#my room doesn’t have over head lighting and the lamp is in the corner sue me

[toxicrevolver]

I’m so sorry the lighting is shit. HOWEVER. I COMPLETED THE SHIP.

Eddie (far left) Steve (middle) Billy (far right)

[wickedsingularity]

Avalanche [one-shot]

Fandom: MCU Pairings/characters: Bucky Barnes x reader (but not really), Steve Rogers, Natasha Romanoff, mention of Wanda Maximoff Words: 3757 Warnings: Lime, repressed emotions, accidental exhibitionism

Note: Something @iguess-theyre-mymess​ gave me an idea for when I was doing NaNoWriMo last year, but that whole thing went to hell. There something not right here, with the characterizations. We've discussed it, but then I forgot all about it, and now I'm just... fuck it. There's some smut here, people will ignore characterization as long as there's smut. Sue me.

Summary: She wasn't supposed to be on this mission with Bucky, but plans had changed, then plans had gone wrong and now they had missed their flight window. Sexual tension rise to the surface while they wait in the safe house, and when an avalanche makes them stuck, repressed feelings rise up too.

It wasn't clear what was louder, the roaring wind outside or the heaving breaths of the two bodies that had just pulled apart with a groan and laid next to each other. Neither of the two noticed the wind however, completely lost in the bliss as they were.

"That was..." she started. It had been good. Very, very good. But not a chance in hell she was going to say those words. She did not want to give him the satisfaction, not after the way he behaved during this mission.

"Yeah." Bucky concurred.

They lay in awkward silence for a couple of minutes to catch their breaths, until she rolled to her side, her back to him. "Well, goodnight."

Bucky made a sound of annoyance, and swiftly turned his back to her too and pounded his fist into his pillow unnecessarily hard to fluff it up. Despite the vibe of annoyance that hung in the sex-smelling air, both fell asleep within minutes.

After finishing a mission deep in Lapland, the two of them had been forced to take refuge in a safe house to rest up. Steve was supposed to have gone with Bucky, but something had come up and she had had to replace the captain. To say she was unhappy about it was an understatement, especially because she was supposed to have gone on a simple recon mission to the much warmer and prettier Puerto Rico, but that mission had gone to Wanda instead. So now she had spent two days in the coldest, snowiest place on Earth with a Bucky Barnes that had been more pig-headed than usual.

The moment they had closed the door to the cabin behind them, they had been at each other's throats. He had insisted that the plan wouldn't work and they should take a different approach and she had claimed that his suggestion would take too long and be too big of a risk. He had made the final decision without her and while it turned out that it had been the only way to make the mission a success, it had taken a lot longer and been a hell of a lot riskier, almost too risky. Which is why they had had to wander for far too long in the cold snow to find this safe house because they had missed their flight window, and now had to spend the night there to rest up before heading back out to do the cleanup and fly back. The screaming in each other's face what the other did wrong only served to have the sexual tension that had been building between them for months snap and break.

Clothes were scattered all around leading to the bed, a lamp and side table had been knocked over, a painting had fallen off the wall, and there was a dent in the headboard from Bucky's metal arm.

Silence filled the house as they slept, their shouting and moans and groans replaced with deep, calm breathing. Outside, the wind was gathering strength, snowflakes frantically dancing in the porchlight. When they fell asleep, the snow was halfway up under the windows, and by dawn it had reached the window sill, the wind packing it tight against the house.

It was still fairly early in the morning when rumbling sounded in the distance. An ominous rumble that quickly grew louder and louder. Bucky was the first to wake from it. He was only disoriented for two seconds before he cursed and leapt off the bed and over to the window. This woke her up and she too scrambled towards the window as the rumbling was almost deafening. Her first thought upon seeing all the snow was that she would crawl her way out of the cabin even if she froze her hands off rather than stay here with that pig-headed super-soldier. But then the roof creaked and the rumbling was right upon them, both looking up and almost shielding themselves as if the roof was about to cave in. And then everything was dark as the moonlight disappeared and the power went, taking with it the light in the bathroom. There was complete silence.

"Well shit," Bucky said, quite fittingly.

She looked over at him and not having had much light to desensitize her eyes, she saw that he was very much naked still, as was she. She was over by the bed in one leap and grabbed the sheets to wrap around herself, leaving Bucky with only a pillow to hide his front.

"I am going to go in there," she nodded her head towards the bathroom, "and by the time I'm out, you better be decent and have found something to light up this place so we can see what we're doing when we try to get someone to help us out of here."

Bucky didn't dare to do anything but nod at her sharp voice and watch as she clumsily fished her phone out of a pocket on the suit on the floor and turned on its flashlight while holding onto the sheets at the same time. When she slammed the bathroom door shut and locked it, he tossed the pillow onto the bed and went to hunt down his own clothes and then see if there were any candles or flashlights lying around.

A little while later, she appeared in the kitchen fully dressed with the top of her Kevlar suit hanging around her hips, black thermal undershirt untucked. Bucky was about to pour freshly brewed coffee into two mugs while wearing his headlamp, but the room was bathed in light and the items they had knocked over in their hurry to get naked the previous night had been put back into place.

"I found the backup generator," he explained, pushing one of the coffee mugs towards her on the counter and then turned off the headlamp and pulled it off. "Good morning."

It was properly morning now too, a sliver of sunlight snuck through the half an inch of the kitchen window that was not covered by snow.

"Good morning, Barnes." She grabbed the offered mug and sniffed it before taking a sip.

"I also found some jerky in the pantry." He pointed to an open bag on the counter. "Nothing fresh, but it's something."

"It will have to do." She reached into the bag and grabbed a few strips. "Have you tried to call Hill?"

"I have," Bucky said. "But the signal is too low to get a call through. I have tried throughout the entire cabin except in the bathroom."

"Satphone?" she asked above the rim of the steaming mug.

"Battery is dead. I was going to fix the charger after I had made coffee."

"The charger isn't working? And why is the battery dead? I thought you charged it yesterday."

"I did charge it yesterday. But there is something wrong with the charger, and it didn't reach a hundred percent and has drained quickly in the cold."

"Okay, you fix that, and I'll try to get through on my phone."

Bucky gave her a look that told her he wasn't surprised that she had to double-check the phone reception before he grabbed his coffee and a handful of jerky and sat down on the couch by the small coffee table. She watched him rummage through the bag next to him, pulling out the satphone's charger and started to wiggle the cord where it was connected to the adapter.

She shook her head in exasperation as she reached for the phone in her back pocket, but stopped, one hand resting on the coffee mug on the counter, the other holding her phone, not able to look away from the super-soldier working. Despite how much she disagreed with his plan the other day and the words she had shouted at him the previous night, despite her need to double-check his findings this morning, even though he infuriated her, she did respect him. For what he'd gone through and how he'd moved on from it. For how he took advantage of what he had been through and used it today. For how smart and quick and capable he was and how he clearly knew how to fix a satphone charger. Still, he was too handsome for his own good and so goddamn good in bed she could still feel him between her legs, and she did not like that.

Glaring at the back of his head, she unlocked her phone. There was indeed no reception, so she grabbed one piece of jerky to chew on while she walked around trying to fill some bars in the top corner icon.

It didn't take her long to have reached every corner of the cabin without having found any signal. She had even tried opening the front door. Thankfully, or maybe not, the snow was packed so hard it didn't fall in on her, but it did nothing to help her phone connect to a cell tower.

"I think the snowstorm might have taken out the nearest towers," she said and slammed the door shut.

"Doesn't matter, because I've got the satphone charging," Bucky said distractedly. "It's searching for a satellite right now."

"Oh good." She walked over and looked down over the back of the couch to the phone in his hands. "We need someone to dig us out, or heaven knows how long we'll be stuck in here."

"Aaaand there's our GPS position, and I'm sending it to F.R.I.D.A.Y. and..." He was typing something real fast, and again she was impressed with his way around modern technology with the speed he was typing. "And she's sending someone to get us out right now. I said it was urgent."

"Good."

"Now we wait."

An awkward silence filled the cabin. The prospect of waiting for possibly hours, had the tension growing. It wasn't exactly a vacation cabin, there was no TV, no books, no games, nothing to pass the time. And since there was no cell reception, there was no streaming or even reading the news either.

She went back to the counter to finish off her coffee, thankful for that keeping her busy for a while, it was still hot enough she could only sip at it. Then she decided to head back into the bedroom to disassemble and reassemble her weapons. But before she got halfway across the floor, Bucky apparently couldn't take the silence anymore.

"About last night," he started.

She stopped short and pulled a face. "Please don't, Barnes."

"Please don't what?"

"Just... Don't."

He stood up and faced her, but she didn't look at him. "Want me to pretend it didn't happen?"

She crossed her arms across her chest defensively and opened her mouth to speak, but couldn't make herself say yes.

"Despite what my behaviour last night says about me, I don't just sleep around for the fun of it. I don't just... Not without... It's been just..." Bucky seemed to be struggling to find the words now. She glanced over at him and saw that he was blushing furiously before sitting down again.

"I don't think that," she found herself reassuring him.

"Good. Because I don't."

Silence filled the cabin again, and she was suddenly hearing the words Bucky hadn't said. She uncrossed her arms and rested her hands on her weapons belt. "I don't either."

Bucky turned around and met her eyes. They stared at each other for what felt like ages, almost daring the other to actually say out loud the words they both realised was true.

"Doll..." Bucky stood up and she took a step backwards, shaking her head slightly. Hurt flashed across his face. "Are you afraid of me? Did I do something wrong? Is that why you're always so angry when I'm around?" She shook her head again and Bucky took a step towards her. She didn't back up this time.

"I'm... I don't know." She screwed her eyes shut, crossing her arms again. From the moment Steve introduced him to the team she had been attracted to him, he had that tall, dark, handsome going for him. But there had been something in his eyes that drew her in more than anything. A flash of softness or kindness or... something, every now and then. Such a contrast to the strength and fearlessness and deadliness he showed when he sparred with Steve or was on a mission. He'd been through so much, but instead of letting it destroy him, he used everything that had made him a deadly assassin and turned it into this force of good.

"Doll... I didn't know?"

She snapped her eyes open, confusion written all over her face. The softness was back in his eyes and she cocked her head, looking at him. "What?"

"I didn't know you felt that way about me."

"I said that out loud?"

"You did... But why..." He took another step closer.

Embarrassment burned her skin, but there was no taking it back. Might as well dive into it. "Why have I behaved like I feel the opposite?"

Bucky nodded.

"Good question." She paused for a moment, chewed the inside of her lip, looking him straight in the eye. "I wasn't planning on falling for anyone. Didn't want to. At least not someone I work so closely with. It's a recipe for disaster in our line of work. And I knew from the start that I would fall for you, you ticked every box. So, I tried hard not to." She sighed. "I failed."

"You've fallen for me?"

She shrugged, but nodded and bit her lip again. "I failed at not falling for you and in my attempt to stay professional and keep my distance, I made you think I hated you."

"I never thought you hated me," Bucky said hurriedly, shaking his head. "Disliked, yes. Hated, no. But I haven't exactly been on my best behaviour either."

"What do you mean?"

"I have a lot of luggage. Most people don't exactly see past my... well, past. But Steve did without question. And then Sam followed. And then everyone else. But it seemed like you didn't. So I closed myself down with you. I think maybe I was a little scared of the same things as you." Bucky took a step closer and if he reached out, he could touch her now. "I'm sorry."

"I'm sorry too."

For a moment, they stared at each other, the air between them thick with emotion. And then, at the same time, they closed the distance. Arms went around the other, lips crashed, bodies pressed against each other. It was just as explosive as the night before, if not more. There was nothing in them holding back anymore. Last night had been almost business-like, just a reaction to different opinions and days and days of hard work and ages of repressed emotions reaching the end of the tether.

She ran her hands through Bucky's hair, revelling in the moan he made as her nails scraped lightly at his scalp. He needed to wash his hair, but she didn't care. She was no better, and he obviously didn't mind days of mission sticking to her skin as he kissed a trail down her chin to her neck. She threw her head back, giving him access and he tasted every inch of skin not covered by her thermal shirt. He kept tugging it down.

"Don't tear it," she said breathlessly, tugging lightly at his hair to warn him.

"Then get it off," he murmured against her skin.

Very reluctantly, she disentangled herself from him, already missing the warmth he radiated and the feel of him against her. Not helped by the whine he made from the loss of her in his arms and his almost stumble after her. She reached down and swiftly pulled the shirt off her head, dropping it to the floor. She took a few steps backwards, towards the bedroom, and nodded towards him. Bucky caught her meaning and tore off his own shirt.

Slowly moving towards and into the bedroom, clothes were shed, leaving a trail, but no furniture was destroyed this time. She had only her sensible black mission bra and underwear left when Bucky slowed down and stared as if hypnotized as she unclasped the bra behind her, let the straps fall from her shoulders, her arms keeping it in place. Then, it fell to the ground. Sure, he had seen her naked the previous night, but Bucky hadn't allowed himself to look then. He did now, etching every curve and line and scar and freckle into memory as he walked slowly towards her.

She tried to not feel self-conscious and managed for a few seconds, but then she felt heat bloom inside her and she looked down at her feet, arms folding across her chest. The way he was behaving and the way he was looking at her was so different from what she was used to, it was making all kinds of feelings bubble up inside her. Bucky shook his head and closed the distance.

She looked up at him.

"Do you have any idea how beautiful you are?" he said and weaved his fingers through her hair and ghosted his lips to hers before pulling back just enough to whisper against her lips. "I could stare at you forever, doll." Her arms immediately went up around his shoulders and she pressed her lips to his. He closed the space between them, let her feel how much he enjoyed the view of her. She moaned against him, pressing her hips against his and pulled him back towards the bed, teeth clashing, until she bumped her legs against the edge of it and lost her balance. Bucky tried to steady her with his arms around her waist, but she toppled backwards pulling him with her. He managed to brace himself so he didn't knock the wind out of her, and rolled to the side, chuckling.

"Sorry," she said.

But he just shook his head and went for her lips again. He just couldn't keep off her, now that he knew what kissing her properly was like, knew that she felt for him the same way he felt for her. Knew that both their hostility had been just a protective wall they had put up.

In a tangle of arms and legs, they scrambled up the bed. Bucky hovered above her, kissing down her neck, until she spread her legs, laid them around his waist and pulled him down. She gasped at just how hard he was already and how warm everything suddenly became, and began grinding against him. Bucky faltered a little, closing his eyes. Even if it had been less than twenty-four hours since they'd had sex, it didn't feel the same at all. He was sure he was going to come in seconds if she didn't stop already, and no matter how good that would feel right now, he did not want that embarrassment hanging over his head.

"You gotta stop doing that, sweetheart," he whispered against her shoulder. She halted immediately, pulling away slightly, but before she could even ask, he raised his head to look down at her. "You're going to make me come."

Heat flashed across her face, but she pushed her hips up, moving slowly against him. "Get my less than sexy practical underwear off then, so we can do it right."

Bucky's eyes flashed with hunger as he nearly ripped it off and made quick work of his own. "I'll do you right."

Steve and Natasha sat warm and snug in the Quinjet, surveying the very white landscape. A few pine trees were the only colour breaking up the blinding white. That and the suit they had borrowed from Tony to melt the snow around the cabin their friends were stuck in.

"I'm so glad we don't have to dig them out," Natasha commented.

"Yeah," Steve agreed. "It has been a real big avalanche."

"We would have been shovelling for days..."

The repulsors were doing a quick job of it, melting everything to water and then steam. They didn't want to flood the cabin. It almost looked like the cabin was on fire.

But a few minutes later, the suit lowered its arms and turned around to face the Quinjet, awaiting orders.

Steve pressed his earpiece. "You can come back in, thank you."

"I'll never get over how you speak to them like they're sentient." Natasha grinned at him, before hitting the button to open the hatch and let the suit in.

"They're just a brain cell away, and they do behave eerily lifelike." He stood up and pulled on a pair of gloves and donned the shield.

"What do you need that for?"

"I'm surprised they're not out already. They must have noticed the snow melting away. So... Just in case."

She considered him and then activated her Bites.

They jumped out of the Quinjet and approached the cabin a bit cautiously and then stopped by the front door. Steve cocked his head to try to listen.

"It's quiet inside."

"I'd expect them to be at each other's throats by now, having been cooped up together for so long." Natasha got the door unlocked and glanced at Steve. He grabbed the shield and held it in front of him, then nodded. Natasha wrenched the door open and Steve jumped in front and took one large step over the threshold, taking in the room.

Nothing. No one.

He stepped further in, Natasha following. "Where the hell are they?"

They both surveyed the room, taking in every detail. A strange noise came from behind the only other door in the cabin and Natasha nodded towards it. Again, Steve held the shield up and Natasha wrenched the door open. Steve then jumped into the opening, stood frozen for one single second, shouted "MY EYES" and scrambled away with his eyes screwed shut.

"What the hell?" someone said from inside.

Natasha poked her head past the door and looked inside, and what she saw made a huge grin spread across her lips.

On the bed, were two obviously naked people who had just scrambled apart, Bucky frantically trying to pull a blanket up to cover them. Skin glistening, bushy hair, puffy lips, there was no doubt to what Natasha and Steve had just interrupted.

"Guess it wasn't such a hurry after all," Natasha said, trying hard not to laugh. "Get dressed." And she closed the door, laughing.

[gaygent37]

Calling the Wolf Within - JayDick

I had a lot of hope going into this. I got 4k words in, and just lost interest, so here you go. As per usual, no porn :/ because it would’ve taken another few thousand words to get to that actual porn, and a few thousand to wrap it up afterwards, and that was too long for me. So I scrapped it and wrote the other werewolf fic instead. Also it just started getting strange.

5,021 words, JayDick, werewolf Jason, human Dick, human Tim, almost kidnapping, almost Stockholm Syndrome, almost mating calls, almost explained why ‘almost’ towards end, fluff, borderline crack at time, h/c, no idea why Tim is there, OOC Tim, it’s a mess

For the past week and a half, Dick would hear shuffling in the woods behind his cottage. The first couple of times, he took it as a family of rabbits or raccoons looking for a place to live, but when the heard a tree crack and fall, Dick knew it was something much bigger.

His neighbors said it could be a bear or perhaps a mountain lion that had come down from the mountains. So Dick called the local ranger to take a gander.

“I dunno what to tell ya, kid,” the ranger said, shaking his head at the tree and the large muddy footprints that appeared last night. “Ya see these tracks?” he asked, pointing to the paws in the mud. “I grew up in Wyoming, so I’ seen my share o’ wolf tracks. And if I were to guess, I’d say it’s one hellava wolf ya’ve got there.”

“W-Wolf?” Dick asked faintly. “But Mr. and Mrs. Hanks said there are no wolves in this area.”

The ranger nodded and tipped his hat. “There ain’t.”

Dick nodded slowly, like the ranger was making complete sense. “Okay, so there’s a huge wolf coming around the woods and making a mess near my house every night. What do you propose I do?”

“Wolf of this size?” he chuckled humorlessly, nodding at the tracks. “Ain’t no shotgun in the world that could make a dent in this thing, so I’d move the hell out. Well, that or call in the military. This is way outta my jurisdiction.”

“But you’re supposed to deal with these kinds of things in this area!” Dick said in frustration. “You can’t expect everyone to just move out when there’s a problem to can’t handle! Think of something!”

The ranger stood and scratched his head. “Well, I gotta friend a state over who specializes in catching these kinda beasts. He might have an extra-large bear trap or two?”

“Yes!” Dick said in relief. “Please call him.”

“You got it, kid.” The ranger stepped away for a few minutes to call his friend.

Dick shoved his hands into his pocket with a sigh, looking around the forest. He could see his cottage no more than thirty paces from the fallen tree and the tracks. There were also snapped branches and a dried bloody trail leading to a chicken carcass, more signs of the large animal that had popped up throughout the past week.

Dick shivered slightly and glanced over at the ranger, who was laughing into his phone. Suddenly, he shivered, a chill running over him. Dick glanced around again, but nothing seemed to be out of the ordinary in the sunny forest.

“Good news!” the ranger said, jogging back over. “My friend said he could come with a couple of his huntin’ buddies! Bad news, they can’t come until the weekend.”

“The weekend?” Dick asked. “That’s- That’s not for another four days.”

The ranger gave him a shrug.

Dick took a deep breath. “Okay. I- I guess I’ll just pack some stuff and go stay at the town inn until then. I don’t want to be up here alone when there’s that giant… whatever it is, running around.”

The ranger smiled. “That’s the spirit, kid! Want me to give you a ride into town?”

“Nah,” Dick said. “I need to do some packing first. I’ll head over first thing tomorrow morning.”

Dick awoke to the sound of his downstairs window breaking. Immediately, his hand went to his phone, which was charging on the bedside table. There were several more crashes and the banging of pots clashing, the sound of something very large moving through Dick’s tiny kitchen.

Dick slid off his bed and rolled under it in one smooth moment. He dialed 911 immediately and pressed the phone to his ear, his breathing erratic and loud. His eyes were pinned to his bedroom door, which was cracked open slightly.

“911, what’s your emergency?”

“Someone broke into my house,” Dick whispered.

“Okay, and where are they now?”

“In my house,” Dick repeated, barely daring to speak.

“And where are you, sir?”

“I’m- I’m hiding, under my bed. Can you- Can you please send a squad? With guns.” Dick tensed even more when he heard the bottom stair creak, louder than it has ever creaked before. “Please.”

“Is there only one person?” There was another creak. The second step. Then a third.

“I don’t know!” Dick hissed. “They’re- They’re making a lot of noise, and they’re coming up the stairs!”

“Okay, stay calm, sir. I’m going to-” Suddenly, there was loud thump, right outside his bedroom door. Whatever it was, had jumped eight entire steps up to the second floor. Dick shoved his phone underneath him and pressed his hand tightly to his mouth, not even daring to breathe.

His bedroom door was nosed open. Literally nosed open. The first thing that appeared was a huge snout. The nose twitched a couple of times before the rest of the beast entered the room as well.

Dick’s eyes grew wider, and he felt like his heart was going to pound out of his chest in fear. He could only see the huge paws of the creature, but it took up all the space in Dick’s room. Its tail knocked over Dick’s lamp, and the glass of watch he always set by his bed.

A soft growl filled the air and the creature shifted, stretching down so that its head was pressed against the ground. Golden eyes met his, and Dick let out the tiniest of squeaks.

The last thing Dick heard when he fainted was the emotionless calls of “Sir? Sir? Are you still there? Please stay on the line. We’re sending someone over right now.”

“…look! You scratched up his face!” There was a growl and a snapping of teeth. “Damn, that’s gotta hurt… Oh, wait, I think he’s waking up!”

Dick blinked his eyes open slowly, feeling dizzy and disoriented. The first thing he saw was the smiling face of a young teenager.

“Hullo,” the boy said. “You alright?”

“Where the hell… am I?” Dick asked, looking around. Everywhere he looked, he just saw jagged stone.

The boy gave a light laugh. “I couldn’t tell you,” he said. “Some cave in the middle of nowhere, probably.”

There was a snuffle and a growl from somewhere behind the boy.

Dick craned his neck and peered behind him. His eyes widened, and he tensed. The largest wolf Dick had ever seen was curled up lazily against the opposite wall, its head resting in its paws, and it was staring at Dick.

“Oh my god,” Dick said hoarsely. “I’m having a nightmare.”

“That’s what I thought too, at first,” the boy said, strangely cheerfully. “But you’ll get used to it.”

“What?” Dick asked, staring at the teen like he was crazy.

“Oh, I should introduce myself,” the boy said. He held out his hand. “I’m Tim.”

Dick stared at Tim’s hand for the longest time. He looked over at the wolf again. Then, he took Tim’s hand. “Dick… my name’s Dick,” he said very slowly, unsure of what was going on.

“So, where are you from, Dick?” Tim asked.

“Um… Brighton Springs… in Pennsylvania,” Dick said.

“Never heard of it,” Tim said.

“It’s a small town,” Dick said absently. “Wha- What about you? What are you doing here?” He kept a cautious eye on the wolf.

“Los Angeles,” Tim said.

“California?”

“Yup,” Tim said. “My parents were in Pittsburg for business, and I tagged along. Didn’t know I’d be kidnapped by a giant wolf though.” Tim laughed.

“Wait, you were- you were taken by- by that too?”

Tim nodded.

“And- And you’re not freaked out by it?!” Dick exclaimed.

“I was,” Tim said. “I’ve been here two weeks though, so I’ve had time to get used to it. Besides, Wolfie isn’t bad at all.”

“Wolfie.”

Tim grinned. “Yeah. I couldn’t keep calling him ‘it’ or ‘the wolf’. And I don’t think he really minds anyway. Isn’t that right, Wolfie?”

Wolfie yawned and flicked his tail.

“Oh my god, I’m stuck in a cave with a giant wolf and a crazy kid,” Dick muttered. “What the ever-loving fuck.”

“Hey, I’m not a kid,” Tim said. “I’m seventeen.”

“Seven- You look no older than thirteen!”

Tim gave him an annoyed look. “Right, and I guess you’d assume I also attend high school and nerd out over video games with my friends at lunch.”

Dick blinked at him. “…Do you not?”

Tim threw his hands in the air. “Oh my god, the people of this world! I’ll have you know that I’m in my sophomore year of college! At Cal Tech!”

Dick squinted at him. “And you still named the wolf… Wolfie?”

Tim huffed. “I- Okay, fine, it’s a stupid name! My parents never let me have a dog because my mom’s allergic, and I’ve always wanted one, and I wanted to name it Doggie, so sue me if I’m living my childhood dream a bit!”

“That’s not a dog, Tim. That thing can eat you up in one bite!” Dick said.

“But he hasn’t!” Tim shouted.

“Doesn’t mean he won’t!”

“Holy shit, Wolfie, you’ve picked up the most annoying person ever!” Tim yelled. “You get him out of here, or I’m leaving!”

“You know what? I don’t want to be here anyway!” Dick fumed back. He stood up and shoved Tim out of the way and started storming towards the exit.

In a flash, Wolfie was on his feet and in front of Dick in a threatening stance, lips pulled back in a growl. He snapped his teeth at Dick.

“Wha- What’s he doing?” Dick said, taking a step back. Wolfie took step forward.

Dick stepped back again. Wolfie continued to follow, growling and snapping his teeth. “Tim, call him off!”

“He doesn’t listen to me,” Tim grumbled. “Besides, you yelled at me, so I don’t think I’m going to help you.”

Tim sat down, crossed his legs, and produced a bag of chips from somewhere. He popped it open and started eating, watching as Dick was slowly being cornered against the cave wall.

“S-Seriously, I- I think he’s going to eat me!” Dick whimpered, his back pressed tightly against the cold stone.

Wolfie opened his mouth wide, and Dick screamed, his knees giving out as he curled up in a ball, waiting for the inevitable.

Suddenly, there was a heavy floomph of air and fur tickled Dick’s nose. He waited a few more seconds before opening his eyes.

He was still curled up against the wall, but now, Wolfie was sprawled in front of him, on his back, giant legs up in the air.

“What’s- What’s he doing?” Dick asked, pulling himself in tighter.

“Making sure you don’t try running away again,” Tim said, licking his fingers. “And asking for belly rubs. He likes the spot under his chin the best.”

“Huh?!”

“Rub his belly,” Tim said.

Dick stared at Tim like the boy was crazy. But Tim did not seem like he was kidding, and the way Wolfie was lying, it really did seem like a dog waiting for belly rubs.

Wolfie turned his head towards Dick, his golden eyes wide. And holy shit, he looked sad.

“Stop- Stop that,” Dick said weakly. “I thought you were going to eat me.”

Wolfie let out a whine and wiggled even closer.

Dick stared at him for a couple more seconds before giving in to the puppy-dog eyes. He placed his trembling hand on Wolfie’s stomach, pushing down several inches of fur, which were surprising soft.

Very tentatively, Dick moved his hand back and forth. Wolfie gave a rumble of pleasure.

“Oh my god, he likes it,” Dick said in a near-hysterical voice.

“Told you,” Tim said smugly, opening his second bag of chips. “Get the spot under his chin.”

Dick looked over at Wolfie’s head, which was arched back in response. “Er, how? I’m stuck here.”

“Climb on top of him,” Tim said. “And use both hands.”

Dick was not keen on the idea of climbing onto Wolfie’s stomach, but after another brief stare down with the sad golden eyes, Dick uncurled himself and slowly put one leg over Wolfie’s stomach, straddling him.

Then, Dick slowly pulled himself up until his legs were behind Wolfie’s front legs, and he could comfortably reach over and scratch under Wolfie’s chin.

Dick took a deep breath and reached forward. Suddenly, he was slammed down flat against Wolfie’s chest, his face pressed into the soft fur. He could feel Wolfie’s giant legs wrapped around him.

“Aww, he wants a hug,” Tim laughed. “Lucky you, Dick. I’ve never gotten a hug before.”

Dick struggled, trying to put himself up, but Wolfie’s hold was strong. Eventually, Dick gave up when Wolfie did not seem to move. So Dick just lay there, half-scared, half-confused, with his ear pressed to Wolfie’s heartbeat.

The steady ba-dump, ba-dump, ba-dump, eventually lulled him off to sleep.

It took a bit of getting used to, but like Tim said, he got used to it. Mostly.

Four days into his capture, Dick awoke to his face being gently licked by a soft tongue. “No…” he groaned, pushing away Wolfie’s snout.

Wolfie snuffled and licked Dick again, this time, getting under his neck.

“That tickles,” Dick grimaced, his eyes still stubbornly screwed shut. “Go wake Tim first.”

“I’m already awake, dummy. You need to get up and make us food. I can’t cook for shit.”

Dick groaned and rolled over, pulling the blankets over his head, burrowing deeper into his bed. His “bed” consisted of large scraps of very soft material and larger, thicker scraps for blankets.

Wolfie hooked a paw around Dick’s waist and turned him over like it was nothing. Dick whined, but he eventually sat up and got breakfast going.

Dick had no idea where all the household items or any of the food was coming from. They just appeared out of nowhere, when neither Dick nor Tim was paying attention. The perishables were still cold.

“Bacon! Bacon! Bacon!” Tim chanted.

“Okay, okay,” Dick said with a laugh as Wolfie nudged him all the way to the fire pit.

Breakfast did not take long to cook up – as much bacon as either of them could take, and a large helping of eggs. Wolfie had the habit of nipping at the their fingers for bacon scraps, which would have terrified Dick before, but now, he found it endearing.

It was strange how quickly his mindset changed in four days.

“Hey,” Dick said after swallowing the last of his eggs. “You’ve been here for nearly three weeks now, right? Did you ever take a shower?”

Tim gasped, his eyes lighting up. “Can we go to the swimming hole?” he practically squealed.

“Swimming hole?” Dick asked, glancing at Wolfie, who usually curled around the two of them during breakfast.

“Yeah! There’s this huge swimming hole by here. A waterfall and everything!” Tim said excitedly. “I’ve been there a few times so far, to wash and then swim.”

“That… That sounds perfect,” Dick said. It also sounded like a way to scout his surroundings and gauge where the hell he was.

Not long after breakfast, Dick found himself standing in front of a large pool of water that very gradually became deeper, deepest at the waterfall.

“Wow,” Dick said.

“I know,” Tim said, already splashing into the water. “It’s fucking cold though!” He ran out of the water again, laughing.

“Get in here!” Dick said, splashing water at Tim.

“Hey!” Tim ran back in, sending a wave of water crashing into Dick.

Dick dunked himself under the water before coming up. “Hah! You missed.”

Wolfie lay down at the edge, content in just watching. At some point, he fell asleep. That was when Dick grabbed Tim and pulled him in.

“I’m gonna go climb the waterfall,” he whispered.

“Wh-What?” Tim asked, confused. “Why?”

“Duh, to see what’s up there. To see how far away we are from anything. Maybe I can signal help or something,” Dick said.

Tim looked completely baffled. “Are you crazy?” he asked.

Dick’s expression darkened. “What, you think we can actually stay here with that wolf forever?”

“Well, I-”

“Grow up, Tim, this isn’t some fantasy world. He kidnapped us. I’m going to climb that waterfall. And you’re going to distract him if he wakes up.”

With that, Dick dunked himself under the water and started swimming towards the base of the waterfall. Up close, the roar of the water was louder, but it was not a particularly large waterfall, only about twelve feet up. The rocks that made the wall were at a convenient slant. The only issue was that they were mossy and slick.

Dick pulled himself up onto the first rock, shivering as the air hit his wet body. Still, he continued climbing. A couple of times, his foot slipped, but he was nearly to the top.

Suddenly, he heard Tim yell, “Wolfie, no!”

Dick turned around and saw Wolfie leap from the shore into the water, completely clearing Tim’s head. Dick gritted his teeth and climbed a little faster.

Just as he was about to reach the top, Dick looked back down and saw Wolfie at the base of the waterfall. His front legs were on the bottom rock, but he made no attempt to climb. He just watched Dick with those sad golden eyes.

Dick had to turn away. Finally, with quite some effort, Dick made it to the top of the waterfall. He was very disappointed to find just more forest all around him. For a second, he considered running away, but he thought about Tim – the city boy who could not cook, ate nothing but chips, and was an all-around mess of a human being – and he could not bear to.

With a sigh, Dick turned around again, standing at the top of the waterfall, looking down at Tim. He gave the boy a little wave. Wolfie gave a whimper and a howl, patting the rock he was hanging onto. Dick understood that Wolfie wanted him to climb back down.

Dick gave a tiny smile and shook his head. “Watch this!” he called. He back up a few steps, took a running start, and leapt off the edge.

He did a total of two flips before hitting the water perfectly. It was quite exhilarating. Dick did not get a chance to enjoy the moment because he was suddenly being propelled toward the surface, his body being pushed by the nose of an extra-large canine.

Dick laughed as he broke the surface, allowing Wolfie to swim him back to the shore.

“Dick!” Tim said, splashing over. “Are you okay? I thought you were going to break your neck doing that!”

“I was on the dive team in high school, Timbo,” Dick said, sitting up. “I’m fine.”

“Well, I didn’t know that! It was scary, but also kind of cool.”

Wolfie obviously did not agree. He nudged Dick further onto the shore with rough flicks of his nose. When Dick was a good distance from the water, Wolfie started sniffing and licking him all over.

“W-Wolfie! That’s- That’s completely unnecessary,” Dick said. “I’m fine!”

Wolfie ignored him and continued with his sniffing and licking, occasionally letting whines from his throat. Finally, Dick succumbed to the mother hen treatment, just lying there and allowing Wolfie to turn him this way and that, checking for the tiniest of scratches.

When Wolfie was at last satisfied, he let his head drop down by Dick’s body, his eyes boring into Dick’s, sad and vulnerable.

“Look, you made upset him,” Tim chided. “He thought you were going to get hurt.”

Dick sighed and gave Wolfie a wry smile. “Sorry about that,” he said, patting Wolfie’s head. “I’ll tell you next time.”

Wolfie moved his head from side to side.

Dick raised his eyebrows. It was the first actual response he had gotten from Wolfie.

“I won’t do it at all next time?” he said slowly.

Wolfie huffed and moved his snout onto Dick’s legs, demanding more pets.

It was the full moon, the first one since Tim or Dick had been taken.

In the middle of the night, Dick was nudged awake.

“Stop it, Timmy,” Dick grumbled, pulling the covers closer.

“No, Dick, get up. I want to show you something.”

“’m sleeping.”

“Please, Dickie. You’ll like it.”

Finally, after some more grumbling and insistence, Dick opened his eyes. It took a moment for his eyes to adjust to the scant bits of moonlight that filtered into the cave and to register the face hovering above his.

It was not Tim.

Dick blinked several times to make sure he was not dreaming. He turned his head to the side and realized that Tim was still asleep in the bed next to him, cocooned tightly in his blankets.

“Who are you?” Dick asked. He slowly sat up, looking around the cave. Wolfie was nowhere to be seen.

The strange man grinned took Dick’s hand. “I want to show you something,” he repeated.

“Huh?” Dick, still not fully awake, stumbled to his feet, tugged along by the man. “Wait, who are you? Where’s- Where’s Wolfie?”

It was bizarre for Dick to be exiting the cave without Wolfie trotting behind him or Tim chattering loudly by his side. The moon was large and bright above them, lighting the way.

It was then that Dick noticed that the man was also completely naked, running barefoot through the forest.

“Hurry up, Dickie!” the man would occasionally turn and say.

“How do you know my name?” Dick asked, though none of his questions were ever answered.

Dick felt like they had been running for miles by the time they stopped. Dick had no idea where they were, nor did he have any idea who was leading him. Perhaps it was just a very realistic dream.

“Look,” the man said, pointing in front of them. Dick gasped softly when he saw the cabin. It looked like a rich person’s vacation cabin, three stories tall and very large. “Do you… like it?” the man asked.

Dick looked at him. “I don’t- I don’t understand,” he said. “Who are you? What is this place?”

“Home,” the man said with a smile. He stepped closer. “Home, Dickie.”

Dick got a good look at the man. He was a bit taller than Dick, with black hair and blue eyes and a deliciously sharp jawline. The rest of his body, which Dick may or may not have been admiring to distract himself from the burning of his lungs, was just as attractive.

“Is this your house?” Dick asked.

“Mine, yours, Timmy’s, ours,” the man said. “I want to show you the inside.”

“I don’t- what?” Dick asked, having no choice but to follow the man.

The inside of the cabin was gorgeous as well. The rich, dark wood gave the cabin a warm feel to it, and it was comfortably furnished as well. But the man ignored all of that in favor of pulling Dick up the stairs.

He pulled Dick into the first room on the second floor.

“What’s this?” Dick asked, looking around. It looked like a typical master bedroom.

“It’s our bedroom,” the man said proudly.

“…I’m sorry, did you say our?”

The man nodded.

“I don’t get it,” Dick said helplessly. “Can you please just tell me who you are?”

The man’s smile faded a little. “I’m your mate.”

“Mate?”

“I’ll take care of you and make sure you’re safe and happy,” the man said. He stepped forward, pulling Dick closer by slipping an arm around Dick’s waist. If Dick were not beyond confused by his situation, he would not have minded so much.

“I don’t even know you!” Dick said.

The man leaned forward and pressed a gentle kiss to the back of Dick’s jaw. “You know me,” he whispered in Dick’s ear. “I’ve taken care of you and Timmy.”

Just like that, it clicked, though it made no sense either. “You’re- You’re Wolfie?”

“Jason,” the man said. “My name’s Jason.” The kisses trailed to Dick’s cheek, edging closer to his lips. “I’m a werewolf.”

“Werewolf… like- like vampires and werewolves,” Dick said, unable to wrap his head around it.

Jason pulled back, his expression puzzled. “N…o? Just werewolf. I don’t know any vampires. They usually congregate in the South.”

“Oh! How convenient,” Dick said as a hysterical giggle bubbled up his throat. “I was kidnapped by a werewolf who now thinks I’m his mate.”

Jason stepped back this time, his face contorted in a frown. “I didn’t kidnap you,” he said, his voice low. “You called me.”

“What?! That’s ridiculous!” Dick said. “Why- Why would I call you?”

“I don’t know,” Jason snapped. “You sat at your window every time for two weeks, calling to me! You told me to take you away.”

“I would never do that!” Dick said, a chill running through him.

Jason looked hurt. His arms crossed in front of him, defensive. “You did, though.”

“No, I didn’t,” Dick insisted. “I had a good life, and I didn’t need someone to ‘take me away’ from it. All you did was ruin my life by kidnapping me!”

Jason recoiled, stepping backwards again. “You don’t want to be my mate?” he asked.

“No!”

“Fine.” Jason turned and started walking away.

“Where the hell are you going?” Dick demanded. “You’re just going to leave me here?”

“You can have this place,” Jason growled. “I don’t need it anymore now that I don’t have a mate.” He stormed down the stairs, heading for the front door. “I’m going back to Tim.”

“He’s just a kid!” Dick shouted. “Even if you didn’t kidnap me, you certainly took him!”

Jason jerked the door open and turned for a second. “I did not! He found me! He followed me! He threatened to tell authorities where I was hiding if I didn’t take him in!”

“What?” Dick asked. “But- But why did he lie then?”

Jason just gave him one more withering glare before slamming the door behind him. Dick ran to the window, and all he saw was the flash of a large wolf’s tail before the dark forest was all that surrounded him.

That night, Dick tried to sleep, but he could not, tossing and turning on the couch. The next night, it got worse. Dick could not even find a comfortable position to lie still in. The third night, Dick spent pacing, exhausted but unable to rest.

Something just felt wrong. He just felt distinctly uncomfortable everywhere, despite it not being physical. Dick felt like he was going crazy.

On the fourth day, Dick crawled into the bed on the second floor master bedroom and sobbed for an hour straight before falling asleep. He slept through the night for the first time. But the next night, he kept waking up. By the end of the week, Dick could not sleep at all again.

He had taken to sitting by the window, staring forlornly out into the forest. Dick had no idea what was bothering him so much, nor did he know what he was searching for.

At the start of the second week, Dick propped the window open, his head resting on the windowsill as he stared into the forest.

“I miss you,” he whispered to the silent trees. “I’m lonely. Please come back.”

Not even the breeze answered.

Dick felt warmer than he had all week. The warmth was surrounding him completely, and Dick reached out for more, his hands grabbing fistfuls of the warmth and pulled himself closer.

Then the warmth moved, curling tighter around Dick. It made him inexplicably happy.

Dick’s eyes snapped open to find that he was pressed against a very furry mass. There was a large paw curled around his waist as well, keeping him close.

Dick pushed himself up as much as he could. “Wolfie?” he whispered, recognizing the dozing wolf. He also recognized the cave he had spent much of the past month in. On his other side, Tim was sprawled on his chest, starfish style.

Dick smiled, unable to help the flood of relief that ran through him. He was back, like the past week was just some terrible nightmare.

He lay back down, snuggling even closer and fell asleep again.

---

The second that morning broke, Dick was shoved awake by Tim.

“Where the hell were you?!” he demanded.

“Wha…?”

“You disappeared in the middle of the night, and Wolfie was worried sick! And he was depressed without you here. And I missed you too, you idiot!”

Dick sat up only to be hugged tightly by Tim. He patted Tim’s back and looked around the cave, his eyes lingering on Wolfie, who was sitting by the entrance, his tail flopped over his eyes.

“How… How did I get back here?” Dick asked.

“Wolfie brought you back,” Tim said. “He’s just been moping around the cave all day and night, and then last night, he just perked up and took off into the forest. When he came back, you were asleep on his back.”

“Oh,” Dick said, looking back at Wolfie. He extracted himself from Tim and hesitantly walked over there. “Hey,” he said, sitting down next to the wolf’s head. Dick took Wolfie’s tail away. “I’m sorry I worried you. I don’t… I don’t know if you can understand all of what I’m saying when you’re… um, in this form, but thank you. For coming back for me.

“I don’t really know what going on, but I just know I missed you a lot. Timmy too, but…” Dick trailed off, looking into Wolfie’s golden eyes. “Do you know what I’m saying?”

Wolfie stared at him. Then, he raised his head and licked Dick’s cheek.

“Okay,” Dick said. “I guess I’ll talk to you more when you… I don’t know, change back or something?”

He got another lick.

“Alright then,” Dick said with a small smile. He sat down and leaned against Wolfie’s side, finally feeling at peace.

[bleakcreek]

sleep tight

(nothing prompted this except for my own brain. this is 1.5k words of mostly-platonic bed-sharing. it is tooth-rottingly fluffy. this has not been beta’d and it’s almost 1 am so i can’t promise there are no errors.)

--

“Do you remember when we used to do this as kids?”

Rhett’s patting his freshly washed face dry with a hand-towel when Link says it, and he glances sidelong at the hotel mirror to get a good look at him where he’s fluffing up the pillows on his side of the bed. When his eyes meet Rhett’s, his glasses are already off. 

Rhett raises an eyebrow at him. “What, you mean when you came on vacation with my family?”

He tosses the damp towel back onto the bathroom counter before turning off the bathroom light, leaving the lamp on the bedside table as the only light in the room. With the room’s only light source streaming directly onto Link, his hair looks even more silver than usual. 

“Not that,” Link continues. He’s in joggers and t-shirt as he climbs into the room’s single bed.

It occurs to Rhett that when the concierge informed them that they’d been booked in a single, neither of them had even thought to ask about getting a second room.

“I mean when we used to have sleepovers.” 

He turns over on his pillow to face Rhett as he slides in beside him, and it occurs to him how much younger Link looks without his glasses, how vulnerable. “D’you remember — I think it was maybe the fourth time you’d come over? Or maybe it was the fifth. It was definitely at least the third though—”

“Light,” Rhett interrupts, as he rolls onto his side. He glances up at the lamp. 

Link seems to take the hint, because he moves immediately to turn it off, even as he keeps talking. “—Anyway, I think it was maybe a little after Halloween, ‘cause we had that big bag of candy that I hid under my bed, so my mama came in to make sure we’d brushed out teeth an’ weren’t eatin’ candy in bed.”

“And then Mama Sue told me she didn’t like me sleeping on the floor, so she put my pillow at the end of your bed—”

“—And then you thought it was funny to kick me all night!” Link’s voice ticks up at the end like he’s still irritated about it, but even in the dark, Rhett can see the corners of his mouth twitching like he’s trying to fight a smile.

Rhett gives him a gentle little kick, barely more than a bump of his foot against Link’s, and says, “Yeah, I remember that.”

He expects Link to retaliate, to kick him back, to continue the story, to… something.

Instead, Link is quiet. He shifts closer to Rhett, so that only a few inches are separating them, and rolls around to face the ceiling. 

He’s so uncharacteristically silent for so long Rhett would think he was asleep, if he didn’t see the occasional fluttering of his open eyes against the darkness.

At last, barely audible, he says, “Why’d we stop?”

“The sleepovers? ‘Cause we were roommates, man.”

“Not that. I mean the,” he gestures vaguely at the air above his head, “the sleeping in the same bed thing. It felt like one minute it was okay and then the next it was like — it was only okay if we had to, and only if we pretended to hate it.”

Rhett remembers being eleven years old, remembers Cole tugging him aside in the hallway after Link’s mama came to take him home, remembers him telling him you oughta stop letting letting another boy sleep in his bed before people start sayin’ you two ain’t right. 

He didn’t know what his brother meant by that back then, but it was still enough to scare him back into bringing a sleeping bag over to Link’s house.

“Just outgrew it, I guess,” Rhett says instead.

“Mm,” is Link’s noncommittal reply. “Guess so.”

After thirty-five years of friendship with him, Rhett likes to think he’s gotten pretty good at reading Link. More importantly, he knows that on the rare occasion he’s gotten something wrong, they’ve always bounced back from it.

So when Rhett scoots in, closing the last few inches between them, and lifts an arm to give Link a chance to cuddle in closer, he figures — at the absolute worst — Link might get indignant and tell him to get back on his side of the bed, might maybe assume Rhett is just messing with him. Might even kill the conversation for the rest of the night, but nothing worse than that.

It turns out, thought, Rhett’s Link-related instincts are perfect this time, because he immediately feels the warm, solid press of another body next to his. One of Link’s hands lands lightly on Rhett’s chest, right over his heart.

Link makes an indignant noise at the back of his throat. “Man, why ain’t ‘chu wearin’ a shirt?” He doesn’t move to pull away, though, and even hooks one ankle over Rhett’s. 

“‘Cause I get overheated, man.” Rhett curls his arm to brush the pads of his fingers through the soft hair at the nape of his neck. “It’s hot in here.”

“You are basically a furnace,” Link grumbles. It sounds like he’s complaining, but from the way he turns his face into Rhett’s chest and presses his cold nose into Rhett’s collarbone, he has a feeling Link doesn’t mind it too much. 

“You like it,” Rhett counters mildly. “Otherwise you wouldn’t’ve kept tryin’ to spoon me while you were sleepin’.” He can feel the last of the tension eke out of Link’s shoulders as he keeps combing his fingers through Link’s hair. 

“...Wasn’t always asleep,” Link says. “That time I latched onto you and you said you couldn’t get me to let go so I just stayed stuck to you all night? I was awake for that one.”

“You coulda just told me you wanted to snuggle,” Rhett teases, he knows it’s a mistake the second the words leave his lips.

Right on cue, Link’s whole body locks up. “Yeah, I’m sure that woulda gone great back in our Campus Crusade days,” he snaps. “Or maybe you mean back when we were teenagers, when the only time we could touch without your dad or Cole shooting us dirty look was when we wrestled?”

“Hey, I’m sorry—”

“Screw you, you’re sorry.”

Rhett feels Link start to roll away and immediately locks his arms around him, pinning him in place against his side. Link’s legs go to move next, and Rhett immediately wraps one of his long legs around Link’s, his ankle tucked around the other man’s shin to keep him from pulling away. 

“Let go a’ me!” He keeps wriggling, but can’t get enough leverage to get away. Eventually, he settles for pressing his face into the side of Rhett’s neck and huffing. “I don’t wanna cuddle anymore, I’m upset with you.”

It’s a ridiculous sentence, like something Link might say to Jade for peeing on the carpet, and it’s a testament to Rhett’s self-control that he keeps himself from laughing at it. 

“You can cuddle and be mad at me,” Rhett says, voice somewhere between genuine and patronizing, as he reaches the hand not holding onto Link back toward the nightstand.

“Ugh,” Link groans. Still, he seems to have resigned himself to his fate, and starts to relax back into him. “Wait — what are you grabbing?”

“My phone,” Rhett says. He holds it in front of Link, like it will somehow ease any suspicions Link might have about what he’s up to rather than exacerbating them.

“And why—” Link grabs for it, but Rhett just holds it higher, fully out of Link’s reach, as he unlocks it one-handed. “—Do you need your phone?”

Rhett doesn’t answer, just clicks the shutter button once and lets the flash burst into the room, illuminating the blue of Link’s eyes for one brief moment before it disappears again.

In the picture, Link’s face is set into a deep frown, half-buried in the blankets and tucked neatly against Rhett’s chest. He’s never seen any one person look so adorable and pissed off at the same time. 

“What’re you doin’ with that picture?” Link reaches for the phone again, and Rhett holds it out above his head. “If you post that to instagram—” 

“I’m not putting it anywhere public, don’t worry.” Rhett has the New Message box open, gets about two seconds into typing C-H-R when Link starts struggling for the phone again.

“Oh, no, don’t you dare send that to my wife, she’ll never let me life it down—”

“—I was also gonna send it to Jessie—”

“—Oh, so she can post it to twitter to gain clout with our fans? That’s even worse than sending it to my wife!”

“Sent,” Rhett announces, his thumb making contact with the Send Message button just as Link finally manages to grab the phone out of Rhett’s hands. 

Jessie McLaughlin is typing… pops up onto the screen almost as soon as the message enters the cloud.

“Man, therapy has made you into an insufferable ass,” Link grumbles, shoving the phone back into Rhett’s hands before he can see Jessie’s no-doubt delighted response to his predicament. 

“I was already an insufferable ass,” Rhett says evenly. “Therapy just made me into an insufferable ass that’s okay with cuddling with my best friend. Now go to sleep, Link.”

[tysonrunningfox]

Ripped: Part 24

Guys. This is...this. 

Ao3

000000

The ride to the station in the back of Grisly’s unmarked car is a blur that smells like the heavy stink of Hiccup’s anxiety, blood, and the new car scented air freshener hanging from the rear view mirror. Grisly hums continuously, a tune that elevator designers would find too festive, and Hiccup can’t decide whether he’s better off thinking or not thinking, not that he seems to have a choice aside from staring wide eyed at the back of the passenger seat, arm throbbing from being wrenched behind his back.

He stumbles when Grisly half shoves him in front of a wall striped in foot wide increments, nearly smacking his forehead on a crisp number 6 before regaining his balance. Grisly produces a plastic board displaying a six-digit booking number and Hiccup’s name in block letters, the roman numeral ‘III’ included at the end like this is some kind of cosmic déjà vu, before handing it over and stepping behind the ancient mugshot camera.

Hiccup’s dad was arguing about funds to get that camera replaced when he died, and his presence haunts the room like a poltergeist too disappointed to step in as Hiccup’s savior.

“Say Guilty,” Grisly teases, canines sharp and somehow bright even though he’s standing outside the circle of garish light from the halogen lamp dangling above Hiccup’s head. “My boy, at least try not to look so stunned, I will be bringing Astrid a keepsake when I see her next. Not that she’ll be keeping anything for long.”

Astrid.

Her name snaps him out of his daze and his heart thuds back to life, slamming so hard in his chest he’s worried about it making him throw up what he kept in at her apartment. Grisly’s going to go after her, he has to stop him. There has to be a way to stop him, and Hiccup drops his booking number, reflexively struggling against the handcuffs.

“Now, Hiccup, this still has to look good in the system,” Grisly shoves the board back in his hands and he elbows the wall hard enough that it sparks up his arm, like the time he got caught trying to twist out of his dad’s stolen handcuffs and had to talk fast. “Some of that stubbornness you’re so famous for.   Show me how brittle that strong chin is.”

Grisly taps his own chin and Hiccup grinds his teeth, standing up straight and holding the board at a coquettish angle in front of his chest.

“Be sure to get my good side.” Hiccup is in the system. He’s stuck here as long as it takes to process him, and as long as he’s not in a cell, as long as he can see Grisly, Grisly can’t get at Astrid. She is safe as long as Grisly is with him.

Ask a few hundred Trip Advisor reviews averaging a solid four point two, he can fill dead space and captivate an audience.

“Right profile then,” Grisly indicates that he turn and he sighs, anything to keep sound coming out because if it stops, the paralysis might set back in.

“Wait,” he says as the camera flashes, heartbeat too fast and off kilter, like a hummingbird in a slowly tipping cage, “All Right, in the creepy comic sans note that you obviously wrote—”

“I thought it sounded like you,” Grisly steps into the light, only serving to wash the last ghost of color out of his cheeks, “blathering on like you do, saying nothing of substance.”

“Comic sans?” Hiccup snorts, breathing deep and leaning into his longest, best known role.

His dad used to say that he talked like his life depended on it, but Hiccup never anticipated the real test would be other people’s lives. People he loves.

“It’s easier to read.”

“Choosing Comic sans might be the worst thing you’ve done.” He watches Grisly’s narrow nostrils flare, the first crack in his manic veneer, and the little lively Snotlout in the back of Hiccup’s mind brags that antagonizing Grisly was the right thing to do all along.

It got real Snotlout shot, of course, but for Grisly to take the same tactic now he’d have to get Hiccup away from the cameras, which he can’t easily do mid-arrest.

Grisly starts patting Hiccup down by the desk in the intake room, thin, dry lips quirking when he touches the dried blood at the neck of Hiccup’s shirt and Hiccup turns his gag into a laugh.

“Are you dyslexic? I thought that was a myth.”

Grisly pats his front pocket before shoving his hand deep enough inside that parts of Hiccup retreat as far as they’re able.

“Do you want to hear that I was bullied? That I was small and slow in school and that made me cruel? Does it make your situation easier to deal with if you pity me?” His grin spreads slowly across his face, the only part of him that seems alive, and his fingers curl in Hiccup’s pocket.

“What happened at Astrid’s apartment might be your thing,” Hiccup makes eye contact with the outdated, image only security camera in the corner and takes a deep breath before glaring down at Grisly, “but it’s not mine.”

“I’m doing this because I want to. Because it’s fun to make you and your friends and the police run around like scared chickens in their coop while the fox locks himself in with them.” He stands up, pulling a ring of keys out of Hiccup’s pocket with a self-satisfied chuckle. The keyring reads ‘Benson’ and Hiccup’s blood runs cold. “And as much as you frustrated me, all of it makes catching you so much better.”

“Well Mr. Benson definitely has enough money to sue me for identity theft,” Hiccup clears his throat, “so that’s not…great.”

“This is…brilliant,” Grisly’s breath smells like death. Not rot. Not the cloying, tired scent of road kill in the sun. The moment of death itself, when the electric impulses that used to be human evaporate into the air in a cloud of static and pain. Like he breathes that in and lets it seep slowly through him, preserving him in its singular, inevitable eternity. “That idiot woman is still looking for these, I can’t wait to tell her I found them in evidence.”

“Ruffnut got a fax from the condos,” Hiccup whispers to himself, and Grisly’s eyes sharpen, grin deflecting to grimace.

“I thought you were smarter than this.” Grisly steps away, rooting through a locker for a jumpsuit and shoving it at Hiccup, who drops it. “Your clothes are evidence. You can change behind the curtain.” He points at a small corner of the room separated from the rest by a shower curtain and Hiccup holds his hands up to be uncuffed.

Hiccup takes his time changing, pausing with his shirt off to scrub as much of the dried blood from his neck and jaw as he can, trying not to inhale. He waits for Grisly to make a run for it, to go after Astrid and Snotlout and leave him in the hands of another officer, but he just paces the room, his footfalls padded like a predator on the cusp of making prey aware of their presence.

The floors creak though, cheap rubber-backed rug squeaking against peeling linoleum, the decay of the room protecting Hiccup like history always seems to.

The jumpsuit and the underwear issued along with it are too big, threatening to fall down as he adjusts the orange cuff around his metallic left ankle. Grisly must see what he’s doing because he comments, voice smooth enough to highlight how rough it was before the pause.

“Usually I’d take something that could so easily be used as a bludgeon,” he sneers when Hiccup pulls the curtain back, “but in your hands…”

“If I’m so scrawny, why me?” Hiccup doesn’t pick up his own clothes, instead waiting as patiently as he can feign for Grisly to re-cuff him, far too tight this time, and add the pile of fabric to his evidence bag.

“It doesn’t take bodily strength to wield a knife,” Grisly points at his temple, “only strength of mind.”

“So that’s why you chose to frame me?”

“What does it matter? It’s done.” He checks his watch, which is impossibly immaculate given what the shiny band spent the morning reflecting. “Or almost done. It will be soon.”

“Then what’s the harm in telling me why you chose me?”

“I never had children—”

“Thank God,” Hiccup rolls his eyes and Grisly tries to ignore him, jaw twitching. He’s not a man used to being antagonized and the cracks are spreading.

Snotlout is smart, Astrid is brilliant, if Grisly is loud. If he’s off kilter, maybe they’ll react quickly enough. Maybe it’s about knocking him off his game while he’s still flying high from his morning indiscretions.

“Clingy, slimy little vermin—”

“Right, kids are slimy, not blood or—”

“But I was under the assumption that at some point they stop with the incessant questions.” Grisly’s voice trembles as his volume expands and Hiccup shrugs, forcing the motion flippant.

“I didn’t.” He exhales, “what came first, the Admiral Hiccup Haddock collection or you choosing me as your prime suspect?” He can’t help but be curious and given everything else going on, he hates himself for it. Or at least he tries to, maybe some hate manages to wedge itself in his brain next to everything else.

“Like I said Mr. Haddock,” Grisly doesn’t like repeating himself but seems compelled to tie off loose ends, “I’m in the business of making money, you and your tour are not.”

“But Heather…” Hiccup can’t help but laugh, a real shocked laugh that makes him worry that part of his brain is floating away with the controls and his confident ruse, “are you saying you framed me for murder because Heather is more marketable than me?”

Grisly doesn’t like being laughed at and his expression darkens, like he’s burning through his morning’s effervescence faster than he’s used to, and Hiccup wonders how long the camera will really protect him.

Not that it matters. Snotlout matters. Astrid matters. It’d kill him if he didn’t get to tell her how he feels, but in the context of this situation, that’s kind of a moot point, isn’t it?

“When I told you not to pity me, I meant it,” Grisly growls, rough as his grip on Hiccup’s arm. A purposeful, strangling grip that’s too practiced to make an empty threat. A grip that promises. “I crawled from under the weight of everything that made me pitiable. Born in a country that had no use for me? I made myself indispensable. I took the chances others would not, I made the choices that coddled, weak people could not, and I took control. I didn’t beg in the streets like a dog, I caught the dog, ignored its squeal and made the streets better.” He hisses, a fine mist spraying across Hiccup’s face as Grisly leans in, practically primed to bite, “I take control.”

“Dead people don’t really have a say though, so is it really control?” Hiccup’s voice doesn’t shake even as his knees do.

“Yes,” Grisly checks his phone with the hand not cutting off circulation to the part of Hiccup’s arm not already deadened by cuffs, the bright screen illuminating his face at an angle that questions the humanity of his features. The sharp jaw, the thin lips, the hollows of his cheeks still shadowed like every kill he makes drags him halfway down after the victim, “the judge is ready to see me about your bail.”

“So I wait in a holding cell,” Hiccup’s throat tightens at the thought of letting Grisly out of his sight. At different blonde hair in his hand, blood soaking a different floor.

“No,” the superficial cracks on Grisly’s veneer spread outward along his geometric edges and for the first time, Hiccup sees something like hesitance mirrored in his usually blank eyes, “he wants to see you too.”

“What’s to stop me from telling him all of this?” Things aren’t going according to Grisly’s plan, for maybe the first time since Hiccup stumbled across a body he wasn’t supposed to yet, and he dives in this time with his eyes wide open. “Maybe it doesn’t need to get to trial—”

“Go ahead,” Grisly’s smirk is cruel now instead of indifferent, like the lock is broken off of the predator’s cage and he doesn’t care that the zookeeper has a gun, “if you want to assume I’m the only one capable of cleaning up the rest of this mess.”

He’s not working alone. There must be NWF members willing to step in and Hiccup thinks of Snotlout, vulnerable in a hospital bed. Astrid, vulnerable in his apartment, finally soft after fighting it for so long. After twenty-five long years, Hiccup finally has motivation to be quiet.

He must nod and something in his numbed expression must look like understanding because Grisly practically drags him out of the door and down the hall to a small office sometimes used for legal rituals when the county courthouse is full. No one has to tell Hiccup to sit on the small plastic chair inside. He isn’t surprised when the door locks behind them.

He is, however, surprised to see the judge.

“Honorable Judge Treacherous,” Grisly tilts the title into something pedantic as he takes the floor, pacing back and forth with steps as even as the heartbeat Hiccup saw him stop couldn’t have been. “I understand you wanted to see the suspect in person to set bail, an unorthodox decision for a man in your…lofty position—“

“Captain Stoick Haddock was an old friend of mine,” Judge Treacherous leans his elbows on the desk and looks at Hiccup over his glasses, down his repeatedly broken nose. Hiccup knows his dad can take posthumous credit for at least two of those breaks and he swallows hard, fidgeting in the too tight cuffs on his wrists.

The jumpsuit makes him feel guilty, but not as guilty as his bloody clothes would have.

“Friend?” Hiccup asks, over-used voice croaking around the question until he clears his throat. “I didn’t quite get that impression.”

Judge Treacherous laughs, “I didn’t get the impression dear Stoick was raising a serial killer.”

“Me either,” Hiccup blurts, fingers numb with instant regret.

“Is that a confession?” Grisly’s eyes sparkle, somehow reflecting blood no longer in front of him.

“This isn’t a trial, Mister…Gruesome, was it?” Judge Treacherous curls his lip and Grisly stands up straighter, rigid like a scarecrow itching for dawn. “When will the officer…Ah, here, Detective Eretson,” Treacherous skims through a stack of papers in front of him, “when will I be meeting this Detective Eretson?”

“Well, as I’m sure you can see from the entire case history I’ve presented to you, Eretson has proven ineffective—“

“Sorry I’m late,” Eretson’s accent cuts through the creak of the poorly hung door as he walks inside, smoothing his suit jacket and standing shoulder to shoulder with Grisly, “train ran slow.”

Hiccup never though Eretson’s presence could be comforting, but the way he glares at Grisly seeks to change that. Grisly’s suddenly tense shoulders back the notion up as he turns around, blood leaching from his face like it leached into Astrid’s carpet.

Astrid.

Panic grips his heart like a steel vice and he repeats the mantra of his morning to himself. Hiccup is in the system, he’s not going anywhere, and as long as he can see Grisly, Grisly can’t get at Astrid. She’s safe as long as Grisly is with him.

Eretson must see his panic, because he catches Hiccup’s eye and nods, his expression as unreadable as always and maybe Hiccup is lying to himself but there’s something comforting there. Something solid. And while Hiccup knows that the detective’s solidity isn’t necessarily rooted in his favor, it’s clearly planted against Grisly and that has to be good enough for now.

“Good old Berk public transportation,” Judge Treacherous attempts small talk, skimming through the file in front of him, “I thought you’d called me here for an offense you caught Mr. Haddock committing this morning.”

“Yes—”

“Where is that information in the case file?” Treacherous slides the manila folder towards Grisly, who bristles.

“I haven’t had a chance to include it,” his voice is mellow even as the hands folded behind his back twitch. “but the rest of the file is—”

“Very thorough,” Eretson cuts in, “it’s been my case for months—”

“And yet I’m the one lucky enough to stumble on the answer,” Grisly grins too bright, his façade slipping another inch under Eretson’s even stare.

“Stumble, right,” Eretson raises an eyebrow, “lucky.”

“Mr. Ghastly, I have to say I’m a bit confused to be summoned so early in the morning to set bail for a case I’ve been seeing discussed on the news for months.” Treacherous folds his hands, “if you honestly believe Stoick’s boy is the Grimborn Copycat killer, I couldn’t in good conscience let him back on the streets.”

If Grisly was pale before, he’s chalky now, complexion abandoning its noble cause to cling to the last dregs of life as his expression freezes into place like a wax effigy stretched over limestone.

“What are you saying?”

“I’m saying that if there’s even a chance that Mr. Haddock is connected to everything in this file, I’ll be making the decision to hold him without bail until a trial can shed proper light on the situation.”

“If there’s a chance—shed light—” Grisly sputters, “more than enough light has been shed, I saw him with my own two eyes, holding a girl up and slitting her throat—”

“I’ll need details for the report,” Eretson cuts in, voice level, and if Hiccup weren’t sworn to silence, he might laugh. Or cry. Or hug Eretson’s leg like the child Grisly accused him of being and hide.

“And I have those details,” Grisly struggles for his composure, a predator walking on wet tile for the first time, a janitorial bureaucracy rendering millions of years of evolution useless, “but to issue a remand without bail—to put this boy’s disrespect of the law on our taxpayers—”

“Taxpayers who pay taxes for the legal system to keep them safe from alleged serial murderers,” Treacherous would bang a gavel if he had one, but he doesn’t so he thumps a meaty hand on the desk. “Now if you’ll excuse me—”

“You haven’t even read the file! And you call yourself a judge,” Grisly’s voice cracks like his composure did as he flicks through the file, dropping half the pages on the floor, “the assailant worked backwards through the Grimborn murders, I caught him in the act of the first this morning. It stands to reason that he’s done with his spree—”

“You’re assuming someone reasonable doing the reasoning,” Treacherous looks to Eretson and then to Hiccup, his tone almost apologetic as he digs in his heels. “Letting a proposed serial murderer out on bail would be the end of my career.”

“House arrest then,” Grisly tries, “he lives with a cop, it’s perfect, there’s no sense in using the city’s resources to hold him at an overpriced jail.”

“Overpriced?” Treacherous snorts, “I picked out the bathroom tile myself, it was very reasonable.”

“Also, your Honor, the officer that lives with Mr. Haddock is currently suspended and on medical leave,” Eretson adds and Treacherous laughs before signing a piece of paper, presumably with his official recommendation.

“Held without bail until the trial,” he sets his pen down, “if the boy has already killed four people, I don’t trust an injured, suspended cop to keep him contained if he decides to work backwards through Bundy.”

“Look at the file!” Grisly shouts, the predator’s paw caught in a trap as he fought to remove a thorn, “it’s immaculate, from his research to the timing of the murders. Everything points to him! Every last drop of blood—”

“Mr. Garish, that is enough!” Treacherous stands up, towering even over Eretson, Hiccup’s dad’s ghost finally stepping into a pair of familiar if un-ideal shoes.

“It’s Grisly, your Onerous.”

The silence rings like high pitched static, the fire alarm between beeps.

Eretson clears his throat, “On second thought, maybe this case is better suited to Mr. Grisly’s particular talents.”

Hiccup’s stomach falls out from under him, and he looks around for confirmation that his ears aren’t making up worst case scenarios, like his actual situation isn’t bad enough. Eretson is patient in professional silence but Grisly’s face is contorting in confusion and rage as Judge Treacherous raises a doubtful eyebrow.

Grisly talks first, voice small, “You do?”

“Seeing how this is going, your Honor, I agree with Mr. Grisly, I might have been over my head with the unique complexities of the case.” Eretson gives Hiccup the barest ghost of a nod as he defers to Grisly with a subtle duck of the chin that’s anything but reverent.

“Well, finally someone is seeing sense,” Grisly attempts to regain his quiet, stealthy tone but instead his voice wavers, something uncouth bleeding into the edges.

“You can see my commanding officer about the transfer paperwork,” Eretson points vaguely down the hallway then turns back to Treacherous, “Captain Anderson, I know you two have worked together in the past.”

“I don’t know if I’d say ‘together’ quite so loud, Detective,” Treacherous chuckles, “that was off the books.”

“Apologies.”

“And if that is your decision, Eretson, I’m afraid you’ll have to leave the courtroom.” Treacherous looks between him and Grisly, reacquainting himself with the changing situation.

“I think it’s what’s best moving forward.” Eretson nods, looking every shade as competent and a hundred times more mysterious than Hiccup has ever seen him.

“Once the transfer paperwork is complete and the file is updated,” Treacherous slides what’s left in the folder pointedly at Grisly, who trips over his own feet to bend and pick up the mess on the floor, looking more like the Ms. Moore, the condo manager, than Hiccup ever could have imagined, “then we can move forward discussing any warrants your investigation might need. Anything else?”

“No.” Grisly clutches the disorganized file to his chest like someone just used it to bludgeon him and he’s still recovering from the shock.

As soon as the door closes behind him, Eretson clears his throat again, approaching the desk with a natural sort of ease, “I was wondering if Grisly selected a public defender.”

“No, he did not, as he completely violated protocol.” Judge Treacherous laughs again and Eretson’s smile is slow and reserved, but unmistakable.

“I’d like to offer to represent Mr. Haddock moving forward.” Eretson presents the solution like it’s not impossible and Hiccup and Treacherous trade confused glances. “Is that a problem?”

Treacherous starts slowly, “Are you…”

“I’ve passed the bar, yes, I’ll have my paperwork faxed over.”

“Obviously,” Treacherous nods to himself.

“I’ll be taking the back interrogation room to speak to my client then, I’ll address having him moved to the county jail when we’re through.”

Grisly wants to kill Astrid and Snotlout, Grisly is on the case now. Grisly framed Hiccup. Eretson turned over the case to him, even though Eretson has never shown anything like trust in the man. Eretson has gone from savior to traitor to…lawyer in the most confusing five minute span of Hiccup’s life, and that’s saying a lot for someone who is currently being framed for a slew of violent murders.

Eretson sits down across the table in the interrogation room and starts babbling in legal-ese, the words going into Hiccup’s ears like the strumming of an out of tune base guitar until he opens his mouth, unsure what’s going to fall out until it does.

“You’re a lawyer?”

Eretson pauses, eyebrow raised, ghost of a grin haunting the corner of his mouth, “That’s what you’re asking? You should be asking my rate.”

“What’s your rate?” Hiccup parrots back at him and Eretson folds his hands on the table.

“You help me bring Grisly down,” he starts, deadly in a way that makes Hiccup want to hide behind him again. “And whatever you can get Jorgenson to throw in. Now, let’s start with what actually happened this morning.”

“Ok, ok…let me think,” he tries to pull back the veil of blood separating then from now and blushes when he succeeds, “so I was with Astrid—”

“I know,” Eretson surprises him by blushing himself, the pink in his cheeks exactly at odds with the rest of his appearance, “after that. Let’s start when you left the apartment.”

“Oh. Right.” He rubs the back of his neck, “wait, you know? How do you know?”

“I was—in the interest of full disclosure regarding the case,” Eretson clears his throat, tone more formal as his face reddens, “at your residence along with Jorgenson this morning—”

“Snotlout?” Hiccup frowns, “is he ok? Is Astrid ok? I have to—Grisly’s going to go after them—”

“They’re somewhere safe,” Eretson nods, all business again, “now back to the beginning, tell me what happened when you left the apartment.”

00000

The county jail stands on the corner where Big Top 24/7 Video used to, in direct sight of the back of the police station. Hiccup can see his dad’s office’s window from the tiny, barred window of his cell and he remembers being nine years old visiting his dad at work and wondering why his dad couldn’t make time to take him to the circus.

After the rumors that the pollution in Berk’s shipping lanes was deforming whales were scientifically corroborated in the mid-nineteen-seventies, trucking took over. Of course, trucking companies were worried about carjacking in the largely impoverished downtown Berk, so a beltway smeared a swath of unpopulated buildings into a slick semi-circle of asphalt. And with all freeways come truck stops and motels with flickering Vacancy signs, and Big Top 24/7 sprung up between them like a necessarily evil lovechild woefully holding the family together.

Big Top 24/7 Video opened off of the first exit within the city limits, a round brick building with a conical fiberglass roof, painted in garish red and yellow stripes that allowed a circus motif to almost veil a secret. The advertisement of private rooms and VHS sales likely did nothing to fool passing motorists looking for a reason to take their eyes off the road for even a second, but it fooled Hiccup.

When he was a teenager looking for something—anything—worth fighting with his dad over, he used to wonder how his dad was ok with circus animals being caged and made to perform for people’s entertainment right in the station’s backyard, especially given his dad wouldn’t even let him get a dog on the grounds that he was ‘irresponsible’. Hiccup threatened to do something about it once when he was about thirteen, but his dad assured him if he even so much as tried to run in that direction, he could spend the afternoon in the holding cell.

Again, Hiccup thought that was pretty rich coming from a guy who met his wife at an illegal protest to protect Berk’s last resident population of hibernating black bears.

Big Top 24/7 Video was torn down about seven years ago for the new jail to go in, and Hiccup wasn’t talking to his dad enough to gauge any sort of reaction. He imagines now that it was something like relief, if only because it was one less thing to answer his son’s ever instigating questions about, but he never got a chance to ask.

His dad died before Hiccup put together the truth that the untouchable circus of his youth was actually a dingy but surprisingly long-lived scheme to bring truckers together in the homosexually word-playing name of VHS porn and other so-called erotic novelties.

But from where he stands now? Well, he’d prefer cheap, fuzzy handcuffs to the ones that bruised his wrists as Grisly dragged him in front of a judge who invoked his father’s name like a bar he’d never meet. He’d love a ground floor ‘private’ suite with a VHS player as old as he is in the corner that he could rent by the hour over the cell he’s stuck in now, especially because a glory hole might provide a means of escape more viable than the bars on the window.

Plus, he knows for a fact he looks better in largely ill-fitting themed-garb than he does in oversized, itchy orange.

By early afternoon, even he can’t conjure enough detail about the dreary view to distract himself any longer.

What if Eretson is wrong? What if Grisly isn’t spending the day tied up with paperwork and in fact, he’s already caught up to Astrid?

Grisly would gloat, Hiccup knows that. He knows it in more blood-spattered detail than he cares to remember, but the only thing worse than remembering it is foreshadowing a repeat performance, this time with the ghost of the blood of someone he loves thrown in his face.

He’s never planned a murder, obviously, so he doesn’t really have a handle on how long it might take.   He assumes it might take longer given that Grisly is surely going to try and make it look like an accident, since framing Hiccup while he’s literally incarcerated is sure to be a bit harder than framing him while he’s walking around alleys talking about murder.

But no matter how many times he tries to convince himself it could take days or weeks or even months for Grisly to clean up his mess, he flinches every time he hears footsteps in the hallway.

The stairwell door at the end of his floor creaks open and he wonders if Grisly will go for Astrid first, using the address he sent Dave’s foot to and cornering her. Another cell door swings open, scraping across the linoleum floor, and he wonders if maybe Snotlout is an easier or mouthier target to go after first.

A key turns in the exterior door to his solitary cell and he freezes, plastic slipper squeaking against his plastic foot and tearing the silence like wet paper.

No matter who it is, he’ll be stuck, for the first time in his life, with wishing he had said more even sooner and more often.

The door opens and he braces himself for Grisly’s maniacal grin, almost stumbling from the strength of his refusal to show shock when he sees Heather instead, pale and wide eyed, hair disheveled under a crooked police uniform hat.

“Thank fuck I guessed the right room,” she shuts the door quickly behind her and leans back against it, breathing hard. She’s wearing a police uniform jacket too, one that’s simultaneously way too big for her and way too short in a disarmingly familiar combination of borrowed hoodie and crop top.

“Heather.” Hiccup says dumbly, forgetting how to ask questions when he’s so busy trying to force the answers.

“I knew you were on this floor and I had to guess it’d be a smaller cell since Grisly said you were by yourself, but—“

“What are you doing here?” His second attempt at a question goes better, not that Heather gives any impression that she heard him.

“But I guessed right, so now it’s just…keys, I guess, which one of these is for the cell gate thingy.” She starts rifling through a ring of a few dozen keys, trying a couple of them in the barred gate between them but having no luck.

“I didn’t realize you’d officially joined the force.”

“Unless the cell key is on the other ring in the office that I can’t get into—“

“Was the official police tailor unavailable when they assigned you a uniform?” Hiccup laughs at his own half joke, shoulders so stiff they feel brittle, like he’ll shatter if she keeps looking through him like he’s not here.

“It’s Snotlout’s spare,” she pauses, swallowing hard and shoving one stretched cuff back up her arm from where it was covering her hand. He doesn’t need to ask if she heard about Snotlout getting shot, the sympathy almost verging on apology in her expression is enough.

“Ah, could have guessed that,” he nods, “I swim in his crop tops too. Or shirts, I mean shirts.” The joke falls so flat he almost thinks Heather is going to cry, but he’s glad she swallows it back, since it would probably make him cry too and he’s not going to give Grisly that satisfaction.

“I’m not here to chat, I’m here to get you out of this cell.” She goes back to sifting through her key ring and Hiccup frowns, nearly collapsing onto the hard, metal bench against the wall of his cell. “Just give me a second—“

“You can’t break me out of jail.”

“I have Snotlout’s badge too,” she flashes him the shiny shield in her pocket, “that’s how I got in here.”

“Yeah, I’m in jail for murder, remember? You might have heard the judge said ‘no bail due to serial killings’?” He presses the heels of his hands against closed eyelids, “you can’t just let me out.”

“But you didn’t do it,” she says with such conviction that he wants to ask if she knows who did and he resents the distance she put between them more than ever.

No, they’re both to blame for the distance. He had what he thought were better reasons at the time, but they both said things they shouldn’t have and now they’re on either side of a barred cell wall.

“I got arrested for it.”

“Yeah, but that’s—I know you didn’t do it—”

“It doesn’t matter what you know!” He shouts, louder than he knows he should, suddenly full of resentment for even the implication that she could help him. It’s easier to know that no help is coming than it is to shove off insufficient help in the name of the ill-fitting position of ‘voice of reason’. “You can’t exhume Johann for a confession and you can’t just let me out of jail.”

“Johann?” She snorts, but she gives up on the keyring too and Hiccup’s heart falls even though it’s what he was hoping for, “you think this has anything to do with Johann?”

“Doesn’t everything?”

“I…” She deflates the rest of the way, hugging Snotlout’s jacket tighter around herself and leaning back against the wall, yanking at her braid in frustration, “Admiral Hiccup Haddock.”

“You know my military career wasn’t quite that successful,” he rests the back of his head against the cold brick and stares at the ceiling, “and since when do you call me by my full name?”

“Grisly played me for Admiral Hiccup Haddock,” she continues, slumping down to sit cross-legged on the floor, keys forgotten in her lap. Maybe she just needed to talk.  

As much as he’d like to, he can’t find it in himself to blame her.

“I know the feeling.”

“Do you?” Heather snorts, “he had me go on the news and talk about how absurd the whole theory is, I—any credibility I had—“

“Right, Grimborn credibility,” Hiccup cuts her off, gesturing at his jumpsuit, “I guess I’ve got that in spades now, you know, since Grisly framed me for a series of modern copycat murders.”

“I guess you get it then.” She has the sense to look at least a little sheepish and Hiccup sighs, rubbing his face.

“I’m sure that misogyny makes it worse.”

“Absolutely,” she nods, “I’d look way less stupid decrying the now practically proven Admiral Haddock theory on the news if I were a man.”

“Right, men get to make mistakes like that without it ruining their reputation.” He sighs, “I have to ask, ok? Just…when you say you know I didn’t do it, what does that mean?”

“I don’t know,” she winces like she always has when she lies, looking up through her eyelashes, “you put spiders outside—“

“You’ve worked closer with Grisly than anyone.”

“And I’m sorry for that, if I knew—”

“That he’d play you?” Hiccup hangs his head, running a hand through his hair and trying not to think about the crust near his face. “He only chose you because you’re more marketable than me, he practically admitted it. It could be you in here.”

“The name doesn’t help your case,” Heather twirls the keys around her finger, “there has to be some way to fix this, I—you have to have an alibi, or something.”

“An alibi,” he shakes his head, “not this time, I—I can’t bring Astrid into this. Not again, especially not now.”

“She’s been involved the whole time! Hell, she was just a suspect—”

“I just can’t.”

“What’s so different about now?” Heather looks like his friend when she’s worried and there are a million logical ways to answer that question. He could start with Grisly and end there, but instead the day catches up to him and his resolve breaks, his last important secret falling out of his mouth.

“Because I love her.”

“Oh.” Heather bites her lip, uncharacteristically quiet as she fidgets, scraping some gum off of the sole of her boot with a fingernail.

“Oh?” He prods.

“Does she—I mean does she know?” She continues before he can answer, slouching a little further against the wall, “as in does she know there’s a possibility of it?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Does she know that she’s your alibi for last night in particular?” Heather gestures at nothing, verging on frustrated and Hiccup frowns at her.

“Considering she was in my apartment with me all night and we slept together, I’m pretty sure she’s aware that we were together. Why do you ask?”

“Ok, ok, no need to be so defensive,” Heather holds her hands up.

“No need? Not like you just inferred I was stalking Astrid—”

“You hang out in a lot of creepy alleys near her apartment,” she laughs, “I had to check.”

“Your confidence in me—or lack-there-of is…” He trails off, “I missed it. I—friends? Please? I don’t need any other enemies.”

“Yeah,” she nods, “no one will believe me if I publish Johann now anyway…” Something in his expression wards her off of the topic like even she’s hesitant to rock a newly patched boat. “If we’re friends again, does that mean I get to give you relationship advice?”

“No—”

“Shouldn’t it be up to Astrid if she wants to be involved or not?”

“I just…Not this time, it’s too much to risk, I can’t…of course she’d want to be involved and—”

“Well then, what the hell else am I supposed to do? You won’t let me break you out, you won’t let me find your alibi, I’ve been working for the guy that got you into this mess and defamed me and there’s nothing I can do to redeem myself?”

He likes that she phrases it in terms of redeeming herself, not helping him. It makes it distant, comfortable, and gives him analytical breathing room he hasn’t had all day.

What could Heather do?

What hole exists in Grisly’s perfect plan that Heather could bore into? Hell, how’d he get so much right about Grimborn going off of Heather’s sensationalized tour information and an Admiral Hiccup Haddock book?

“That’s it!” Hiccup sits up straight, lowering his voice at Heather’s alarmed expression. “He had to fuck up somewhere. Not on the framing for murder, obviously, he’s good at that, but at the Grimborn. If he’s saying I did it to mimic Grimborn and you find somewhere in my Grimborn research that I disagree with what the modern case says—”

“Then it points to someone with a different Grimborn theory than you,” she stands up, tucking the stolen keys carefully in Snotlout’s jacket pocket. “It’s something, I can do that.”

“It might be enough, I think Grisly’s starting to crack under the pressure.” Hiccup lets himself hope for a second, not so long that he can’t shut it down before the long, lonely night ahead, but enough to make the dull light through the window seem livable. “Get in touch with Eretson, he seems to know where Astrid and Snotlout are, they can help.”

“Right, like I’d ask Snotlout for help with research this important.”

“No, I mean Astrid, she’s…she’s brilliant, ok?”

“I’ll keep an eye on her,” Heather scoffs, voice soft as she reaches for the handle to the room’s outer door, fingers lingering on the knob for a second, “take care of yourself, don’t drop the soap or—”

“Don’t remind me, I already had Grisly in my front pocket today, just…go. Don’t get caught stealing Snotlout’s keys.”

“Right,” Heather nods, somehow leaving the room a little more hopeful, if lonelier, than she found it.

[so-langdon]

Inexperienced - Duncan Shepherd x Fem! Reader! (Final Part)

Summary: After months of dating, Y/N and Duncan confess their deeper feelings for each other.

Warnings: Virgin! reader, sMuT, foreplay (female receiving), soft! dom! sweet! Duncan, light praise kink, some swearing, cliche settings (SUE ME), lots of fluff soz

A/N: I thought about making this a series with a bunch of first time stuff between reader and Duncan, but I figured ending it on this note would be better.

Tagged!: @hecohansen31 , @gypsylilacs , @michaelsapostle , @rocketgirl2410 , @saltyshaggymeme , @fallenangel4996 , @1-800-bitchcraft , (tagged some who I thought would like to be <3)

Inseparable was truly the best word to describe the relationship between Duncan and Y/N. They’ve been dating for months, and ever since getting together that night, they’ve been attached at the hip. They were apart when they went in for their own work, or had visits with their family, or when going out of town for work in Duncan’s case. But whenever otherwise they could be together, they were, wanting to be in each other’s company.

It was a healthy relationship, the two communicating and expressing their feelings about certain things when it came to it. They argued and bickered sometimes, but mostly just communicated about the issue at hand instead of letting it build.

Y/N first opening up about her nerves and inexperience really set the foundation for their relationship as they took things slow and easy, letting a bond grow between them as they connected over the months and fell more for each other.

Y/N and Duncan still hadn’t gone all the way, though they had reached milestones in other intimate ways. Duncan was always respectful and understanding of her position, wanting to make sure she was always comfortable with what they did and never made her feel rushed or obligated.

Though they were inseparable, had a great connection and fell more for each other as time went on, they still hadn’t said “I love you” yet. But it’d been on each of their minds for quite awhile.

~

One evening down the road, Duncan and Y/N were laid on the couch together, watching a movie on Netflix. It was a quiet, relaxing night as they lounged on the sofa together, not wanting to go out and drink or meet up with friends on that Saturday. It was too rainy and cold to go anywhere.

Duncan preferred spending nights in with Y/N anyway as he always missed her throughout the busy work week and wanted to catch up on lost time. Though Duncan made it routine for him to visit Y/N at work each week at some point to take her to lunch for her break, or dinner after she got off. 

Y/N would sometimes tell him no, saying she had too much work to do for his mother, trying to stay professional. But that didn’t stop Duncan from taking care of it and winning in the end. Annette loved Y/N as her personal assistant, and girlfriend now of Duncan, too. So it was never a real issue. 

But Duncan could just never get enough of Y/N, and therefore could never stay away for too long.

Y/N had been paying attention to the movie of course, laughing over the dialogue and making some commentary sometimes as she laid back on the couch with her legs tucked underneath her. Her side rested against Duncan as he had an arm wrapped around her comfortably, one of his legs crossed over the other as he laid back.

What she didn’t seem to notice was how Duncan was watching her more than the movie. His smile was hard to miss as he gazed at her, loving the way she laughs, the different expressions she made as she watched, the little mannerisms she showed. 

Y/N turns her head to Duncan when she feels his eyes on her, raising her own when seeing him. “What?” Duncan shakes his head, “Nothing.” “You’re staring at me,” Y/N points out. Duncan grins, “So?” “The movie is this way,” she gestures, pointing a finger to the television screen. “Are you bored?” “No,” Duncan answers. “I just like looking at you. Is that such a crime?” “Just creepy,” Y/N jokes. Duncan chuckles. “You’d stare at yourself too if you saw what I saw.” Y/N gives a shy smile. She leans over, giving him a kiss. “Still creepy though.” Duncan rolls his eyes with a smile. “Right. Well, I’m not gonna apologize for it. It’s your fault, anyway.” “Mine,” she laughs. “How is it my fault you always stare at me?” “Because, you’re the one that’s so beautiful,” Duncan tells her, reaching over and kissing her cheek. Y/N smiles, laughing a bit as she feels the stubble on his face brush against her. “You’re just so gorgeous, I can’t get enough of you.” She looks at him, smiling. “And your smile, fuck,” Duncan pushes hair behind her ear. “You’re just so stunning,” he leans over, kissing her. Y/N giggles a bit in the kiss, and leans back, falling backward onto the couch as Duncan leans over her. Resting against her carefully, he kisses all over her face, from her cheeks and nose and lips again. “Duncan,” she laughs, turning her head and pushing up on him. “You’re so mushy,” she says, looking at him. “And?” Duncan brushes his lips against hers before kissing her again, smiling down at her. Y/N shakes her head, grinning up at him, staring into his beautiful blue eyes, that stare right back into her with a fire. She pushes a hand through his brunette locks, letting the words, “I love you,” slip out. But then she frowns, panic showing across her face just a split second after as her eyes widen a bit. Duncan raises his eyes, pleasantly surprised by her words. “What did you say?” He asks. “Oh my gosh,” she mumbles, embarrassed. “I, uhm,” she trails off. “You do?” Duncan asks next. “Really?” His tone full of hope. “I-- I didn’t mean to say it,” she stutters. “I mean, I did.” She shakes her head, “I just, I don’t know. It slipped out. I don’t want to freak you out.” “No, no, you haven’t,” he says and sits up, pulling her to sit up too beside him. He cups her cheek softly, looking her over as she looks at him with still a bit of panic, but finding her adorable and cute as ever. “I love you, too,” he says, smiling. Y/N raises her eyes. “I’ve been wanting to tell you for months,” Duncan explains. “I just didn’t want to scare you off.” Y/N presses her lips together before smiling. “I never wanted to cause you to feel pressured to say it back, or anything else. But I’ve been in love with you for so long, it seems,” Duncan adds. She leans over, kissing him, grabbing his face in her hands. “Why are you actually perfect? This isn’t fair.” Duncan grins, kissing her again. Grabbing onto her wrists as her hands still hold his face, he leans over on her again, keeping his lips to her and adjusts to hovering over her body. He lays between her bent legs, kissing her sweeter, but more deep, a fire building deep inside and lighting ablaze through them. Pulling back for a moment, Duncan looks down at her, his hand holding at the base of her neck and back of her head. His thumb brushes against her, body pressed firmly but comfortably to her. “I love you,” he says. “You’re the perfect one -- perfect for me.” Y/N smiles warmly. “I love you -- But that was so cheesy.” “Damned if I do, damned if I don’t,” he sighs out playfully. “You just bring it out of me, alright.” Y/N laughs a bit, her thumb brushing against the stubble on his cheek. “Doesn’t mean it’s not true though,” Duncan says, leaning down and kissing her again.  The corners of Y/N’s mouth raise when Duncan kisses her, wrapping her arms around his neck. Duncan’s hands move down to her waist, holding her as he kisses her, the two forgetting about the world, each feeling like this is where they’re meant to be.  Y/N pulls away from Duncan, turning her head, causing Duncan’s lips to fall to her neck, allowing him to kiss along her skin softly. He plants gentle kisses against her, making Y/N sigh out contently and close her eyes.  She knows in this moment, being with Duncan in any and every way possible, is all she’ll ever want. “Duncan,” Y/N says after a few seconds, opening her eyes.  “Mhm,” Duncan hums against her, still trailing a series of kisses against her. “What, baby?” He asks sweetly, lifting his head, looking down at her, bringing his hand up and pushing hair out of her face, even though it wasn’t in the way. She flushes a bit, trying to think of the right words to say. “What if I told you, I was -- ready?” She says quietly, but swallows her shyness down, knowing this is the right moment. Duncan raises his eyes, not needing to question her on what she means. He knew what she meant, and he wanted her, of course he did. He wanted to show her how he felt for her, make her feel how he felt for her, express the love he has for her. But he respected her, never wanting to push, not wanting her to do anything until she was ready. “Are you sure,” he asks, wanting to make sure this was something she really wanted to do. She nods. “Yes.” “Don’t feel you need to do anything just because we’ve said I love you now. We don’t have to do this,” he explains. “As much as I want to, we can wait. I want to make sure you’re really ready for it.” “Duncan, I’m not some confused adolescent or something,” she grins. “I’m ready, I -- I want to do this with you. The only reason why I’ve waited was because I wanted to wait until I felt comfortable, and had someone I knew I could trust, and love. And I do, with you.” He smiles warmly, hearing her words, his heart swelling. Leaning down to kiss her again, he holds her face, a longing spreading through him for her, knowing she’ll never know how much he truly does love her.

~

Y/N smiles to herself, sitting on Duncan’s bed quietly as she watches Duncan walk around his room. Duncan’s taken it upon himself to place candles variously around, lighting them and giving the bedroom a warm and gentle glow alongside the lamp on the nightstand. Y/N thinks to herself about how cliche it is, watching all of this unfold as Duncan seems very focused on giving the room a relaxing vibe.

Y/N always imagined her first time would be in a setting with plenty of candles, rose petals, champagne, fireworks going off, all the works. It was the romantic in her she knew, seeing all the Hollywood movies and reading about it in books throughout her life. She knew it wasn’t actually realistic, or at least not very common. Deep down she knew her first time wouldn’t be as magical as it is in the movies or something, and probably more so awkward and nerve-wracking.

But with Duncan now, this could be happening anywhere for them and it would be magical and perfect to her. As long as she was with Duncan, as long as it was with him; with this man she has so clearly fallen in love with; it didn’t matter. And yet, candles were apart of this experience now too like she always hoped for secretly. It just made her more excited and assured, knowing this is the right decision, with the right person, and the right time.

“You don’t have to go through all of this trouble, you know,” Y/N says as Duncan walks over to her, setting the lighter down on the nightstand. He looks at her, grinning. “It’s no trouble at all.” “It’s a bit.. extra, don’t you think,” Y/N teases. Duncan shrugs, “So what if it is. Does that make it wrong? You want me to take the candles away?” “No,” Y/N frets. “I love it, actually,” she flushes a bit. “I just, don’t want you to feel pressured to do anything over the top for me.” “I want to do this,” he smiles genuinely. “I know this is important to you, and it is for me too. I want to show you how much I love you, in every way I can,” Duncan states, grabbing her hands and standing her up off the bed. Y/N smiles, gazing up into his dreamy blue eyes. “It sets the mood and gets everything going anyway,” he winks and drops her hands, walking to the bedroom door. Y/N crosses her arms, grinning and shaking her head a bit. “You’re full of it, you know that?” Duncan closes the bedroom door, even though there’s no one else home in the house. He grins when he turns, walking back over to her. “You’re gonna be full of me in a minute.” “Duncan,” Y/N gasps, hitting his shoulder playfully over his reply as he reaches back to her. Duncan laughs a bit over her reaction, grabbing her waist and pulling her into his body, his lips pressing to hers. Y/N immediately smiles into the kiss, her hands grabbing onto Duncan’s biceps as she kisses him back. Whether it was a quick peck on the lips, or a full heated make out session, a soft passion always began stirring between them, causing the both of them to be overcome with complete giddiness and contentment. This time was no different, if anything, seeming to be growing more.

Y/N moves her arms to around his neck, Duncan moving his arms down to her lower waist, picking her up and making her squeal and giggle in the kiss as he lifts her, causing her to pull back. Y/N’s legs instinctively wrap around Duncan’s torso as he holds her up, Y/N beaming down at him. She leans down, kissing him again as Duncan steps to his bed. He kneels onto it, laying her back gently as he crawls over her, face hovering over hers.

Y/N’s eyes trail over his face, looking into his eyes, seeing the sincerity in them, the way he gazes down at her, seeming to be memorizing her face, as if he hadn’t looked at her a million times. She brings a hand to his head, pushing her fingers through his brunette locks, trailing her fingertips to his jaw, brushing along the stubble on his face.

Duncan leans in, kissing her slowly, cupping her cheek as he does. He melts into the feeling of her lips against his, deepening it, knowing he’ll never get tired of kissing her. “It’s one of my favorite pastimes,” he often told her when Y/N would joke about the amount of kisses Duncan gave her.

Gradually deepening the kiss, wanting to savor the feeling of her lips on his as if he was going to lose her, he begins trailing his lips against her jaw, towards her neck, planting a series of soft kisses against her. Kissing was such an underrated part of foreplay. People always jumped into the sex too fast, trying to achieve the one goal and then being done with it. Duncan was guilty of it with his past flings, but that was mutual and not serious.

With Y/N, it was obviously different. He didn’t want to rush into any of it, to just hurry and get it over with. He wanted to make sure it was special, memorable and that she felt the love Duncan has for her. As cheesy and cliche as it was, Duncan wanted to not just fuck her, not just have sex, not just get himself off. He wanted to make actual love to her, make her feel good, show her he cherished her.

Y/N’s eyes close over the tenderness of Duncan’s soft lips against her, the contrast of stubble brushing against her, biting down on her lip as she feels her breathing starting to become shallow. Duncan always had this effect on her, seeming to take her breath away one way or another.

As Duncan continues to kiss Y/N along her neck and jaw gingerly, Y/N lets one of her hands trail down, brushing it towards Duncan’s body between them. She could easily feel the hardness of Duncan’s cock pressing against her through his clothes, so she presses her hand against him, palming and rubbing against him through his black jeans. Duncan moans a bit against her, hardening even more when feeling her touch.  But he pulls back from kissing her, grabbing her hand between them to pull away and stop. Y/N feels embarrassed over this rejection of Duncan removing her hand, causing her to shrink back. “Sorry,” she whispers. “No, no, don’t be sorry,” Duncan assures her, raising his eyes as he sees the worry on her face. “You didn’t do anything wrong.” “Then.. why’d you stop me,” she asks shyly, blushing a bit. “Because, this is about us tonight, together,” Duncan says, pushing hair behind her ear even though it wasn’t in the way. "But I also want to focus more so on you,” he smiles. “You don’t need to worry about me. Trust me, I’ll be fine,” he grins and leans down, kissing her lips before she can say anything else.

Duncan always loved when Y/N touched him, in any way, in the past with the intimate milestones they had achieved or just a simple hand hold even. But Duncan wanted to focus solely on her tonight, wanting to make sure she felt good and comfortable. He wanted to not just show his love for her, but also take care of her however he could, knowing he’d get his own in the process.

Duncan’s hands reach for the bottom of Y/N’s shirt a moment later, grabbing the fabric and pulling it upwards. Breaking the kiss for a second, Y/N sits up a bit, raising her arms to help remove her shirt. Y/N takes a deep breath, getting nervous about being naked in front of Duncan since he’s never seen her bare before. Duncan pulls his shirt off next, tossing it aside with Y/N’s. Y/N cant help but admire his body as she sees his toned torso and broad shoulders, and the way he looks down at her, she can feel her body heating up, feeling an excitement growing deep inside of her.

When Duncan leans back over her, kissing her again, Y/N wraps her arms around his shoulders, wanting to hold him closer to her. Duncan rests a hand lightly on her upper waist, sliding his hand up over her chest, hand brushing over her breast. His other hand travels downward, stopping at the top trim of her jeans.

He unzips her jeans, and leans his head into the crook of Y/N’s neck, planting a series of kisses against her like before. Y/N closes her eyes, chest heaving lightly as she feels Duncan’s hot breath against her, lips sucking and nipping at her skin gently. His hand between them slowly inches to the opening of her jeans, sliding his hand into her pants carefully.

Y/N bites her lip, swallowing as she feels Duncan’s finger tips brush against her fabric covered center. Duncan smirks against her neck, feeling the dampness of her as he’s hardly even touched her yet. He rubs against her slowly, Y/N breathing out quietly, parting her legs instinctively with feeling him.

As Duncan teases her, continuing to rub against her and forms small circles over the area of her clit, he kisses back from her neck, to her lips, Y/N grabbing his cheek with a hand. Y/N bucks her hips lightly against Duncan, wanting more friction against his hand as he touches her. Duncan pushes the fabric of her underwear to the side, letting his fingers slip against her, making Y/N sigh out in relief against Duncan’s lips when feeling his large hand touching against her.

Duncan slides a finger through her folds and up to her clit, rubbing a small circle against her. Y/N moans lightly into the kiss, Duncan pulling back a bit as he looks down at her. He slides his finger from her clit, down to her pulsing entrance, collecting the wetness on his finger a bit before pushing one inside of her. “Fuck, you’re so wet,” Duncan hums against her lips as he begins pumping a finger inside her, curling his finger and making her release a pleasured whimper. 

Y/N’s body gets more hot by the touch, her breathing increasing. Duncan removes his hand from her, pulling it out from her jeans, making Y/N whine a bit from the lack of touch.

“Sorry, baby,” he kisses her neck. “I didn’t want to, but I had to stop,” he adds trailing his lips down her neck, to her collarbones. “Why,” Y/N asks, exhaling a breath, confused on what he means. “Because I really want to taste you instead,” he answers, kissing along her cleavage, and down the valley of her breasts. “What,” she lifts her head, looking down at Duncan as he slides his body down, kissing down her navel and stopping at the top of her jeans. Duncan gets up, kneeling between Y/N’s legs, hooking his fingers into the belt loops of her jeans. “You don’t have to do that, not if you don’t want to,” Y/N tells him since he’s never done that to her before. She lifts her hips to help Duncan pull her jeans down her legs, him throwing them to the floor once they’re off. Duncan grins up at her, eyes clouded with lust and grabbing the sides of her underwear. “Trust me, I want to,” he says, a shift in Duncan’s tone grabbing Y/N’s attention. It’s nothing weird, she just notices the way his tone seemed more husky all of a sudden, a little more cocky. Y/N swallows, sucking in a breath as Duncan pulls the fabric down, his eyes glancing up at hers to keep track of her expression. Y/N lifts one knee at a time as he pulls her underwear down, Y/N feeling the nerves increasing.

Once he pulls her underwear off, he nudges her knees apart as she’s pressed them together, feeling obviously shy and exposed. He lays down against her lower body, his lips first pressing at her navel again and then downward as he moves down her body. He can sense how nervous she is, experiencing all of this for the first time. 

Upon noticing, he stops his movements and looks up at her. He crawls back up her body, resting between her legs and against her body carefully. “You okay? Should we stop,” he asks, wanting to check in on her. Y/N shakes her head, “No. I mean, no don’t stop. Just... nervous, that’s all.” “It’s okay,” Duncan smiles warmly. “Just relax, and let me take care of you,” he leans into the crook of her neck like earlier, kissing her skin.

Y/N exhales a breath, trying to relax and listen to Duncan. Duncan is obviously more confident and more experienced with all of this. She was still clueless on a lot of this, never before feeling these feelings and urges or doing any of it before, of course. She didn’t know what to expect, but though she was nervous, she knew it would be okay because of Duncan.

Duncan trails his mouth down her body, stopping between her breasts. He kisses against her cleavage, making Y/N calm down as the feeling distracts her. “Sit up a bit,” Duncan demands softly, looking up at her. “Take your bra off for me.”

Y/N looks down at him, caught off guard by the question, though she knows she shouldn’t be. She hesitates for a moment but then arches her back a bit, reaching underneath her and unclasping her bra. The straps fall loosely on her shoulders as she unclips it, and pulls the bra down her shoulders. She hesitates a second before taking it off completely but tosses it aside, biting her lip as she lays here fully naked compared to Duncan who still has his pants on.

Duncan hadn’t seen her fully naked yet, or kissed her everywhere, and he wasn’t going to miss this opportunity to kiss every part of her now. So after he reaches up for a moment to kiss her, he begins to kiss down her body, stopping at her cleavage. Y/N bites her lip, closing her eyes when she feels Duncan kiss her nipple, it hardening under his plump lips. He lets his thumb brush over her, looking up at her before he licks softly a few times, and encloses his lips around her. 

Y/N breathes out contently, laying her head back. She lets out a heavy breath, not understanding how such a simple action could feel so good. Duncan sucks against her a bit harder, his other hand moving to her other breast and trailing his fingers over her sensitive skin.

He repeats the same actions to her other breast, licking softly before taking her nipple in his mouth and sucking. His other hand palms and rubs over her other breast as he sucks, ending with giving a soft bite on her before pulling back and kissing against her. 

Y/N’s breathing gets noticeably heavier as he moves down her body, kissing down her stomach, along both her hips, and lowering himself in between her bent legs. Y/N feels the blood rush to her cheeks, opening her eyes and seeing Duncan’s position. She’s never felt so vulnerable before, so bashful and nervous, trying to figure out what was going through Duncan’s mind.

A smirk grows on Duncan’s face, his eyes screaming with lust as he spreads her legs apart further, looking up at her while she looks down at him with prominent red cheeks. Duncan keeps his eyes focused on hers as he kisses her inner right thigh, kissing inward. Y/N breathes out heavily, waiting in anticipation for Duncan to get where she really wants him. Duncan teases her, kissing just before her heat and then kisses up the other side of her inner thigh again, achingly slow, making her wait for what she wants. 

His lips ghost over where her clit is, the brush of his lips and stubble making Y/N whine a bit. Finally, Duncan gives her some gratification, kissing against her clit fully, making her body flinch a bit from the light pressure of his touch. Duncan licks his lips, knowing already how sensitive Y/N is. He’d been wanting to taste her for months, and he was going to enjoy every moment of this now.

Y/N lets out a small gasp, resting her head back when she feels Duncan lick up through her folds to her clit, making her groan out contently. Duncan kisses her there again, licking a soft circle around her clit. Y/N bites her lip again when feeling Duncan start with kitten licks to get her worked up, her hand grabbing at Duncan’s hair. She breathes out, breath getting heavier as the seconds pass.

Duncan was starting with a slow build, wanting to savor her taste, wanting to take his time with her. But getting this small taste of her, hearing her breathing getting more shallow, the way she grabbed his hair, he can’t hold himself back from going any slower. Duncan swirls his tongue around her clit, licking around and over the bud expertly before enclosing his lips around her, making Y/N whimper.

Duncan presses his face further into her, sucking her clit harder into his mouth, Duncan moaning himself over her taste. Pulling back, he flattens his tongue against her, licking back and forth over her. He flicks his tongue in fast, fluid motions against her clit, interchanging between sucking and lapping at the bud. Y/N’s hand begins to pull Duncan’s hair a bit harder, getting lost in the pleasure, as she moans at the feeling of him against her. 

“Oh God, Duncan,” Y/N moans out, her other hand gripping at the bed sheets.  Duncan wraps his arms under her legs, pulling her closer to him, pressing his face further into her. He keeps his pace consistent, only quickening and moving his tongue harder gradually, hearing how Y/N’s moaning becomes louder.

Continuing his movements, Y/N tightens her eyes, parting her lips more when she feels a distinct pressure building up inside her. Her stomach clenches, and her hips buck forward a bit, moving against Duncan’s face as she gets close. Duncan brings a hand up to her, pushing a finger inside her, adding to the pleasure, feeling his cock twitch in his pants from everything going on.

She keeps moving against his face, chasing her orgasm. When he encloses his lips around her clit again, sucking on her hard, he adds another finger, pumping in and curling, making Y/N moan out, the build of pressure inside building further.

In the next moment, Y/N cries out, feeling the pressure inside her spiraling out as she cums. Her body jerks lightly in small waves, the pleasure overcoming her body as Duncan continues his movements through her orgasm, wanting to taste every bit of her until she’s done.

After, as Y/N relaxes and calms down, Duncan crawls up her body, smirking to himself. “You taste so good, love,” he states when Y/N looks at him, Duncan bringing his two fingers that were inside her to his mouth, sucking on them. He hums out satisfied then leans his head into the crook of her neck as he kisses her skin. He kisses from her neck up to her jawline until kissing her lips, cupping her cheek. “I’ve been wanting to do that for months,” he tells her. 

Duncan’s words make Y/N bite her lip, feeling the warmth of arousal spreading through her body again. His bare chest against her, feeling the hardness of his cock pressing against her thigh, she was ready for all of him now. 

Reaching up, she collides her lips with his, full and deep, her hand wrapping around his head to bring him closer, wanting to kiss and feel and taste and be with him in every way she can. She raises her hips lightly, grinding her lower body against his instinctively, Duncan groaning a bit into her mouth. Y/N’s hands move between their bodies, finding his zipper to undo, wanting to feel him inside of her completely already.

Duncan getting the hint, pushes himself back and kneels up over her, the tension between them coming to their limit. His hands move to his belt, unbuckling and removing the leather strap from the loops. Y/N watches Duncan carefully, watching him remove the final articles of clothing from his body which makes her more excited and ready for the next few minutes.

Y/N’s stomach flips, making her swallow, seeming to forget how big Duncan actually is when she sees his cock spring free. Long and thick, soft pink and leaking a bit with pre-cum. She’d seen him before when they had fooled around in the past, but seeing him now, for what they were really about to do, had her worried for a moment, but still excited and making her lick her lips as her mouth seemed to water over him. 

Duncan smirks over at her when noticing her expression, but doesn’t call her out, knowing it would only make her blush probably. Looking at her before hovering back over her, his eyes fall down her body greedily, eyeing every inch of her bare skin, from her chest, down to her stomach and lower, seeing all of her exposed like this -- all for him. 

Y/N becomes suddenly self-conscious when seeing his eyes, seeing how they trace over her figure and makes her want to cover up. “What,” she asks, almost whispering.  Duncan shakes his head in disbelief, eyes devouring her. “You’re,” he laughs a bit in disbelief, “so beautiful, Y/N.” Y/N swears her heart stops in that moment, hearing how genuine and warm his tone is, how sweet his words are, simple, and yet so meaningful to her. Duncan moves, leaning back over her body and between her legs, “I can’t believe how lucky I am to love you.” “You have to give a cliche line to add to this cliche setting?” Y/N teases.  “Damned if I do, damned if I don’t,” Duncan jokes, repeating what he said earlier and making Y/N laugh. Hearing her laugh, seeing her smile, all the beauty she radiates in every way imaginable makes Duncan smile himself, and he knows there’s no one else he’d rather spend his life. “I love you,” he adds gently, brushing his fingers against her hair.  Y/N presses her lips together before smiling shyly. “I love you, too, Duncan.”

With a smile still on Duncan’s face, his heart flutters. Duncan never really thought he’d find love, much less find someone to love him back. So hearing her say those words to him makes him so happy and fulfilled, still trying to figure out what he did to deserve someone like Y/N. 

He kisses her, wanting to just kiss her long and deep for a minute, feeling he’ll never have enough of her. Reaching a hand down between their bodies in the next moment, he grabs his erection, and aligns it with her entrance. Y/N pulls back when feeling just the tip of him, looking down between them for a second before looking back at Duncan.  “You okay,” he asks, wanting to check in before this happens. Y/N pauses a second, but then nods, pressing her legs against his torso. “Yes. I want you. I want to feel you inside me.” “Fuck, when you say things like that,” Duncan breathes out and kisses her hungrily, yet still smoothly, letting the head of his cock rub against her a bit. Y/N moans quietly over the friction, her hands grabbing around his shoulders. Duncan wants to be slow and gentle with her, wanting to worship her body, especially since this is her first time. 

So in the next second, he pushes himself inside her slowly, pushing further bit by bit. Duncan can’t hold back the groan that leaves his throat as he eases inside her. Y/N gasps and whines a bit, pulling back from kissing Duncan. Her lips part as she winces, her arms wrapping under Duncan’s arms as she feels him stretching her. She knew this first time might hurt, but she didn’t know it would feel like this. It’s not excruciating, and not actually painful. It was just a lot of pressure, it feeling weird, different. It was a distorted pleasure, a feeling she didn’t know existed.

Duncan leans his forehead against hers, his jaw dropping as he feels her around him. “Are you okay,” he breathes out, trying to contain his shallow breathing. Y/N nods against him a bit, her own breathing becoming shallow. “Keep going,” she exhales. Getting her okay, he moves a bit, pulling out and back in, trying to give her time to adjust. Duncan begins to move against her slowly, Y/N holding onto Duncan tighter, her fingernails gripping into his shoulders at the fullness of him.

The stretch of pain increases with each thrust, but eventually transitions into a pleasure that she wish she had experienced sooner. The more Duncan moved, gradually picking up pace, the better it felt. It was a lot of pressure, feeling how full she was with him inside her, but it felt so good at the same time. Feeling the ache and stretch of his cock inside her was pleasure all on it’s own, and she wanted more of it.

Duncan wants to keep at a slow and gradual pace, but as he rocks his hips, pulling in and out of her, feeling how warm and wet she is around him, he can’t help himself when the hunger for her grows in him. The lust and crave of wanting to be with her in this way causes Duncan to be more dominant than he’d like to be.

Duncan’s movements increase bit by bit, getting lost in the feeling of how he feels for her, how he feels with her around him, everything between them. “You feel so good around me, baby,” Duncan breathes out. “Fuck,” he bites his lip, rocking his hips more.  He begins picking up pace, moving faster and harder, pulling out and back in, rocking against her. Duncan knew he would never tire of this feeling with her, hoping Y/N was feeling the same way. Feeling the discomfort fade out as it was replaced with an undeniable pleasure, her breathing getting more heavy. “Oh God, Duncan,” she moaned out in a string of words. There was still a pressure, her body still getting used to the size of Duncan, but it was feeling so unbelievably good, she just wanted more of him.   “You’re doing so good, baby,” Duncan whispers, nuzzling his head into the crook of her neck. “You’re -- fuck -- taking all of me so well,” Duncan moans, pushing harder. Duncan slides a hand down between their bodies, fingers circling over her clit as he rubs.  “Fuck,” Y/N exhales, mouth parting again as she feels the added pleasure of Duncan’s fingers against her clit as he keeps moving against her harder.

As Duncan quickens his movements, Y/N lays her head back, gasping a bit at the increased pleasure. “Oh, Duncan,” she groans, pressing her lips together and breathing out. “Please don’t stop.” 

Duncan kisses her, her words and moaning turning him on impossibly more. He rubs her clit harder and faster, making Y/N whimper pleasurably, a hand falling to the bed and gripping the sheets. Y/N can feel a build settling deep inside her, growing more by the second.

“Duncan,” she moans, “I’m -- I’m so,” she trails off, breathing out. “Me too, baby, we’re almost there, almost there,” Duncan says. He’d been focusing so hard to not cum yet, knowing he would have the second they started had he not concentrated. But he wanted this to last for them, wanted to make sure she got hers.

Y/N’s hand on the bed wraps back around him, holding onto him more, her feeling the coil in her stomach beginning to clench, beginning to unhinge. Duncan rubs her clit faster and harder, causing Y/N to not hold on any longer and she feels the build release, her body starting to shake, body tensing as she cums. 

Duncan feeling Y/N clench and contract around him makes him go over the edge himself, and he cums too, moaning out as he does, thrusting through their orgasms as he continues to rub her clit. Duncan’s lips brush over Y/N’s as they cum together, their touches lingering, Y/N feeling Duncan’s cock pulse inside her as she contracts around him, Y/N holding onto him as they cum together. 

Duncan gradually slows down as their bodies begin to relax, his movements becoming languish, each coming down from their highs. Duncan leans his forehead against Y/N’s for a second before he looks down at her, trying to read her expression as she blinks tiredly. She looks up at him, looking just as spent as Duncan if not more, especially as her body still trembles a bit against his. But she smiles a bit, pushing a hand through his locks, making Duncan smile too and lean down, kissing her. 

~

After a few moments of settling down and getting under the covers of the bed, Duncan’s position has changed to resting beside her, his head laying over her chest as an arm wraps over. Y/N’s fingers play with Duncan’s hair slowly and soothingly, her legs entangled with his as they lay quietly and comfortably together. 

“How are you feeling,” Duncan asks, pressing his lips against her skin and looking up at her after. Y/N smiles of the affection, “Good. Happy.” Duncan grins. “You’re okay then? With everything?” “Yes, of course,” Y/N says and yawns, bringing a hand to her mouth. “I don’t regret any of this for a second." Duncan smiles, finding her yawn cute, along with everything else she does, as usual. “Good. I wanted to make this as special as I could for you.” “It would have been special regardless because it was with you,” she states, brushing her fingers against his cheek. “Now who’s the cheesy one,” Duncan teases, grinning. “Whatever,” she rolls her eyes. “You bring it out of me,” she mocks. Duncan smirks and scoots up, wrapping his arm over to her other shoulder and resting his head between her shoulder and the crook of her neck. He plants a sweet kiss on her, letting his lips linger for a moment before whispering, “I love you.”

From a lack of experience and shyness, Y/N couldn’t believe this is where life had led her to now. Happy and in love with the most incredible man who returned the same feelings. 

Y/N always thought that hearing Duncan say those three little words would be her favorite to ever hear from him. And they always were her favorite, every time he told her after that. 

Until one day, her new favorite words from him became, “I do.” 

~

A/N: Hope you enjoyed this fluffy af series. Any and all feedback is appreciated!

More angsty stuff coming soon 😈

[doodleimprovement]

Wellness: A Villian!AU Coco Fic Part 6: The Party Lights

Psychologist Malcom Kevgil is called upon by the Riveras to help with Miguels post-mortem development. He quickly learns however that this is moreso a trauma rehabilitation, and an untangling of lies and 90 year old mysteries.

He’s a smart man, but will compassion and an analytical mind win out against Family ties?

.... I have not updated this since July i am SO SORRY AKSJFSDLKJF But i hope you like the chapter! Theres only like, 3 or 4 more parts i think so this is actually like, the home stretch, almost

This particular version of the AU has been written and developed by @im-fairly-whitty [Click here to read!]

Rating: Gen (subject to change depending) \ Warnings: mentions of alcohol and intoxication \ Word Count: 1265 // Masterpost Link

Sometimes, all you need to do to reorient yourself is to get some pent up emotion out

And Malcom’s favorite way to do that was to party

Now, to clarify, partying for Malcom does not mean “getting drunk until you’re seeing double”.

For Malcom, partying was dancing, drinking maybe one or two drinks, and socializing. Maybe even a little flirting if he was in the mood. One of his friends had called him a “wholesome” partier, and he couldn’t really argue with that.

Malcom’s go-to club was called “La Viva”. It was bright, colorful, and well kept by a man who had run an 80s night club in life. Perfect for Malcom, a man who would never really leave his beloved 80s behind. The outside was surprisingly benign- colored pink with a few rainbow banners and a green neon Sign reading LA VIVA in script, followed by a white lighted up lilly. Inside however, was where the party lived. 

The dance floor in La Viva was the main attraction. Shining and sparkling, it reflected light from the various colored stagelamps that blinked and shuttered, alighting the room without ever having to turn on any of the (Emergency) overhead lamps. It was also absolutely massive, taking up more room than it probably should have. The bar was squeezed into a corner, with barely over a dozen seats and there were benches and tables strewn along the edges. But if you came to La Viva, you came to dance.

Which made local disaster Rodrigo Rivera a complete anomaly in this bright and flashy entertainment center.

But hey, he’d been invited.

And, while trying to get his boney butt to the bar, he was bumped into so hard they both ended up clattering to the floor

“Oh, sorry about- ay! Hey there!”

Rui got up and looked at who he’d bumped into - suddenly grinning

“Ayyyyy Malcom! Great to see you!” He managed to get up at the same time as his acquaintance.

“How are you, partying as always?” Malcom asked - no sense of judgement in his voice that Rui usually heard when asked that question. It was a note about the man he appreciated.

“As always” he answered with an almost sheepish grin. “Yourself?”

“Eh, needed to destress” The doctor shrugged.

“You, destress? I’ve never known you to be stressed, Doctor” Rui chuckled.

“We all have our stresses, Amigo” Malcom grinned “Care to dance?”

“As tempting an offer that is, I’ve got a date with a bottle of tequila”

“Not the entire thing, I hope”

“Eh, we’ll see how I feel”

Malcom didn’t seem that impressed, but shrugged “See you around then!”

Rui waved him off and went over to the bar, bemusedly being served a daiquiri as he watched the glowing dance floor. 

But then, from the corner of his eye, he spotted a very, very familiar silhouette.

He froze in his stool, watching with shock as the tall, imposing figure started to gaze about the room.

Rui put his drink down, brow furrowed. Who the hell was Tomas here for?

He tried not to catch the burly skeleton’s eye, and watched as “Tomas” stared intently at the dance floor… more specifically at a particular, blonde haired dancer.

“.... Oh, compadre, what did you get yourself into…?” Rui muttered, taking his eyes away, a vague guilt to his aura.

Malcom didn’t get a lot of time on the dance floor, regretfully. Though Tomas had the decency to wait until the song was over to go out on the dance floor.

“Doctor Kevgil, your presence is required”

Malcom looked up at the man now towering over him, very quickly realizing that this wasn’t a good thing.

“... Que?” his brow furrowed “Where?”

“Private room. It will only take a few minutes”

He stared skeptically for a few moments

“Is this a “please come” or a “Come before I force you”

Tomas shrugged. Quite the answer.

Malcom sighed, and nodded to the taller man, following him off of the dance floor and over to one of the private party rooms - usually rented out for…. rather saucy events. Tomas opened the door for him, and he walked in the mostly dark room - save for some neon glaring from the ceiling, bathing the room in an almost chilled blue.

Sitting on one of the plush couched.. Was Imelda Rivera.

Malcoms brow furrowed slightly “Senora Rivera?”

“Senor Kevgil” She motioned “Please, sit”

He weighed his options… and sat. “How are you this evening?”

“.. I am very well, Senora” he answered “And yourself? This sort of place doesn’t seem your style?”

“Oh, it certainly isn’t, though this particular club has more… prestige than most” She pointed out, taking a glass and sipping “Drink?”

“Oh, no thank you. I rarely drink when I go out dancing” He shook his head

“Hm” she sniffed slightly, putting her drink down “We understand that Miguel called you about a week ago”

Malcom didn’t visibly react to the declaration “That he did. Very early in the morning at that”

“.. And what was it about?”

“I’m afraid I cannot divulge that information unless it is life or death, Senora” the doctor proclaimed “Doctor - patient confidentiality, and all that”

Her expression didn’t change “Hm, well then I will assume the worst and prepare things accordingly”

“The worst?” Malcom narrowed his stare.

“Well, you see, Doctor” She started, staring at her drink in vague disinterest “Our family has much to keep to ourselves. We’re very private, you see. And anything that Miguel told you, cannot be divulged to the public.”

“I had no intention of bringing anything he told me public”

“Let me finish” She snapped at him, something approximating a sneer on her face. Malcom almost wanted to comment about the quote of how “ugly hate makes the face”, but kept it to himself. That sort of joke would not be appreciated.

“Now, I understand that you carry yourself and your practice completely seriously, and with much pride” She sipped her drink “So i will state this plainly for your benefit.”

Malcom squared his shoulders

“Should you attempt anything, we will sue you for malpractice”

She stared him straight in the eyes “... Excuse me?”

“... I said, we are suing you for malpractice. It’s very easy to get a competent lawyer who can come up with a case. All we have to do is imply that your promise of progress was not met. That he has .. how do you say, “regressed”?”

Malcom wished he had a lip to bite. It took everything within him to not react. To keep his head level.

“... Are you threatening me, Senora Rivera?”

“I would never. It is just a warning.” She pushed her liquor away “You have no family, no lover, nothing but your practice. Would be a shame if you lost everything, no?”

“That is quite the warning, Senora” He lifted his head slightly.

“We Riveras never do anything halfway, Doctor”

He took in a breath, and stood “I understand your… concern, Senora” he started “But allow me to give a warning of my own”

He found her glare almost daring.

“If you truly want for Miguel’s happiness, you will have to end up doing things you don’t want to do. Acknowledge things you would rather sweep under the rug” Malcom leveled “One day, it will all some to a head-” he turned “and you will refuse to admit that you saw it coming. Have a good evening, Senora, Buenas Noches”

And he left, returning to the bright lights of the dance floor.

He wasn’t followed.  

[inthesummerswelter]

recipe for disaster: chapter fifteen

She wakes with a muffled shout dying on her lips and an arm half-thrown out to defend herself. Penn’s chest heaves with exertion as she peels her eyes open, and only the sounds of half-spoken, half-sung melodies, drifting on breezes from the kitchen that float on through her bedroom door, slightly ajar, remind her of where she is. They’re lulling and tranquil and, for a fraction of a moment, her eyes slip shut, wanting nothing more than to escape what is no doubt coming up ahead.

But, her dreams now are nothing to desire, three weeks full of ghosts and gaping, hungry grins, and she wrenches herself back into consciousness, what she considers the lesser of the current two evils.

Rolling to the floor, Penn uses her momentum to wrap her duvet firmly around herself before struggling to her feet. The sun shining through the cracks in her drawn blinds is too bright, the noise of the traffic on the street below too loud.

Everything is too sharp, too much.

She shuffles to the kitchen, nearly tripping on an up-turned corner of a rug here, a discarded shoe there. Someone decided last night to make her flat a minefield apparently. Fuck them.

(Fuck her. She’s the mess here.)

He’s in the kitchen making something, making omelettes. Or at least she hopes he is. It’s the only egg-based sort of breakfast that Ashton’s got down to a 98% success rate, and her stomach’s settled to the point where she thinks she might actually want to eat something this morning.

The chair at the small table - her chair, mind, the simple birch one that looks like a throwback to the mid-sixties - seems too small now for her plus her swaddling of blankets, and it takes a bit of wiggling and effort to get herself wedged in there.

Ashton is still clanking spatula and skillet together, wistfully humming away at a tune Penn thinks she heard a lifetime ago on a classic rock station crackling from an old radio under the shade of a lawn chair.

She rubs her temples tenderly with her index fingers, working at the headache knotted around in her brain. The sound of the dish clattering on the Formica tabletop in front of her does nothing to help, and she just knows, right off the bat, that this is going to be a bad morning.

Penn can tell from the way his humming becomes markedly less free, markedly more tense and wooden, and the way that his body stiffens up as he makes the turn to walk back towards the counter to grab two steaming mugs and a plate of his own.

He looks like summer on the outside, she thinks blearily, still not having shaken off all of the drowse of sleep mixed in with the aftereffects of overindulgence. Sun at his back, it turns him into a statue of spun gold, highlighting his hair in a blaze of light.

For all the warmth of his appearance, Ashton carries bags of his own under his eyes, inky thumbprints stamped under hard chips of hazel-green, and the rigid set of his shoulders telegraphs his displeasure as clear as day.

“Eat up, Penny. Time to rise and shine.” And face your demons. That bit goes unspoken, for now.

He’s slipping into the chair opposite her, a plate of his own in hand as well as a mug of tea. A strong black cup of coffee is deposited in front of her, but she’s definitely more occupied by what he has just said.

“What?” Her voice croaks its way out of a desert cave. Clearing it with all of the barely-existent saliva she possesses, she tries again. “What did you say?”

Peering up at her from over his mug, she sees his eyebrows knit together in confusion, no doubt mirroring her own. “I said that it’s time to rise and shine. However, I’m not sure you’re very shiny right now.”

She bristles slightly as his dry tone.

“What?”

He flaps his hand at her, obviously done with the conversation at this point. “Never mind. My humor’s apparently lost on your post-drunk self.”

Frowning down at her breakfast, Penn can feel her already black mood start to sour even further.

“It was a mistake,” she murmurs sullenly into her folded eggs, not having even touched her fork yet. “Everyone makes mistakes, okay?”

With her stillness comes his jagged movements, slicing his own omelette into cross sections, exposing their innards with medical precision and a scalpel-sharp knife.

“A mistake? A mistake?” His voice, rising steadily in pitch as he cuts viciously through the egg, breaks on the last syllable. “Was it a mistake for you to come back for the third night in a row drunk out of your fucking mind? And then was it a mistake for me to come around, like I always fucking seem to do, and make everything better? Put you in bed and stay up late to make sure you don’t drown in your own vomit?”

“I’m not a goddamn alcoholic, Ashton!” she shouts suddenly, her hand itching to slam itself onto the table. She restrains it, though, forcing the impulse down deep under her skin. It would only make things worse.

His utensils still, scraping sharply against the ceramic of the plate as they screech to a halt. “Not yet,” he mutters, and those two words, filled with horrific amounts of underhanded accusations, spur her into action.

“You know what, I don’t even know why you bother, if I’m on such a bad path already. Why don’t you just let me ruin my own life in peace and stop making me feel so goddamn guilty about all of my choices?”

Ashton’s head snaps up at that, immediately choking out the beginning of a rebuttal.

“Because I care about you! Okay? I -”

But he cuts himself off, mouth opening and shutting once before a dull red flush rises up high in his cheekbones as he stares off over her left shoulder, determinedly avoiding her gaze.

“No, you don’t,” she responds quietly. “Don’t say things you don’t mean.”

A stretched-out silence adds to the chasm Penn can feel growing between them.

“I suppose we’ll just add that to the ever-growing list of things you just don’t want to talk about,” he finally grumbles, setting down knife and fork in lieu of a gulp of tea, ruffling his hair with the other hand in a futile attempt to have it lie flat.

Her hands clench in her lap, covered by the folds of the duvet, just knowing that he’s talking about what happened on the terrace.

“It’s a mistake - that was a mistake - because...because you and I want...different things.” It’s a cleaver in her heart, to say these words. Because saying them out loud makes them true, and she wants nothing more of them to not be true.

His reaction confirms them, though.

Immediately she can see it again in her mind’s eye: two silhouettes slowly molding together to become one, cast in shadows against the warm glow of the lamps in his flat on that night that feels an age ago.

And if there was anger in his face before, there’s fury now. Penn can see the way the tension builds in his face, coiling tight in the furrow of his brow and grinding along his jawline.

She’s not surprised when he lashes out again with harsh words, already curling in on herself in preparation to take the blow.

“And what the hell do you think I want? You know nothing of what I want, you don’t care what I want, and that’s the fact of the matter.” It’s him slamming things around now, snatching up his dishes and dumping his uneaten meal into the little aluminum compost bin she keeps in the kitchen, letting the lid fly back with a crash.

An uncomfortable silence, punctuated with the sounds of Ashton in the kitchen.

It’s not until she hears him clucking his tongue, calling for the dogs, does she looks away from the window that shows the progress of the sun moving across the sky.

“Cards! Clove! C’mere, time to go.”

Gathering her blankets up around her, Penn squeezes her way out of her chair and marches into the living room where he’s clipping their leads onto their collars.

“And what do you think you’re doing?” she asks waspishly. The pups look up and turn their heads back and forth between the two, panting grins that slowly disappear as Ashton rises up to his full height.

In return, he just laughs at her. “You didn’t know? Christ, you didn’t even realize. Penn, I’ve been keeping them over at my flat for the past couple weeks. You’re out all day at work, and then you drag yourself in at all hours of the night and immediately pass out. The first time I came over to check up on you, you were out cold on the kitchen floor and they hadn’t been let to go outside since early that morning. Sue me, but I’m pretty sure that’s not an okay thing to do.”

Throwing her hands up in the air, Penn stomps her foot on the ground and screams, “Fine! I’m a bad person, okay? I’ve fucked up a hell of a lot and obviously you’re just so much better than I could ever be, so just leave me the fuck alone!”

Immediately something changes in his expression, and he steps towards her, stretching out a hand. But Penn’s not having any of that, thank you very much. They made this bed up together, and they’re going to lie in it, goddamnit.

She doesn’t think she can take it if they don’t.

“Don’t. Just go.” She’s already turned away, having looked at the clock on the wall and realizing she’s got little time to spare if she wants to make it to work within the hour.

Penn doesn’t see the way his face falls, ever so slightly, flinching at her dismissal. She doesn’t know what words were on this tip of his tongue, mere millimetres from becoming truths in the air. She doesn’t notice how he looks back at her, just once, as he herds the dogs out the door, backpack slung over one broad shoulder.  

So instead of taking a stride forward, they shuffle three steps back.

 Being back in the kitchen isn’t as nice as Penn expected.

Fast-paced and rushed?

Yes.

Mind-numbing?

No.

Fragments of thoughts race a kilo a minute through her brain, never pausing long enough to actually formulate into a distinct idea.

It’s all for the better, really, because she’s got enough problems as it is.

A drastic menu change during her leave of absence means she no longer has her usual spot up near the head of the kitchen, dealing with the important entrées and working with the proteins. Instead, Penn is relegated to helping with the prep work for the following day: taking stock of the back room for ordering produce and cheeses, counting the meat in the walk-in-freezer, and even helping Josh, one of the lower line-cooks, with making the bread for the next day.

She’s starting to measure out the proper amounts of flour to put into the mixer when Liam comes by and places a sympathetic hand on her shoulder.

“Delacroix wants to see you. He’s waiting in his office. And, my condolences on your loss.”

Sweet as ever, Liam is.

In spite of herself, she lets a tiny grin slip as she pats him on the cheek tenderly, then dusts off her hands and begins her walk to the corner room. The blinds are drawn, shielding them from the bustle of the kitchen, and for that she’s glad.

Looking up from a vintage swirling around his glass, Delacroix tilts it at her, in a toast.

“Any for you?” he says, taking a sip himself, consequently staining the edges of his moustache a light burgundy.

“I’m fine, thanks.” She flutters nervously around the chair in front of his desk, acutely aware of how disheveled she must look after a long day of toting around sacks of flour and mountains of yeast.

“You seem, how do you say, a bit distraught lately. Yes, to be expected after...well, after. But, still. I see. I notice. Let it not be said that Delacroix does not care most deeply for his employees’ welfare.”

Still loath to touch anything for fear of leaving white prints, Penn perches on the edge of the leather seat. “I’m...coping. It’s not been easy. But I’m dealing with it. Best I can.”

He doesn’t respond, instead favoring taking another drink of wine.

“That doesn’t mean that I need more time off, sir! I think, I know, that keeping myself busy is helping taking my mind off it for now.”

Suddenly, she’s terrified, panicked that he’s going to tell her to go back home for another two weeks, to go back to that empty home where her only friends are ghosts.

Delacroix leans forward, bracing his elbows against the surface of the desk as they support the weight of his body, a look of concern upon his face.

“Penn...is there anything that’s bothering you right now? That you might wish to talk to me about?”

And, oh God, does she want to.

But what would she say?

Yes, she’s a bit out of sorts right now, trying to absorb both the majority of her gran’s funerary costs and the monthly rent on both flats?

That none of her family has shown the remotest interest in helping her pay the lease or work on moving her things out of her gran’s former flat?

That she can’t take off work to do it herself, because she’s starting to run behind on her own bills and needs every pence she can get?

Not to mention that she's only in possession of two close friends, one of which is travelling the world and consequently never around or in an area with enough signal to return her calls? The other, as it so happens, would probably be happiest with never seeing her again and has possibly absconded with her dogs.

Add to that the money she spends on alcohol, the only thing that knocks her out enough to even get her to fall asleep anymore, and the horrific dreams that plague her constantly. As a result, she never gets more than five hours on a good night.

But she tells him none of that.

“Nothing, sir. It’s nothing.”

His mouth twists suddenly before settling back into the half-grin perpetually on his face. She knows that expression, can recognize it a second before it even occurs, like an old friend come home again.

That’s the look of disappointment.

Flapping his hand at her, he sends her back out into the kitchen, to finish helping Joshua prepare the bread dough in time to let it rise before tomorrow. If her hands were dusty with flour before, they were the colour of salt, of chalk, now. All pale and ghostly, they’re the colour of nothing as they pound into the pliable dough, pushing it down relentlessly.

They finish, and Penn manages to wipe a smear of flour across her brow before remembering to wash her hands in the sink. The mirror tells all, reflecting back the loose hairs escaping from her barrettes, the unflattering spots of sweat glistening across the planes of her face, only disrupted by the dark circles smudged under her eyes.

It shows the truth of the matter: she’s absolutely exhausted. The dimness of the overhead lighting above the sink causes the unnaturally pale cast to her skin to glow, normally a darker olive tone, throwing the light smattering of freckles across the bridge of her nose thrown into darker prominence.

Splashing a bit of water onto her face, Penn makes her way into the small locker room, collecting her things before stepping out into the evening air.

He’s waiting for her there, just outside the back double doors on the cobblestones that have the beginnings of grass shooting out between their edges, leaning against the dark brick walls of the building. She almost knew he would be. He’s waiting, and he’s smiling with a grin that’s just a touch less shit-eating than normal and just a touch more sympathetic. Holding out a bottle of something or other in his left hand, Louis also extends his left, reaching forward, almost bridging the gap between their two bodies.

With arms stretched out as if in supplication, it is as if the world holds its breath as he looks into her, half of Michelangelo's Creation of Adam come again.

There are no touches, though, and she doesn’t stretch out her arm in return to complete the image. Instead, just the stars reflecting themselves in the blue of his eyes, and rather than crossing the distance he murmurs, still with the softened grin upon his face, “Wanna get trashed again?”

Everything begins moving at a normal speed again, the sounds of late-night traffic filtering back in slowly, and she’s almost relieved. That was just on the border of entrancing, intoxicating.

She can practically see Ashton’s honey-hazel eyes now, brimming with reproach, but that doesn’t stop Penn from reaching for the bottle in his hands with a choked out, “Fuck, yes.”

Everything’s just a little bit easier to handle when you’re numb.

   Later, when she’s laying on top of her bed, limbs askew, chef’s coat and pants tossed into a heap in the corner, she reaches out for her mobile, hand groping along the side table.

Pressing the buttons without looking at the screen, she brings it up to her ear, working her mouth around in an attempt to make sure her words come out exactly how she wants them to.

Although, Penn thinks as the dial tone begins, it really doesn’t matter. He always knows what she means.

“‘ Lo? Penn?” There’s static in the back, and vaguely she wonders where he is, if she’s woken him up. But then again, it’s almost 3:00 a.m. her time, so the chances of it being day on his side are relatively high.

“Where are you?”

“Currently? In a shabby hostel somewhere in the Andes.”

She doesn’t speak for a long time, preoccupied with listening to his steady, even breaths.

“Zayn? How do you know?” It’s hard, making sure her voice doesn’t tremble as she speaks.

“You just do. You just know.” He pauses, the sounds of him shuffling through his bag coming through the line. “Hang on a mo’ and I’ll show you.”

And the call ends.

[chobit92]

Small World: Joseph/OC Part 35

Lillith has started going to Joseph's sermons and John has been going to counselling. They decide to have a night out just the two of them but it ends in disaster...

Warnings: None that I can think of.

 (Lillith picks the two drinks up from the bar and walks over to John who is sat at a table in the corner. Lillith’s heart sinks as she sees a young brunette stood next to the table talking to John. As Lillith gets closer she realises that John isn’t grinning at the woman like he usually does. Instead he is looking at Lillith and grinning. Lillith reaches the table and puts the drinks down. The woman looks at her.). John: Ah here she is. Lillith: I leave you alone for five minutes and the wolves descend. (John laughs then looks at the woman.). John: If you don’t mind I’m spending an evening with my wife here. (The woman walks off. Lillith smiles and slides around the table moving closer to John.). Lillith: Thanks for today. (He smiles and kisses her before running his fingers over the faint bruising that can still be seen underneath her makeup.). John: I think we both needed this. It’s been awhile since we’ve been out just the two of us. (He had taken her to Aria for dinner before coming to this cocktail bar for drinks. Lillith has spent the last week going to Joseph’s sermons with them. She has found herself listening to Joseph more and more but she still doesn’t believe everything he says. John has been to two counselling sessions.). Lillith: This is nice. We need to do this more often. John: Hmmm. (He kisses her again.). John: When we get home we are gonna have a nice relaxing bath together. Forget about everything for a while. Lillith: Sounds perfect. * (John and Lillith enter his apartment giggling. After the cocktail bar they went to John’s favourite nightclub. It’s nearly 3am. Lillith stumbles to the kitchen. John follows her and grabs her wrapping his arms around her. She giggles.). John: Sssh. (He kisses her.). Lillith: Are we still gonna have a bath? John: If you like. (She giggles again.). John: Sssh. You’ll wake my brothers. Jacob: Already awake. (Jacob has appeared. They can just about see him looming next to the counter in the darkness.). Lillith: Did we wake you? Sorry. Jacob: Nah. I wasn’t asleep. Lillith: Bad dreams again? Jacob: Hm. Don’t have any good ones. (Lillith stumbles towards Jacob before hugging him.). Jacob: You’re drunk. Lillith: Maybe a little. Jacob: You’re lucky Joe’s asleep. Else he’d be giving you both a stern lecture. Lillith: Well he’s just a party pooper. Nothing wrong with letting your hair down and having a little fun. John: You really are drunk. Come on. Let’s get you in the bath. Lillith: You saying I’m dirty? John: You are very dirty. (Lillith giggles. Jacob rolls his eyes and shakes his head. He switches on the standing lamp before getting a glass of water.). Jacob: Do any of you have any cigarettes? Lillith: Yep. (She opens her handbag and hands Jacob a cigarette. He takes it from her.). Jacob: Thanks. (She then hands him her lighter.). John: Don’t smoke in here. Jacob: I wasn’t going to. I’ll go out on the balcony. John: Hm. Well we’ll see you in the morning. Jacob: It is morning. (Lillith giggles again before going up the hall. John smiles at Jacob before following her. Jacob goes out onto the balcony and lights the cigarette.). * (Lillith is lying in the bath. The bathroom is lit by candles and she has lavender incense burning.). Lillith: Are you getting your butt in here or what? John: Just a minute. (John appears naked and grinning from ear to ear.). Lillith: What have you done? John: Nothing. Lillith: John what have you been doing? John: Nothing. (He gets into the tub.). Lillith: You’ve got that big grin on your face that tells me when you’re up to something. John: Well you’ll just have to wait and see. Lillith: Oh so it’s a surprise for me? John: Yes. Lillith: Okay. (She laughs. He smiles then leans over to kiss her.). Lillith: I love you. John: I love you too. Lillith: I wish I could believe that. John: Well you should believe it because it’s true. Lillith: Okay. (She smiles but John doesn’t fail to notice the sadness in her eyes.). * (Jacob is sitting on the fold up chair out on the balcony. He doesn’t see the point in going back to bed. He won’t be able to sleep. Jacob jumps as someone starts banging on the door to the apartment. It sounds like they are really thumping on the door. Jacob takes a few deep breaths annoyed with himself for panicking over someone banging on the door. He gets up and goes back inside. Joseph has woken up and gone to the door.). Jacob: The hell is going on Joe? Joseph: I don’t know. Man: Police! Open up! Jacob: Cops? (Joseph frowns and opens the door. The officers walk straight in. Joseph recognises them. Detective Lawson and his partner Hayes. They dealt with Lillith’s rape.). Jacob: You better have a damn good reason for waking us all up! Joseph: Jacob. (Joseph puts his hand on Jacobs shoulder.). Joseph: What is the meaning of this? Is Lillith in danger? Lawson: No. Hayes: But she could be. Lawson: Is your brother home? Jacob: Why? What do you want with him? (Two other officers have entered the apartment. Joseph looks at them in confusion.). * (Lillith looks around the bedroom. John has placed candles all around the room and the bed is covered with rose petals.). Lillith: So this is what you were doing. John: Yes. Do you like it? Lillith: I love it. What has gotten into you tonight? John: I just wanted to do something nice for you. To make up for being such a dickhead. (She smiles and kisses him. They then hear a load of banging.). Lillith: The hell is that? John: Who on earth is hammering on the door at this hour? (John shoves his clothes on while Lillith slips on a black silk robe. Lillith then follows John down the hall to the living room. They stare at the officers.). John: What on earth is going on here? Do you know what time it is? Lawson: John Duncan I’m arresting you on suspicion of murder. Lillith: What? John: Murder? What are you talking about? (Lawson starts reading John his rights as he handcuffs him.). John: This is ridiculous! I am going to sue the lot of you! Lillith: John what’s going on? John: It’s a mistake! It’s a very big mistake! You’re going to regret this Hayes! (John is dragged out the door complaining that he doesn’t have any shoes on.). Joseph: I don’t understand. Jacob: He hasn’t killed anyone. Hayes: I’ll need you all to come to the station and give us a statement. Lillith: Statement? Here’s your statement! I have no idea what the hell you’re talking about! This is because John knows about you isn’t it? (Hayes looks panicked for a moment. Jacob raises his eyebrows.). Lillith: Yeah that’s right I know. John told me. He tells me everything. So maybe we should be taking your statement. (Hayes has paled slightly and he swallows hard.). Hayes: This has nothing to do with me. Lillith: Then what the hell is going on? My husband has just been arrested for murder! Hayes: I know this is hard but we have evidence- Lillith: No you don’t! You haven’t got anything! Because John hasn’t done anything! Jacob: Bloody right! (Jacob looks furious. Joseph smiles slightly as he looks at Lillith. Admiring her loyalty to his brother.). Hayes: We need to get going. Lillith: Oh don’t worry we’re coming. We ain’t just gonna let you take John away. I’m gonna go and get dressed first though. I ain’t having you all perving on me! (Lillith goes down the hall into the bedroom sobbing. Joseph follows her. Jacob stands there staring at the officers angrily.). Jacob: Why can’t you people just leave us alone?

[mintyvan]

#5 - late night ice cream rendezvous

prompt: “One where Van and reader go out on a late night snack run” and “reader asks Van if she can go on tour with them for a bit and she’s nervous about asking him because it forces them to take the next step of becoming official”

****

“You know, this actually wasn’t a bad idea,” you say, sitting cross legged and facing Van, who’s laid out on the hood of his car, leaning back against the windshield. There are two pints of ice cream and pack of waffle cones sitting between you.

“And here ya were, suggesting we go to McDonald’s.” He shoots back incredulously, swiping a lick around the edge of the cone; he got chocolate and you got moose tracks.

“It was the only place I could think of open past midnight! I mean, really, who crawls through someone’s window at 4am to go for ice cream?!” A stray melting drop lands on the inside of your thigh, left bare by your tiny denim shorts. It’s particularly hot this spring, but he’s certainly not complaining. Being able to see more skin than you would normally show off is a blessing in a not-so-subtle disguise.

Van holds his hands up in surrender, “I was bored. I finished listening to those records you lent me and couldn’t get to sleep.” He points at you, raising his eyebrows in accusation, “You can’t say anything, anyways. I saw the lamp light on when I showed up. You were just as awake as I was.”

You lick a stripe down the middle of the mountain of ice cream, catching a chunk of a peanut butter cup with your teeth. He’s quiet suddenly, looking at you with barely concealed desire. You shiver, and then try to hide it.

You chuckle, wiping your face with the napkin to veil your blush. “Yeah, yeah. So, sue me.” You look up at him as he sucks on the bottom of the cone.

“Also, there’s ice cream at your house, couldn’t you just go to the freezer?” you ask, although you were glad he came to you for a late night rendezvous.

Finishing his off, he takes a minute to respond. “I need fresh ice cream, Y/N, not the freezerburned stuff. And in real cones” He stresses the words, dragging them out with pursed lips and a gravelly voice; he must be getting tired. “You know this,” he smirks.

You just roll your eyes in response, getting too tired for talking and the heat is causing your eyes to droop heavily. Popping the last bit of the cone into your mouth, you pack the stuff up and stretch out, legs running along the edge of his until you curl one around his calf and rest your head on his shoulder.

He hooks his left hand around your leg, hitching it up higher on his lap and running his palm up your thigh. His hand rests half on your shorts and half on the underside of your ass.

Humming in contentment, you tell him, “This is nice.” You run your fingers up and down his t-shirt clad chest. Van pushes the hair out of your eyes, bringing your face up to his with a finger under your chin to pull you into a lazy kiss – tasting of chocolate and peanut butter and you can’t get enough. He bites gently on your bottom lip, pulling slightly and you let out a sound that causes you both to let go and chuckle.

Sobering up from the kiss, you prop your head up on your hand and look up at him. You’re sure you look as nervous as you feel. Knocking your nose into his, you whisper, “I need to ask you something…actually.”

He moves his hand back down your thigh to rest on your knee; safer territory. Raising his eyebrows, he attempts a cool voice, “Oh?”

“Yeah, um, see. You’re leaving soon... Well, there’s a couple gigs…in a few weeks that I-I really want to go to. North America, actually. I want to go to the states with you and everyone,” you rush out in a breath, keeping your eyes focused on his mouth and not his eyes. You’re still nervous. “With you. Obviously, if you want to have me of course, but that’s obviously why I’m asking otherwise what’s the point of this tirade, right? I mean,” you scratch behind your ear, red splotches forming on your cheeks from embarrassment. “…Well?”

His mouth hangs open, pulled down slightly in the corner, and just stares. “Tour in North America?”

“Yeah…any thoughts?”

He’s quiet for a moment, which is a little unusual, especially paired with that fidgety hand gesture he’s currently caught up in, drumming his fingers on his legs. He doesn’t normally show his nerves like this. You’re scared for what he’s going to say.

“Shouldn’t I be the one asking you to come on tour? After all… I knew you wanted to come to our gigs anyways, and I was hopefully going to introduce you to the boys soon.”

You scoff, breathing in sharply before laughing through the remnants of your nerves. “I never pegged you as incredibly old-fashioned, my mistake.”

Van’s hand reaches up, lightly pinching the skin of your waist that’s visible between your tank top and shorts in gentle retaliation. “And what with university?”

“Oh, I can barely stand anyone when you’re gone. I wouldn’t want to subject either of us to the long distance, either. I’ll take a semester or two off and pick it back up later.” You’re more relaxed now, but still nervous that he’ll continue to say no. “I know it’s lame, but I’ve always had plans since I was younger to go to North America - not like this, but - I’ve always wanted to go. But on the bus I’d be so good; I’d bring some of my own records and CDs to make the bus driver play them ‘cause we know the radio will suck and I would bring a few books in my purse to keep quiet when you all need a rest-”

He interrupts you, softly saying, “Okay.”

“-and extra snacks. Because I did go to China one year, and all they had that I liked were Frito’s which are gross and smell like feet-“

“Y/N,” he raises his voice, getting your attention.

You stop ranting, biting your lip. “Yeah?”

“I said okay,” Van chuckles, the arm wrapped around your waist to pull you closer into his side.

Eyes wide, a smile forms on your lips. Your eyebrows rise in question, making sure you heard right. “Okay?”

“What, did you think I’d say no?”

“Well…it’s not exactly your kind of thing to invite people on tour.”

“No-” but he stops himself before he can sappily say that you’re exactly his kind of thing. “But, you can come.” He points at you, finger almost touching your nose. “I make no promises on how the band’ll react, though.”

You laugh out loud, the sound reverberating through the empty parking lot of the shopping mart you came to. “Fair enough.” You push forward, pressing your lips to his happily as both your hands cradle his face. Between kisses, you let out a stream of, “Thank you, thank you, thank you”-s. You rest your forehead against his brow, and he rubs his nose against yours softly. “I promise I’ll make it up to you that you let me come on tour.”

Van pulls back an inch, a smirk on his face and an indecent look in his eyes. “Oh yeah? How?”

You suck in a breath, chest rising and his eyes can’t look away from the slip of cleavage your top leaves bare. “Hmm, well,” you lick your lips, “we are going to be staying in the same hotel room at some point.” You lean forward, whispering against his mouth, “I’m sure we’ll think of something.”

You pull back with a smile on your face, the tip of your tongue pressing against your teeth. You slide down the hood of the car, and make your way to the passenger door. All he can do is stare after you.

“Oh,” you quirk your eyebrows at him over the roof of the car, “and don’t forget to bring the ice cream.”

[cassiopeiassky]

When Everything’s Made to be Broken (I Just Want You to Know Who I Am) Part 38

Good morning!  I have three small announcements to make.  The first is that the next parts may take longer to get out - I have next to nothing written for them and my schedule is tight these days.  The second is that I’m going to start posting with two waves of tags to see if that will work, since it seems like tags haven’t worked for the last two updates.  The third is...I’m sorry *hides in a corner*

Plot:  When you inadvertently become a witness to a murder and are suddenly a target for death, it takes a specially skilled soldier and his team to keep you and your family safe.

This will eventually be a is a reader x Bucky fic. The reader, by the way, is a civilian. No super powers, no fighting skills, and by no means perfect.  

Word count: 2682

Warnings:

For the entire work:  Language (I have a potty mouth), violence, and angst.  This will probably get pretty dark later on, and there will be smut.  If that’s not your thing, you may want to avoid this story.

Additional warnings specific to this part: Violence, bad guys being douchebags, AAAAANNNNGGGGSSSST,    If I need to add anything else, PLEASE LET ME KNOW.  If you don’t want me to publish the ask, I won’t, or you can feel free to do it as a Nonnie.  I will not take offense to any trigger warning requests.   Your well-being is important to me and I do NOT want to trigger anyone.

***I do not own any of the lyrics/music in this story, so please don’t sue me for using them***

Tags moved to the end.

WEMtbB Masterlist

Previously on WEMtbB:

There’s an icepack and a plate of khvorost waiting for you on the table when you get out of the shower.  You smile a little to yourself; Mikhail must have noticed that you didn’t eat much at dinner.  He’d found over the last couple of days that even if you ate nothing else, you’d at least nibble at these little fried strips of pastry dough dusted with powdered sugar. Tonight, though, even these hold no appeal.  Neither does the icepack – after the hot shower, it will do little good anyway. You twist your damp hair into a braid and crawl into bed, hoping and praying for sleep.

You are, of course, disappointed.

The fading light of the winter dusk begins to bathe the room in shadows, but you can’t be bothered to get up to turn on any lights.  After last night’s events, nothing really seems to matter. You sit cross legged on the floor with your back to the bed, a book forgotten in your lap as you slowly rock your head back and forth to gently hit the mattress.  You aren’t thinking of anything or anyone, just staring at some point beyond the walls of your prison.  Blinking periodically.  Comfortably numb.

The door flies open after a quick knock, but you don’t bother to look up.

“Solniskho!” Mikhail’s voice echoes in the room; he sounds dismayed and breathless, but you can’t bring yourself to care.  Maybe if he doesn’t look down he won’t see you – you just want to be left alone.  “Solnishko?” Now he sounds concerned; he turns on a lamp and in your peripheral you notice him kneeling down next to you. “Solnishko?”  Quiet now, almost scared.

You can’t help the sigh that escapes.  “What’s up, Mikhail?”  Eyes still unfocused, head still rocking.

He no doubt has a look of consternation on his face, but still, you don’t care.  You just don’t fucking care.

“Are…are you okay?”

You don’t answer; there’s nothing that you can say at the moment that won’t be mean or rude, and it’s Mikhail, for fuck’s sake.  He’s the only one in this entire godforsaken place that hasn’t shown any interest or intent to hurt you; he doesn’t deserve your venom.

“Of course you are not okay,” he mutters to himself as he rubs a hand over his face.  “Solnishko, I am very sorry, but Mr. Krakken and Kapitan require your presence in the dining room.  Immediately.”

“Immediately, huh?  So I guess that means I don’t have to get all dolled up for the meat market tonight?” That’s something.  You’re quite comfortable in your jeans and Bucky’s sweatshirt, thank you very much.

“Solnishko…” He’s quiet for a long moment before continuing in a hesitant tone, “He is here.”

You still for just a moment as your eyes focus, then slowly turn your head to look at the man still kneeling next to you.  Mikhail didn’t just say that.  No.  

No.

“Your…your Soldier.  He is here.” His brown eyes hold an overwhelming amount of sorrow for you.

Defeated tears fill your eyes as you nod, just once, before looking away again. They’re going to destroy him.  Tonight.  And there’s not a goddamn thing you can do about it.

There was never any doubt in your mind that he would come for you, but after last night you’d hoped he wouldn’t.  A waste of hope, really, and you knew it the moment the thought came to you.  But still – God, you don’t want this to happen. Not to Bucky.  Not again.

An unwelcome voice suddenly echoes in your head.  Well, what do you know?  Christopher was right.  You really do ruin the lives of everyone that loves you.

“Solnishko?”  

“I, um, I just need a second, Mikhail,” you whisper brokenly.  

He nods sadly before rising.  “I will wait for you in the hall.”

Alone once again, you bring your hands up to your mouth to stifle the sob; it all ends tonight.  You know that Bucky won’t do anything to jeopardize your life; he’ll willingly submit to those monsters to keep you as safe as possible.  

Rubbing at your eyes, you take a few deep breaths and pull yourself up off the floor.  You walk to the door, but end up pausing with your hand stretched out to reach the doorknob. You can’t do it.  You can’t open the door and walk out of this room. Logically you know that defying their orders and staying here won’t change the outcome, but there’s a childish part of you that thinks maybe, just maybe, if you don’t see it happen, then it won’t.  

You don’t know how long you stand there, staring at the door with your fingers just inches away from the knob, but it must be long enough because Mikhail eventually pokes his head in.

“Solnishko, I am really sorry, but…”  You can tell that he means it, but it doesn’t lessen the blow.

Slowly, you step out into the hall and follow him to the dining room. It feels like a death march.

Your feet speed up, though, when you hear his voice.  They can’t help it.  You can’t help it.

“I thought you said she’d be here?”  He’s angry, and paying no attention whatsoever to the three people pointing guns at him, one of which is Grigory.  Nicolai and Anatoliy sit at the table calmly, completely unperturbed by the situation.  Bucky’s back is to the door, so you see him before he sees you, but it makes little difference since he senses your presence and turns almost immediately.

It takes less than a split second to realize that he’s barely a shadow of himself.  It’s easy to see that he hasn’t been sleeping or eating; his skin is pale and waxy, there are dark circles under his red rimmed eyes, and his hair is almost as wild as the expression on his face.  You know what’s about to happen, but you need to hold him.  Just one more time, you need to hold him and be held by him.  One more time.

“Bucky,” you murmur as you step forward, both of you ignoring the barks from the other men to stop.  He’s saying your name, too, and then with an almost violent collision you’re finally in each other’s arms, wrapped around the other as if that would be enough to shield you both from the oncoming storm.

You vaguely register the threats Nicolai’s men are shouting, telling the two of you to separate or they’ll start shooting, but you don’t give a solitary fuck. If you die now it will be in Bucky’s arms, and as far as you’re concerned, that’s a hell of a way to go.

“Are you okay, Sweetheart?” he asks roughly against your ear, unwilling to pull away even a little bit.

Holding him just as fiercely, you can’t hide the tears in your voice when you reply, “Bucky, you shouldn’t have come.  They’re going to –“

He mumbles your name in a gentle admonition.  “I love you, and I’d never leave you, no matter what.  I’ll do whatever is necessary to get you home safe, and I’ll take whatever they throw at me. Do you understand that?”

“But Bucky –“

“Do you understand?”  There’s an urgency in his tone that makes you think that he knows what’s going to happen.  He knows, and he still came for you.

He’s willing to relive his nightmare.  For you.

You nod into his chest.  “I love you, Bucky.”

There’s so much more you want to say, so much more you need to tell him, but you’re cut short when your head is viciously pulled back by your braided hair; your body can’t help but follow, despite being in Bucky’s arms.  His eyes grow wide with fear and rage as he processes what’s happening at the exact moment you do.

“You know, lisichka, you do not listen very well.”  Anatoliy’s voice invades the sudden silence as he tugs sharply again at the hair still in his hand.  Suddenly there’s something cool against your neck; the look in Bucky’s eyes tell you that you don’t need to bother looking above the fireplace. Anatoliy has his father’s shashka at your throat.

Bucky stands completely motionless, starting at the blade resting just above the collar; you can feel it against your skin, and you can’t tell if the slight sting is real or your imagination.

Until you feel the slow trickle.

The fucker cut you; even if you hadn’t felt the small drop of blood rolling down your skin, you’d know it by the murder in Bucky’s eyes.

“Oh, I guess the blade is sharper than I thought it was.  My mistake.”  Anatoliy sounds amused.

“Yes.  Your mistake,” Bucky growls.  He’s practically vibrating with the need to move, but he holds still as his eyes suddenly narrow.  “Why is her neck bruised?”  He speaks calmly and quietly, but the threat is perfectly clear.

“Milaya moya was a bit defiant last night.  She needed to be reminded of her place.”  Nicolai has a smug look on his face as he approaches, with Metzger following behind excitedly like an ugly little lapdog.

He’s got that goddamn Trapper Keeper with him.  Fuck.

“Don’t call her that.”  The malice in Bucky’s voice is tangible, and you honestly don’t know how Nicolai isn’t at least slightly alarmed; if that voice was used toward you, you’re pretty sure you’d faint on the spot.  Metzger, on the other hand, shrinks back considerably.

“Or what?”  The challenge hangs in the air.  “You will do absolutely nothing?  Not exactly a frightening prospect, Soldat.”  Nicolai shakes his head in disgust.  “With the reputation you carry I was expecting a bold and fearsome warrior, but I must admit that I am more than a little disappointed.  You are weak; your emotions have made you spineless and easy to manipulate.  It is pathetic.”  

“Are you sure you want to do this, Krakken?  Last chance to back out.”  You take comfort in Bucky’s confident tone; he’s got this.  He’s got to have a plan, right?  Is the team here?  They need to hurry their asses up and get in here…

“Last chance to back out?” Nicolai chuckles.  “I ask again…or what?  What will you do to me, to anyone here?”  He gestures broadly around the room, and you hear quiet laughter coming from Grigory. “The answer is nothing.  As long as we hold her fragile little life in our hands, you will do nothing, because you are a coward.  You will sacrifice your own mind to save her.  Weakness.”

Bucky regards him calmly before speaking, but you can see the rage simmering just below his placid exterior.  “You’re a fucking idiot if you think that my loving her gives you an advantage, because it isn’t a weakness.  Loving her gives me purpose and resolve; it makes me stronger.  I know some people in my shoes might be able to be selfless and give her up to keep her safe, but not me.  I’m a selfish son of a bitch.  I can’t live without her – I won’t. Using her to get to me will be your biggest mistake.  Every mark, every injury, every pain, every minor fucking discomfort brought to her will be returned to you - with interest - before I kill you.  And I will fucking kill you.”

“Awww, that is very sweet, is it not?”  Nicolai’s voice drips with a poisoned sweetness that matches his saccharine smile.  “He believes in the power of love.” The smile drops and his cruel green eyes narrow.  “Too bad it will do nothing to protect either of you from the Soldat.”

Bucky’s spine straightens at the last comment, but his face is unreadable.

“I heard rumors you had the triggers removed – you may be disappointed to know that my great uncle built in a failsafe.  Kind of a control/alt/delete.”  Metzger is clearly enjoying this, and he chuckles a bit at the expression that comes over Bucky’s face.  “You cannot have something removed if you did not know it was there.”  

“That’s enough gloating, Doctor, we have work to do.  Activate the asset.”

Mezger giggles, the fucking ugly little troll actually giggles, as he opens up to the page that presumably contains the trigger words.

“On second thought,” Nicolai snatches the binder as Grigory steps forward to restrain Mezger, “you will not make a good Komandir.  I will activate him myself.”

“What?  You cannot do this!  This is my right!  This is my –“ His indignant rant is cut short with Grigory’s solid right hook to his temple.  Well what do you know, the creepy fucker is good for something.

Nicolai pays him no mind as he crumples to the ground other than to step over Metzger’s arm as he walks closer.

“Look at me, Sweetheart.”  Bucky’s softly commanding voice draws your attention from Nicolai.  “I love you.  Okay?  I love you.”

“I love you, Bucky.”  You focus on him and only him; you’ve almost forgotten about the blade at your throat.

Nicolai takes his place next to Anatoliy and begins speaking; you don’t need an interpreter to know he’s begun the triggering process.  “Berserk.”  Berserker.

Bucky puts his hand to his head, as if there was an invisible impact.  He swallows hard as he squeezes his eyes shut and clenches his fists.  “No…no no no…NO!  FUCK!” Panic starts leaking into his voice as he opens his eyes again to look at you; the intensity of his stare feels like he’s trying to etch your face indelibly into his memory.  “I am so, so sorry!  Please…forgive me for what I’ll do.”

“Malinovyy.”  Crimson.

“There will be nothing to forgive, Bucky.  Anything that’s done is on them and not you.”  Your heart is in your throat and God, you want to comfort him so badly.  You move to take a step forward, but are stopped with a sharp tug to your hair. Fuck.

“Sumerki.”  Gloaming.  

“I need to hear you say that you’ll forgive me.  I need to know!”  His hand is at his chest now; he’s clutching his dog tags so hard his knuckles are white.

“Pokinutyy.”  Forsaken.

“Bucky…”  Your mind races; how can you make him understand in such a short time?  No matter what happens, you’re his – nothing will ever change that.  Nothing could.

“I need to know!!  Will you forgive me?”  The desperation in his voice would break your heart in two if there were any pieces left that were big enough to break.

“Kosa.”  Scythe.

“It’s going to be okay, Love.  Yes!  I’ll forgive you, Bucky, I’ll always forgive you.  Just find your way back to me, okay?”  It suddenly becomes painfully obvious that there isn’t a plan – this is really going to happen.  The team isn’t here.  There’s no one to save Bucky from this.

“Predvestnik.”  Harbinger.

Bucky falls to his knees.  “They’re going to make me do bad things, Sweetheart,” he sobs, “they’re going to make me hurt you.”

“I know, Love, I know.  It’s okay.” You keep your voice as calm as you can, but you can’t stop the tears from falling.

“Dozhd’ so snegom.” Sleet.

He presses his hands to the sides of his head, as if he could somehow manage to keep the words from entering his brain.  “Remember what I taught you, okay?  God, I’m so sorry…”

“I will.  I’ll be fine, I promise, just don’t give up, okay?”  Please…please come back to me…

”Naduvat.’”  Cozen.

“I promise I’ll come back to you.”  There’s a sudden calm in his tormented eyes, even though he’s breathing heavily.

“Vernost’ vassala feodalu.”  Fealty.  

“I know you will, Bucky.  It’s going to be okay.  I love you. Always will.”  You’re out of time.  There’s nothing else you can say; he knows this, too.

“I love you.”  He’s resolute.  You nod.

“Neispravimyy.”  Irredeemable.  

Bucky releases your name in a primal scream as the last word is spoken, and just like that he stills, but not for long.

He slowly rises to his feet.  Gone is the raging man, fighting the planted impulses within his own mind. Gone is the protective lover, desperately trying to find a way to save you.  Gone is the tortured soul, pleading with his beloved.

His cold, dispassionate eyes show nothing as they pass over you and focus on the one holding his mind hostage.

“Dobroe utro, Soldat.”  Good morning, Soldier.

It takes a moment or two, but the flat, emotionless response eventually passes Bucky’s lips. “Ya gatov otvechat.”  Ready to comply.  

You try to find one little piece of Bucky, seek out any tiny vestige of the man you love, but see nothing to bring you even the smallest amount of hope.

It’s not there.

This isn’t your Bucky.  This is the Winter Soldier.  

Tags Round 1:  @rogersxbarnesx @hellomissmabel @beccaanne814-blog  @musichowler @nykitass @danimuhle @iwillbeinmynest  @shifutheshihtzu @iamtal @passiononfire @jade-cheshire @flowercrownsandmetallicarms @lostinspace33 @gingerrootknits @callmebucky-doll @learisa @sammedrano @hardcorehippos  @vaisabu @widowvinter @amrita31199 @bellenuit45 @agentraven007 @ sarahjeaniejean  @canumoveyourseatup-no @ unpredictable-firecracker @ omalleysgirl22  @crazyliraz   @shamvictoria11    @ kaaatniss  @lillian-paige  @ladylizzieofdarbyshire  @sexyseabass1231   @knittingknerdy  @4theluvofall  @howdoesoneadult

[lotus0kid]

Prompt: Belle finds an old pair of roller skates in Gold's shop and tries them out, liking the extra height they give her.

OUaT: Anniversary Fic the 4th

Belle has been left unsupervised in the back room of Gold’sshop while he sees to a customer out front. She can hardly believe her luck. Until he realizes his error and comes racing back, she wanders theaisles in a haze of guilty pleasure.

It all started with books, as things often do in Belle’sworld.  She heard a rumor that Gold washoarding a treasure trove of rare volumes, and so one day she stopped by, justto see if she could sweet-talk a donation to the library out of him.  Or maybe she just wanted to get her grubby mittson them herself, it’s difficult to recall now. Gold didn’t say a word to her, just pointed out a small bookshelf in acorner and left her alone.  She workedthrough his collection for several days on her lunch breaks, and after that...kind of just kept showing up, to his obvious bafflement.  It took ages to get him to give more thanone-word answers to her friendly questions as she inspected this or thattrinket.  And even longer to get him to havelunch with her.  And even longer thanthat to get an invitation into the back room where she could see the realrarities, under his constant supervision. He’s still so guarded, as if expecting her betrayal at any moment, butit’s worth it for the odd jokes he cracks once a week, or those flashes ofwarmth in his dark eyes, or the way his lean body fills out those gorgeoussuits...

 Belle shakes her head at her silly musings, then pauses asher eye catches something tucked nearly out of sight.  It’s a pair of roller skates, pale blue withwhite stripes on the sides, black laces, and amber wheels and brakes.  With her lower lip caught between her teeth,Belle is utterly powerless to stop herself from popping off her shoes andslipping into the skates.  To her shock,they fit almost perfectly.

 “This is such abad idea...” she whispers gleefully as she levers herself onto her feet andbegins inching stiffly along the aisle, her shoes held in one hand.

 She’s a few feet from the chair where she usually eats lunchwhen the shop bell rings, most likely signaling the customer’s departure.  She bolts up straight and plasters on a bravesmile before the curtain twitches aside and Gold appears.  He stops, tilts his head curiously, scans herup and down, and starts laughing.

 “What?” Belle asks through her amazement at this entirelyunprecedented phenomenon.

 Gold just shakes his head. “Take those off before you get hurt and sue me for millions.”

 “No,” she retorts defiantly, slowly rolling backward.

 “Belle, those aren’t for you.”

 “Who are theyfor?  You?  They were just sitting back here gatheringdust.  Seemed wrong.”

 He rolls his eyes. “If you want them so much, take them. They’ll never sell.  There’snothing more old-fashioned than roller-skating.”

 Belle risks moving forward until she’s a step away fromGold.  On wheels, she’s eye-to-eye withhim, which is even nicer than she thought it might be.  “Fine then, I will.  And I’ll be the best roller-skater thistown’s ever seen.”

 His eyebrows jump. “Will you?  Forgive me, Belle, butas charming as you are, you are not the most graceful creature on this planet.”

 Belle’s not sure if she should be flattered or outraged.  Of course he would smother his firstcompliment with an insult in the same breath. “Well, perhaps I just need practice. I can do anything I put my mind to.” She doubts it could be any harder than wrestling her way into afriendship with Gold.

 “Is that so?  Wouldyou bet on it?”

 It’s Belle’s turn to raise her brows.  “A bet? How intriguing.  What are theterms?”

 He gives her a thoughtful squint as he ponders thequestion.  “How about... Well, if we wantto be old-fashioned about it- why don’t you make up a little routine on yournew skates?  In three weeks, you can giveme a performance, and if you get through it without falling flat on yourarse...  I’ll buy you dinner.  At Lumiere’s.”

 Belle’s eyes widen and her stomach does a little flip.  He just asked her to dinner, in his ownbizarre, conditional way.  “What happensif I fall?” she asks a little breathlessly.

 “Hm.  If thathappens... then you’ll do all the dusting around here next Sunday.  Front and back.  Deal?”

 So, win or lose, they’ll still spend more timetogether.  Belle wonders if Gold evenrealizes that.  “All right.  Deal.”

 She holds out her hand, and he grasps it in a firmshake.  Then he steps aside, tugs hardand lets go so she rolls past him with windmilling arms.

 “You bastard!” she shrieks while desperately snatching thecurtain to stay upright.  Gold justlaughs more.

 ---

 It’s a long three weeks, not just because Belle stopsvisiting Gold.  She reckons she probablyskates more than she sleeps, at first just to get used to wearing the things,and then to learn the routine she cobbles together from video clips of 1970sroller disco on YouTube.  She doesfall.  A lot.  She takes to wearing long sleeves and trousersor opaque tights to hide the colorful splotches on her limbs, which is not funat the height of summer.  At least sheprotects her knees, elbows, hands, and head with some top quality safety gear.  And even her worst tumble doesn’t dissuadeher.  She will win this bet, and collecther date with Gold.  And it will be adate, if she has her way.  She won’t letthis just be him paying off a lost bet, if it doesn’t have to be.

 At the end of three weeks, Belle slips an invitation throughthe shop’s mail slot instructing Gold to come to the library’s parking lot fora “FUN-FILLED ROLLER DISCO SPECTACULAR” at nine o’clock.  That night, she lurks in the shadows of thelibrary, watching him step into a pool of yellow lamp light and glance aroundthe empty space curiously.

 Belle picks up a large, rectangular boombox, then rolls out intothe parking lot and glides straight past Gold without a single glance in hisdirection.  She sets down the boombox andtravels in an easy circle for a little while, letting him get a good look ather in all her glory- the blue cotton T-shirt with the bottom hem and bothsleeves rolled up for maximum skin exposure, the tiny white silk shorts withthe gold stripes on the sides, the white tube socks pulled up to her calves,the high pigtails streaming in her wake. She knows perfectly well she’s a retro sight to behold.  If she loses, she’ll make Gold regret it asmuch as she will.

 On her latest revolution she dips down and smoothly hitsplay on the boombox.  The powerful hornsof Earth, Wind, & Fire’s “Boogie Wonderland” burstinto the air, and Belle’s routine begins. It’s not fancy.  Though she knowsshe can’t get away with simply waving her arms from side to side for fiveminutes, she’s not about to try some of the dazzling acrobatics she saw onYouTube.  She rhythmically punches theair in front of her.  She turns andglides backwards with her butt bouncing up and down.  She bends into a sitting position with oneleg held straight in front of her.  Sheextends a leg behind her and rolls on one skate.  She turns her skates in a horizontal line andtravels sideways in a tightening circle, coming to a stop facing Gold as the songends.  She flicks out a hand high aboveher head and cocks a leg in a final pose of triumph.

 For his part, Gold stares at her with round eyes and ahanging jaw.  After a while, he hooks hiscane on one elbow and begins slowly clapping. “Good god, Belle,” he says, “You take your bets bloody seriously.”

 She grins and drops her arm, and begins rolling towardhim.  Then a crack in the pavement popsup out of nowhere and her skate flies out from under her.  But she doesn’t fall, because there are twostrong arms wrapped around her torso, holding her upper body almost parallel tothe ground.  She stares up at Gold, andhe stares down at her, both too shocked to speak.  At least until Belle declares, “That doesn’tcount!  I finished my routine!”

 Gold bursts into laughter. “You weirdo,” he murmurs, voice soft with wonder and warm with somethingelse.

 “I win,” she replies, then lays her hand on theback of his head and pulls herself up to kiss him.  A startled gasp blows over her cheek fromGold’s nose, but his lips soon relax and move with hers, there in the libraryparking lot while Earth, Wind, & Fire’s refrain echoes in Belle’s head- I find romance when I start to dance inBoogie Wonderland...

[ponticle]

Day 9: Seminar, Day 4, Night [9-Day Anderstair Challenge]

[Masterpost]

[Read it on Ao3]

Chapter Summary:  Anders and Alistair prepare to say goodbye. Anders blurts the ultimate secret. (This is the end of the challenge. The next chapter of Coffee Shop will be out this week!)

Seminar Day 4: Night

As I push the elevator button to go up to Alistair’s room, I almost turn back. I just don’t think I can do this for the third night in a row. I mean—I know I can do it… I’m just not sure I should… not without some serious conversations.

I put the key into the lock and open the door. It’s dark inside. I blink a few times, trying to let my eyes adjust. He told me to meet him—he should be here. Then I round the corner—a beam of light from the window illuminates his sleeping face.

All my resolve is gone—I just want to crawl into bed next to him. I sneak to the side of the bed, strip my clothes off, and slide between the sheets. True to form, he’s naked… We used to have a rule about that: never come to bed dressed.

When I curl in behind his back, he stirs gently, pushing his ass against my crotch—we slot together like we’ve never been apart.

I rub my hands up and down his back until he rolls over and blinks at me.

“Sorry, I fell asleep…” he mumbles. “It was an accident.”

“You got naked, turned all the lights off, and crawled into bed by accident?” I laugh.

He smiles, “You got me. I just wanted to cuddle with you,” he yawns and pulls me into his chest. My head fits in that spot between his shoulder and neck like it was made for it.

“I love cuddling with you,” I blurt. The word ‘love’ slipped out of my mouth before I could catch it. It was okay this time, but I don’t want to accidentally say it between the words ‘I’ and ‘you’.

“Then wake me up in an hour,” he closes his eyes again and pretends to snore.

“You're the sweetest,” I kiss his cheek.

He opens his eyes. “Compared to what?” he asks. He's teasing me, but I like it so I play along.

“Compared to anyone else I know.”

He kisses me long and deep. Time stretches unnaturally until he lets me go.

“Andy… I'm so glad we ran into each other,” he whispers.

I nod. I wish I was braver. I'd tell him how I've missed him every day, how I never want to be with anyone but him. How much I love him. ...but I don't do any of that. Instead, I put my palm on the side of his face and kiss him with all the gentleness I can muster.

“I think a few of the presenters are heading down to the bar in the lobby now,” I mention.

“So what?”

“So… I thought you might want to be there… you're a presenter…” I laugh.

“Yeah, I suppose.” He stares up at the ceiling, rubbing circles on the skin of my back. “But what will you do?”

“I'll go with you,” I volunteer. It's a question, but I know it might have sounded like a statement. I don't want to be presumptuous, but this is going to be my field too. I'd like to meet everyone.

“Really?” he asks. He's pulled and pushed us so he can look in my eyes.

“Yeah…” I run a finger along his jaw. “Of course…”

“Okay. Let's do it…” he smiles and kisses me again. It's urgent—like something that won't happen again… and I suppose it's true. This is almost the end.

Downstairs, the bar is filled with academic types. I carefully scan the crowd before we get in too deep—I’m wondering if anyone I know will be here. I’m hoping not to run into that Steven (or whatever) person from the other night… I don’t think he was a presenter, but I can’t be sure. It's not like we talked, really. Thankfully, I don’t see him. The only person I do know is Dorian. He’s standing near the entryway taking a phone call. He looks stressed.

“What’s going on?” asks Alistair.

Dorian holds up a finger to us. “I understand, Cullen…” he pauses and rolls his eyes. “I think she’s going to be fine… this isn’t going to have a ‘lasting effect’ on her! She barely even has object permanence…” He sighs. “Yes, I’m kidding… I know that develops early…” He rubs his forehead. “Yes, of course… I’ll see you tomorrow… love you too…”

“What was that all about?” asks Alistair.

Dorian sighs, “Apparently Mia was asking for me all day.”

I blush. That’s so effing cute.

“...and then she couldn’t sleep—she’s been having nightmares—so Cullen called to tell me that I’m damaging our daughter’s psyche by being away this many days… not in so many words,” Dorian explains.

Alistair laughs.

“Yeah, laugh it up…” Dorian smirks. “He implied that we are having the time of our lives out here while he’s stuck at home with a sobbing child…”

“We are having the time of our lives,” says Alistair. He’s looking at me. “Aren’t we?” he winks.

“Dear god…” Dorian rolls his eyes again. “I need a drink…” He takes off in the direction of the bar.

When he’s out of sight, I have a semi-serious question:

“When did Cullen become such a wet blanket?” I’m laughing, but there’s truth in there. He was so suave before. Every time I saw him I wanted to murder him for just existing in that state.

Alistair almost chokes he’s laughing so hard. “He’s the worst, isn’t he?”

I blush. I like hearing him say disparaging things about Cullen. It makes me feel vindicated.

“He’s just not used to being a parent… and he likes Dorian a lot,” explains Alistair. “Like… it’s insane… he’s a completely different person in that relationship. He thinks Dorian is too good for him—which is true.” He pauses, looking down at his feet. “With me… he could see that I’m basically an asshole… so…”

“You are not,” I argue. Before I can stop myself, I’ve put a hand on Alistair’s cheek—in full view of everyone. I expect him to shake his jaw free, but he doesn’t. Instead, he leans into it.

“Thanks, Andy…”

I've said goodbye to Alistair before. It was horrible when he moved out, but saying goodbye after networking with his (my) colleagues trumps it. Even though we aren't an established couple, we met every person in tandem. We were a fixture.

On his way out of the bar, he pulls me into a side hallway.

“You were fantastic in there,” he says.

“Thanks,” I smirk. “I know a thing or two about musculoskeletal pathology.”

He laughs. “I was really surprised you knew about Dr. Gestalt’s research… that just came out.”

I smile. I’m pretty proud of myself too.

“So… are you turning in?” I ask. My spine curves in on itself; unexpressed emotion hovering in the air.

“Yeah, I think so…” he smiles at me. “Do you want to stay with me?”

That's the question, isn't it? Do I want to stay? Should I stay with him for one more night?

“I think I'd better go back to my room,” I shrug. I'm not even sure why, but it feels like this is the end—the time to say goodbye. It will only be harder in the morning.

“Okay…” he looks crestfallen. “Do you want to get a drink first?” he offers, “go for a walk?”

“Okay… let's do both.”

“Anders…” he slurs. “You're going to be a fantastic doctor.”

We're outside on the sidewalk in a beam of street lamp light. He's weaving and hopping, but I'm not even drunk. I'm not sure how.

“You think so?” I ask.

He stops a few feet ahead of me and turns on his heel. “Yes. You're amazing.”

I blush.

“...and I knew that already… but this weekend has just confirmed it,” he adds.

“How did you know?” I prod. I'm fishing for compliments, but who cares? Sue me.

His eyes widen.  He cups my cheek with his palm. “Because you're incredible. The most conscientious, remarkable, amazing, person I know.”

“That's quite an endorsement,” I laugh, “but it sounds anecdotal…”

He snorts.

“And some doctor told me that we can only trust empirical evidence… just this afternoon,” I tease.

“Okay, okay… way to hold my lecture against me,” he smiles.

“At least I was listening,” I shrug.

He kisses me. Deeply, strongly. Right on the mouth, in the middle of the street. It couldn't be more obvious if he tried.

“I love you,” I blurt.

Oh shit. Fuck. What the fuck did I just do????

He pulls back—eyeing me suspiciously. My mouth was kind of smashed against his at the time, but it’s possible he understood me. I’m dying.

“What?” he asks.

Pull it back, Andy. Oh shit.

“Nothing…” I stammer, “you're great… that's all.”

We stare at each other. Time stretches. His hands are still gently resting on my hips, but it feels different.

“I think we'd better head back,” I say. It's a last ditch effort to keep shit from hitting the fan. He looks miserable as he agrees, but he doesn't argue. We walk back in silence.

At my door, he kisses me goodnight.

“Goodnight, Andy.”

I smile and nod, closing the door. On the other side, I listen to his footsteps get further and further away. It hurts, but I don't know what else to do. I've blurted the ultimate secret. Now it's time to back peddle.

 Anders: Bela? I need help.

Isabela: Do you know what time it is here?

I look at my watch. It’s 2am here… so 5am in Boston?

Anders: sorry…

Isabela: …it’s okay… What’s going on?

Anders: I love him.

Isabela: And?

Anders: I blurted something to that effect… I’m not going to be okay.

Isabela: What do you mean?

Anders: I just can’t.

Isabela: ?

Anders: I can’t be… exist… without him. I tried to get over him before and it almost killed me. How am I going to do this again?

Isabela takes a while to answer. I see the ellipsis for typing show up and disappear several times.

Isabela: We’ll help you. That’s what friends are for, Andy. [heart]

Thank you so much for reading this challenge. I think it’s my favorite one so far. The next chapter of the main story, Coffee Shop, will be posted this week on Ao3. Stay tuned! 

If you liked this story, I’d love to hear from you. :)

[sharionpage]

Distilling the essence of the Sermon on the Mount: An Invitation from Dietrich Bonhoeffer

Image credit: Sermon on the Mount by Cosimo Rosselli (1439-1507)

This year I have been reading an edited volume of Dietrich Bonhoeffer’s written works. Bonhoeffer was a German pastor who joined the resistance against the Nazi regime during World War II and was eventually captured and executed for treason. Among other things, he wrote of his disapproval of the German Lutheran church for their support of the Nazis and his belief that the wider Christian church would need to be reformed to remain relevant in our postmodern age.

Throughout his writings, I have frequently been struck by Bonhoeffer’s comments on the Sermon on the Mount. To him, there was no higher encapsulation of Christian theology and ideals in all the Bible, nor a higher priority for Christian obedience.

Although I’ve of course read the Sermon many times before, I thought I’d go back and try to give it a “fresh look” in light of Bonhoeffer’s writing and perspectives. While there are many, many ways to study and interpret scripture, I opted to go for a broad view this time. Instead of digging deep into every word and phrase, I tried to discern “meta-themes” and broad generalizations from this collection of the sayings of Jesus. Of course, others more able than I have studied the Sermon on the Mount for centuries. I merely offer my own inadequate and amateur thoughts here.

This is what I came up with:

Matthew 5-7, NRSV:

[Matthew 5] The Sermon on the Mount; the Beatitudes

1 When Jesus saw the crowds, he went up the mountain; and after he sat down, his disciples came to him. 2 Then he began to speak, and taught them, saying:

3 “Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.

4 “Blessed are those who mourn, for they will be comforted.

5 “Blessed are the meek, for they will inherit the earth.

6 “Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness, for they will be filled.

7 “Blessed are the merciful, for they will receive mercy.

8 “Blessed are the pure in heart, for they will see God.

9 “Blessed are the peacemakers, for they will be called children of God.

10 “Blessed are those who are persecuted for righteousness’ sake, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.

11 “Blessed are you when people revile you and persecute you and utter all kinds of evil against you falsely on my account. 12 Rejoice and be glad, for your reward is great in heaven, for in the same way they persecuted the prophets who were before you.

Above all, begin from a place of love and try to let that love guide your actions, values, and priorities as much as possible.

The disciple in the world

13 “You are the salt of the earth; but if salt has lost its taste, how can its saltiness be restored? It is no longer good for anything, but is thrown out and trampled under foot.

14 “You are the light of the world. A city built on a hill cannot be hid. 15 No one after lighting a lamp puts it under the bushel basket, but on the lampstand, and it gives light to all in the house. 16 In the same way, let your light shine before others, so that they may see your good works and give glory to your Father in heaven.

Try to be a force for goodness and light in the world.

Jesus and the law

17 “Do not think that I have come to abolish the law or the prophets; I have come not to abolish but to fulfill. 18 For truly I tell you, until heaven and earth pass away, not one letter, not one stroke of a letter, will pass from the law until all is accomplished. 19 Therefore, whoever breaks one of the least of these commandments, and teaches others to do the same, will be called least in the kingdom of heaven; but whoever does them and teaches them will be called great in the kingdom of heaven. 20 For I tell you, unless your righteousness exceeds that of the scribes and Pharisees, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven.

Jesus did not come to contradict the commandments, and yet he frequently disregarded prevailing authoritative/institutional interpretations of commandments, religious practices, and religious values. The motive of love described here, then, doesn’t contradict commandments, yet working from a place of love might put someone in conflict with prevailing authoritative interpretations of commandments. When this happens, the “higher law” is love and should be prioritized.

21 “You have heard that it was said to those of ancient times, ‘You shall not murder’; and ‘whoever murders shall be liable to judgment.’ 22 But I say to you that if you are angry with a brother or sister, you will be liable to judgment; and if you insult a brother or sister, you will be liable to the council; and if you say, ‘You fool,’ you will be liable to the hell of fire. 23 So when you are offering your gift at the altar, if you remember that your brother or sister has something against you, 24 leave your gift there before the altar and go; first be reconciled to your brother or sister, and then come and offer your gift. 25 Come to terms quickly with your accuser while you are on the way to court with him, or your accuser may hand you over to the judge, and the judge to the guard, and you will be thrown into prison. 26 Truly I tell you, you will never get out until you have paid the last penny.

Try to be calm and do not react out of anger; act only after you’re calm, especially in interpersonal relationships.

27 “You have heard that it was said, ‘You shall not commit adultery.’ 28 But I say to you that everyone who looks at a woman with lust has already committed adultery with her in his heart. 29 If your right eye causes you to sin, tear it out and throw it away; it is better for you to lose one of your members than for your whole body to be thrown into hell. 30 And if your right hand causes you to sin, cut it off and throw it away; it is better for you to lose one of your members than for your whole body to go into hell.

31 “It was also said, ‘Whoever divorces his wife, let him give her a certificate of divorce.’ 32 But I say to you that anyone who divorces his wife, except on the ground of unchastity, causes her to commit adultery; and whoever marries a divorced woman commits adultery.

In questions of ethics and morality, the motives behind actions weigh as much as (if not more than) the consequences.

33 “Again, you have heard that it was said to those of ancient times, ‘You shall not swear falsely, but carry out the vows you have made to the Lord.’ 34 But I say to you, Do not swear at all, either by heaven, for it is the throne of God, 35 or by the earth, for it is his footstool, or by Jerusalem, for it is the city of the great King. 36 And do not swear by your head, for you cannot make one hair white or black. 37 Let your word be ‘Yes, Yes’ or ‘No, No’; anything more than this comes from the evil one.

Be pure and genuine in your interpersonal interactions.

38 “You have heard that it was said, ‘An eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth.’ 39 But I say to you, Do not resist an evildoer. But if anyone strikes you on the right cheek, turn the other also; 40 and if anyone wants to sue you and take your coat, give your cloak as well; 41 and if anyone forces you to go one mile, go also the second mile. 42 Give to everyone who begs from you, and do not refuse anyone who wants to borrow from you.

Love and wholeness

43 “You have heard that it was said, ‘You shall love your neighbor and hate your enemy.’ 44 But I say to you, Love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you, 45 so that you may be children of your Father in heaven; for he makes his sun rise on the evil and on the good, and sends rain on the righteous and on the unrighteous. 46 For if you love those who love you, what reward do you have? Do not even the tax collectors do the same? 47 And if you greet only your brothers and sisters, what more are you doing than others? Do not even the Gentiles do the same? 48 Be perfect, therefore, as your heavenly Father is perfect.

Reciprocity is a less-mature ethical framework. Instead, try to let your actions exhibit love toward all, regardless of their actions toward you. 

[Matthew 6] On justice and prayer

1 “Beware of practicing your piety before others in order to be seen by them; for then you have no reward from your Father in heaven.

2 “So whenever you give alms, do not sound a trumpet before you, as the hypocrites do in the synagogues and in the streets, so that they may be praised by others. Truly I tell you, they have received their reward. 3 But when you give alms, do not let your left hand know what your right hand is doing, 4 so that your alms may be done in secret; and your Father who sees in secret will reward you.

5 “And whenever you pray, do not be like the hypocrites; for they love to stand and pray in the synagogues and at the street corners, so that they may be seen by others. Truly I tell you, they have received their reward. 6 But whenever you pray, go into your room and shut the door and pray to your Father who is in secret; and your Father who sees in secret will reward you.

7 “When you are praying, do not heap up empty phrases as the Gentiles do; for they think that they will be heard because of their many words. 8 Do not be like them, for your Father knows what you need before you ask him.

The LORD’s Prayer

9 “Pray then in this way: Our Father in heaven, hallowed be your name. 10 Your kingdom come. Your will be done, on earth as it is in heaven. 11 Give us this day our daily bread. 12 And forgive us our debts, as we also have forgiven our debtors. 13 And do not bring us to the time of trial, but rescue us from the evil one. 14 For if you forgive others their trespasses, your heavenly Father will also forgive you; 15 but if you do not forgive others, neither will your Father forgive your trespasses.

Fasting

16 “And whenever you fast, do not look dismal, like the hypocrites, for they disfigure their faces so as to show others that they are fasting. Truly I tell you, they have received their reward. 17 But when you fast, put oil on your head and wash your face, 18 so that your fasting may be seen not by others but by your Father who is in secret; and your Father who sees in secret will reward you.

When determining the morality or ethics of an action, try to avoid as much as possible the motive of external approval (what other’s think of you). Rather, focus as much as possible on internal ethical imperatives and personal integrity.

Religion and possessions

19 “Do not store up for yourselves treasures on earth, where moth and rust consume and where thieves break in and steal; 20 but store up for yourselves treasures in heaven, where neither moth nor rust consumes and where thieves do not break in and steal. 21 For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also.

22 “The eye is the lamp of the body. So, if your eye is healthy, your whole body will be full of light; 23 but if your eye is unhealthy, your whole body will be full of darkness. If then the light in you is darkness, how great is the darkness!

24 “No one can serve two masters; for a slave will either hate the one and love the other, or be devoted to the one and despise the other. You cannot serve God and wealth.

What you love and desire drives your choices and actions. Where is your love? What actions will flow from the object of that love?

25 “Therefore I tell you, do not worry about your life, what you will eat or what you will drink, or about your body, what you will wear. Is not life more than food, and the body more than clothing? 26 Look at the birds of the air; they neither sow nor reap nor gather into barns, and yet your heavenly Father feeds them. Are you not of more value than they? 27 And can any of you by worrying add a single hour to your span of life? 28 And why do you worry about clothing? Consider the lilies of the field, how they grow; they neither toil nor spin, 29 yet I tell you, even Solomon in all his glory was not clothed like one of these. 30 But if God so clothes the grass of the field, which is alive today and tomorrow is thrown into the oven, will he not much more clothe you — you of little faith? 31 Therefore do not worry, saying, ‘What will we eat?’ or ‘What will we drink?’ or ‘What will we wear?’ 32 For it is the Gentiles who strive for all these things; and indeed your heavenly Father knows that you need all these things. 33 But strive first for the kingdom of God and his righteousness, and all these things will be given to you as well.

34 “So do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will bring worries of its own. Today’s trouble is enough for today.

Try to be mindfully present as much as possible in all that you do.

[Matthew 7] Making judgments within the community

1 “Do not judge, so that you may not be judged. 2 For with the judgment you make you will be judged, and the measure you give will be the measure you get. 3 Why do you see the speck in your neighbor’s eye, but do not notice the log in your own eye? 4 Or how can you say to your neighbor, ‘Let me take the speck out of your eye,’ while the log is in your own eye? 5 You hypocrite, first take the log out of your own eye, and then you will see clearly to take the speck out of your neighbor’s eye.

Again, try to let love be the primary motive of your actions and give others the benefit of the doubt as much as possible. 

6 “Do not give what is holy to dogs; and do not throw your pearls before swine, or they will trample them under foot and turn and maul you.

You are not obligated to explain yourself to others when they don’t understand you, and you can’t control what they think about you.

Concluding the Sermon on the Mount

7 “Ask, and it will be given you; search, and you will find; knock, and the door will be opened for you. 8 For everyone who asks receives, and everyone who searches finds, and for everyone who knocks, the door will be opened. 9 Is there anyone among you who, if your child asks for bread, will give a stone? 10 Or if the child asks for a fish, will give a snake? 11 If you then, who are evil, know how to give good gifts to your children, how much more will your Father in heaven give good things to those who ask him!

God desperately wants to be close to you. Don’t turn away God’s love for fear of unworthiness, insecurity, or self-doubt. God loves you infinitely: accept it, believe it, and embrace it.

12 “In everything do to others as you would have them do to you; for this is the law and the prophets.

13 “Enter through the narrow gate; for the gate is wide and the road is easy that leads to destruction, and there are many who take it. 14 For the gate is narrow and the road is hard that leads to life, and there are few who find it.

15 “Beware of false prophets, who come to you in sheep’s clothing but inwardly are ravenous wolves. 16 You will know them by their fruits. Are grapes gathered from thorns, or figs from thistles? 17 In the same way, every good tree bears good fruit, but the bad tree bears bad fruit. 18 A good tree cannot bear bad fruit, nor can a bad tree bear good fruit. 19 Every tree that does not bear good fruit is cut down and thrown into the fire. 20 Thus you will know them by their fruits.

21 “Not everyone who says to me, ‘Lord, Lord,’ will enter the kingdom of heaven, but only the one who does the will of my Father in heaven. 22 On that day many will say to me, ‘Lord, Lord, did we not prophesy in your name, and cast out demons in your name, and do many deeds of power in your name?’ 23 Then I will declare to them, ‘I never knew you; go away from me, you evildoers.’

24 “Everyone then who hears these words of mine and acts on them will be like a wise man who built his house on rock. 25 The rain fell, the floods came, and the winds blew and beat on that house, but it did not fall, because it had been founded on rock. 26 And everyone who hears these words of mine and does not act on them will be like a foolish man who built his house on sand. 27 The rain fell, and the floods came, and the winds blew and beat against that house, and it fell — and great was its fall!”

In discerning what is good and what is from God, focus on its fruits. Does it bear good fruit (in particular: love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, generosity, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control)? If so, you know it’s good and from God, whether or not it conforms to prevailing orthodoxies or authoritative paradigms.

28 Now when Jesus had finished saying these things, the crowds were astounded at his teaching, 29 for he taught them as one having authority, and not as their scribes.

God often works outside what are perceived to be the institutional power structures of authority.

…

From there, I collected these various meta-themes and tried to discern common patterns, threads, or themes among them. This is what I came up with to represent the essence of the Sermon on the Mount:

One’s internal motive and frame of mind are the foundations of ethical action, which can be enhanced by calmness and mindful presence.

The rightness/goodness/morality of actions/ideas is directly and positively correlated to the amount of pure love that is manifest in them. Pure love is the highest morality as it is the purest distillation of the essence of God.

Motivations of external approval, reciprocity, and conformity to institutional/authoritative orthodoxy, while appropriate in some (perhaps many) circumstances, are less mature/praiseworthy motivations for ethical action than that of pure love.

…

Profound questions:

Is this a reasonable distillation of the essence of Jesus’s teachings in the Sermon on the Mount? Why or why not?

Is this a reasonable distillation of the essence of Christianity as a moral/ethical framework? Why or why not?

As discussed at the beginning of the post, Bonhoeffer believed the Sermon on the Mount to be the purest expression of Christian ideals and the highest guiding authority for Christian obedience. If one were to adopt the three points listed above as an ethical framework, would it be enough to qualify as “Christian”? Why or why not?

Is the “meta-theme” approach a useful way to interpret scripture? Why or why not? What are its strengths and weaknesses?

What insights can a Mormon interpretive framework add to the effort to distill the essence of the Sermon on the Mount?

Many have observed core similarities between the essence of Christianity and the essence of Buddhism as moral and ethical philosophies (see here and here, e.g.). At its core, are Buddhism and the Sermon on the Mount teaching the same fundamental principles? Why or why not?

Regardless of whether or not you agree with my interpretation, do you agree with Bonhoeffer that the Sermon on the Mount is the highest expression of Christian ideals and morality? Why or why not?

Discuss.

    Distilling the essence of the Sermon on the Mount: An Invitation from Dietrich Bonhoeffer published first on https://bitspiritspace.tumblr.com/