#my fic: haven au

[flieslikeamoron]

WIP Wednesday

I guess I'm a little bit writing the one where Steve can't feel anything but Eddie. 

---

Dr. Owens’ office looks like a normal doctor’s office. Maybe a little too sterile. No pictures or posters on the walls. But you’d never know walking in that he’s some of kind of top secret military doctor or something. Of course the sign on the outside of the building says "Medical Supply Center." And Steve wasn't allowed to tell his mom Joyce Byers was bringing him here. And there was nobody else in the waiting room. But still-

When Dr. Owens comes into the examining room, he just looks like a guy in a lab coat. Like any of the eighteen other doctors Steve’s already seen. The eighteen other doctors who haven’t been able to figure out what’s wrong with him. It's some kind of neuropathy. Except they don't know why it's his whole body. It's hypoesthesia. Except that's really a symptom more than a diagnosis. It's similar to CIP. Except they don't know why it's not just the pain he can't feel. Or what's causing it. Or how to fix it.

“So tell me about what’s going on,” Dr. Owens says.

It’s kind of a relief to be able to tell the whole story. Steve had been able to tell the other doctors about getting cracked in the head with a plate, the fight, the concussion. But he couldn’t say polywog, demodogs, got sprayed in the face with some noxious Upside Down spunk… He can still remember the rotten taste of it coating his mouth even through the bandana. It wasn't too long after that this whole thing started.

He hadn’t noticed it then. Maybe his toes seemed a little numb, his cheeks, the end of his nose. It was winter. It was cold. Maybe when he took a girl out, holding her hand felt a little strange. Muffled. Maybe kissing her wasn’t as vivid as it usually was. Maybe when she sucked him off it took him longer than usual to come, but he got there. It still felt good. It was like the lights were dimmed a bit, not like he couldn’t see. And maybe he thought, after Nancy… Well, it didn’t seem so strange to him that he wasn’t as into the other girls. That nothing felt like it had with her.

It was kind of weird when he'd dropped a bottle of balsamic vinegar on his socked foot and it barely even hurt. He took his sock off later, and his toe was swelled up. The nail black. But it hadn’t felt like much. There was another time too. He cut his hand sawing open a bagel. Blood everywhere, his mom in a tizzy, and it was just a far away dull throb. 

He started to think something might be wrong then. But he kept hoping if he kept his head down, kept acting like it was nothing, then it would be nothing. The gate was closed. It had to be nothing. 

He told himself it was nothing until he woke up one random Wednesday a couple months out from the gate being closed, and it was like he wasn’t in his body. He couldn’t feel the sheets under him, the blankets on top of him. Couldn’t feel the heat blowing. Couldn’t feel his shirt against his chest or the elastic of his briefs. And when he pinched himself there was nothing. He’d done it harder, twisting, fingers digging hard enough to bruise. Nothing. He did bruise. He wasn’t invincible. He just couldn’t feel it. He couldn’t feel anything.

Not the heat of the shower. Or the cold when he desperately turned the knob. Not the scratch of his fingernails across his arm, hard enough to bleed. Not his hand on his dick. Nothing. He leaves the last bit out when he’s telling it for the doc. 

Dr. Owens doesn’t seem to think it’s all in Steve’s head, which is a step up from most of the doctors his mom has taken him to. But he can’t really say what it is either. Other than probably related to that thing where a whole other dimension had been leaking into the town for a year.

“We’ve had a few cases,” he says. “Of other-” He cocks his head over what word to put there. “Effects.” He frowns. “Hawkins has been exposed to all kinds of bio material, maybe even radiation, we simply don’t have enough information to understand. We did as much testing as we could at the lab before the gate was closed, and we’re working on reversing the effects. But there’s so much we don’t know. Each…” He looks for a word again. “Each affliction is different.”

Dustin calls what Steve’s got a superpower, but to be honest Steve thinks affliction fits better. A superpower is being bulletproof or flying or moving shit with your mind like El. Useful stuff. Steve burned the shit out of his hand the other day and didn’t notice until he smelled his skin cooking. Steve keeps cutting himself shaving because not being able to feel the blade on his face makes him doubt the muscle memory of it. Makes his hand uncertain. Steve can’t even get himself off. He tried a couple times in the beginning. His dick sort of half-heartedly chubbing up with the friction of a hand he can’t feel. He can’t get himself hard though. Can’t make himself come.

Afflicted sounds about right to him.

“Normally,” the doc is saying, “in an area exposed to toxins you’d see consistent effects: elevated cancer rates, lung damage, lead poisoning. But this…” He shakes his head.

“What kind of things are you seeing?”

“I can’t share names or too many specifics of other patients,” Dr. Owens says. “But we’ve seen some very unusual things. A girl whose touch seems to burn living tissue. A boy who seems to be exhaling some kind of poison, small amounts, but they build up when people are exposed to him for long."

"Jesus, I guess mine could have been worse," Steve says. "Did anyone get any actual good powers? Why is it all-" He shakes his head, rolling his eyes. "Afflictions."

"They're biological anomalies," Dr. Owens says. "Not magical powers."

"I don't mean magical powers, I mean like… El. She has a good power. I know it's her special brain or whatever and not magic. But did anyone else get something like that? Something useful?"

"El didn't get her telekinesis from the Upside Down. She was born with a special brain, like you said. And as for you and the others… We don't know." He tilts his head, leaning in toward Steve. Face pretty kindly for a secret government operative who probably has the authority to burn Hawkins to the ground if he decides it's too contaminated with- Biological anomalies. "I hope you’ll let us do some tests. The more information we have, the more likely we can figure out how to reverse it."

Steve can't imagine there's a test he hasn't had. His mom's been on a mission. Toting him from specialist to specialist. He's been all over the country. He's been scanned inside out and head to toe and toe to head and back again. He's given pints and pints of blood. He's gotten zero results. He's not getting his hopes up that this'll be any different. Owens basically said as much. They don't know what this is. How the Upside Down's changed people. But... At least these doctors know where to start looking. And hell, this is what Steve's here for. Might as well try.

His mom signs him out of school to see a fake doctor at a clinic that doesn't exist. And Steve spends a week in an underground bunker. They do new MRIs, new CAT scans. They strap Steve into a few machines he hasn't seen before. They hook him up to electrodes and videotape him all day long. They test out blunt pressure, sharp blades. Hot and cold and soft and hard. He feels nothing. They make him bruise and bleed while machines beep around him, spitting out long lengths of incomprehensible measurements. Nothing. They starve him for most of a day. That he feels. They keep him up until his head feels like swimming through tar. They give him drugs. He feels that too. Hungry, tired, dizzy, sick to his stomach. He can feel all of that. But anything they shove at him from the outside... Nothing. 

They scan him again, again, again. 

They don't know. They can't fix it.

---

It comes in handy that summer though. He isn't exactly going to break under Russian torture when he can’t feel shit. They can tear off his fingernails, hell chop off whole fingers and it won’t make any difference… No, that’s not true. He gets a queasy feeling in his gut thinking about being left with nothing but bloody stumps. But it wouldn’t hurt. He tries to make sure they take it out on him instead of Robin. Finally, something this stupid, shitty biological anomaly is good for. He can take it. As much as they've got. So she doesn't have to.

He can tell it's bad from the blood dripping into his eyes. From the way it's hard to talk. From the way Robin looks at him like she wants to cry. He screams because he knows that's what they want from him. Because that's the only way to make them stop before they do something really… Permanent. But he could take more. He could keep taking it until they kill him, and it wouldn't hurt at all.

Robin hugs him when they finally make it out. Sagging into him, clinging to him with exhausted relief at surviving the Russians, the meat monster, but also surviving what she told him in the bathroom. Steve's always been a fan of hugs. The solid comfort of bodies pressed together. But he can't feel the heat of her, the squeeze of her. He settles for the sweaty smell of her head right up against his nose. The sound of the wavering sigh she lets out. He tries to hug her back without thinking too much about if he's holding her too hard, not hard enough. His arms uncertain.

He looks at himself in the mirror at home once he's dropped her off. His swollen, blood-streaked face, his eye shut. The bruises deep and ugly. The nasty split of his lip. The break in his nose. It's like looking at someone else. Like the person in the mirror isn’t even him. He presses down on the worst bruise around his shut eye. Presses down and feels nothing.

[sylvich]

The couch, the couch, the couch is on fire

Burn, motherf*cker, burn

[radioactivepeasant]

Snippets: Free Day Friday

Aka "you've ruined a perfectly good Damas is what you did. Look at him, he's got anxiety"

(For context, I gave Damas a backstory of being last in line for Haven's throne, but also Last Man Standing. This had something to do with Praxis hating "the default king". Long post warning, it's a whole one-shot again)

At some point in his life, the Precursors had decided that Damas was their least favorite Maridius. Any time something went well for him, it had to be immediately balanced by something awful.

He found acceptance and camaraderie that he never had from his elder brothers among the Forward Guard in the war.

And then Menelaus and Nicostratus died stupid, pointless deaths trying to seize glory, leaving Damas the sole focus of his parents' hopes.

He found an escape from the pressures in running the numbers, working out which districts needed food more than soldiers, and which districts needed more protection than most.

And then Father died and Mother shut herself in a convent, no longer interested in anything to do with her disappointing youngest son.

He actually had support from people for focusing on them and not the nest-

And his eldest brother's childhood friend literally stabbed him in the back and left him to die in the desert.

For a time, he'd assumed things would never get better. That the Precursors were tired of reeling him in and out like a fish on the line. But the hook pulled once more and he found himself using the skills he'd learned from the guards who raised him, joining a rebellion against a tyrant and defeating him against the odds.

And then the Precursors let him have ten good years. They let him find love, and family. They let him become a father. And then they ripped it all away in the cruelest way possible.

Damas knew it was foolish to hope that Mar was alive. He knew Phobos had been right to move on from him -- from them -- and throw herself into operating the orphan barracks of the Cliffside district. But he couldn't let go yet.

So he'd endured. Two bitter years he'd endured. And when he found that scrap of a boy in the desert, only to watch him outdo warriors twice his age, he'd thought maybe things were getting better.

Jak was...hard to define. The kid had seen more combat than some of his most experienced scouts. He carried scars on par with the surviving child-soldiers of Atys's reign. And while he shared their distrust of authority in general, he had none of their understanding of ranks and rulers. He just...treated everyone like they were his equal.

And after the kinds of things he must have experienced in his short life, Jak probably had every right to consider himself the equal of any senior Wastelander.

And for a moment, Damas had foolishly let himself hope that the Precursors could leave well enough alone. That they'd just...let him have this-!

Annnnd then Jak had to go and break the one rule. The one law Damas had given him.

Do not compromise the Arena.

Six other candidates had been doing their third trial against the Leucas Freebooters in that Arena. Six other candidates whose results had to be thrown out, who had to wait for full citizenship, because Jak refused to fight, and Sig had decided to waltz into a trial without checking to see what the purpose of the trial was!

Damas was either going to lose his mind, or go fully rogue and declare war on the Precursors. He couldn't discount either option yet.

Deep breaths, Damas. Deep breaths.

Jak knew not to mess with the purity of the Arena. He knew that, didn't he? He couldn't have gotten this far without understanding how important it was to keep the trial balanced for all candidates! He had to have known the consequences for not only compromising the others' trials and putting them at risk of the Freebooters getting the upper hand on them, but open mutiny-!

He wanted to shake sense into the boy. Maybe smack him upside the head and hope it jarred his common sense loose. But he wasn't likely to get that chance.

Even if Sig had caused this, he had all three amulets. Jak only had two. Those two protected him from a lot, but not public mutiny. A challenge in private Damas could have handled.

He knew Jak -- he thought he knew Jak -- enough to make him understand whatever instruction or decision he had a problem with. He knew how to phrase things to make it sound like all Jak had done was ask for clarification.

He couldn't cover this one up. Not with this many witnesses.

Damas knew the name of the creature thrashing beneath his ribs. Terror.

It clawed at his lungs, coiled around them until he couldn't breathe. Kicked at his heart until he felt every beat like a hammer.

I can't lose him too. I won't lose him too!

He didn't know when, exactly, things had changed between them. Was it before he'd admitted that he'd never had a father to teach him- well, anything? Was it before his second trial, when Phobos had pointedly compared the boy to her own students? Was it her less than subtle hinting that he find his closure in helping the boy he'd dragged out of the mouth of death?

Did it even matter?

You've taken enough from me! You can't have him, too!

It was depressingly easy to mask fear with anger. He had been doing it all his life.

In hindsight, so had Jak.

Damas wondered later if that was why the boy didn't seem afraid. He glared at Damas the whole time, but in those eyes was a challenge: I see through you. You don't fool me.

Damas hoped no one else saw through him.

"What have you done?" he demanded, slamming the butt of his staff onto the stone with a ringing clang.

"One of those Freebooters could have shot you in the head -- shot your comrades -- because you threw down your gun! You placed yourself and them in danger!"

I stopped the trial because of you! Do you not grasp how serious this is?!

"Freebooters?!" Sig exclaimed in surprise before cutting himself off.

"And you, you're a veteran of the Arena! You have no excuse for this!" Damas snarled.

He knew he was going to have to set a punishment. If he didn't, the legislative council would. And he knew which of the two offenders they would favor.

"I shouldn't have to tell you the penalty for sabotaging citizenship trials!"

Sig risked a glance at Jak, then set his jaw.

"You're right," he said in a voice as artificially calm as Damas’s was artificially angry. "I don't have an excuse. I take full responsibility. Don't put this on Jak. He didn't know I'd be there."

Interesting. Sig was trying to protect Jak.

But in doing so, he was trying to force Damas into an impossible decision. One that would haunt him the rest of his life if he carried out the known sentence. After everything Sig had done for him, exile felt like blasphemy.

Damas clearly wasn't the only Spargan who thought so.

"Sire, think about this!" One of the Arena guards set foot on the pathway as if he intended to join the offenders.

"It can't end this way, it can't! Sig is one of us!"

One of his comrades, emboldened by his courage, joined him.

"He just came home from assignment!"

"Stop," Sig warned them, but was ignored.

"Lord Damas, Sig’s served faithfully as your spy in Haven two years! Surely it's not that surprising that he might forget to check a roster!"

"Char is right!" The first guard cried, "It's the newcomer who deserves no mercy!"

You'd better shut your mouth-

Damas knew they were just standing up for a fellow Spargan. He knew that if Jak had all three amulets, they'd be rallying on his behalf, too. But it rankled to see them turn on the boy so quickly.

"Sire, if anyone must be cast into the desert, it's him!" Rikard pointed a shaking finger at Jak.

The words were out before Damas had time to plan his next move.

"Absolutely not! I'm not letting him off that easy!"

Oh rot. He had to follow that up with something.

Think, Damas! Use your shiny, spiny, head for once and think like Obed taught you!

He thought of the old captain of the Krimzon Guard -- when that had meant something, when only the king’s honor guard wore those tattoos -- the man who had raised him when his own family hadn't been interested in such a weak channeler.

There's always another way, whelp."

Then you tell me, Obed! I don't know what to do!

He reached for that memory desperately.

*Sometimes, you face your enemy head-on. And sometimes, you wait until you see a weakness. A loophole."

"You're talking about my brothers again."

"Now, did I say that? Clean the gunpowder out of your ears, whelp, before you get me in trouble!"

A loophole. I can do that. I can still save them-!

Damas sucked in a calming breath through his teeth.

"You do make a point about Sig’s record of service. I would not be king if I did not try to keep you all alive."

Let this work, please, Obed, if you're still watching over me, let this work.

"This once, I will give you the opportunity to salvage this. In your absence, metalpedes have settled in Turquoise Canyon and begun harassing our artificact carriers."

He leaned on his staff and hoped no one saw the tension in his jaw for what it really was: fear.

"I want you to drive into the heart of the nest and take out anything that moves."

He turned on his heel to send a hard stare Jak's way.

"Unlike Sig, you get a choice right now: stay here and forfeit your second amulet, or go with Sig and repay the damage you did today with something that benefits your community."

He prayed Jak could hear the emptiness of his threat. That he would know what Damas needed him to do.

Jak was not technology-friendly. Anything that required precision or aiming was more likely to be used as a blunt force weapon. But put him on a turret gun and the boy was a prodigy. If he went with Sig, the odds of them both surviving skyrocketed.

Jak's glare melted into something uncertain, even a little fearful. He was weighing his options. Good. That would sell the act more to the guards -- who were, like all watchmen, incurable gossips.

Damas saw the moment the light clicked on for Jak. He knew that glint.

Jak nudged Daxter, almost too quickly to be seen, and Daxter nodded. To anyone else, it would seem he was responding to Jak.

Damas knew that Daxter was answering him on Jak’s behalf.

Message received.

"I'm not gonna let you send Sig in there alone."

Damas almost smiled. Defiant to the last. Never change, Jak. Unless it's to learn some common sense-!

"Then perhaps something good can come of this debacle. But understand this, boy: coming back from destroying that nest does not mean this discussion is over. I expect you to turn over your gate pass when you return. You're off scouting for three weeks."

"You're grounding us?!" Daxter shrieked.

"Keep talking, I'll make it a full month."

That one wasn't an empty threat. If he'd thought it would keep Jak out of harm's way, he'd keep him off missions indefinitely!

"We're going," Sig said quickly, and grabbed Jak by the arm before he could protest.

"I'd say good luck," Damas said dryly, "But then, luck won't help you."

which is why I'm sending Jak.

The second the elevator was out of sight, Damas dropped into his throne with the most long-suffering, exasperated groan he'd ever made.

"Someone tell me this is a dream and I'm actually dying of boredom in a financial meeting right now," he said sarcastically.

When no such reassurance arrived from the guards, he dropped his head into his hands with another irritated sound.

In the silence that followed, even over the water wheel they both heard him mutter,

"What am I going to do with that boy?"

Rikard was...not a bad guard. He did his job, and he stuck by his comrades. But he had a big mouth sometimes.

"You...favor the newcomer then? Is it his age?"

Damas aimed a tired glare at him over his fingers.

"Boy, if I told you some of the things I did at his age...."

He groaned again.

"This is boundary-testing. I've seen worse. Rot, I've been worse!"

Silence enveloped them again as the two guards stared at Damas, and Damas stared back. He hadn't meant it to come out like that. After several seconds of owlish blinking back and forth, he said simply,

"Crap. I think I adopted him."

Char turned her head quickly to hide the fact that she was trying very hard not to laugh at the king’s slightly stunned expression.

"Do you...think this will be an adequate lesson?"

Rikard winced. At least he knew he was questioning Damas’s choices in parenting. Er, ruling.

"The nest? Perhaps. It's the confinement that's going to get him." Damas snorted. "You know how Wastelanders are about adrenaline. You ground a kid like that? End of the world."

Mar was exactly the same. Gods, if he's as stubborn as Jak at that age, I'm done for. Might as well write the epitaph now: "died of a heart-attack from idiot sons doing idiot stunts".

"As long as he doesn't set anything on fire in the Arena, sounds good to me," said Char, raising her hands in mock surrender. "Are we clear to return to our posts?"

"Can't set things on fire if I don't let him get two yards away from me, right?" Damas grumbled, but he waved a hand in dismissal.

Once alone, Damas dragged his fingers down his face and muffled a scream in his palm. He was going to get Sig for this. Babysitting. Indefinitely. Or maybe make him handle Arena trials for a while, let him feel that stress! And Jak? Jak was grounded. So, so very grounded. If he had to make Jak sit through meetings with him in the throne room to get it through his head, then so be it. No stunts, no racing, no "the Precursors made me do it" nonsense.

Briefly, he glanced up at the statue of the Oracle in his throne room. Gaudy thing, but it did house a lot of parts of the water wheel.

Damas flipped it off.

[clovariia]

i finally finished designing the side characters for my g5 mlp au!! i'm sure i'll adjust these designs more later, but for now, here are my visions. now i can finally start drawing more stuff for this au!

(you can see my designs for the g5 mane 6, sparky, sprout, opaline, allura, and twitch in this post!)

[havenesc]

“Haven when are u gonna post this damn thing instead of posting WIPs” i get like 3 hours of recreational time a week and im in editing hell im sorry

[noblest-roman-of-them-all]

Childhood Trauma

It's been seventeen years since Thomas last saw his uncle. Seventeen years since he fled home in the dead of night, carrying only what he could fit into a couple of bags and ran away. Seventeen years since he was fifteen and cowering under his uncle's hand. And yet. And yet it's been like no time at all when he sees him sitting at that table in the restaurant.

This comes from my Safe Haven AU in which Nico's family runs a bed and breakfast that his father built to help runaways get back on their feet.

Nico jumped out of the way as Thomas rushed passed him, wide eyed and shaking. "Are you okay?" He asked, worried and followed behind him.

"I'm fine," he replied curtly.

"Hey-"

He jerked away when Nico caught his hand. "I said, I'm fine! Just leave me alone!"

Nico raised his hands and took a step back, shocked by his husband's outburst. "Okay. Okay, I'm sorry-"

But Thomas was already walking away.

Nico sighed and continued making his way to the front on the restaurant. He stopped by where Janus was greeting incoming guests at the podium.

"Hey, have you seen Thomas?"

"Not in the last few minutes, he was on the floor. Do you want me to tell him your looking for him?"

"No, I just ran into him. He was pretty upset, but wouldn't say why. I was wondering if you saw something."

Janus shook his head. "No, I don't-" he stopped suddenly and pulled out his map of the tables and pointed at one. "I seated a couple here a few minutes ago. The guy looked a little similar to Thomas, maybe..." he shrugged, not wanting to finish the thought.

Nico nodded. "Maybe it's someone he knows. Thanks, Jan. I'll go check it out." He slipped into the back for a moment to pick up at least a notebook and pen, if only to feel like he was vaguely armed in some way. Truth be told, he didn't want to be doing this.

He could easily recall the day Thomas had shown up to the bed'n breakfast, bruised, hungry, and terrified. It was the first time he'd seen for himself why his dad had built this place. He'd known from a young age that it was a place for people running from bad situations, but he hadn't actually seen how bad things could be for himself until that day.

It had scared him.

He'd known that abusive people existed, he wasn't that sheltered. He knew they existed and he knew his grandfather had been one of them, it was the whole reason his dad had run away, it was the reason Safe Haven existed. But he hadn't really seen it until Thomas had shown up ready to collapse from exhaustion and sporting fresh bruises from his uncle's latest rampage against him.

The idea that the man who had abused his fiancée was in the restaurant was nothing short of terrifying to Nico and he couldn't begin to imagine how it made Thomas feel.

His heart pounded as he neared the table, he couldn't stall forever with checking in for show at the tables of regulars.

"Hi, I'm Nico, one of the managers. How's going ovdr here?" Janus had been right about the man holding some resemblance to Thomas.

"Everything is wonderful," the woman answered with a smile. "I'm glad we noticed this place as we were passing through."

"Oh, you're traveling?"

She nodded. "We're headed upstate to see some family."

"Well, I hope you have a lovely time. Is there anything else I can bring you folks?"

"I don't think so," the man answered, "but I was wondering if you guys had a Tom on staff here?"

Nico's heart stopped. "Uh, no, I don't believe so," he lied, shocked at how calm his voice sounded.

"Huh. One of the waiter's looked almost exactly like my nephew."

"What a coincidence!" Nico laughed nervously.

"It certainly would be considering he ran away when he was a kid," he answered, something hard and cold in his voice made Nico wonderful if he'd been convincing enough in his lie. "We actually tracked his phone here when it first happened, but the owners said they didn't have any guests by his name then either."

"Oh. I- I'm sorry to hear that," Nico offered, unsure what else he could say.

The man waved him off. "We all make our own choices. I really thought that was him though. Wishful thinking, I suppose. Aaanyway, I think we're ready for the check and to head up to the room for the evening."

Nico gripped his notebook, trying to keep his hands from shaking. "Of course," he nodded. "I'll let your waiter know and then we can get you settled."

Nico walked back to Janus, pale and shaking.

"Oh no."

Nico glanced up and nodded. "They want their check and then they're going to check into their room," he explained. Nico rubbed his forehead and pushed his hands though his hair. "Of all the times for my parents to be on vacation..."

"We'll figure it out," Janus encouraged. "I'll take care of the table, you grab Logan and Elliot and find Thomas."

---

"Anything?" Logan asked as he met up with Nico in the corridor.

"No. He left his phone in our room too," Nico replied. "I don't think he'd take off completely without it, but... I don't know."

"What's going on?" Remus asked as he strode up to the pair with Elliot.

"Thomas's uncle is here," Nico told him, "the one he ran away from. We can't find him anywhere and it's starting to worry me."

"We'll find him," Remus assured. "Have you checked for missing keys? Maybe he ducked into one of the empty rooms."

"You're a genius," Nico declared as he rushed off.

---

Thomas jumped at the light tapping on the door, he stared wide-eyed and heart pounding, as if waiting for it to burst in of it's own accord.

"Room service," Nico's voice called softly from the other side as he had done so many years ago.

He pushed himself off the floor and marched stiffly to the door. "How did you find me?" he questioned.

"I checked the registry for booked rooms, then cut out reseverved rooms, and looked for the missing keys."

Thomas nodded and stepped aside, allowing Nico to push in the cart.

"Are you-"

"I saw my uncle. He was in the restaurant."

"I know-"

"He saw me too."

"I know. We told him you weren't here. He asked about you, we told him you weren't here. That there was no one here by that name. Just like we would for anyone else."

Thomas nodded and took a step back when Nico reached for him. Nico mirrored his action.

"You're always allowed to say 'no' to me," Nico reminded him. "Do you want me stay here with you tonight or do you need some space?"

Thomas swallowed and shook his head. "I just need some space," he mumbled.

Nico nodded. "Okay. That's okay. We're all here for you," he reminded gently. "Your aunt and uncle booked for the night, they're in 14 downstairs."

Thomas nodded, looking like he was about to burst into tears and it took everything Nico had not to pull him into his arms.

"I'll let you know when they leave, okay?"

Thomas just nodded this time.

"Are you okay?"

"I just...want to go to bed. I'll- I'll talk to you in the morning."

Nico nodded. "Okay. I love you."

"Love you too," Thomas replied stiffly.

Nico's chest ached as he walked from the room, leaving his fiancée behind. He wanted nothing more than to hold his love close, hidden away, till he felt safe again. Wanted to wrap him up in a blanket and sit in their room, locked and secure, and hold him till the threat passed.

He felt sick knowing that how ever scared he felt, Thomas was even more afraid. Felt guilty at leaving him behind, alone in that room, with no comfort. It may have been what Thomas said he wanted, but it still didn't sit right in Nico's heart to leave him like that.

But it was what he had asked for and Nico would respect that.

Thomas bolted the door behind Nico and almost immediately hit the ground, trying to stifle the sob buidling in his chest. In that moment, it felt like years of therapy and coping mechanisms fell away. Nothing would help, nothing would keep him safe expect to stay hidden from his uncle and to avoid Nico as much as possible.

It would be bad enough if his uncle found him, it would be far worse if he saw the two of them together.

It was only for the night. In the morning, he would be safe.

---

Thomas sneaked downstairs with practiced ease, taking great care to avoid the spots he knew would creak loudly under his feet and sticking close to the walls as possible.

He had to see for himself if they were gone. He could have just called to ask, but it wouldn't be enough. He needed to see the documentation that they were gone, needed to see the empty room, needed to make sure they were not hidden in the restaurant or any other common area of the inn.

He made it as far as the base of the stairs before he realized his mistake.

He was frozen, suddenly only fifteen again as his uncle stormed up to him, demanding to know what the hell was the matter with him, who he thought he was for abandoning his family.

"I'm sorry," he gasped around the tears that ran down his face.

"Oh, you're 'sorry'," he sneered, stepping forward.

Thomas stepped back. "I-" The words died in his throat, cut off by a strangled whimper that escaped him when a hand struck him across the face.

"You're a coward is what you are. Not even enough of man to look me in the eye and apologize properly. You always were an ungrateful brat, I guess something's never change, do they? Shame you ran away before I sent you off. I should'a dragged your ass out of here the first time I found you. Maybe then you'd be a real man."

Nico glanced up at the sudden commotion from across the common room. He cursed under his breath when he saw one of the guests had Thomas all but pinned to a wall.

He rushed forward and found Remus at his side.

"I'll take care of the clown, you get Thomas out of here," he spoke quietly to Nico. Before Nico could respond Remus grabbed the man by the shoulder and, in one fluid motion, spun him around and pinned him to the wall.

"Hi," he said with a faux cheeriness that boardered on scary, "I'm the manager on shift. Do you have a fucking problem with my staff?"

"That's my nephew-"

"Well, I'm sorry to hear that. Tell you what, why don't you go pack your bags and get the hell out."

"Excuse me?"

"Well, the only other thing I can offer is for you to leave without your shit and we can donate it a local charity for you."

"Get your hands off me and let me talk to my nephew!" He fumed.

Remus nodded, understandingly. "Out the door it is then." He dragged the man by the shoulder to the door and pushed him outside. "Have the rest of your day," he said politely and shut the door, quickly locking it as well.

He turned to find Remy standing there with Thomas's aunt.

"Do you feel safe going home with that man?" Remus asked, his tone now serious. "Do you need us to call anyone for you?"

She gaped at him. "Young man, what exactly are you trying to imply?"

"I'm not implying anything," Remus answered. "I know exactly what he did and why Thomas ran away when he was younger. So I'm asking you again, do you feel safe with him?"

"That is my husband! Of course he's safe and I don't appreciate the implication otherwise!"

Remus nodded. "Alright, then you can get the fuck out too."

"I beg your pardon?"

Remy turned to the woman and shoved the suitecases into her arms. "Welp! You heard my manager, out the door you go!"

Remus opened the door and ushered the woman out, his eerie cheerful smile coming back to his face. "Thanks for staying with us, don't ever come back again."

Remy waved from behind him. "G.T.F.O, Tata for good."

Remus locked the door once more then slumped forward against it with a heavy sigh.

"You good?"

Remus nodded, taking a slow breath. "Yeah. Yeah, I'm good."

"Cool. That was actually hot as hell. But, uh, you look like you're gonna pass out, so let's get you sitting down, okay?"

Remus blinked then broke into laughter that quickly devolved into near hyperventilating. "Ohhh holy fuck what did I just do?"

Remy quickly took his arm, trying to support him enough to get him to a chair. "You threw out a couple of whackjobs like a total badass. Trust me, Josue is not gonna care. You were protecting Thomas. You did the right thing, Remus."

---

"I'm fine, I'm fine-" Thomas writhed away from Nico as the door closed behind them. "I said, I'm fine!"

"Alright." Nico raised his hands in surrender. "Alright, I'm sorry." He stepped back and watched Thomas sink down one of the walls, burying his face in his hands. Nico sat beside him without actually touching him. "You're safe," he offered, but Thomas shook his head.

"He knows where I am."

"And he can't do anything about that," Nico reminded. "You're not sixteen anymore, babe. He can't make you go anywhere you don't want to."

Thomas laughed bitterly and pushed his hair back. "Yeah, try telling that to my anxiety."

Nico offered his hand, but Thomas shook his head, shrinking in on himself slightly, and he pulled away.

"Is there anything I can do?"

"I don't think so," Thomas answered. "I'm sorry."

"It's okay," Nico soothed. "I want to help if I can, but...I understand if that's not possible."

"I just need time."

"I understand."

[sankttealeaf]

writing up the next political affairs chapter (dont look at me jumping from fic to fic i need a change of pace with how Intense lsdl is getting) and ever since deciding that bane is a) gortashs therapist, b) runs a pyramid scheme and c) has several podcasts ranging from those alpha male type things to "heres how to gain complete control over your workplace", this fic is totally not serious at all

gortash bought shares in bane's health company and thats his in to getting seen by him for therapy :)

theres beef between bane and bhaal. they both wanted to go into the health industry but bane wanted it to be Legal and Proper and bhaal said no, the less legal it is the better. they had a huge falling out and basically got divorced and now theyre competitors and want to take the other down ;)

[vroomjohnwatson]

Tagged by @scythewrites, thank you so much friend! I actually did this on my old classic f1 blog like two days ago but since that one is gone with the wind I figured I'd do it here. Also there are more wips now ope.

fix-it/amnesia

anything so bright

grand haven fic

j&a braiding

soon you'll get better

can't find heaven

misfire

omegaverse launtson

t a

baby alain

gan

phoenix wright au

corfu au

shameless nigel whump

knitting podcast

station wagon

aofoi beach

living vicariously

I don't feel up to tagging 18 people, so @king-zlatan @nothingelsematterswrites @puzzlebean, and @zoomguanyu. Sorry for double tagging most of you lol.

And if this looks fun to you, go ahead and do it ;)

[stuck-in-the-ghost-zone]

having made a handful of like. 0 line background characters to fill space in the nhw tidalwave fic I have since been thinking about just like... easter eggs to stick in the bg of the au just for funsies . I love doing this sm

[nine-blessed-hero]

Me: This is a very serious fic about fighting for the one you love. Also me: *puts in a classic medieval fantasy-esque comedy street chase scene*

[z-haven]

Chlavisy Adventures

We're angsty, we’re woobie We're all a little kookie In this epic story We're sizzling your TV

No smutty filters We mash up all the censors On Chlavisy Adventures Get a dose of remedy

So here's small town Sm*llville It’s meteor capital Our home strange home, never alone Where weirdness never stalls

Our scripts were accepted But expect the unexpected Cause Chlavisy Adventures is about to start

They're tipsy, they're funny They're Clark and Lois Laney Oliver Queen has the money Lionel is insane

There's Martha and hubby DP Reporter Chloe Davis is an EMT and Lex Luthor is insane

At Chlavis University We earn our smut degree The onion reports Of enormous sorts Since the first look in Plastique

We're angsty, we’re woobie We're all a little kookie It's Chlavisy Adventures Come and watch with us.

[flieslikeamoron]

IDK I keep thinking about that scene from Haven when Nathan, who has a "superpower" where he can't feel anything, realizes he can feel it when Audrey touches him.

But I'm thinking about the Steve version where maybe the reason he can soak up all this abuse is because he doesn't feel it, can't feel it. And that's fine. Who wants to feel pain, really? It just means he can take it longer, bleed and bleed and stay on his feet. He doesn't heal any faster than anyone else would, and sure he has to be careful because he'll be bleeding before he even knows he's hurt, but who cares about the scars when it didn't hurt to get them, right?

But he can't feel it when Nancy touches him either, can't feel the warmth of her skin or how wet she gets or her hands on him. Has to settle for the hitch of her breath when he touches her the right way or her eyes going dark. He's good at getting her off, has always been good at getting the girls he fucks off, because he has to pay such close attention to every flutter and shiver and sound. Because getting them off is the only thing that gets him hard, turns him on. He can feel that, a heated twist growing in his gut, even if he can't feel a hand on his dick.

But then there's Eddie. And he can FEEL Eddie. On his skin. Like a miracle. The overwhelming rush of it. Of something when there was nothing. Like being blind, but he can see this one thing. Like being deaf, but he can hear this one voice. Just a brush of bare fingers feels like he's on fire, like he's coming alive all over. It's almost unbearable how much it feels to feel anything when you're so used to nothing. It's almost unbearable how much he wants it, just a brush of fingers. Just a hand on his hand. Just something. Anything.

BUT THE THING IS. I've also been thinking about Theo in the Haunting of Hill House. And what if Eddie was a touch telepath. And what if Eddie doesn't touch anyone if he can help it because he has enough of his own shit. He doesn't have room for anyone else's. He's seen enough to know there's nobody he wants to know like that. From the inside. He doesn't want to know anyone's ugly secrets. See the things no one is supposed to see. He's all full up on pain, rage, and despair, thanks. So Eddie wears long sleeves and gloves anytime he leaves the house. Eddie doesn't touch anybody. Not if he can help it.

But then, accidentally, he touches Steve. What would it feel like to experience the echo of that touch? That something when there was nothing. To know that was you. Eddie's the only one who can give Steve that, but can he stand it? Could he stand to touch Steve, keep touching him? To know him from the inside?

[afewproblems]

Oh my goodness Jess!!!

Oh wow, the switch from the dream to the apocalypse is so well done! I really love this concept! Steve not remembering thongs, will that potentially be a plot point? Did he already start changing things with his decisions and NOW those changes are being reflected in the waking world?? So many thoughts!!

The part where Murray had to quiet the panicking person and broke their neck made me GASP, like I'm with you Steve. I think there is an episode of MASH that this scene made me think of, just a brutal reality of their life in the wasteland. Absolutely amazing second part! And Mrs Click and Holly in this, I love seeing these side characters being fleshed out, so so so GREAT!!

No Regret - Part Two

TW: OC Character Death (dude doesn't even get a name). Steve reflects on killing both demo-creatures and humans with detachment. Mentions of Major Character Deaths but as a reminder, they don't stay dead! (Well, Chrissy and Fred do)

[Part One] [Part Two] [Part Three]

Maybe he should feel bad about watching Robin grow smaller in the rear-view mirror, her face a mixture of disbelief and anger. Maybe he should feel regret for his actions, for the betrayal Robin probably feels right now.

He doesn't.

Looking at the bigger picture, at the regrets he actually does have in the waking world, this is small potatoes. A non-issue. Robin will forgive him in the end.

War Zone is like a ghost town compared to the first time Steve was here. Though, that should have been expected. The panic hasn't swept through town yet. So far, it's just one dead girl. Fred'll join her sometime this afternoon. Evening? Sometime later today.

Nineteen-year-old Steve would hate himself for not trying to help. For not doing his best to save Fred.

But.

Well, Fred dying will help Dustin, in the long run. Will help Eddie. And that's more important. That's the goal. The dream, if he's allowing himself to be cheeky in his own mind.

Steve's not heartless, or anything like that. Robin, his Robin in the waking world, still calls him a softy and worries his kindness will get him killed on the daily. He always puts the safety of the group above himself. The first to volunteer on supply runs or for scouting or taking watch through the night. He knows he can run on empty for much longer than anyone else he knows.

The end of the world has a way of skewing what kindness and softness are, though. Those first few months were the hardest. Steve wanted to save everyone they came across. Help as many people as possible, but rations run dangerously low that way. Clean water can become contaminated quickly by ignorant people. Not everyone handled the apocalypse with grace.

The first harsh lesson Steve had learned was two months into the end of the world. They'd ventured to Indy to find supplies. Medicines. Try and stock up on things they didn't need yet but wanted around for the just in case of it all. They'd found some survivors, which wasn't surprising in itself. The surprising bit was that these guys had made it on complete luck it seemed. They were loud. Jumpy. Panicky.

When Lucas and Mike, on scout duty, had reported back demogorgon activities nearby, one guy started to panic. Got loud and couldn't bring himself back down. Steve was closest, tried to shush him but he wouldn't be quiet.

"Move," Murray (may he rest in peace) whispered, seeming to have appeared from nowhere, shoving Steve away, nudging him out of the way. Murray stepped behind the guy, one hand covering his nose and mouth, the other arm around his neck. It made the guy panic more, fighting Murray and then Murray just-

Steve remembers he flinched at the noise, turning away to cover his mouth and calm his own panic. The noises stopped though. Steve had shot a horrified look to Hopper, but Hopper wasn't looking at Steve. He was looking beyond, at Murray and what he'd done, nodding his approval.

The demogorgons didn't find them that day.

"You can't help everyone, Steve," Murray said, once they'd started the trek back to Hawkins. "The safety of the group comes first, over just one person."

Lesson heard. Lesson learned. Lesson put to use four months later.

So. Fred must die, for the good of the group. Patrick, too, if Steve can't get to Vecna in time. He should be able to. Vecna will try and take Max first, tomorrow. Patrick the day after. If everything stays the same.

The clerk doesn't even blink at what Steve buys, or the quantity of what he buys, but his eyebrows do go up a little at the total.

Steve hesitates just a bit over the checkbook his parents gave him the first time they'd left him home alone at fourteen. For emergencies only, Steven. It's been sitting in his glove box, unused, since he turned sixteen. He's never wanted to have to explain what he'd used it for. Nothing had ever seemed like enough of an emergency to warrant explaining it to Richard Harrington.

He does find it a little odd that his mind is conjuring up the concept of money. Of all the little things to think about while he sleeps, he really didn't think his subconscious would bring capitalism back.

Steve rips the little check out of the booklet and hands it over. The clerk looks it over before giving a nod and finishing the cash out. Steve takes the receipt when it's offered, shoving it into the checkbook before shoving that into his back pocket.

The parking lot has one other person in it, who Steve is aware of the entire time he's loading the trunk of his car with gallons of lighter fluid, weapons, and padded camouflage. It's only after Steve's slammed the trunk closed and shoved the cart back towards the front of the store that the guy watching him speaks.

"Must be some bonfire you're planning."

Steve rounds his car and opens the door before answering. "It's spring break, man." He slides in, the door falling closed after him. He buckles up, starts the car, and heads home. The house will be empty, he knows.

He works in silence, unloading the car and organizing his haul in the dining room, eyes flicking to the clock. There's still a couple of hours before dark. Before he should go check if Eddie's still in the boathouse, or if the police did go find him.

He sets the timer on the stove for an hour and flops onto his couch and sighs. Just as comfy as he remembers. He can have a nap before making sure Eddie's in jail. Surely his dream will allow him that?

-

"Mmhm," Steve mumbles as his neck protests movement. He's slow to wake. His head feels like white noise. He thinks he was dreaming but he can't quite grasp at what it was... oh. Family Video and War Zone. Reliving a memory. He wonders if Robin is still mad at him for that day, ditching her with Dustin and Max. It'd been for a good reason and- Steve wrinkles his nose as he sits up, head still static-y. Was it for a good reason? He can't remember what else happened after that....

"He rises," Robin whispers next to him, spooking him. She comes into focus as he sits up straight, leaning out of her space to look at her. She gives him a smile, judging by the crinkle around her eyes and her cheeks rounding. The gas mask prevents him seeing her real smile and he misses it. He thinks about his dream, and getting to see all of Robin's face again.

Dreaming is bittersweet.

"I miss anything?" He asks, because it's a safe question.

"Scouts radioed. The way should be clear in another," Robin grabs his wrist and twists so she can see the time on his watch, "another twenty minutes or so."

The mention of the radio makes him think of Dustin, and how much he misses him. And thinking of Dustin makes him think of Eddie. Steve knows it's irrational for him to miss someone he never knew but that doesn't stop the ache. The almost of it all sits heavy in his chest.

"Right," Steve says. "Want to see how many rounds of Rock, Paper, Scissors we can get through in twenty minutes?"

Robin shuffles sideways to be facing him and holds her hands up. "You always lose but okay."

They get about twelve rounds into it before Steve finds himself asking, "Hey Robbie. Do you remember Spring Break?"

Her hands freeze in the air, an aborted motion to make paper to beat Steve's rock. She locks eyes with him for a moment and he can see the worry there. "I- Steve. Is it- did you take a hit? Is it your head? Should I not have let you nap?"

No. No, he doesn't think he got hurt on this run. Well, his shoulder hurts from when he stumbled and slammed into wall during the last loading of the truck, but he hadn't hit his head. He thinks. "I don't know... I hit the wall hard, shoulder hurts, but I didn't hit my head. I don't remember hitting my head."

Robin stands immediately and begins jabbing her fingers around his skull. "Anything tender?"

"Nope. Just a messed up hairdo," Steve swats her hands away.

"Well, you can never be too sure. You are precious cargo. Why did you ask about the start of the apocalypse?"

Steve shrugs. What can he say? That he's forgetting the start of all their horrors? He can't say that, not without coming across like he's either crazy or bragging. Remember the week that ruined our lives and gave us all enough trauma to fill an ocean? Yeah, well, I don't so ha!

He can't be sure but he thinks Robin frowns beneath her mask. "We'll have to have someone look you over when we get back. Steve, if you're losing your memories..."

"I'm not losing memories," Steve lies. Head trauma is serious and he knows he can't take one more hit to the head. He won't be able to continue helping with supply runs or patrols if he is getting worse. If he starts getting migraines, they'll reassign him for sure. Something that doesn't let him leave the safety of their home base at the high school.

"Steve," she warns. He knows it's a warning.

He shakes his head. "I just. I had a dream about Saturday. Very vivid. Just made me think about it, is all."

Robin softens, sinking back down to sit beside him. She finally answers, "yeah. I remember Spring Break."

"I miss everyone," he confesses, because it's true. Because it's safe.

"Me too," Robin says, leaning her mask against his.

They wait in silence until the scouts call the all clear and they can head back home.

They make it back to Hawkins before night falls but just barely. The gates get rolled shut behind them and the unpacking gets started. The whole community has gathered for their return. This is their longest run to date with how far they had to go this time and Steve doesn't blame anyone for needing to see their loved ones as soon as possible.

"Robin!"

Steve turns just in time to watch Vickie launch herself at Robin. Robin must have seen her running, though, because she's already braced for impact and catches Vickie easily, arms grabbing at Vickie's thighs to support her weight as she wraps them around Robin's waist. Vickie places her forehead to Robin's as their excitement switches to tenderness and Steve averts his eyes to give them privacy in this moment.

"Steve, here," Ted Wheeler offers up a box to Steve, who takes it without question. "For the Daycare."

"You got it."

The Daycare is actually a wing of the school that used to be where the language arts classes were held. Daycare doesn't quite sum up what they use the area for, but calling it the Orphanage was too dark. Steve waits through the decontamination process. Once through, he takes the time to pull his mask off and enjoy the feeling of an artificial breeze on his face before heading to the Daycare.

"Please tell me there's something useful in that box," Annie Click says when Steve pushes his way into one of the rooms they use for school. Another room is dedicated to being a daycare, kids too little for learning, another is schooling for kids who would be in middle school, and the last room is lines with beds.

"Sorry, Mrs. Click, but I didn't pack it," Steve says apologetically.

"My problem to sort out then," she stands and Steve can see the determination in her through the weariness. She'd been a bitter old lady as his teacher but the world ending must have shifted her priorities. There's no one better suited to look after the kids than her, here.

Except maybe Joyce, but she's got bigger things to deal with.

He heads for the door when Annie calls out to him, "Since you're here, would you mind checking on the kids for me? Holly's supervising bedtime but she's lenient with her friends."

"Will do."

He heads across the hall and down a door to the sleeping room. The lights are dimmed and peeking in he sees a lot of kids sleeping, or pretending their best to be. Holly is sitting in a rolling chair near the door, one leg bend and pulled up on the seat as she rests her head on it.

Steve clears his throat to get her attention. She must have heard his footsteps because she doesn't spook. Just uses the foot on the ground to spin the chair to face the door. "Oh. Hi Steve."

"All good here?" He whispers.

"Yeah. Everyone's asleep."

"You can probably head home now. Your dad's back."

Holly shrugs one shoulder at him, spinning the chair back away. "Maybe later."

Steve takes the hint and backs away. His chest aches for Holly. All the kids had to grow up fast, given the state of the world, but Holly's hurts him most. He knew her in the Before, and she was there when Karen... Well, she's got a lot of weight on her shoulders at barely eleven years old.

To think. If they'd have been faster on that Spring Break. More diligent, thorough. Holly might have never known about the Upside Down at all.

More regret he can carry, he thinks, as he shoves his mask back on and heads back to the truck. There's more to be unloaded, and always work around to keep him so busy he doesn't have to think of the regrets.

He works so late into the night that once he gets back to his cot and collapses into it, there are no thoughts let in his mind as sleep claims him.

-

@i-less-than-three-you @nburkhardt @afewproblems @skepsiss @music9009 @apomaro-mellow @soaringornithopter @reighnofdreams @eddie-munsons-lunchbox @sirsnacksalot @livelifeliketheresnotomorow @sageclipse @schnukiputz @mbloggotdeletedsothisismybackup @lumoschildextra @juleswashere3 @yet-still-more-banched @cinnamon-mushroomabomination @yearningagain @starlight-archer @andrew-mini-ard @chaosgremlinmunson @aol19 @goodolefashionedloverboi @gutterflower77 @moomkin77

[radioactivepeasant]

Snippets: Free Day Thursday

Ok, part 2!

Part One Here

(Warning for brief violence)

"Okay!" Daxter snapped, flinging a piece of a lever to the ground in disgust, "That is the last time I ever, ever, touch any more stupid Precursor crap!"

Jak would have responded, but he couldn't tear his eyes away from the strange place they had fallen into. Hard stone covered the ground in even, flat surfaces, like walking paths made of one solid piece. They matched the gray of drab huts built four or five levels high -- fortresses? -- with equally flat tops and windows covered in a thin, reflective material of some kind. Everything smelled like rotting garbage and the exhaust fumes of his zoomer! What kind of dead ruin was this?

A ruin, perhaps, but hardly a dead one.

Zoomers in bright colors and sleek shapes darted back and forth overhead, mesmerizing the small boy. There were more people on them than he'd ever seen in his life! People walked along the streets in crowds! Was this what Uncle called "city"? It was so much bigger than the villages! And if he stood on the tips of his toes, Jak could see more structures that were even taller!

"There he is!" a harsh voice rang out.

A group of -- were they people? They were covered in armor with goggles that reminded Jak of the giant Precursor robot -- marched towards him, carrying strange weapons. The long, thin things reminded him of the Yellow Sage's blunderbuss. Some forgotten instinct told him that these things were deadly, and never to be played with.

Why were they coming towards him? Had he done something wrong?

Oh no! The broken pieces of the Rift vehicle must have hurt someone!

"Move in!"

In mere seconds, the red warriors had completely surrounded them. Part of Jak wanted to fight, but if they were just protecting their city from what probably looked like an attack, maybe it would be better to stay calm. Jak didn't want to find out what those weapons could do at such close range. But as the circle closed around him, Jak looked up into the face of their leader, and his stomach turned.

This wasn't a misunderstanding. These people were looking for trouble. The tattooed man smirking down at him had the same unreasonable gleam in his eye as Gol Acheron. He didn’t want to talk. He was going to hurt them whether or not they gave him a reason.

Jak took a step back without thinking as his pulse began to thunder in his ears.

What does he want? I didn't do anything to him! Why is he looking at us like that?!

"Step away from the animal!" barked a soldier.

Whoever they were, they understood that Jak was more powerful with Daxter supplementing his attacks. But Jak had never seen these people in his life!

Had he?

The boy cast a frantic look down at Daxter as a soldier began to move towards him.

Run! Run, Daxter!

With a shriek, the ottsel dodged the armored hand and dove between the man's legs.

"GO GO GO!" he screeched, darting off down a side street.

But Jak couldn't follow. The men crowded closer, fencing him in as their sneering leader snapped, "Forget the rat! The Baron wants him!"

Me? Why?! What's a Baron?!

A cruel smile twisted the leader's face as he signaled the man beside Jak.

"We've been waiting for you," he cooed.

Something slammed into the side of Jak's head, dropping him like a stone. Lights danced behind his eyes, and he couldn't think past the pain. Why? Why were they doing this? Were they friends of the Acherons? Rough hands grabbed him by the arms and dragged him to his feet, ignoring his soft whimper. He had to escape. Had to find Daxter. Somehow Jak knew that if he let these people take him, he might never see his friends again.

His throat pulsed and spasmed, but he couldn't force the sound past the lock in his mouth, couldn't cry out for help. Someone! Please, please stop them! Precursors! Somebody!

Somebody answered.

There was an awful, wet sound. Claws through cloth, and flesh, and the horrible, high screams that always followed.

Jak knew that sound. When the Lurkers attacked village outskirts and Samos sent him to clean up the mess, he'd learned what it sounded like when someone was being ripped apart.

His head was swimming, but Jak forced himself to look up. Through leaking eyes he caught the blurry figure of a...a someone, covered in armor. Their head -- or maybe a helmet? Hopefully a helmet -- looked like the skull of the monsters that had flown out of the Rift Gate, complete with the shining yellow thing on the forehead. They were attacking the leader man, the one who hadn't been wearing as much armor as the others.

It seemed the leader wasn't accustomed to close quarters fighting.

He screeched again as the newcomer raked long claws down his face, then bodily lifted him. With a grunt that sounded more human than monster, the creature flung its victim into the soldiers surrounding Jak just as they raised their weapons. There were three flashes of light at once, then panicked shouting and more screaming. The eco that shot out of their weapons had hit their leader as he was thrown, by the sounds of the yelling. "Commander Errol" continued to scream like he was dying. He probably was.

Abruptly the two men holding his arms let go. Still disoriented, Jak staggered and fell to his hands and knees. More yellow eco blasts roared over his head, adding to the ringing in his ears, and the stench of blood grew stronger. Maybe he could crawl out of the way, escape down the side street Daxter took. Maybe-

The creature shot out a red hand and caught Jak by the wrist, pulling him to his feet so quickly his head spun and his stomach lurched. He tried to pull free, but the monster's grip tightened.

"Can you run?"

A man's voice. Was it a creature? Or was this more armor?

Jak wobbled and groaned, and the man-thing seemed to take that as an answer. Without another word, he ducked down to sweep Jak's legs off the ground. He bundled him close to his blood-spattered breastplate and began to run. The jarring of boots against stone did nothing to allay the pounding in Jak’s head, radiating from where the red soldier had hit him. What on earth was happening to him?!

"Hold on tight, Jak. Going to get a little tricky here," his rescuer said.

Wait. He knew Jak's name? How did he know Jak's name?! Did he know one of the sages? Maybe the Yellow Sage, since he seemed like some kind of wild man. If he knew the sages, he'd know how to get back to Sandover! Jak struggled to make a sound the man would recognize as a word or question. Grownups never understood signs, why would this one be different?

"Wait, Jak. We're not safe yet," said the man sternly.

Jak stilled. Whoever this was, he didn't sound like the kind of person you ignored.

Streets flew by as the man ran down alleys and around more corners than he could count. Then his steps slowed. There was something metallic and green -- one of those unusual zoomers that had been flying around, wide enough for two people -- sitting unattended. The man made an exclamation of triumph and hurried over to it. He deposited Jak into one of the seats with a surprising gentleness, fastening two strange belts over his chest with a click.

"That commander's access pass will get us into the agricultural sector," his rescuer said, as if that meant anything to him, "then we'll be out of the city and into the forest. Just stay close to me, no matter what, understand?"

Jak stared at his mask with wide eyes and didn't answer. The man sighed, rattling behind the skull.

"I know. I know you don't recognize me, little one."

Strange, he sounded kind of sad.

"I promise, I'll explain what's going on when we're in the forest. Now: hold onto something."

The wide zoomer, it turned out, was a lot faster than his a-grav zoomer back home. It could hover a lot higher, too. If Jak's head didn't still ache, he would have been a lot more interested in the vehicle. But as it stood, he was pretty sure he was going to throw up. Was this how Daxter felt when they were running around?

Nah. Daxter was one of the toughest people Jak knew. He could roundhouse kick a Lurker in the face and flip back onto Jak’s shoulder without even getting dizzy!

Wait! Daxter!

Frantically, Jak waved his hands as the zoomer careened through and around other drivers, scraping paint more than once. Even though he didn't expect an answer, he signed, "Go back! Go back, my friend is back there!"

Predictably, the man did not go back. But to Jak’s surprise, he did answer.

"We're not going back," he grunted, throwing the craft into a climb that left the engine straining. "That plaza will be swarming with guards now."

Then, a little gentler, he added, "Don't worry so much about Daxter. He's a smart boy, he knows how to keep himself safe until someone comes for him."

Not only did this person know who Jak was, he knew Daxter?

A smart boy. He called Daxter a smart boy.

No one had ever said anything that nice about his best friend before. Especially not adults. Jak had never understood why everyone but Ollie and Mrs. Perch seemed to hate Daxter so much, but it had always frightened him. If they hated a kid who never did anything to them, that meant Jak was on a tightrope every day to keep them from deciding to hate him, too.

But the scary man who grabbed him, he knew Daxter's name. He didn't call him a rat or an animal, he called him a boy! He called him smart! Jak’s previous fear began to melt away. Anyone who talked about his best friend like that had to be a nice person, right? And he was a fun driver, too! Too bad Jak's stomach was trying to crawl up his throat at the moment.

After a tense few seconds, the zoomer leveled out and shot past a fancy fountain, over the heads of people in nicer clothes than what Jak had seen before. A few shook their fists and complained as they flew past. Slate gray paths gave way to the first green he'd seen since first getting into the Rift craft. A long, narrow expanse of grass held several plots of unusually large produce. The plots were being tended by exhausted looking people in much dirtier clothes than the people by the fountain. They didn't even glance up when the zoomer sped by.

They pulled to a stop at a high, forbidding wall. The door shaped vaguely like a skull only added to the sense of foreboding around it, as if it was a warning. A quick glance around revealed that the wall extended as far as Jak could see, so high that nothing was visible beyond it. How could these people stand it? It must be like living at the bottom of a silo!

Jak was snapped from his thoughts by the man yanking the strap things off him with a click and pulling him out of the zoomer. It took him a moment to get his feet under him, but at least he didn't feel like he was going to tip over.

"Hurry," said the man tersely. Almost as if he wasn't thinking about it, he reached down and took hold of Jak's hand. He tugged Jak after him and walked swiftly towards the door.

"Not a little kid!" Jak protested with his free hand as best as he could.

Although, he had a feeling his rescuer could argue to the contrary, considering Jak barely stood as high as the man's ribcage.

"Now leaving Haven City," said a woman's voice above their heads as the door rolled shut behind them. Jak looked around for a talk-box, but couldn't tell where the lady was speaking from. "Haven", eh? Didn't seem like much of a Haven to Jak.

A second door opened in front of them, and a weight lifted off of Jak's shoulders.

Trees, ancient and massive, sprawled across hills and around a creek running placidly down to a lake. Nature didn't care about soldiers and cities and people hurting each other. Nature kept growing and being born and dying and being reborn in an eternal cycle of eco. It was a relief to see none of those entombing walls before them. Strange though, Jak didn't see any signs of wildlife. One bird chirruped several trees away, but everything else was eerily quiet.

The armored man lifted an oddly shaped talk-box to his ear and turned away from Jak.

"Satellite One, this is Lighthouse. We're clear."

"Copy that, Lighthouse. Wait, who's "we"?"

"Oh. Jak. The kid Praxis was trying to ambush?"

"Kid?! Wait, you didn't tell me you were going to grab someone's kid!"

"Don't worry about it," the man said casually, "Focus on the mission."

The person calling themselves Satellite One was quiet for a second, then relented. "...right. I'll...I'll bring him home, Damas. I swear it."

"If anyone can, it's you." The man -- Day-maz? Is that what Satellite called him? -- put the talk box away and took in a deep breath through his nose. Then he pivoted to kneel in front of Jak.

"Alright, let's have a look at you."

He unlatched the mask or helmet and slid it off, revealing a human face beneath a hood. He pushed it off and shook his ears free with a grumble.

"Bah. This disguise is a necessary evil but I can't say I'll be sad to see it go."

The clawed gloves followed, and then rough brown fingers lifted Jak's chin carefully, checking for injuries.

"Look up? Good. Pupils...ah, mmhm. Jak, can you tell me if you feel dizzy or nauseous right now?"

"Yes."

Thin, almost invisible eyebrows rose over violet eyes. "Yes you can tell me, or yes you feel dizzy?"

"Yeah, that one." Jak frowned. "There's no birds."

The Day-mas man released Jak's face and clicked his tongue. "Well, you may have a mild concussion, little one."

Jak's ears drooped a few seconds after the words caught up to him. Aw man! But those take forever to go away without eco!

The thought of avoiding running and climbing for a few weeks was torture!

"There's a green eco vent a couple miles into the woods if we keep going northwest. For a slight brain injury you really need a full vent, but I can give you a little now to make walking easier."

The man pulled off more of the scaly armor and searched around a belt full of pouches before coming up with a tube of some kind of paste.

"Hold still."

Eco in paste?! How did he get it into a jelly?! It sat cold on Jak’s skin, numbing the place the guard had slammed his weapon into. Jak shivered as his mind cleared a bit. With the adrenaline beginning to wear off, he was starting to notice the cold. He'd need to find some yellow eco to raise his core temperature. Absentminded, he signed a thanks to the man and looked around.

"Who are you?" he asked, then belatedly remembered to add, "How do you know me and Daxter?"

With a weird, sad, smile, the man sat back on his heels. "My name is Damas," he said quietly, and then spelled it with his hand.

"You sign?!"

Jak thought adults just weren't capable of understanding signs!

"Yes," Damas signed back, "It's very common where I come from. Come, we need to get you more eco. Explanations can wait until you are fully healed."

He stood and held out a hand.

"I'm not a baby!" Jak complained, but he took the offered hand anyway.

Damas chuckled warmly. "No, you're not a baby. But you are quite small, compared to me. I wouldn't want you to get lost out here in the unknown. You never know what you'll run into out here in the woods."

"No birds," Jak commented again, frowning into bushes and trees as he was tugged along.

Entirely too cheerfully, Damas answered, "No, no birds. You're keeping track of your surroundings, good! There are predators nearby that have scared them off."

"Wha?!" Jak yelped, looking around again.

Damas squeezed his hand and began to make his way along the creek. "You don't need to worry about them, alright? I won't let anything hurt you, I promise."

Jak made a skeptical sound, but squeezed back and let himself be guided deeper into the woods, and further away from the world he'd left behind.

[veltana]

No one as sweet as you - Mafia!Stucky/Reader

✦ Pairing: Stucky/Reader ✦ Word count: ~9,4k ✦ Rating: Explicit ✦ Warnings: Mafia AU, best friends to lovers, hurt/comfort, angst, fluff, protective!stucky, TW: reader is verbally and physically abused by john walker, idiots in love, sharing a bed, poly relationship, piv sex, dirty talk, cunnilingus, praise kink, pet names (Sweets), unprotected sex, creampie. ✦ Summary: When you’re hurt by your boyfriend you go to the two people you can depend on for anything, Steve and Bucky, your best friends. ✦ Note: This is a fic that was previously posted on AO3, at the beginning of the year. But since I'm stuck in writer's block right now I thought I would post this in case you haven't read it. It's one of my favorites. There are some short prequel fics to this also posted on AO3, about when they were living together in college. I'll post those too in the following weeks.

Series masterlist

Masterlist | AO3

The bouncer gives you one glance before he opens the door for you and the line of people you pass shout angrily but you don’t even spare them a glance, your thoughts elsewhere. The music in the club usually invigorates you but tonight it passes through without leaving a trace.

Making your way to Monica at the bar, the people you pass shoot you weird glances and you know you must look a mess. When she sees you she comes right over, the music is too loud to talk so you share a squeeze of the forearm in place of a hug before she pours you your favorite wine, with a pitying smile at your smeared mascara. You throw a kiss at her before making your way to the back and once again the big man at the door opens it for you after a quick look.

The music is muted as you make your way to the stairs at the back that take you up to their private room. When your heels land at the top and you meet Bucky's eyes he lifts the girl currently on his lap off and declares "Everyone out."

Steve shoots him an irritated look before his eyes follow Bucky's and sees you. You stand perfectly still while the women and men who were enjoying a private party with two of the biggest mobsters in New York mill past you down the stairs, some even shoot you dirty looks.

When the last person has passed, you take a step towards them, but before you're two steps in, Bucky has taken the glass from your hand and Steve has lifted you into his arms. You cling to him, hands grasping his shirts, and finally, you know you’re safe.

Steve sits down with you in his lap, cradling your head to lean it against him, the other arm holding you tight at your waist. Bucky's palms are gentle when he rubs your back soothingly. None of them say anything at first but the tears running down your face speak for themselves. You made it all the way without breaking down but with them, you can be vulnerable. For the last seven years, they’ve been the rock, the shelter, and your haven.

"Talk to us, Sweets," Bucky's voice is only that soft with you, maybe sometimes with Steve too, “What’s going on?” You try to take a deep breath, but it just stutters. After a few more tries it’s better but you’re not sure where to begin. They give you time, and don't press you on information, like they otherwise do in their line of work.

Finally, you release Steve's shirt and instead, you find the hand he has wrapped around your waist, twisting the rings on his fingers as you try to speak. You don't want to look at them, the shame and the anxiety is running high in your body but you want to tell them, you just have to find the right words.

"You know the guy I've been seeing," you start and feel Steve's arms tighten around you. Before you can say more Bucky mutters "I'm gonna kill him." Steve is calmer and asks, "What about John, Sweets?" He speaks into your hair, his voice is gentle but it has a hard edge. "He's been so sweet since we started going out, but he's been having a rough time at work lately," you squeeze your eyes shut, not wanting to remember, your heart beating like crazy. The memories bring forth the panic and the fear again and your breath gets shallow.

"It's alright Sweets, you're here with us, nothing can hurt you," Bucky's low voice is comforting, together with their touch, and you know he’s telling you the truth. It’s the reason you came here instead of going home.

You take a few more breaths and continue "So I thought I'd do something nice for him. We had a spa day and while he soaked in the tub I made dinner and dressed up for him." Frowning hard, your fingers spin the rings on Steve's hand faster and faster the more your anxiety builds, knowing what’s coming.

"And everything was great until I poured the wine and spilled some on the tablecloth." Your mouth opens and closes a few times and the tears start to fall again but Bucky is there with his thumbs, cradling your face and brushing them away, while Steve rocks you gently in his embrace.

"He was furious," you cry. "Said I ruined everything! He threw the wine in my face, then the bottle across the room. He tried to grab me but I ran out of there." There is a long silence when you finish, it’s just your sobs and the music from the other side of the wall. Then Steve says "I'm gonna fucking kill him," his voice laced with rage, and he hugs you even closer.

"I took a cab here, I didn’t know where else to go, I didn’t wanna go home." With the last words out you feel a small relief. You’ve told them. You’ve told someone. The scene still plays in your head, seeing John's eyes turn black with rage when the drops of rosé landed on the white linen, feeling the fear when he started screaming.

"Thank you for telling us, Sweets. You’re an incredible person," Steve says and moves you out of his lap and over to Bucky's. They treat you with the utmost care, moving slowly, giving you time to protest if you want, or detangle yourself if that's what you desire. But you let them manipulate your body how they like because sometimes they know what you need more than you do.

"You did nothing wrong," he goes on to say, holding onto your hands, letting his thumbs caress the skin. "John is an absolute fucking asshole and no one should be treated like that.” You meet his green-blue eyes that are only soft for you, and Bucky. Right now, Steve isn’t the feared mobster that people avert their eyes from when he enters a room, scared they’re going to end up in a ditch because they looked at him wrong. No, this Steve is your best friend.

"I don't want to be scared, and I don't want to go home in case he comes there," you confess. "You'll stay with us," Bucky decides, voice finite. "Let’s go home so you can take a shower and change clothes." You nod and are about to stand up but Bucky is quicker, changing his grip and holding you close as he gets up. He carries you to the car and doesn't let go of you until you're in their mansion, in the room you have there.

When he puts you down your feet are a little unsteady and they both look at you with concern, but you give them a weak smile “It’s okay.” "We'll be right outside, shout if you need anything," Steve tells you and when you nod they both step out and close the door softly behind them.

For a moment you stand still, trying to make sense of the last hours, wondering how everything went to shit. Then you finally get a good look at yourself in the tall mirror and see the black rivulets of mascara and eyeliner smudged down your cheeks, the foundation almost gone.

The dress is ruined by the wine and even if it was expensive and you can get it dry cleaned you don’t want it anymore. You pull it off and throw it into the trash can, quickly followed by the heels. The lingerie is one of your favorite sets but you're unsure if you will ever be able to enjoy it again without remembering how you chose it especially for John. After a moment it goes into the trash, and the earrings too, feeling like you need everything from the night to be gone.

The only thing you keep on your body is the necklace that was a gift from Bucky and Steve years ago and you haven’t taken it off since. It's custom-made with three delicate chains in gold, silver, and black twisted together. You loved it the moment you saw it, knowing that the chains were the three of you, twisted together through the rest of your lives. When you touch it with your fingers it makes you feel better, because you can feel them with you.

The shower feels more than just bodily cleansing and when you remove the last pieces of your smeared makeup, smoothing eye cream over your puffy eyes, the feeling of fear and panic is distant.

In the closet are a bunch of your clothes, probably more than you like to admit, but the best part is the drawer with their old t-shirts. You pull one out, not sure which of them it used to belong to, but it’s worn and soft against your skin. For a moment you press it against your nose, breathing in the detergent that reminds you of this place and all the wonderful memories that you have with them, before you find your pajama pants.

Out in your room you sit on the bed and look around at the muted colors. Bucky and Steve insisted that the room was yours, not just a guest room, and it makes you smile a little when you think about how much fun you had decorating it.

After taking a deep breath you open the door and find them just a few steps away. The look in Bucky's eyes is murderous and Steve's fists are clenched by his side, but when they turn to you they go back to being your best friends that you met in college all those years ago. "How are you feeling?" Bucky steps up to you and pulls you into a soft hug, tucking your head underneath his chin as you wrap your arms around his waist, breathing in the smell of him. Steve comes up behind you, placing his palms on your shoulders, rubbing the muscles carefully. "Better now," you answer. "But I never had dinner so I'm a bit hungry."

Bucky pulls away from you, cradling your face, tilting it up until you're looking right into his light blue eyes. "Let's go raid the kitchen," he smiles and holds your gaze for a few seconds more and there is so much love in those eyes it's almost scary. You know he would burn down the city if it made you happy, they both would, and that intensity is one of the many things that have kept you from finding out what it would be like to be theirs. You're not sure you'd be able to handle it.

When Bucky lets go of you, Steve's arm goes around your waist and he pulls you into him, Bucky takes your hand, lacing your fingers together, and you walk to the kitchen. You sit down at the kitchen island while they open the fridge.

"The chef made mac'n’cheese," Steve says and pulls out an oven pan, covered in tin foil with a post-it note on top with instructions for heating it. Bucky turns on the oven and says, "Want something to drink Sweets?"

"Soda?" you ask and Steve pulls a can out of the fridge before settling down beside you, handing it to you. You hand it right back "Please? I don't wanna fuck up my nails." That makes him chuckle as he opens it and the sound makes you warm on the inside so you lean your head against his shoulder.

"Thank you," you sigh. "For always being here for me. I'm sorry I ruined your party." "You didn't ruin shit," Bucky spits out, glaring at you from where he is standing by the oven. Steve and you chuckle at his harsh tone but then he leans forward, over the counter towards you, resting his large arms against the surface.

"I mean it, Sweets, don't you ever think you ruin anything by showing up, for any reason," his voice is stern but you know it comes from a place of love. "Thank you, Bucky, it means a lot," you smile.

When the oven is warm Bucky puts the tray in and pulls out plates. It only takes a few minutes and your tummy rumbles as the kitchen fills with the smell of cheese. Bucky and Steve make small talk about work things and you're grateful for them filling the silence while you finally get some food.

But it isn't the nice chicken that you cooked for John that you looked forward to eating and your eyes begin to burn. Even though you try to force the tears back they come anyway and run down your cheeks as you eat. Neither Bucky nor Steve notice until you reach for a paper towel and sniffle loudly. Not a second later you're wrapped up in Steve's embrace, crying into his shirt again while Bucky caresses your hair and nape. They mumble sweet things to you and tell you that you're safe and that nothing is ever going to hurt you again.

After a few minutes, the tears run dry. "I'm okay," you say and Steve loosens his hold, his eyes filled with concern for you. "You sure?" "Yeah, but I feel like I've been hit by a truck. Should probably try to get some sleep.” "We're sleeping in my room," Bucky decides and you nod, Steve too.

It's not unusual for the three of you to share a bed when one of you has had a rough time. The first time it happened was after finals and you all fell asleep in Steve's bed, totally exhausted, and slept better than you'd had in weeks.

Then it was after break-ups, yours, Steve's, Bucky's, somehow you all ended up in a bed together every time and it wasn't sexual at any point, just friends being there for each other and it continued through the years. The only time it was out of the question was when one of you was in a relationship, then it just felt weird, and from previous experience, it wasn't something that partners were all that accepting of.

You retrieve your pillows and cover from your room before settling in Bucky’s huge bed, your feet twisted up with Steve's, and Bucky is holding your hand. It's nice, it's familiar and you drift off knowing you're safe with them.

The room is dark when their soft voices wake you, but that might be because of the black-out curtains and not because it's still night. They’ve moved close enough to you that you can feel the warmth from their bodies on either side of you, and Bucky’s chest is right in front of your eyes when you open them slightly to peek. They don't notice you're awake and you don't feel like announcing it either, curious what they’re talking about.

"We let her decide." Even if Steve's tone is hushed it's still hard. "She is too sweet, you know she would never hurt a fly, she's going to say no," Bucky protests harshly in a whisper. This is interesting, you think.

"Even if you and I are fine with getting blood on our hands, maybe she doesn't want to live with that, maybe she wants to press charges." Steve has always been the more level-headed of the two, good with looking at things from all angles and keeping his cool. Bucky huffs and you want to giggle. His emotions always get him in trouble, even if he doesn’t want to admit it. When Bucky is angry he sees red and when he loves he does it with his whole soul and being. One time you asked Steve how he isn’t dead yet since his poker face seems to suck, but Steve explained that when they’re doing business he is usually calm and collected. When his emotions finally break through, people know they should probably run.

"Fine.” You can tell Bucky is not happy but he lowers his voice even more, and now it’s tinged with something else. “But I'm never letting her go again." His words together with his gentle tone make your heart skip. There was a time when you seriously thought about asking them to see if the three of you could work it out, and be more than just friends. But what you have with them is so precious that if it fails in the end, and you lose your best friends, you're not sure how you're going to go on.

"And you think I will?" Steve mutters. "We should have said something a long time ago." "Well, we can't go back in time. All I know is that I love her and I can't see her with anyone else ever again," Bucky's voice sounds like it's going to crack. He never cries but that is as close as it gets.

Steve reaches over you towards him, you can't see what he does but you know how Steve's comforting hands look on Bucky, you've seen it before. Sometimes they're even sweeter with each other than they are with you, when they think no one can see them, not even you. It's so clear that they love each other deeply, honestly it's surprising that they don't just date each other.

You hear Bucky hum in contentment and Steve gives a small soft laugh. It feels like a good time as any to pretend to wake up. You file away their words for another day, not ready to deal with them now in the wake of what’s happened. First, you need to heal the broken heart you're already nursing before thinking about giving it away again.

With a groan you turn from your side to your back, stretching and blinking your eyes open. They're lying on their sides, both resting their heads on their hands. "What time is it?" you mumble, rubbing your eyes. "Just past nine," Bucky informs you and brushes a few strands of hair out of your face. "And you two are still here?" "Just for you," Steve says softly and finds your hand, twisting your fingers together.

Both of them are early risers and you hate mornings, something they tease you for endlessly. "Honestly though, have you already, like, gone for a run, had breakfast, and then sealed some important deal?" "Nope." Bucky slides his arm in under your neck, placing the other hand on your hip, and pulls you closer to him. "We didn't want to leave in case you woke up." Steve shuffles closer, his chest pressing into your shoulder. "Didn't want you to think we left you all by yourself."

You hum and decide to ask "Would it be okay if I stay here a few days?" "Sweets, stay as long as you want. It's your home as much as ours,” Steve answers. "No,” you correct. “My name is definitely not on any papers for this house." "We can fix that if that's what you want. Just move here." Bucky is serious but you decide to laugh it off. "You'd like that wouldn't you?" "Like old times." he smiles.

"Except I have no desire to listen to the people you bring home scream and moan, got enough of that in college,” tumbles out of your mouth without really thinking of it. They exchange a look but before they can say anything you hastily continue. "Do you think I need to break up with John, or do you think he got the message when I left?"

An uneasy silence falls and Bucky breaks it. "I'm gonna be honest with you Sweets, I really wanna fucking kill him, and make it as painful and as horrifying for him as possible. Death will feel like a blessing in the end." Steve speaks next. "But it's your decision, and if you wanna press charges against him, we'll make our lawyers available."

It’s a lot to take in at that moment. "I don't know,” you answer truthfully. “It still hurts, I'm still scared but I'm not sure what will make it better." "When you've decided you let us know and we'll do whatever you want." Steve bends down to kiss the top of your head.

"If I see him on the street or something though I'm gonna punch him," Bucky says casually before letting go of you and getting out of bed. When his warmth leaves you, you whine and that makes him chuckle. He kneels on the bed and kisses your forehead. "Steve will keep you company while I make breakfast." "You mean go get what the chef has already prepared?" you joke. Bucky shoots you a look before leaving the bedroom.

"We should be glad he isn't actually cooking. Remember when he tried to make pancakes for his girlfriend and almost burned down the apartment," Steve notes. "That's because he got distracted. I mean, I'm glad I came out of my room when I did but the image of Bucky and her on the kitchen table still haunts me," you chuckle.

"You weren't exactly innocent back in those days either," Steve points out with a laugh. "But I never did it on the communal surfaces," you defend with a huff. "No, all we got was listening to you trying to stifle every sound and failing miserably." "Well, at least I didn't break a wall while fucking someone." "It was a shitty wall, never have that problem here." "See that's why I don't wanna move here." "We can soundproof your room?" "Or I can just live in my apartment?"

Bucky comes back with a breakfast tray and places it on the bedside table before pulling out your phone from his pants. "It's been buzzing nonstop since I got down," he explains and hands it to you right as the screen lights up with an incoming call.

"It's John," you tell them, and your chest floods with anxiety as you stare at the screen and sit up against the headboard. "Answer it," Steve sits up beside you, his shoulder brushing yours. Bucky is pressed against you much the same on your other side. "On speaker," he instructs and takes out his own phone to record the call.

Your hands shake as you swipe to answer. "H-hello." Your voice is wavering. "Baby! I'm sorry for yesterday, I'm sorry I got mad. I've been calling since you left, I've been so worried. I checked your place but you weren't home. Where are you?" John says in a worried voice. "I'm at a friend's house," you reply.

The feelings in your chest are conflicted, on one hand you never want to see him again but hearing his voice makes you remember that when he is good he is great, amazing even, and you would be lying if you said you didn't miss him. For the last few months, you gave it your all and you were even prepared to tell him you love him.

"I'll come and pick you up and let me apologize properly," he sounds pained like he is actually sorry for what he did. Fuck, it's so tempting to go back but you know better. You know that this is just the tip of the iceberg, and getting wine thrown in your face is probably not the worst that can happen.

"No, John." You try to sound confident but you're not sure it comes across. "I don't think it's going to work out between us." The moment you say the words the tears well up and Steve starts rubbing your shoulder." You're doing great," he whispers right by your ear so John doesn't hear.

"Are you-" John sounds shocked. "Are you breaking up with me… over the phone?" "Yeah, sorry." You cringe, you shouldn't be sorry. "You scared me yesterday and I feel like I don't know you anymore."

"Babe you don't need to be scared of me, I would never hurt you I swear," he sounds like he is about to cry and a part of you wants to comfort him. "You threw wine in my face and said some really mean things," you point out.

"I didn't mean any of that, I promise. You know I've had a lot on my plate lately and I didn't mean to take it out on you." There is some part of you that desperately wants to believe him. "That's not an excuse," you go on. "I'm not an object for you to take out your frustration on. It's not going to work John."

There is a long silence before he speaks again and now his voice is laced with rage instead. "Then you can come get your fucking things right now." "John, please don't-" you start but he cuts you off.

"You fucking bitch, you lead me on for months and then you break up with me over the phone, because what? You think I’m gonna hit you or something?" "Yeah, maybe," you answer truthfully. "You're such a dumb bitch, I would never lay a hand on a woman I care about."

Both Steve and Bucky stir beside you. When you shoot them a glance they are both staring at the screen with murder in their eyes. "Calling me names won't change my mind, John," it hurts when he says them, like an actual stab in the heart and it brings out more tears.

Bucky leans over and taps the mute button. "There is no way you're going over there, we'll send Sam and Vis." You nod and unmute while John is raging on about how dumb and useless you are and how he wishes he'd never wasted his time on you. "I'm going to send some friends to pick up my things."

"Oh, so you won't even face me yourself?” his voice is unrecognizable now. “You know what? I'm glad for what I did, I'm not sorry anymore, you're obviously a fucking coward and not worth a second of my time." Every ounce of fight is gone from you, you're just tired and want it to be over. You don’t want to listen to the hurtful words anymore so you simply say "Goodbye John," and don't even wait for a response before hanging up. You drop the phone into the sheets and bury your face in your hands, your body jerking with sobs.

Steve and Bucky’s arms go around you but you hardly notice, everything is just excruciating pain, your heart smashed into a million pieces. Twenty-four hours ago you were happy with a man you thought you knew, and loved, but now everything is broken and you're not sure what you’re going to do next.

It takes a long time for you to stop crying and when it finally ends you're exhausted, again. The coffee Bucky brought has gone cold but Steve holds a glass of juice to your lips and makes you take a few sips before coaxing some yogurt into your mouth. "Steve is going to stay with you while I take care of a few things. If you need me, you tell him and I'll be right back," Bucky promises when he leaves the bed again, taking the tray with him out of the bedroom.

"Is he going to kill him?" you ask softly as you sink down under the covers. Steve puts his arm around your waist and pulls you into his chest until your face is squished against it. "No," his voice is soft. "Not without me." "Steve…" "Can you blame us, Sweets? John was lucky it was over the phone or else we would have beaten him into a pulp for saying those things."

"He never acted like that before," you whisper. "I'm just happy you got out before he put his hands on you," Steve whispers back. "If you had shown up with bruises yesterday I might have lost it." "I love you," you tell him and he kisses the top of your head. "I love you too, Sweets, and I know Bucky feels just the same." You hum and let the exhaustion take over.

They have switched when you wake the next time, you're in Bucky's arms and he is carding his fingers through your hair speaking quietly to you. "Wake up Sweets, it's time for dinner."

Even if you’ve slept right through lunch you shake your head and swing your leg over his hip, clinging to him. "Don't wanna get up," you whine. "If you eat dinner, we can watch a movie on the couch afterward." He knows just how to tempt you and you need something to try and take your mind off everything.

"Candy?" you pull back. Even if the light in the room is dim you can still see the blue in his eyes, and the crinkles at the corners when he smiles. "You know we keep stock of everything you like, there is always something sweet for our Sweets."

You hug him hard. "I love you Bucky, you know that right?" "I love you too, Sweets." He kisses the top of your head, much like Steve did earlier. "And I know Steve feels just the same." That makes you giggle "Steve said the same thing." "Well he is a smart man," he shrugs.

Bucky all but pulls you out of bed but he doesn't force you to change out of your pajamas. He leads you to the kitchen where Steve is plating the food and your stomach grumbles when you smell it. They have set the table with candles and it looks lovely but it also reminds you of your last candle-lit dinner. Bucky sees the look on your face turns you away from it and tilts your chin up with his fingertips, "It’s…” he begins, hesitating, trying to find the right words. “We want to replace every bad memory, but if it’s too much too soon we’ll throw it all out.”

The scary thing is that he is serious. If you said the word they would throw everything out, but you don't want that, you want a nice dinner with them and try to get past what happened. Maybe it will help, maybe it won’t but you won’t know until you’ve tried. And if there is one thing you know for sure, it is that you are safe with them.

“It’s fine, I’ll try,” you promise with a smile before turning around to sit down at the table. Steve serves the food and Bucky pours you a glass of wine. After a few bites, Bucky brings up some stupid shit the three of you did a long time ago and through dinner, you reminisce about old times.

Since meeting John you haven't seen them as much because you learned early on that partners were weirded out or even jealous of what you had with them. Right now you can’t fathom why you would ever do that, because these two people are the best thing in your life.

You fold your napkin into your lap and look at them. "I'm sorry for, like, ghosting you the last few months," you swallow hard. "I've been a shitty friend but you always take care of me when I need you, and I’m so thankful for that. I promise I’ll do better."

"It's okay sweets," Steve smiles and reaches over the table to grasp your hand. Bucky takes the other and his thumb caresses your knuckles. "Don't apologize, there is no need." The lump in your throat is from love and not from sadness this time and you don't try to speak, just nod, squeezing their hands back.

Afterward, you cuddle up on the couch to watch a movie but ten minutes in you're already nodding off. When Steve and Bucky notice you're asleep they turn the TV off and Steve carries you up to Bucky's bedroom. "She has work tomorrow," Bucky whispers and pulls the cover up over your body. "Fuck, should we wake her?" Steve asks back. "No, let her sleep, she starts at nine so if we let her sleep til seven it should be fine."

Fortunately, the alarm on your phone goes off as usual but when you turn to snooze it, you instead roll into a warm chest. Steve grumbles and reaches for your phone, handing it to you before seizing you around the waist, and burying his face in your neck.

“Hey, I have to get up,” you mutter. It feels like your eyes are filled with sand and your head is pounding but you have to go to work nonetheless. “You don’t have to work,” he speaks into your skin and it makes a tingling feeling travel through you.

“Don’t be silly, let go of me,” you chuckle and detangle yourself. The other side of the bed is empty, Bucky already up. You drag yourself over to your room to shower before getting ready and eating breakfast. Steve insists on driving you to work and Bucky comes and sees you off with a long hug and a kiss on your hair. “I’ve put Clint and Peter to watch your apartment and Sam and Vis are going to be outside your work all day, Sweets.” “Thank you, Bucky.”

When Steve drops you off he points out the car. "If you see John or you for any other reason feel unsafe you can go to them right away, or call us,” he tucks a strand of hair in behind your ear. “Don’t hesitate. You mean everything to us and we want to keep you safe, Sweets,” You nod. “Thank you, Steve,” you whisper, leaning over the console to kiss his cheek before heading to work.

What you told yourself would only be a few days, turns into a few weeks and now it’s almost two months. Despite your initial refusal, you’re enjoying living with them again. A few times after the break-up, John tried to contact you and every time the phone started buzzing and your anxiety spiked you found one of them and they helped you through it.

You haven’t slept in your room once and neither has Steve, it's always the three of you sleeping in Bucky's bed. It could be because Bucky has an expensive bed that you sleep so soundly, but in the back of your head, you know it’s because their presence calms you.

If Bucky or Steve can't drive you to work, someone else does, your own car is still parked on the street by your apartment and you don’t have any desire to go get it. But you do miss some of your clothes, and toiletries, so maybe you should take it as a sign that you need to go back.

After getting home from work that day you walk up to their office, a little apprehensive. Both of them are leaning over the desk when you poke your head in, their cuffs rolled up, exposing their underarms. It’s enough to make your stomach flip, they look too good. Steve sees you first and a smile splits his face. “Hey Sweets, have a good day at work?”

Bucky turns and opens his arms towards you when you step into the room. His hug is warm and comforting and you answer Steve’s question with a yes, before taking a step back from them. "I know I said I was only going to stay a few days but it's been way more than that now, so I think I'll go back to my place after work tomorrow." You try to sound as neutral as possible, neither sad nor happy, just stating a fact.

"No," Bucky breathes, fists tightening at his sides. "I agree with Bucky, don't leave," Steve's voice is calm and his face doesn’t give much away but his eyes are betraying him, they’re too glossy, too wide, and too filled with fear to miss.

The other reason you need to go back home is the way they are treating you and touching you. It’s making your feelings run wild and you can't have that, you can’t risk losing them too. And if that wasn't enough they've invaded your dreams with their touches and words, making you wake up aching for them in a way that is totally inappropriate.

"I can't stay, you know that," you sigh. "No, I don't." Bucky is frustrated, staring at you. "I really fucking don't know why you can't stay. We love having you here and you seem to love being here. Just stay."

His mood is making you defensive, you don't want to explain that you're obviously catching feelings soon after getting out of something traumatic. You need to think, and every time you wake up drenched, tucked in between them you are seconds away from ruining everything by confessing or honestly just taking one of their hands and pushing it in between your legs, hoping they will help you get off.

"I need my own space, Bucky," you cross your arms and glare at him. "You have your own room," he states and takes a step closer. "That I don't use anyway," you reply and take a step back. "Because you don't want to!" His raised voice silences you not because you're scared but because he's right. Bucky isn’t stupid and he's not the type to sugarcoat things when he's upset.

Your heart is hammering. "No I don't want to," you confess with a breath. "But I need to." Then you turn to go but only get a step from the desk before Steve grabs your wrist. He spins you into his chest, Bucky coming up behind you, boxing you in between them. Bucky's head falls on your shoulder. "I can't let you go again, Sweets, I can't do it."

Your mind flashes back to the morning when you pretended to sleep and heard them talking. The breath in your chest hitches as you look up into Steve's blue-green eyes. “I’m with him, Sweets,” he says in a low voice and cups your cheek with his large hand. “You belong here, with us.”

Your mouth opens and you try to protest but it dies on your tongue and Steve takes the opportunity to continue. "We love you, more than anything, we want you to be ours, more than just our best friend. Live with us, be with us in every sense of the word. All three of us, together," his voice wavers at the end.

The words sink in slowly. Be with them. Be theirs. Stay. Your body is aching to say yes and your heart is about to beat its way out of your chest. “But…” “All I know is that I feel incomplete without you, like a part of my soul is somewhere else, and the only time I'm at peace is when I'm with you two. I can't keep living like a part of me is missing. So I'm asking you, please stay, please help us figure this out and be with us." Bucky’s arms wrap around your waist. "Every time I see you with someone else my heart gets ripped out of my chest and I've tried to be with other people, we both have, but in the end, they’re not you."

Their confessions break down your defenses as their words ring true. In all your relationships over the years, there's always been something missing but you've never been able to figure out what. There's been passion and there's been love but it's always lacking something and now you think you get it. It has lacked them and the deep connection you share through years and years of friendship. Feeling stupid about wanting to leave and thinking you weren’t ready to be with them makes tears well in your eyes. Whatever it is you three can figure it out, it may not be traditional but it beats being unhappy.

"Don't cry, Sweets." Steve runs his thumb over your cheek. You lean your head into his chest, nodding against it. "I'll stay," you sniffle. The arms around your waist tighten and Bucky speaks into your shoulder. "Really Sweets?" he sounds like he’s worried that maybe you're joking.

"Really Bucky," you promise, wrapping your arms around Steve and hugging him close. For a moment it’s just the three of you enveloped in your shared love but then Bucky rights himself and you look up at him over your shoulder, matching his silly smile.

He leans in like he is about to kiss you but he stops himself, his eyes searching yours for something, and it's scary. If you take the plunge everything will change, or maybe it won't, but it feels like an earthquake is rolling through your life, upsetting everything and if you let him kiss you it will be real. But that's what you want.

"Please?" you ask him and his whole face lights up before he closes the distance and presses his lips to yours. It could be described as fireworks, an erupting volcano, or maybe feeling the first rays of sunlight on your skin after years in darkness, but nothing will come close to the feeling of being kissed by Bucky.

It's a chaste kiss with just his lips moving carefully against yours. It's over quicker than you want but in his place is Steve, turning your head back towards him and descending on you. His fingers run through your hair and he opens your mouth to let his tongue play with yours, the feeling once again indescribable, it's just the feeling of right. Everything about it feels right.

Even if the kiss is slow when he pulls back your breathing is labored and you're clutching his shirt. "I-" you begin but can’t find any words. That kiss ignited something inside you, it's like you're seeing color for the first time, everything is clearer and sharper. What even was your life before?

"Are doing okay Sweets?" Bucky asks next to your ear and you nod in response. When his soft lips caress the side of your neck you whimper and lean your head to give him better access, he chuckles against your skin, nipping it and making you gasp. "I wanna eat you up, find out what you taste like everywhere."

It’s a badly kept secret that Bucky has a marking kink. You’ve seen his exes, you know he's possessive and likes to leave marks. You can't wait to have them on you so you whisper, "Mark me.”

Steve chuckles above you. "She knows you, Bucky," he says with a smile. "You too, Steve, please?" You’re almost begging, but not quite, just asking nicely. "You want me to give you a hickey?" he asks with a crooked smile but those eyes are too easy to read. He craves you. "Or a bruise, or a bite mark, something, anything," "Fuck…" His face changes to match his dark eyes. "You want everyone to know you belong to us, Sweets?" he asks with a hoarse voice and you feel the large bulge in his pants press against your stomach.

You nod, biting your lip. "Show me how you do it, Bucky.” They spin you around and Bucky grabs at the collar of your blouse, pulling harshly, sending the buttons flying over the office. “Hey-” you begin but he pulls the fabric aside exposing the juncture between your shoulder and neck. First, he sinks his teeth in, hard enough for you to hiss but not breaking the skin, then he closes his lips and sucks.

It's painful but the act in itself makes you throb. When he pulls back you release your breath but Steve is quick to pull the neckline on the other side and do the exact same thing. He is gentler but when he's done there is still a purple bruise on your skin. "Fuck me," you whimper against Bucky.

"Yes, Sweets, we will. Long and hard until you can't take it anymore. We're going to ruin you." Steve promises before he grabs you and lifts you up, spinning you so you can wrap your legs around him as he starts walking to the bedroom, Bucky right behind you. You reach your hand out towards him and he grabs it, kissing your palm and knuckles. "We're going to take care of you Sweets, you'll never want for anything," he promises with a wicked smirk.

Steve places you on the edge of the bed and stands up, looking down at you. Bucky comes up beside him, resting his forearm on Steve's shoulder. "Look at our sweets, can you believe it?" Bucky asks. Steve turns to him with a smile. "Yes." Then he places two fingers under Bucky's chin, turning his head before kissing him. It's heated, filthy and it's the hottest thing you've ever seen. You squeeze your legs together to alleviate some of the pressure you're feeling in your cunt. Their kiss shows that it's nothing new, they've obviously done it before and you're a little mad that they have withheld this from you.

When Steve starts pulling on Bucky's clothes you can't keep the moan from slipping out. They both break away and turn to you and you feel small in the best way possible. "Did you like that?" Bucky asks before leaning down and kissing you.

The knowledge that his tongue was just in Steve's mouth and is now sliding against yours makes you moan again. You start undoing the buttons on his shirt and he pulls on your top. When you separate, he pulls it off and you’re left in just your bralette. Steve makes a sound in the back of his throat at the sight and starts taking off his own clothes.

Bucky kneels in front of you on the floor, unbuttoning your pants and pulling them off, while you stare at Steve as more and more skin is revealed. He holds your gaze the whole time and you bite your lip when he starts at his pants. His chest and forearms are huge, covered in tattoos but in no way hiding the muscle underneath. It makes your mouth water and your cunt clench.

Bucky starts kissing up your bare leg, beginning at your ankles and slowly working his way up your calve and the inside of your thigh. When you're still staring at Steve he nips your skin. "I know he's gorgeous but when I eat your pussy I want your eyes on me, Sweets." He tries to look offended but his pupils are blown wide with lust.

Just the thought of him between your legs makes a shiver run through you and your cunt impossibly wetter. Nodding at him you caress the side of his face and watch him, the closer he gets, the more you start to tremble with need. No one had ever made you feel so needy and horny.

Bucky kisses your cunt through your underwear, making you gasp. "Please Bucky, I need you." "I know, I can smell how fucking wet you are Sweets." He twists your panties out of the way. "Fuck, Steve, look at her, she's dripping."

Steve, in just his underwear now, slides his fingers gently through the mess, making you tremble and moan, before bringing the fingers to his mouth and holding your gaze as he licks them clean. Then Bucky's mouth is on you, his tongue licking from your core up to your clit.

"Fuck-fuck-fuck-" you cry and grab the sheets under you, bucking up into his touch. Steve chuckles and gets behind you on the bed. "He looks like he's in heaven, Sweets. He has wanted you for so long." You feel his fingers undo the clasp of your bra and then slide it off. His hands cup your tits a second later, making more sounds spill out of your mouth. His fingers rub, caress, and pull on your nipples while Bucky is hurdling you toward your climax.

"I'm- I'm gonna-" Your legs shake and you grab Steve's arm with one hand, the other going to Bucky's head, grabbing his short hair. Every muscle in your body tenses right before the coil snaps, making you scream out your release, riding Bucky's face and feeling the pleasure-filled waves travel through your body.

You slump against Steve's and he holds you. Bucky pulls back with a shit-eating grin, wiping his face with the back of his hand, saying "Fuck Sweets," before he stands up and starts taking off his clothes.

You already feel amazing, high off your orgasm but you want more and Steve's hard-on is pressing into your back. You turn around on the bed. "Move up," you tell him and his smirk is knowing but he does as you say and moves to sit against the headboard.

You rid yourself of your drenched panties before grabbing his boxers and pulling them off. "Eager Sweets?" he chuckles and fists his cock as soon as it's free. It's thick and long as him and you can't fucking wait. You bite your lip before asking "Condom?"

"I know we should but I want to feel you raw Sweets,” he confesses. “Are you on birth control?" "Sure, and I got tested the week after…" you trail off not wanting the bad memories to ruin the moment. Bucky's heat is suddenly behind you, grabbing your hair and forcing your head back to kiss you deeply. When he lets go he says, "Steve and I got tested like a week before you moved in and I've not even looked another person's way since then." Steve laughs "And I haven't fucked anyone either so get over here and ride my cock Sweets."

To say you scramble is an accurate description, quickly shuffling over to him and straddling his hips. You hold onto his shoulders as he swipes the head of his cock through your mess, holding it still for you to sink down on.

All three of you moan in unison as his dick disappears into your tight hot channel. The grip Steve has on your hips is almost bruising and the look on his face is painful. “F-fuck. Sweets. Damn.” Is all he gets out. You lean in, kissing his cheeks and chin and lips, and start to move, slowly, the feeling is amazing, he's filling you up to the brim perfectly.

"Feels so good," you stutter and then drop down hard. "I'm never watching porn again," Bucky says from behind you and you watch him over your shoulder, kneeling on the bed and jerking his cock. You whine in the back of your throat, you want him too, so you reach for him as you bounce on Steve's cock, making him spill the most delicious sounds.

Bucky shuffles over and you grab his dick in your hand, he's big enough that it doesn't fit all the way around. His hand lands on Steve's shoulder to steady himself and Steve reaches out to place a hand on his hip.

The sounds the three of you make fill the room. It's moans, groans, and whimpers, the sound of slapping skin and squelching wetness. Your clit is steadily rubbing against Steve, getting you closer and closer. Bucky is panting heavily, Steve is too.

"Sweets, I can feel you. Are you gonna come on my cock?" Steve is trying to sound unaffected and failing miserably, but he continues to spill filth that rushes you toward the edge. "When I've filled you up, Bucky is gonna fuck my cum right back into you, aren't you Buck?" "Fuck yes," he groans before leaning in and kissing you deeply. “I wanna see you come on his cock Sweets.”

"Next time I wanna feel both of you come in me at the same time," you whimper. "Sweets, you goddamn slut." Steve groans with a laugh and bucks up into you harder. "Tell us more! Please! I want to hear every filthy little thought hidden inside that mind."

You turn to look at Bucky. "I want both of you in every hole. I want you to use me like I'm a toy and worship me like a queen," you tell him, then turn to Steve. "Put my name on the house and celebrate it by fucking in every room, on every surface, show me all of your kinks, give me everything."

Steve's eyes are screwed shut and he's let go of Bucky to grab your hips, pulling you down onto his big cock. "Keep going," you urge him, your release just a few thrusts away. But he's too close and before you can get there he suddenly sits up to wrap his arms around your waist, crushing you against his chest, thrusting up hard, and comes with a loud moan of your name.

You feel wild, right on the edge of ecstasy but left dangling in mid-air. With pleading eyes and a whine you look at Bucky who smirks at you before pulling you away from Steve and laying you on your back. A second later he fills you up, the sound of his cock pushing through Steve's mess is as sweet as it's nasty.

"Please, Bucky, please," you beg. "Yeah I know, don't worry, not gonna blow my load early," he taunts over his shoulder at Steve who just gives him the finger. "Understand him though, you’re so tight and warm Sweets. Makes me a bit crazy. I just want to fill you up over and over again," he confesses.

"I need to-" you begin but he cuts you off. "Rub your clit for me. Come on my cock," he demands but you know something that is even better than your own fingers and you reach out your arm.

"Steve," you plead and he crawls over to you and lays down beside you, pushing his hand in between your bodies, finding your clit. You arch off the bed with his touch, hands clutching Bucky's arms as he rams into you. The dual sensation is amazing and with how close you were seconds ago the end approaches quickly. Your moans get louder the closer you get and both Bucky and Steve praise you the whole way through.

"You sound so fucking pretty."

"I can barely move you gripping me so tight."

"You're so good at taking cock, Sweets. First mine and now Bucky's, it's like you were made for us."

You nod at the last thing and the pressure in your body is breaking, making your muscles convulse, almost pushing Bucky out with how hard you're coming, screaming their names as you do.

"Fuck! Yes, Sweets!" Bucky’s laugh is a little manic as he works you through it. "I'm going to fill our sweet little cunt with more cum." His hips stutter against you before he groans out your name and collapses on top of you. You run your fingers over his sweaty back and kiss his cheek. Then you turn to Steve, smiling at him beside you. "He's heavy," you complain.

Both of them laugh and Bucky rolls off before they move until you're squeezed in between them, their cum running down your legs, making a mess on the bed. Fortunately, you have at least two other beds to sleep in.

For a few months, you're walking on air. In a throuple with your two best friends, amazing sex, luxury beyond what you could have ever imagined. They constantly spoil you and they've tried to convince you to quit your job since you don't need to work when you're with them.

Tonight you're in another fancy restaurant. Bucky is trying to feed you chocolate cake because it's romantic but you tell him over and over again that you can eat by yourself. Suddenly Steve stiffens beside you and since he isn't known to have tells, you immediately get worried and follow his gaze.

John is standing at the door with a pretty girl on his arm, talking to the waiter and then being shown to a table. Next to yours.

When your eyes meet he stops for a second and his date shoots confused looks between the two of you, before you nod and he nods back, then moves again and sits down.

Steve asks for the check and you're out of your seat and outside the restaurant in no time. Bucky holds your coat as you put it on and a moment later Steve comes out too. His eyes are black with hate and when you're finally in the car you realize that you can't live like this.

"I think-" you begin, swallowing then clearing your throat, "I think I'm going to need those lawyers."

[eightmakesonebraincell]

our leaves must fall before our flowers can bloom (teaser)

genre: poly hockey team!ateez x coach fem!reader, enemies/strangers to lovers, athlete!au, slow burn, fluff, angst

length: 1.0k (teaser) + approx. 38k (full fic)

c/w: sweaty ateez (warning well deserved), lots of hurt/comfort, one of the slowest slow burns to slow burn, remaining tags to be revealed with full fic

synopsis: you become the new coach of the elite men's ice hockey team, the red devils. but with both yourself and the team carrying burdens of the past, you all find it difficult to see eye to eye. as you lead them to the championships in the korean ice hockey league, you discover that teamwork and trust is not as straightforward as it seems.

a/n: when i started writing this i really thought it wouldn't exceed 25k but here we are :D full fic will be released in about a week and i am so ready

“she’s the new coach?” yunho frowns in confusion. “no offence, but we’re not a bunch of kids for her to practise being a soccer mum to.”

“she was the assistant coach for the grey eagles,” coach cho discloses.

“the grey eagles? the under-21 men’s championship team?” yeosang looks incredulous.

mingi sceptically comments, “the fact that we’ve never seen or heard of her before probably tells us enough.”

hongjoong’s lips purse sourly as he tries his hardest to analyse the situation with the professionalism of the team’s captain. but with the sudden change in coaches and the same critiquing doubts as mingi, hongjoong cannot help but feel his personal judgement webbing over his mind. over the team’s entire career as an elite ice hockey team thus far–five years, now well into their sixth–the red devils have only ever had two coaches. coach cho has been with them for the longest and whilst it took the team a while to eventually warm up to him, he has been with them for almost quadruple the amount of time it took to trust him.

the team’s alternate captain, seonghwa, speaks to you directly, “if you don’t mind me asking, why are you not playing as an athlete yourself? you’re clearly our age–nowhere near retiring.”

you knew from the very start that your age would make your credibility as a coach much lower, and your answer to seonghwa will not help your case either. “i stopped playing.”

“how come?”

the trigger of memories fills your nose with a sharp stinging smell. you blankly reveal, “i chose to stop playing.” you know exactly how it sounds like to somebody else, even more so to professional athletes. coach cho has also told you of the team’s hardheadedness and strong will when it comes to the passions of their career, so you are expecting the cold receptiveness that you are met with.

your response strikes the wrong chord within wooyoung. there was a point in his career not too long ago when the choice of continuing to play or not was at risk of becoming a forced decision. the way you answer so callously with those very words that had threatened to tear his world apart has his jaw grinding and eyes darkening, and he is not the only athlete in the arena who feels similarly.

“i would rather choose to die before i choose to stop playing. ice hockey is my entire life and without it, i am not living either,” hongjoong jabs and you cannot help but clench your fists because you know exactly what he means. still, you stay quiet as he continues, “sorry, but i can’t respect a ‘coach’ who chose to stop playing.”

at the captain’s words and subsequent move to leave for the changerooms, the rest of the team also gather their equipment and follow his steps. san’s feet falter in front of you, expression hesitant until he decides to voice, “our team needs a bit of time. it’s hard for us to warm up to…outsiders, and i know it might not mean much to say this but we have our reasons. don’t expect us to blindly trust you just because you’re a coach.”

the use of the word ‘outsider’ does not go unnoticed as you nod, “of course.”

san jogs off to rejoin the others and coach cho hums, “guess some things haven’t changed. they were just as prickly to me when i first became their coach.”

you raise an eyebrow, “prickly? to you?”

“yes, believe it or not,” he chuckles nostalgically. “we’ve come a long way because i’ve been their coach for years now. but it took me a while before i was able to break down their walls.”

you briefly mull over the information, then ask out of curiosity, “what would you have done if i didn’t sign the contract?”

“begged you to rethink your decision,” he jokes with a pleased chortle. “i would have to start looking for a different coach, i suppose. you were my only pick.”

“but why me, of all people? there are so many other experienced coaches that you can choose from.”

he looks at you, eyes glinting with intuition and confidence as he simply says, “you’re familiar with their playing style. they play just like you used to.” at your silent processing, coach cho probes, “why didn’t you tell them the real reason?”

you smile wistfully, “i didn't tell them because i’m not here to gain their pity.”

some of the boys’ voices grow louder as they emerge from the changerooms, changed into fresh clothes and their kit bags slung over their shoulders. you hear one of them ask, “captain, is she really going to be our new coach?”

they step out from the facility’s corridor and you accidentally make eye contact with hongjoong, yet neither of you look away. maintaining a steady gaze directly at you, he responds with a slight glower, “maybe, but she’s only the coach by title. i’m still the captain of the team, so let’s see who everyone listens to.”

as they exit the rink’s arena, you feel a fire of determination growing inside of you. you have won over your own demons and you have won the championships before–this is nothing in comparison. whether your next words are for coach cho or for yourself to hear, it does not matter.

“i may not play anymore but i was still once an athlete and no athlete has ever, in their career, wanted pity. i’m here to earn the team’s respect and i will win over them, especially their captain.”

you watch the swing of the glass door as it shuts behind the players, catching a brief glimpse of the trees lining the arena’s perimeter. it is the first day of autumn when you meet the red devils for the first time and outside, the leaves are beginning to change their colours.

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