasha and Wanda were standing by the bar, giving you little funny looks. Oh, they most definitely figured you out. Sam was beside Maria, flirting, and currently striking out, even though Maria had already agreed to a date next week with him. Thor and Vision were both in towards the kitchen, figuring out the new appliance you had installed while they were gone. It felt warm and fuzzy. Like everything right had finally happened in your life.

Home. It felt like home.

“Bucky,” you murmured, gently pulling your head up to look at him.

“Yes, Fiancé mine?” He grumbled, softly pulling you back against him, making you giggle.

“I have some news I wanted to share with you and the team.” That most certainly got his attention.

He raised an eyebrow, pulling away from you. “Should I be concerned?”

You shrugged, “Probably,” you admitted with a teasing smile.

He chuckled, “Well let’s tell them.”

You shook your head, “This is me telling you as well, go sit, I’ll be right back.” You pulled away, rushing back to your room to grab what you needed.

When you got back, the entire team was surrounding the sofas and chairs in the main living area, Bucky sitting beside Steve with a space on his other side for you. You stood in front of them and took a deep breath. “So… Did anyone notice the new flowers in the kitchen?” you started.

Multiple heads turned to glance at them. “Blue and Pink Hyacinths?” Wanda supplied, knowing your small obsession with flowers.

“Yep. Does anyone know what they mean?” Another game of yours. Even the white chrysanthemums in your hair had the meaning of loyal love and truth. Every flower had a meaning, and you loved using them for your own games.

“Oh! I know!” Steve looked excited, he usually couldn’t remember which flowers meant what, but always admired the ones you planted in your garden upstairs, usually helping you if Bucky was on a mission. “They mean jealousy or constancy of love!” He grinned, making you smile.

“Yep! But there’s one more meaning.” You whispered, handing Bucky the small envelope that had been burning a hole in your hands since you picked it up.

He gave you a confused look but opened it, nonetheless, completely trusting in you. “What’s this?” He murmured, looking at the small grainy photo.

“It also means fertility,” you supplied, waiting for who would connect it first.

It was clear by the high pitch in her voice, Natasha put all the clues together first. “You’re pregnant! That’s why you weren’t drinking alcohol!” You simply nodded, gauging Bucky’s reaction.

His eyes widened, eyes shooting from you to the picture and back and back again. “We-… we’re having a kid?” He mumbled, slightly confused and waiting for the other shoe to drop.

“Yeah-“ your voice cracked, and his eyes locked onto yours at the sound, taking in both of your teary-eyed looks. “We’re having a kid, Bucky,” you finished.

He leaped forward, dropping the photo as he pulled you into a tight hug, laughing as the two of you cried and smiled. “We’re having a kid!” He couldn’t stop the goofy smile that lit up his features as you clung to each other. The rest of the team offered congratulations, smiling as Tony making sex jokes much to Steve’s annoyance. Bucky ignored him, holding you closer, smiling as you kissed and stayed attached to him. “I’m going to be a dad…” he murmured.

You smiled, nodding, “The best dad in the world,” you ran your hand through his shorter hair, burying yourself in his arms. “We’re going to start our own family.”

Home. Family. That’s where you were.

---

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[reddie-4-more]

One shot idea; the losers are teenagers and eddie is having a bad day at school that leads to an intense meltdown and Richie does his best to help and gives him cuddles n stuff afterwards . i like hurt/comfort fluff lol

Hi, sorry that it took me so long, I couldn’t find the energy to write it between my chapters, but here it is!

So, for context, this little snippet is based on my fanfic Listen to me, more precisely on the first installment Broken, which is basically about autistic Eddie Kaspbrak dealing with his mother’s abuse and befriending the Losers, his first real friends, especially Richie.

Here are the things you’ll need to know to understand everything:

- Eddie is part of his school’s chess club with Stanley. They’re not going to every session, they’re using it as a cover so that Eddie can hang out with his friends after school.

- Eddie doesn’t know that he’s autistic and his mother refuses to acknowledge it. She’s still abusing him like in canon, but is forcing him to repress his autistic traits and making him feel bad whenever he can’t help it.

- Richie and Eddie are in the same class, but not the rest of the Losers. 

I think that’s it c:. Good reading !

He tried his best not to make a fuss over it, not wanting to anger his mom or made her think that his bad mood might be due to some health problem that would lead her to lock him home for the rest of the week.

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

There were some days that made Eddie wonder if it was even worth it to get up from his bed. Today was one of these days. He should have known it immediately, as soon as he started to eat his breakfast and spilled his milk glass over his favorite t-shirt, meaning that he had to change it. 

But Eddie was still pissed off when his mother drove him to school and it didn’t get better from here, on the contrary. First, he had to endure his mother shouting to the whole school how much she loved her “Eddie bear”, simply because he forgot to kiss her good bye when he left the car.

Cheeks red from embarrassment, he had then walked to the building, followed by his peers’ mockeries. They teased him mercilessly, calling him all sorts of nicknames, but particularly the ones his mother never hesitated to use whenever they were in public, even though he was fifteen. Of course, when Eddie retorted with a furious “Fuck!”, it had to be in one of his teachers’ earshot.

The man didn’t care at all that Eddie was merely trying to defend himself, to be left alone. He only heard him swear out loud and that couldn’t be accepted in such a respectable school as Derry High School, right? 

It wasn’t like there were bullies roaming around, always ready to shove their classmates into their locker, punch them for fun or steal their stuff. No, obviously, the teenager who yelled “Fuck!” was the biggest problem this school ever encountered…

And that’s how Eddie ended up with one hour of detention, as soon as school would be over. It was the first time he ever had been punished that way. He did get scolded at some point or earned himself more homework than the others, but a detention…

His mom was going to be furious. And maybe she’ll took some of his comic books from him or… or even worse, she could forbid him to go to the Chess Club and he wouldn’t have an excuse anymore to hang out with his friends. 

He’d have to spend the rest of his day at home and Richie and the others would forget all about him and they’d stop hanging with him and…

Eddie took a deep breath, trying to relax. It was only the beginning of the day. He couldn’t start to break down already. He needed to be strong. At least until recess. Then, he’ll be able to run to the bathroom and cry his heart out, hidden from everyone else. Stay strong, Eddie. Stay strong.

He smiled clumsily to his friends once he joined them, listening to their discussion more than participating. He didn’t have much energy left, he needed to keep it for the rest of the day. For class.  If he had to go into detention, he could at least do his best to work well and make up for it later. His mom would be so happy if he managed to get the best grade. But that would mean that he needed to do better than Richie and that… that was pretty much impossible.

He grimaced at the thought and Richie, who was walking next to him while they were joining their classroom, asked him thoughtfully:

“Hey, you’re okay, Eds?”

Eddie shrugged. He wasn’t good at lying, but he didn’t really want to tell the truth either. If Richie knew that he was moody because he spilled milk on himself and got a detention, he would certainly mock him and call him a crybaby. Eddie knew that Richie never treat him that way, but he couldn’t stop himself from thinking that he might. 

Even though they were now friends, Eddie was still somehow convinced that it could be taken away from him in an instant and that Richie and the rest of the Losers might secretly think that he was pathetic and annoying. They just didn’t dare to tell him because they were too nice for that.

Eddie’s day kept on being the worst. As soon as he walked into their classroom, he noticed the flashing neon ceiling light above his head and groaned. It wasn’t just about the flicker, although it was annoying in itself and made him feel dizzy. 

No, there was also this fucking sound. This buzz that he seemed to be the only one to care about, since none of his classmates seemed to be bothered by it… Apart from Richie, whose attention kept drifting towards the flashing light, easily distracted by the simplest things. But it didn’t seem to hurt him, just like it hurt Eddie.

Okay… Okay, he could hold on. He wasn’t going to be able to focus on his lesson, but if he kept his head down and focused on his breathing, he would get through it. 

Not ideal, since he really wanted to work and listen to the teacher so that he could earn a good grade later, but Eddie didn’t have much of a choice. He gritted his teeth, jumping a little when Richie poked him gently with his pen, trying to get his attention:

“Dude, you’re alright? Your face is all red. You look like one of the M&M guys.”

“I’m fine.”

“Not the yellow one, though. Or the orange. Or the bl...”

“I fucking got it, Richie!”

Eddie just shouted, unable to control the volume of his voice. His classmates all looked at him and Eddie let out a frustrated noise, burying his head in his crossed arms. It was a bad day. A very bad day. He just wanted to go home. Why was it still so early in the morning? He would even accept to watch his mom’s stupid talk shows for 24 hours straight, if it might get him out of here…

But of course, it couldn’t just stop there. No, everything that already happened, plus what he had to handle right now, it wasn’t enough. God had made Eddie Kaspbrak his little plaything and enjoyed his misery, Eddie was sure of that. Because as soon as their teacher entered the room, he announced, his voice laced with sadism, that they’ll have to take a pop quiz.

Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. While the rest of the class was sighing and expressing their displeasure in many ways, Eddie scratched the palm of his hand furiously, his heart beating too fast, his thoughts starting to swirl out of control. He wasn’t ready. He hadn’t studied at all, he barely read some of his previous lessons and… and…

The light was still flickering. Eddie blinked a few times, quickly, trying to focus on the questions that he was supposed to answer to. His grip on his pen felt all wrong, as if he didn’t quite remember how to use his hand. 

Right next to him, he could see Richie writing frantically on his paper, putting it slightly to the side so that Eddie could copy if he needed, but he couldn’t even concentrate enough to be able to read Richie’s answers. Everything seemed blurry, out of focus, and Eddie kept rubbing his eyes, hoping it could help in some way. It wasn’t helping. At all.

Eddie managed to write his name on the copy, but his usually neat handwriting was all scrambled and messy, as if he barely learned how to use a pen. Eddie plunged his fingernails in his palm at the sight, trying to contain the tears that wanted to spill out and roll down his cheeks. He wasn’t a crybaby. It was just a test. A simple pop quiz. He could handle it.

For the rest of the hour, Eddie tried desperately to jog his memory, but to no avail. His brain felt sluggish, his mind focusing despite himself on the flickering neon light and the faint buzzing sound he kept hearing. 

He had absolutely no idea if the answers he was crossing down were even close to right or if it was one of those tests where you could pick multiple answers or… or fuck, he didn’t know what he was doing or reading at all.

A high-pitched, loud sound, coming from a metal ruler that one of his classmates inadvertently pushed from his desk, suddenly echoed in the classroom and Eddie yelped, dropping his pen on the floor, clutching his hands over his ears in a reflex. His reaction made some of his classmates snicker at him, while Richie raised his head from his copy, looking at him with concern.

His teacher asked Eddie to take back his pen, but Eddie couldn’t bring himself to do so. It was dirty, the floor was disgusting, it was surely covered with germs, but it was the pen that Eddie was always using whenever he was taking a test and without it, he…

Richie bent down and grabbed the pen, pulling a tissue from his pocket and cleaning it thoroughly, giving it back to Eddie with a gentle smile. Eddie smiled back, his expression closer to a grimace than anything else. 

The pen wasn’t totally clean, there were probably germs that the tissue couldn’t wipe off, but Eddie appreciated the effort. He did his best to finish his test, trying to ignore the way some of his classmates had started to mock him after what he did.

Eddie was exhausted when the teacher told them that it was time for them to turn back their copies. As much as he tried to, he still had a few questions he didn’t answer to and it frustrated him to no end. When he gave back his paper to his teacher, Eddie felt tears starting to roll down his cheeks, unable to stop himself from sniffling. He was so tired. He wanted to go home. He couldn’t…

When it was time for them to go to recess, Eddie used his last strength to run away, trying to avoid Richie who followed him, calling out his name. He was so pathetic. It was only a test, just a single detention, milk spilled over his favorite t-shirt… It wasn’t… There was nothing to…

And then, Eddie lost control. Belch was the one who managed to make him go into a full breakdown, burping into his ear while he was finally reaching out the bathroom. The gross, loud noise made him gag audibly, his shaky legs no longer able to support his weight. He fell on his knees on the bathroom floor, his hands touching the ground as well. Disgusting. Disgusting. Disgusting.

Belch was already long gone when Eddie started to slap his forehead, again and again, wheezing awfully. He knew that he was only spreading the germs even more while doing so, but he couldn’t stop himself. It hurt and he needed it to hurt because there was so much pain on the inside and he couldn’t find a way to let it out and he couldn’t even breathe properly and…

Eddie suddenly found himself wrapped in a warm, tight embrace. He attempted to struggle, wheezing so much that he couldn’t get any oxygen in his lungs, when a hand managed to grab his inhaler from his fanny pack and pressed it against his lips. Eddie wrapped them around the object in a reflex and the button was pressed a few times, releasing the relief Eddie needed so much.

He never really understood how his medicine, especially his inhaler, worked, but whenever he was using it, he managed to relax, to get his pressure down, finding the comfort he needed. Eddie went limp in Richie’s arms, who supported his body against him, shushing him gently.

“Let’s find a better place to rest for a bit, okay?”

Eddie nodded distractedly, trying to get some strength back in his legs. Supported by Richie, he managed to walk to the school library, the librarian letting them on without any questions asked. She was always so nice and understanding, Eddie suspected that she might know that he and his friends were bullied and that it was her way to apologize for not being able to do much more for them…

Richie sat him on a couch, sitting next to him. He rummaged through Eddie’s fanny pack, pulling out a few hand wipes, cleaning Eddie’s fingers with it. When it was done, Eddie started to hug himself in a vain attempt to find some comfort in the gesture. But Richie was the one who knew how to tighten his arms around him in the proper way, the best way, giving him the deep pressure Eddie craved so much. Eddie let out a soft sigh, Richie caressing his hair in a gentle way that he had learned to appreciate quite a lot.

“Deep breaths, Eddie. It’s okay. Take your time. If you can talk, maybe you can tell me what upset you so much.”

Richie cheekily grinned, supplying with an amused voice:

“Tell Daddy everything.”

Eddie audibly groaned, causing Richie to chuckle. But he managed to smile and started to talk, having trouble to pull the words out of his throat:

“I… I got detention… And… uh… I f… I failed the test… I’m stu...”

Richie shushed him immediately, putting his index finger on his lips:

“You’re not stupid, Eddie Spaghetti. You’re not.”

Eddie bit his bottom lip. He was. He clearly was. None of his classmates was disturbed by the flickering lights like he was and they weren’t screaming because of some high-pitched noise and they didn’t want to cry over spilled milk. He… He…

Eddie started to sob openly and Richie hugged him tighter, whispering soft words to his ears, providing him the reassurance Eddie so desperately needed. But it was now time to go back to class. Richie helped him up, guiding him out of the library, winking at the librarian who rolled her eyes at the sight, but offered them a gentle smile.

For the rest of the day, Richie had been nothing but highly supportive, taking notes dutifully for Eddie, since he couldn’t focus enough to do so himself, checking on him regularly, trying to distract him from what was bothering him. At some point, he even threw his bag across the classroom as loudly and evidently as possible, grinning proudly when the teacher gave him a detention.

Eddie couldn’t believe it. He tried to protest, not wanting Richie to get into trouble on his behalf, but Richie shrugged, still smiling openly:

“Anything for my Eddie Spaghetti.”

And Eddie could see that Richie truly didn’t care, as long as he could be there with him. As long as they could stay together...

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

And that’s the end of it! I hope you liked it c:. If you have other stuff you’d like me to write, don’t hesitate to tell me! It might take some time, but I’ll get to it at some point :D.

Eddie’s meltdown is highly inspired by some of my own meltdowns. I’m easily triggered by flickering lights, they’re the worst.

Take care! See you soon!

[emerald-eyes-8917]

The Fire and the Rose (Critical Role oneshot)

Just a little Critical Role oneshot that’s been kicking around my head for a while, featuring an OFC who encounters the group in an upmarket hotel establishment.

Might post a snippet and develop it further soon.  Not quite sure where it will go, but for the record, I’ve such a crush on Caleb Widogast and just want him to be happy.

Trigger warning for some sexual harassment and brief violence.

Thanks and enjoy!

Working in an upmarket establishment serving drinks and hot meals while keeping patrons company was never how she imagined her life turning out.  Yet here she was, making what coin she could while still keeping her virtue intact.

At least Madame knew her charm could sparkle and enchant the visitors to the Elysian Grande, a swanky inn and spa in Zadash that catered to the modest and extravagantly wealthy.

Her gift was often complimented after people left the establishment, and she would be offered jewels, flowers and proposals at any stage, but she always politely refused the final offer.

So it was a unique opportunity when a group of seven weary travelers ambled in the front door, all unique and colourful with a range of voices raised in conversation as they requested rooms for the night.

As she finishes clearing the tables in the adjoining dining room, she chances a glance outside the door, and casts her eye across the new guests, each interesting and striking in their own way.

A younger girl, Angelique, sidles up and begins marking the male guests out of ten and she shushes her in a firm, good-natured way, "If Madame Dubonnet hears you, you will be peeling potatoes until the next full moon."

Angie tosses her head in a posh huff, but takes her friend's advice.  One of the party present glances in their direction, a warm brown skinned woman dressed in navy blue robes with dark hair in a ponytail, and Angie puts a hand on her collarbones, glancing around to ensure she was truly the one intended, before waving towards her with her fingers.

The woman's lips quirk up in a confident smirk and she winks towards them, causing Angie to run away in a fit of giggles.

Turning back towards the foyer, she notices the woman lean towards one of the man and whisper to him with a chuckle.  He is reading a book with his head bowed low, long auburn locks obscuring his features, and the moment he glances up to acknowledge her, their eyes meet for a moment.  

Sapphires...

Momentarily flustered, she gives him the warmest smile one could give to a stranger and he immediately looks away back to his companion, appearing quite embarrassed.

Feeling her cheeks grow warm, she ducks back into the dining room and makes her way towards the back kitchen area, internally rebuking herself for almost pulling an Angelique stunt just now.

She grabs an apple from the kitchen and hides it in her skirt pocket, which was quite voluminous and trimmed with red lace along with a cream-coloured bodice and a matching lace wrap shawl.  Nothing overtly fancy but she sewed her clothes and kept them in good repair, not having enough gold for new shoes let alone buying food for her table.  She prided herself on keeping her skin from becoming mottled or her hair becoming tangled, and she was often the one who gave styling tips to the younger girls, such as curling rags and pinching their cheeks instead of applying expensive rouge.

Some of the other servants remark on the new guests appearing to be quite flush with money and would surely go on spending sprees during their stay, but the opportunity to even attempt to score an evening for some gold did not cross her mind.  It had been a busy week of entertaining some upper middle class nobles who had almost drained their wine and beer supplies as well as her patience when they did their best to drag her onto their laps.

Yet that group was some of the most ragtag bunch she had ever seen, that it was almost the opening ambit of a comical joke: a green skinned half orc, a blue tiefling, a gray and pink furred firbolg, a seven foot tall warror woman with facial tattoos and leather armour, a dark haired monk figure, a tiny green goblin and a red haired dusty robed gentleman walk into a hotel.

The punchline would almost write itself.

Reaching for the large pot on the stove, Bettina squawks in warning that it was too hot, but she picks it up with ease and setting it on the large worktable in the centre of the room, tilting her head at the cook with a smile, "The soup's been simmering to perfection.  I can serve it in a moment."

The older woman nods, glancing at her hands gripping the metal handle and back to her face again, "You young women are made of sterner stuff, it seems.  Or else you'll have blisters in the morning.  Either way, go on out of here before I have the vapours, young lady!"

The rebuke is sharp but not unkind and she hurries away, not bothered by the hot steam rising from the thick soup ladled into eight bowls that the carried on a tray upstairs into the dining room, breathing in the many aromas that the guests would soon enjoy.  Perhaps she could sneak a cup of the dredges before supper.

The next few days passed in an almost ordinary fashion, and as the new group made use of the facilities and luxuries, she would observe them quietly and always offer a warm smile and a curtsy.  All were equally intriguing with varying personalities and manners, treating the servants with politeness and flirtation in some cases.

One night culminated in a raucous party where the ale flowed, many songs were sung and dances performed all through the night, and she had been roped into an impromptu waltzing circle with several of the gentlemen including two members of the travelling group, who each led her with differing levels of confidence and experience.

Meanwhile, the blue tiefling girl is darting among the dancers, her laugh tinkling like a bell as she taps people on the shoulder, nudges people towards the dance floor and twirls like a ballerina, causing a great deal of mischief.

The half orc, who she had discovered from the many conversations through the days was named Fjord, spun her round quite quickly, his teeth bared in an uncomfortable but charming smile, and she hears a loud female voice heckling him, high pitched and lilting, "Lift her on your shoulders, Fjord!  Show us your strength!!"

Fjord grumbles a few curses under his breath as he gives her one final twirl and she ends up in the arms of a younger man who is extremely clumsy and prone to drool on her shoulder rather than actually dance with her.  As the Fjord gentleman is staggering towards the rest of the group, reaching for a stool, the tiefling called Jester hooks her arm in his and drags him back onto the dance floor, his groan of exasperation cut off by the music.

Fortunately, she is rescued by the towering firbolg who was called 'Clay', who politely interjects and takes her across the room in a very humble foxtrot as the previous man falls like a plank of wood onto the floor.

"You're very gallant for cutting in just now," she says in a gentle whisper.

"I'm sure you could have handled it," he replies, and his fur begins to darken around his cheeks as he hiccups slightly and confesses to her, "I'm not the best dancer... been in the woods for a while."

All she can muster is a nod and sparkling eyes as he takes her around the room amid the more enthusiastic solo dancers, before he departs with a bow and a light kiss to the back of her hand as the music comes to a brief pause.

There is applause and a few enthusiastic cheers as the musicians take a quick break.

She was pleasantly tired but not quite dropping from exhaustion just yet as she notices the third man from the group leaning by the wall, drinking a large goblet by himself.

As he looks across the room at her, she gives a friendly wave and he immediately turns away, blushing quite red.

She twirls a lock of her hair, not quite sure what to make of this shy, reluctant figure.  He appeared uncomfortable in this setting, even isolated, but before she could think to approach him, she looks over her shoulder to see that Angelique is giving a signal to her that one of the other girls was in a spot of bother in the far right corner.

Nodding, she gathers her skirts, puts on a determined expression and walks stridently to the corner where three men have surrounded Charlotte, a younger girl with ebony hair in long ringlets, who is clearly uncomfortable at the attention as one man takes a piece of her hair towards his nose and another tugs her skirt.  

She bats their hands away with a measure of courage and each time she breaks away, the tallest man would reach for her waist, drunkenly bellowing, "Come on, darling, you've been such a delight.  Come back to my room for the night, I've got some ideas on what to do with you."

Bracing herself, she inserts herself right in the centre of the group after swiftly ducking beneath the legs of one of the other men, interposing herself between the lecherous man and her friend, taking hold of his meaty hand and dragging it away from Charlotte's waist with no hint of misunderstanding, "She's not going anywhere.  The girl clearly said no."

Immediately, the circle breaks as two of the men take a few steps back, thinking better on being brutes, but the ringleader who had propositioned roars in laughter, clearly much more inebriated than the others, "Two for the price of one.  Come on, love, give us a kiss."

He begins to raise his hand towards her bodice, more than likely about to grope her, and time appears to slow down, down, down.

Not even blinking, she shifts on her back foot as her hand moves quite quickly, balled into a fist, it makes sharp, swift contact with his throat and he staggers back, clutching his neck, dropping like a sack of potatoes, falling heavily onto a table and upending it, sending goblets and plates flying and smashing to the floor.

He lays on his back, chest heaving and eyes glazed over, spittle drooling from his mouth as he groans in pain.

Silence descends on the room as people take in the scene, some murmurs beginning and the atmosphere simmering with tension.

She breathes out slowly, shaking her hand which is tingling from the punch.  Charlotte is trembling behind her and she reaches back to take her hand, squeezing lightly, "You're alright now.  No one's going to hurt you."

The other two back up, nearly stumbling over their own feet, hands raised in surrender, stammering about not wanting any trouble, giving second looks to their comrade who still has not moved.

Her voice is steady and carries through the entire room, "Look to your friend.  Bring him to the apothecary at the west end of the thoroughfare.  Something to do for his hangover, as well.  Nothing we can do about wounded pride, though.  If he tries anything like that again, he will deal with the Madame and will not get off so lightly.  Understood?"

The men whimper and scurry to assist their friend, lifting him up and dragging him from the room, tails firmly between their legs.

Turning to Charlotte, she tilts her chin up and looks her over, seeing only flushed cheeks and bloodshot eyes, smiling gently, "Come on, let's get you some milk and honey.  I'll have Bettina find some candied fruits in the larder..."

With a nod from the younger woman and a whispered word of gratitude, she links Charlotte's arm, keeping her hand on top of hers and walks through the room, giving pleasant nods to all in attendance, becoming the gracious lady once again.

As she passes by the adventuring party, feeling their eyes on her all the while, the little goblin girl hops up and begins to applaud, "Woo!!  Woo hoo!!  What a shot!  What a punch!  You showed him, yeah!!"

The rest of the gathering begin to clap as well. some banging on the table, hooting and hollering, joined soon by the rest of the guests and the musicians strike up a triumphant fanfare.

Turning back, she allows herself a bemused smile at all the attention.  Charlotte releases her arm and claps as well.

Feeling overwhelmed at the attention, she chooses to remain outwardly calm and composed as she gives a low curtsy, her hand on her heart, drinking in the celebratory atmosphere.

As she stands, she looks towards the man with auburn hair and blue eyes, who is tapping one hand against his glass in an appreciative but much more understated manner, and gives her a nod with the faint hint of an impressed smile.

Overcome with showmanship, she closes her eyes and plucks the red rose that had been nestled in her bosom and throws it in a deft arc into the crowd, the amusement and cheering growing louder still, and she winks at Charlotte before they make their exit.

The tale was told throughout the establishment all night and for the rest of the week, her actions always justified as defending a woman from three hulking brutes, though her manner of dispatching the man became more and more elaborate and the injuries he suffered varying between his throat, his losing an eye or having been kicked in the nether regions.

Through it all, she demurred to any compliments and neither confirmed or denied the details, only smiling to herself in a secret, enigmatic manner.

A few moments after the two women of the house had left, the rose still lays on the floor off in a corner away from the music and the partying crowd, not being trampled on or disturbed, simply forgotten.

A pair of dusty boots approaches and stops a few inches away from the flower, as Caleb kneels down and picks the bloom up, holding it carefully in his hands.

All he does is tilt his head, deep in thought, names and faces rushing through his head as he inhales the scent of the petals, the stem having its thorns removed.

Glancing towards the group of his companions, his eyes falling on Jester who is giggling with Nott at a joke just imparted, thinking as well of the woman in red who just showed great courage, he places the rose in the inner pocket of his coat, not quite sure what he would do with it just yet.

Carrying the flower like a secret, he returns to the group, offering smiles and dry banter to the ones he now called friends.

[clownbasedintrigue]

You and I // cryptalore

as part of @apex-legends-champion‘s writing collaboration, for @kamizaki-53,

bangalore/crypto, prompt word ‘singer’, sfw

more under the break

words: 2,713

note: this was meant to be out a lot earlier (think like, three or four months ago) but with everything going to absolute shit where i am, as well as personal happenings, this fell to the wayside. very to the wayside. sorry about that :/

the song used is ‘you and i’ by barns courtney, but i wouldn’t suggest listening to it as you read, the pacing i had in mind for the fic is not the same as the actual song. just keep that in mind. however, it’s a good song so i DO suggest listening to it beforehand.

this might eventually end up on ao3, if i get the chance. if so, i’ll link it. i also scrapped about another 2k words from this because they just didnt fit the way i wanted them to. if i find the energy, i plan to make that into a fic as well.

ft. gratuitous headcanons and dubious hacking

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

“We’re sitting ducks up here, any rookie with a scope could pick us off.” she says, but judging by the way she leans back against the air conditioning unit, she’s not bothered by the idea.

Crypto hums in response, and tucks his legs underneath him. She’s not wrong, the wide expanse of desert does nothing to obscure their spot on the rooftop. As worrying as that would be anywhere else, his drone hovers above them, constantly scanning. If there’s anyone around, the drone will tell them.

Pulling the bag between them into his lap, which they filled with drinks and snacks before escaping to the quiet of the roof, he digs through it, hands closing around two glass bottles. He passes one off to Bangalore, and rests the other beside him as he rifles around for the bottle opener.

They rest out here sometimes. When the noise of social nights or tenseness of a newcomer makes the compound unwelcoming. The flat concrete and the surrounding sand offers peace and quiet, something the building below them often lacks. The quiet is a welcome relief.

Emerging triumphantly with the opener, he goes to pass that, too, to her, only to realize she already has the edge of her utility knife wedged underneath the cap. A bit of leverage, and it flies off with a pop, bouncing further across the rooftop and landing with the din of metal on concrete. They watch it in silence. The weight of the bottle opener-now obsolete-resting solidly in his palm.

Bangalore holds out her hand to him. He blinks, sets the bottle opener down, and softly places his atop her opened one, feeling the way hers have calloused from her work. The impressions left behind by years of artillery work and battle not having faded yet.

She turns to face him with raised eyebrows, “The bottle, TJ.”

Oh. He huffs a breath at her, stomach twisting at the abbreviated use of his real name, nervous butterflies and anxiety alike. It’s not something he hears often. Hasn’t, since Mila happened. He’s not sure how wise using it is, but he can’t say he doesn’t like it.

Before he can pull his hand back, she laces her fingers with his and drags it down to rest between them. His nerves turn to warmth as he gives her the bottle with his other hand, and relishes in the feeling of her palm on his.

What they have is quiet, on the down-low, moments stolen in the corner of the dropship when no one’s watching, or gentle nights like this, sitting away from the rest of the legends.

The clatter of the bottle cap draws his attention back to her, and taking the bottle from it’s spot wedged between her knees, Anita sneaks a swig before handing it to him. With the utility knife safely covered and slipped back into her boot, she leans into his side.

They sip at their drinks underneath the tranquil sky. Double moons, and stars bright enough to light up the area, the night was clear and the breeze was crisp.

Through their silence, the bass of the music in the common room reaches them, though barely. Three stories up, not a lot makes it up here, save for stray sand and the occasional legend looking for a quiet space. But tonight had been movie night, and those rarely stay quiet.

Movie night is a time where a few of them make a snack run at noon to the city, and the others pick a host of movies to watch. When the snack runners get back, usually a few hours later, they all have ‘dinner’, if junk food and sugar can count as dinner, and from ‘dinner’ to midnight, they feast, watch, and argue about the others’ lack of taste in movies. A weekly routine he’s gotten used to. Looks forward to, almost.

Even though neither of them are particularly shy about public affection, they never hesitate to take advantage of movie night, the dark of the room during which allows for the two to lean against each other, hold hands, and sneak quiet kisses without the others noticing.

Tonight, they had sat for the movie, as they usually did, and slipped into the hall before the last movie ended. Things could get loud afterwards. After a quick raid of the kitchen, and grabbing a few things from their room, including blankets, they made for the roof. Which had led to them sitting up here, with only the company of the moons, themselves, and TJ’s drone, perched up high, keeping a watchful eye from the sky.

Lowly, music drifts up from the commons room. it’s muffled by laughter and concrete, but not so much that they cannot hear the vague baritone of the singer.

“They must’ve opened the balcony,” Crypto murmurs in displeasure, resting his head on her shoulder, “The quiet was better,”

“Yeah, I’m with you,” Anita falls silent, leaning her head on top of his and drinking in the melody. She pulls back for a moment, her brows scrunch and her gaze drifts away as she focuses in on the music. He lifts his head, and as he’s about to ask what’s wrong, she speaks, softly.

“I think I know this song.”

Crypto shuts his mouth and strains to listen. He hears the beat, the tune, although the actual words elude him. The notes lead each other in a waltz, music twirling out off the balcony into the desert air, a lullaby, or maybe a love ballad. He doesn’t know where it’s from, and it’s different from his usual taste, but Anita must enjoy it, from the way she sways and nods along to it

She smiles at him and relaxes, taking a drink from her bottle and resting back on the metal, closing her eyes. Her mouth moves with the words of the song, reciting a long-engrained memory.

When the chorus peters out, she is left humming to the bridge. The double moons cast double lights onto her upturned face, silhouetting the slope of her nose, brows, and soft cheeks. The moonlight paints silver on her skin, every ridge and bone reflecting the glimmer of the night sky.

“Sounds like something we used to play at home. Could be wrong, though,” she says, setting the bottle at her side. Crypto sets his aside as well, turning his full attention to her.

”Back on Gridiron, we had this crate of discs,” Bangalore mimes a box with her hands, “Along with this vintage radio. An old hunk of a thing, big as the box itself, and just about as functional. They were our grandma’s, from her grandma, and hers before that. They’ve been in the family forever.”

Looking out over the desert, she continues, “You’d put in one of the discs, and it’d play music. Old stuff. Back from when they still made ‘em. Don’t see them around much anymore. I used to pick them up anytime I saw one, maybe in salvage or a second-hand store, and add it to the box. Then when Thanksgiving came around, or some other family dinner, we’d dig out the box and try out all the new ones. We all had a blast dancing around drunk on moonshine and full of cake.”

She tears her eyes away from the skyline, and turns to him, “I miss it, y’know. Them, mostly, but the little things too. Being able to annoy the hell out of my brothers. Grandma’s red velvet. The tacky oldies music, especially.”

Crypto nods, solemn, and reaches out to cup her cheek, fingertips brushing over her cheekbones. Losing family-it’s a pain he understands well, just not one he can fix. Or would even know how. Anita rests her hand atop his and tips her face against his palm. She knows this, knows their shared pain, knows how he wants to do something about it. Right now, what happened to their families is a wrong that can’t be righted. Though he wishes there was something he could do to ease the weight of it. For both of them.

Ideas strike him like lightning. He jerks up, nearly knocking his drink over, and pulls his hand away, already putting it to use digging through their backpack before Anita can so much as blink.

”Hold on,” Crypto says, and when she reaches out to him, he looks up at her, “Trust me.”

She watches with fond confusion as he pulls out what he was searching for. His laptop, which he flips open and boots up. It takes a minute, fingers tapping on its side in the meantime. As soon as the screen comes to life, he sets about finding the artist. He can, at the least, do this much.

Pulling up code, he types a bit, scrolls through the numbers some, and slips into the compound’s encrypted network like it’s butter and his weapon of choice is a hot knife. From there, it’s a matter of getting past the password-locked music app, and pulling up the corresponding artist’s page, which he slides over to her when he’s done.

“There, not hard to do,” he leans back into Anita as she adjusts the laptop to rest in her lap, “You said you recognized the music. Is that them?”

The real-time display totes the current song in the bottom corner, while a dark page lists the artist at the top, along with their songs below. Words scroll past as Anita takes control of the touchpad and flicks down the list. Eyebrows drawn together in focus, she scans page.

With a hum, and without taking her eyes off the screen, she says to Crypto, “The problem’s not that I don’t remember the songs, it’s that I don’t remember the titles. There’s a few that use the choruses as titles, I think. I’ll look for those.”

When she doesn’t seem to remember any right away, he presses a kiss to her cheek, and settles down onto her shoulder, content to stay snuggled into her side for the time being.

They stay like that for a while, nothing but the click of the keyboard and quiet music as one song ends and another begins. It’s peaceful, and if they weren’t out in the open like this, he’d have fallen asleep where he was.

Eventually, the arm underneath him jostles upward, and her warm voice calls him.

“TJ,” he lifts his head to see Anita gazing gently at him, “I found one.” He rubs his eyes and shifts upward off his place against her shoulder as she hits play.

The current song cuts off abruptly, causing a chorus of objections and confused cries to erupt from below. After a moment, the meandering music fades in and drifts above the stray noise, leaving them with only each other. Anita hums along, and Tae Joon feels his heart thrum.

“Used to dance to this one with my mom. It’s her favorite,” she pulls herself to her feet and holds out her hand to him, “C’mon. Can’t not dance to it.”

Crypto hesitates, arm half-risen at his side. He doesn’t dance. He doesn’t know how to, at least not the way she wants to. The closest he’s ever gotten to dancing is with Mila, bouncing around their shared room at a young age, or trying to learn choreographies with her, and badly, as Mystik watched from the doorway. But that was a long time ago, and they were young. This is different.

He’s about to say no, that he’d only make a fool out of himself, when she kneels down and takes his hands in hers.

She doesn’t pull him up, instead she brings them to her lips, humming still. Ever so lightly, she brushes the back of his hand with a kiss, and his stomach flips. Distantly, he realizes there’s someone singing, in the song, though it’s too quiet to make out the words. More presently, he realizes Anita is singing along, lowly, quietly, against his skin.

“Suitcase in your hand,” it comes out warmly, and his words catch in his throat as he feels her lips move, “Wave goodbye to mom and dad.”

That’s ironic, he’s pretty sure.

She turns it over, and presses a tender kiss to his palm, “Never thought I would see the back of you.”

Her voice is his favorite sound in the world, he decides. In a more poetic moment, he’d describe it as sugar and amber, like the sweet syrup she puts too much of on her pancakes, or the rising sun drifting through their window in the morning. For now, it takes his breath away and leaves his heart hammering.

She rises, and pulls him up. This time, he goes with her. He doesn’t need any more convincing.

“Mixtape’s wearing down,” she pulls him close and he takes a moment to reflect on how perfectly their hands fit together, “Crystal ships are sailing out.”

They’re close enough that he can feel her breath on his face when she sings, “Now the doors are opening for you.”

When she takes a step back away from their seat, and towards the flat expanse of the rest of the roof, he follows without question.

Hand in hand, she leads him out as she sings, “I wanna swim, swim out into the dark night,” each footstep in sync with the song.

“I wanna melt you down into the stars,” they take slow, deliberate steps. It’s in time with the steady flow of the music, low notes like a heartbeat.

“I wanna crumble, tumble, like a landslide.” as they reach the wide, open portion of the roof, she stops. One hand slips free of his, and finds its way to rest on his neck, fingers brushing over the shaved stubble of his undercut

She rests their foreheads together, and sings, “I wanna live, die, wherever you are.”

Crypto thrills at the touch, as he always does, and untangles his other hand to rest it tentatively at her waist. Yet again, he wonders how he got so lucky.

She dips down and brushes the corner of his mouth with a ghost of a kiss, “Just you and I.”

As the singer echoes the ending of the phrase, she presses her lips to his in a firm kiss that he doesn’t hesitate to return. With each ‘you and i’ that the song brings, she kisses him again. Peppers him with affection as they sway to the tune. A kiss to the cheek, the corner of his mouth, his nose, his lips again.

“Just you and I,” she hums against him before she pulls back, “Just you and I.”

Her thumb sweeps over his cheek as she cups his chin, her enamored gaze never leaving his. They sway in place to the music, and as the singing fades out, she hums to the tune.

In a way, he still can’t believe that he’s with her. He doesn’t know how a man like him ends up with someone like her.

She starts to sing again, voice sweet as honey, “Lovesick melody, carry my words across the sea.”

She looks at him like he’s the stars, eyes full of admiration and awe.

“Tell her I miss her,” her thumb drifts over his lips, “Tell her I’m torn in two.”

In the pit of his stomach, he has a feeling this is where he’s supposed to be.

“Salt burns in my eyes, none of these streets feel right tonight.”

Because being with her? It’s a tether in a storm, a lull in the chaos. It’s home.

“I’ll be your wild man, you’ll be my baby blue,” and when she kisses him again, he can feel her smile.

He loves it when she smiles, so he pulls her back in, and kisses her. Again, and again, and again, and he doesn’t stop. Not even as the song slips into the chorus again. The laugh she makes as he digs his fingers into her coat to keep her close, it’s enchanting, and he thinks, briefly, that hearing it again is worth any price.

He thinks that he’d do just about anything for her, anything to keep that smile on her face, anything to hear her sing again. Anything to remain by her side.

And then he stops thinking, because he’s back to kissing her, and that is far more important.