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eleventhhourfactor · 2 months ago

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🌹 with Peasley and Luigi please!!

Peasley being the one infected if that's okay-

What's up, poppet? Glad to see you in my inbox for the ask game. Let's see here...

Okay. Uh huh. Had to pull up Hanahaki for review, but I think I'm reading you loud and clear. It took me a second to get my butt to the computer, and far longer to actually write this, but I've got just the timeline to put an ailing Peasley in.

Let's take a dive back into that alternate universe where Luigi dies and takes a while to heal—the world of The Fourth and Final Time.

Also, since this is a long one, it's been cross-posted to AO3. Link is provided in the previous sentence; just click the last part of it to take you to The Lingering Ills of a Lovesick Prince.

P.S. Obligatory ping to @giddlygoat because the Ghost AU was your baby.

Prince Peasley - Hanahaki Disease🌹

His advisors weren't sure if travel would be wise. It was the same concern that the Beanish Prince had heard for years now, ever since the first day he'd coughed up golden petals and greenish ichor.

Traveling might not have been wise, but it was the right thing to do—especially when your closest allies succumbed to the passage of time.

The Mushroom Queen's funeral had been splendid for a sordid celebration, with a procession through town and peach blossoms scattered through the streets. It was certainly far more pomp and circumstance than when Mario had gone out—not that it was a competition, he chided himself. He certainly wasn't immortal; nobody was, except the gods.

Still, the usual crowd he saw for these occasions had dwindled greatly over the years. Daisy was still hanging in there for a human, but her time would come far before his or the likes of Bowser.

Then again, if this damned disease had its way, he might very well be the next to go.

His illness was a chronic one—his body had turned against him, using its faculties to produce blooms that ultimately made their exit in a mess of blood and bile. The Beanish had many a name for this affliction, but the underlying cause was always the same: an unrequited love that was best to get to the root of, lest one expire from the expulsion of the many flowers that came with it.

Therein lay the rub—Peasley hadn't sought out another love since Luigi had passed; in the sixty-plus years that had flown by since, there had been no one else that could quite capture his heart like his little emerald could. If something had fallen out of favor between the two of them, why had he only contracted this illness within the past decade?

The only possibility was that Luigi was still here—perhaps not in the castle, but somewhere in the realm, oblivious to the fact that he'd spurned a prince's affections. That had to be it. The question was, how was Peasley going to reach him?

The answer, like many, came in the form of a surprise visitor.

"Oh my stars, it can't be. Polty?"

The ghostly canine didn't look a day over…well, he looked more or less the same. Bright as a light and as energetic as a lightning bolt, the creature had brushed up alongside him on a stroll out to the edge of town. Who was Peasley to deny the dog a follower, a bit of company?

"Just where are we going, boy?"

His only answer was a cheerful bark as Polterpup bounded along in the air. Peasley wondered, for a second, whether anyone would notice his absence. Such pondering wasn't meant to last, however, as prince and pup came to a stop in front of a place Peasley hadn't seen in years.

"Oh, dear," Peasley murmured, laying a hand on top of the peeling paint of the picket fence as the gate swung open. "Nobody's come by in a while, have they?"

Just what would his advisors say, seeing him stroll up to a cottage that had begun its descent into decay? Most likely, they'd be at his side as he took a knee, the better to rid his throat of a round of blossoms. Out they spilled onto the ground, a cheery yellow against bracken earth, drifting off in the breeze as Polterpup sniffed at the errant current sweeping them off.

He ought to turn back. Instead, he got to his feet and kept going, letting himself through the door instead of waiting around for a host that wouldn't.

The interior was much as he remembered it—modestly decorated with sturdy wood furniture and green trim. What was different was the disarray—knickknacks knocked from the shelves, papers scattered across the floor. Peasley drew in a breath when he caught sight of the den, with its comfy armchair knocked aside and the old television smashed in.

He had to know what happened here—who could've dared to desecrate his lover's abode long after his death. Before he could, he was seized by another coughing fit, hacking up rosebuds and petals as he sank to his knees.

"Polterpup, it's okay," Peasley managed between coughs. "Just…been under the weather, that's all. No need to be my crutch, boy. Just let me…"

He wheezed as he struggled to clear out the last of it. A single yellow rose, all in bloom, landed on the dusty carpet before him, its ichor glowing especially bright as he caught his breath.

Except it wasn't only his blood glowing. The space before him had taken on a greenish tinge, alight with an energy that beckoned his gaze upward, to fidgeting hands and wide eyes that he knew all too well, even now.

"Luigi?"

The specter before him was missing his cap, and his legs had fused together into a ghost's telltale trailing tail, but Peasley knew that there could be no other before him. The fact that Luigi had persisted beyond his death, to this very day, explained part of why Peasley had been coughing up flowers for nearly ten years.

There was, of course, another question that had to be answered—one that Peasley wasn't sure he wanted to hear, and one that, naively, he hoped he could turn around.

"Peasley." There was no rush to sweep him up in his arms, no gushing or tears or anything of the sort. Instead, Luigi remained rather still, clasping his hands together like he was encountering an acquaintance at most. "I wasn't expecting you to visit."

"I wasn't sure what to expect," Peasley answered. The room was getting chillier the longer he sat on the floor. "If you don't mind me asking, how long have you—"

"Stuck around?" Luigi cocked his head. "Ever since I fell off that balcony."

"All this time?" Peasley got up to took a step closer. "Oh, my darling, if I had known—"

"It's fine." Luigi was now across the room, the result of an abrupt phase away from Peasley. "I-I really didn't want anyone to find out. Can't really have a-a funeral with the dead looking over it, can you?"

"I suppose that makes sense," Peasley admitted. "Might've been harder to accept what happened had you been there—no offense!"

"None taken."

"I guess what I'm trying to say is—"

He couldn't get much out before he doubled over, his airways overridden with another series of painful coughs.

"Peasley?"

Of all the times, why here and now? Peasley's hacking nearly became retching as he forced the flowers up and out of him, spilling out ichor-stained roses before Luigi as Polterpup whined and nudged him.

"Peasley? What's wrong?"

There was the concern Peasley was familiar with, manifesting in a bit of panic and the placement of ice-cold hands on his shoulders. He would've been stunned had he not been battling for breath.

"Just a condition, my dear," Peasley finally said. "It flares up from time to time."

"H-How long have you been—"

"Managing it? A few years or so now." Peasley let the damp petals drop from his palm as he stood back up, assisted by the specter. "A funny thing, really."

"Hm?"

"Though it's a physical ailment, it manifests out of a psychological reason—a one-sided love, as silly as it sounds. There's never been a case where one has died and their surviving partner's body began to destroy itself."

Golden roses, golden heart, surrounded in green. Why hadn't he seen it before?

"Either my case was an unforeseen variant," Peasley said, "or you were somehow still here. Now that I know which is which, I must ask you why."

"Why what?"

"Why have you fallen out of love with me?"

It was then that the temperature fell by at least seven degrees. The chill that could've easily been his age catching up to him was now a steely drop in the local atmosphere.

"You know why," Luigi said slowly. "You know fully well why."

"I don't believe I do."

"Don't play dumb, Peasley. It really doesn't work for you."

"I can easily say the same when it comes to you and denial."

"Can't you just leave?"

The air between them was practically icy; Peasley could see vapors of his breath exit his mouth. Luigi's expression had gone stormy, his entire being pulsing with inner flashes of angry light.

"I've had to watch everyone I love grow up without me!" Luigi screamed. "I didn't get to leave like they did! Something's kept me around, and I could never figure out what it was. Can you really blame me for thinking it might've been you?"

Somewhere in the house, a door slammed. Polterpup was keening beside Peasley, whimpering as his master seethed.

"You didn't think about that, did you? That what we had could've been what kept me from moving on?" Luigi loomed over him, his eyes narrowed as his voice took on a supernatural depth. "Just admit you didn't!"

"My dear, please—"

"SHUT UP!" Luigi had his hands clasped to his ears. "Just shut up! I've spent years trying to forget what we had! Why'd you have to keep holding on?"

His lover's words cut like a knife, but Peasley could see past the anger. He saw his darling Luigi scared, frightened of what he'd become, fretting as a maelstrom formed at his feet.

"Oh no. Oh, nonononono."

It was heartbreaking to watch his green bean fall apart like this.

"What are you doing?" Luigi shrieked, with a glare that pierced Peasley like a flurry of daggers. "Get out of here!"

"I'm not going to leave you like this!"

"You have to!"

"Just let me help you! Please!"

The room was alight with Luigi's energy, manic and erratic in its intensity.

"I won't LET YOU!"

There was no time to brace himself from what came next. With a ferocity and force that rivaled the sort of foes Peasley had fought in his heyday, he found himself shoved to the wayside in his own body.

"If you won't show yourself out, I will."

There was nothing warm or familiar about the ghost taking the wheel. Peasley found himself in the dark as everything around him shook, sending him careening from wall to mental wall as he tried to get his bearings.

"Luigi?" It would be a lie to deny that this turn of events had been jarring. "Luigi, what's going on?"

If his love could hear him, he didn't respond. Instead, Peasley continued to brace himself against the sudden, jerking motions of his mortal vessel acting on someone else's accord.

"Luigi, please! I just want to talk. I just want to know why—"

"I already told you!"

"Darling, if I can barely stand to let you go—"

"Stop it! Just stop it!"

"Then I know you can't stand the idea, either. If we could just talk—"

"Don't you get it? You're in love with the ghost of me!"

Peasley found himself falling through his subconscious, tripped up by a sudden shove forward.

"You're in love with the idea of me."

An invisible force kept him pinned down.

"You had no idea if I was actually still here."

Peasley found his face being pressed into the floor, the dark nothingness that somehow still hurt.

"Why are you trying to tell yourself otherwise?"

In a rush, Peasley found himself back in his own shoes, the sensation of touch returning as he found himself kneeling in the grass of the royal garden. A glow at the upper edge of his vision implored him to look up, but not before a particularly severe spat of coughs made him curl back in on himself.

In the distance, Peasley could hear the clamor of a crowd deep into a search.

"I don't need your help."

He could hear Luigi loud and clear, despite the tremors racking his body as he desperately tried to purge the flowers from his throat. A cold hand lifted his chin upward, to a glare that could turn someone to stone.

"I never want to see you again. Got it? Whatever we had…it can't happen. It never could happen. You shouldn't be hanging on to me."

Without warning, Peasley was dropped back to the dirt, to the pile of roses brought about by the one spurning him.

"Don't come back," Luigi said, dispelling into a ball of light. Peasley watched as it zipped away, hanging his head as his advisors caught sight of him. They carried him back inside, tending to the ichor at the corners of his mouth, too fretful of his current condition to implore him for answers.

Peasley had found the answers, but had lost Luigi. Such a thing would be hard to explain, and so he never did, carrying his discoveries soon after to his own grave.

#factor takes asks #factor's mario fics #luigis mansion #super mario bros #smb #luigi #prince peasley #luigi x peasley #thanks for the ask!#angst asks #ghost luigi au

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eliotquillon · 6 months ago

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where's the foreman version of the oncology gala story

get me out of that bloody 8th annual oncology gala. obligatory for those who missed the last two: set in s3, post-fwb era pre-relationship.

Foreman hates the annual oncology benefit.

More generally, he hates all work events on principle; the oncology benefit is only worthy of special consideration because it disguises itself as a social event first, and a work dinner second. Oh, he’s good at playing the game alright–at shaking hands and stressing his title as Doctor Foreman, at making the donors oo and ahh over his lengthy list of publications and most obscure casework–and hell, he even enjoys it. It’s what he worked for, after all, what he busted his ass for throughout eight years of college: the opportunity to walk into this room as an equal, as someone who gets to be listened to instead of just listening. Like most skills, it is one he believes practice can perfect. But the social aspect–smiling affably with his coworkers, gossiping about the new nurses in Paediatrics—

Well. Foreman has never really seen the allure in pretending that these people are his friends. Sucking up to donors and to heads of departments is par for course; he’ll never be as good at it as Chase, but it is, at least, a necessary evil. Making nice with everyone else, though–it’s another circle of Hell, as far as he’s concerned. He spends enough time with these people, thank you very much; in fact, he sees his colleagues more than he sees his own family. That’s all well and good when he’s being paid for it. He is not being paid for his attendance at tonight’s benefit. And yet attendance is as good as mandatory anyway. It chafes at him like much of college did, much of residency: the idea that his work alone isn’t worthy of speaking for itself. That it isn’t enough to play a part–that he has to be the part, live the part. It is a line of thinking that, in Foreman’s darkest moments, reminds him bitterly of House, which makes the whole sorry charade that much worse.

“Shame there’s no open bar this year,” Melissa, one of the Cardiology PAs, says with a long sigh. “Or any bar at all. That’s your boss’s fault, isn’t it, Dr Foreman?” Foreman smiles through gritted teeth. “Yes,” he says, “Dr House had to take an urgent case during last year’s benefit.” And now Cuddy thinks we’re all better safe than sorry, he does not add, because it is bad form to complain about your boss’s boss at a work event, and because Foreman prides himself on at least having some awareness of social cues. Melissa tuts at him, and exchanges eyerolls with one of the Cardiology nurses.

He finds himself, reluctantly, looking around for Chase or Cameron to swoop in and save him. Specifically or, because he has a feeling they won’t be seen dead together tonight–because nobody ever fucking listens to Foreman, of course, how on earth could they have possibly seen their casual-sex-with-a-coworker arrangement ending poorly? It’s a far cry from the first benefit Foreman attended with them–the sixth annual–where the two of them had been seated together at dinner, perks of both having C surnames, and had spent most of the night afterwards joined at the hip and laughing, Foreman suspects, mostly at him. It had been all the more galling for how close the benefit that year had fallen to Chase’s betrayal of them all to Vogler; it had only taken two drinks and a joke about House wearing jeans under his tuxedo for Cameron’s ice to melt and for her to ditch Foreman entirely. Not that Foreman is bitter about it, or anything. Just that it had taken weeks for Cameron to forgive him for the article mess–although he supposes the discrepancy all makes sense now. Perhaps Cameron has been hot for Chase the whole time; it certainly makes her crush on House seem far less embarrassing in comparison. House, at least, can grow a beard.

“You’re Wendy’s ex, aren’t you?” Melissa’s Cardiology nurse friend asks now, her mouth pulling into a thin line to show exactly what she thinks of Foreman for that. “I can’t believe you broke up with her on Valentine’s Day. She was devastated.”

“It was mutual,” Foreman says with a bland smile, wondering if it’s bad sportsmanship to simply up and leave the poker table, or if he ought to deliberately throw the next round–although that would mean giving Melissa and all the nurses leverage to gossip about stupid Dr Foreman and how easily they cleaned him out at cards–and then he catches sight of someone in a royal blue dress and grins. It is maybe the first time outside of an urgent code that Foreman has been truly thrilled to see Cameron; he can’t help but call out to her immediately with a rushed-out, “Cameron!”

Cameron spins on her heel at the sound of his voice, and raises her eyebrows at Foreman from across the lobby. Unlike Chase, she’s gone for a very different look compared to last year; her hair is pulled up into a spray of curls, too dressy to be work appropriate but just practical enough, Foreman thinks wryly, in case they all get paged for an emergency case again. “Come sit,” Foreman calls, “we’ll deal you in.”

He’s expecting her to refuse out of sheer spite–that, and an abundance of stubbornness; Foreman thinks there’s at least a 50% chance she’ll see this as him pitying her, and Cameron does so hate to be pitied–so he’s equal parts amused and relieved when she flashes him an eerily-professional smile and clicks over in her heels. She’s clearly avoiding Chase, but that’s fine by Foreman; he also prefers to avoid Chase most of the time, albeit for wildly different reasons. He’d seen Chase earlier, skulking uncertainly by the bar with half of the surgery department, nursing a flute of sparkling cider and looking remarkably twitchy as he wrapped them all around his ridiculous signet ring-wearing finger. Looking for Cameron, most likely; Foreman had had half a mind to sneak up behind him and whisper something juvenile like she’s behind you, but that would have required dropping the facade that Chase and Cameron’s nonsense didn’t bother him, and also would have required speaking to Chase.

Judging from the way Cameron sighs as she sits next to him, Foreman isn’t entirely sure if he’s made the right choice as to which of his coworkers to seek out at tonight’s benefit.

“Nice dress,” he tells her, while she’s being dealt in: it’s the kind of social nicety that is expected of him, after all, and even Foreman would be remiss to not admit that Cameron looks good. He takes notice of the way her eyes slide off him, distracted, and, not entirely kindly, adds, “You seen Chase yet?”

Cameron, peeling up her cards to check them, freezes for just a moment. It would be a subtle move, if only Foreman weren’t so annoyingly, frustratingly well-acquainted with Cameron and all her little idiosyncrasies; she might as well have flinched for all that it confirms Foreman’s suspicions. “Nope,” she answers at last. Her mouth is pressed into a thin line; when her shoulder moves down from where it’s raised up to her ears, the movement is so stiff that Foreman can practically hear an audible crackle. “You?”

It would be glib to smile, so Foreman glances at his own cards to steady himself–nine and ten–and then back at her expression. Christ, but Cameron is a terrible liar. Her cheeks are flushed pink with annoyance. The laugh that escapes him is far more smug than a smile would have been, but fuck if Chase and Cameron aren’t ridiculous; it’s funnier here, when it isn’t impeding on Foreman’s professional life, than it is at work. “Oh, man,” he shakes his head, “either your cards are terrible or I’m gonna have to start feeling sorry for Chase. I hope it’s the first one, because I don’t think I’m capable of the second.”

Not that they don’t deserve it, but it must be a unique kind of torture for them both, Foreman suspects, dancing around each other like this. Especially for Chase, who Foreman knows has always gotten exactly what he wanted; the part of Foreman that isn’t tortured by their constant sniping wants Cameron to keep rejecting him, in the vain hope that the lesson might actually stick. You can’t always get what you want, Chase, Foreman thinks vindictively, and then he feels strangely guilty. Cameron really can be a nightmare when she’s on the warpath, but moreso when she’s pretending like she isn’t on the warpath. She’ll scratch Chase’s eye out and call it self-defence before she ever admits to making a mistake. Ask Foreman how he knows; the old adage might be don’t stick your dick in crazy, but for Cameron Foreman thinks the rule ought to be expanded to don’t let crazy convince you that she’s not crazy.

“Well, it’s neither,” Cameron lies. And Foreman does feel sorry for Chase, then. The thing about Cameron is that, for all she’s a shitty liar, she really does seem to convince herself of her lies, most of the time. She probably really does think that she doesn’t give a shit about Chase. She’s the type of woman to have joined a letter-writing campaign in college and earnestly believe that maybe Congress really would change their mind about sending troops to Somalia. At least Foreman makes no pretence of how much he’s pretending. “Are we betting yet?”

Are we really going to do this, Foreman thinks. Is she really going to make me play devil’s advocate for Chase, of all people. He thinks, vaguely, of Chase’s spiky declaration that Cameron already had a brother, thank you very much–how surprised he’d looked, to have just blurted the words out, an admission of intimacy deeper than I’ve seen her naked. It is pathetic, honestly. Foreman can’t believe that it was Cameron he was worried about making his life hell; he shouldn’t be surprised, given the last three years, that they’ve managed to turn it into a team effort against him. He opens his mouth to say something–and then he sees Chase, standing diagonally behind them, out of Cameron’s line of sight but perfectly within Foreman’s. The way he stares at Cameron’s profile is naked, vulnerable.

Tantalus and the fruit. Always in grasp, forever out of reach. Foreman knows that feeling; he’s ridden it all the way to a career in neurology, after all.

He folds.

Cameron jolts awake, grinning. “Thought you were hoping I had bad cards,” she says, her head dipping closer to the table as she scoops up his chips; Chase, burned, crosses the room to shake hands with a perplexed-looking Wilson. Absolutely pathetic, Foreman thinks. He could honestly write a paper on how pathetic both of them are. God, he hates work events.

“Yeah, well,” Foreman says with a huff. Next year, he’s skipping the oncology gala; no cancer-ridden kid is worth this much suffering. “Turns out I was getting a head start on that whole feeling-sorry-for-Chase thing.”

#house md #asks #eric foreman #allison cameron #robert chase #foreman is experiencing psychic agonies we can only dream of

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kitkatt0430 · 1 year ago

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4,31,60 and whatever other ones you want for harrisco pleeease :)

4.) Which one is more protective? Who needs to be ‘protected’?

Harry is definitely the more over protective of the two. It caused friction in his relationship with Jesse and I could see that instinct trying to creep into things with him and Cisco too despite being well aware that Cisco can take care of himself.

I also tend to see Harry's 'she kicked me off my earth' reaction to Jesse getting upset over Harry's micromanagement and over protectiveness as evidence he has a bit of rejection sensitive dysphoria. And that also his instinct on feeling rejected was to seek out Cisco.

Whenever Harry starts leaning into that overprotectiveness too much, Cisco rather firmly tells Harry he needs to back it down. Sometimes they argue about it and it's them, sometimes there's shouting and the throwing of dry erase markers (not at each other). But Harry has trauma over losing loved ones and Cisco understands that and takes it very seriously. He isn't going to let Harry use that trauma as an excuse to be smothering or controlling, but it does help to remember where Harry's coming from when talking - or arguing - him down from a freak out.

Cisco can have a bit of an overprotective streak himself, though. And after the whole thing with DeVoe is over, Harry may have accepted what happened to him when it was essentially killing him but now he has to live with it and I think maybe sometimes the person he needs the most protecting from is from himself and his anger and frustration he struggles with while learning to live with the resulting brain damage. And Cisco really, really wants to protect him from that and it's the hardest thing to know that he can't make it all better. He can only really support Harry while he finds his way through.

31.) Can they sit side by side without touching the other or are they handsy? (lacing fingers, touching knees, etc.)

Oh they definitely are the handsy sort. Harry isn't the most touchy-feely of people, but when it comes to Cisco he's always reaching out. A hand on his shoulder, on his thigh, touching knees, arm around the shoulder. And he encourages Cisco to do the same. Not that Cisco needs much encouragement since he is a rather touchy-feely type.

By the time they start dating no one is surprised by this behavior in them, but when Harry started getting more demonstrative in their friendship before the dating started there was definitely some surprise. I think Jesse was very pleased to see it, though. The only person he'd felt comfortable being close with until then was her and now he finally had a support structure and a friend he was close enough with to be physically demonstrative with and tease about things? She was so very, very pleased. And even more so when Cisco and Harry finally got together.

60.) Who pulls the other closer when they’re sleeping?

Cisco expected this would be him most often. And certainly he does it a lot. But Harry is suuuuper grabby in his sleep. Holding on to Cisco like he never wants to let go.

And, barring trips to the bathroom where it is a pain to get free of those grabby hands, Cisco is pretty much fine with that.

#otp ask game #thank you for asking #kitkatt0430 answers #cisco ramon #harry wells #harrisco #cisco x harry

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crisis-on-infinite-batblogs · 4 years ago

Text

"I want him to know it was me."

I've got feelings about Jason and Bruce's relationship, so let's talk about it. As always, I'm mixing up my own continuity cocktail of pre-crisis and post-crisis and adding just a little splash of headcanon for color.

The year is 1984. The comic is Batman #368

We all know this issue as the debut of Jason Todd as Robin. More accurately, it's his first appearance as an official Batman-sanctioned Robin. (See #366 when Jason steals Dick's uniform and flies to Guatemala).

Anyway, this issue starts with the first and (to my knowledge) the last voluntary and consensual passing of the Robin mantle. Isn't that fun?

Jason is ecstatic and goes to change into his newly bequeathed colors while Bruce and Dick exchange misty-eyed nods. There's fatherly hands on shoulders and lumps in their throats and it's all very sweet.

Dick shares with Bruce a hearty handshake before leaving the cave. Over his shoulder he calls out one final farewell: "So long, Robin. Be great." And when Dick's footsteps finally fade into the shadows:

Jason shares his worries about not receiving any credit for his acts. He knows that this is selfish, and he admits to being ashamed that he even said it. He's being incredibly honest and vulnerable with Bruce, which is something I feel we don't get to see often enough.

Bruce gives an obligatory speech about how Jason will be serving justice and saving lives. He says that with this job, there is no room for a big ego. But he also says "No need to be so hard on yourself, Jay."

And in a shocking twist, Good Parent Bruce Wayne is equally honest and vulnerable and shares this little anecdote with his son:

Bruce lays a gloved hand on the new Robin's narrow shoulders, and tells him in earnest that it gets easier. He says that with every innocent life saved, that need for recognition feels less urgent. With every look of relief and gratitude on the faces of would-be victims, the glory seems less important.

(and stepping into headcanon land:)

Jason takes a deep breath, and puts on a smile. "I know you're probably right, Batman... about it getting easier?"

His smile sinks into something closer to a grimace. "And I want to believe all that stuff you said about seeing the gratitude on people's faces, and--"

Jason's bitter laugh comes out as a huff. He looks down at his hands which fidget nervously in their brand new green gloves. When he continues, his voice is little more than a whisper.

"I want to help people... I-I want to be great, just like Dick said." Trying and failing to meet Bruce's gaze, Jason throws his eyes up to search the vaulted shadows of the cave. "It just sucks that no one will know it's really me."

Bruce is reminded, not the last time, that Jason is not Dick. The same lectures he gave the first Robin won't work half so well this time around. Jason's situation is fundamentally different. The kid is stepping into a pair of well worn shoes that won't be easy to fill. Bruce sighs, and pulls his son into a hug.

"You're beginning with a rich legacy behind you, Jason, and no one can ever know who's behind that mask." He rests his chin on top of the lad's head, and squeezes as if he could draw out every last bit of self-doubt. "... but I'll always know it's really you... and I will be so proud."

(and stepping back into canon:)

Seven-odd years have passed, and a countless number of odd things have happened. Jason was gone. He was dead... but then he comes back.

He comes back to loneliness, and hunger, and so much pain. He comes back to a world that he does not recognize, and he comes back to a Batman who is so different from the one he left behind.

Talia has been warned of the so-called "Pit Madness". Her father has told her of the rage and darkness that now live in young Jason's heart. He has told her that she's unleashed a pestilence upon the earth.

But her father is wrong. It is not rage that burns in Jason's heart, but a cold and calculated revenge.

One week later, and all the pieces are in place: Batman is six blocks away, staking out a bunch of Penguin's men, waiting on a weapons seller who will never show. This gives Jason just enough time to plant the bomb on the Batmobile. A combination of Lead Azide and RDX placed six inches behind the back left tire. As close as he can get to the fuel line. And then, all there is to do is wait until the bastard arrives.

Jason watches as the Bat makes his approach. He glares through the slatted window with his thumb hovering just above the button. He waits for his moment.

Batman walks wearily toward the car. Towards safety. Towards home. He doesn't yet sense any danger. He doesn't yet see Death lurking before him. He opens the door.

You made this happen. Jason thinks, his thumb pressing every so sightly upon the trigger.

You.

And then it happens. Batman enters the vehicle and the time has come.... but Jason can't do.

He did everything right. He planned it all with expert precision. He crossed every 't', and meticulously dotted each and every 'i', but when the moment of his glory is upon him, Jason realizes that it isn't what he wants.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"It's not what you think," he says to Talia.

"I'm gonna kill him," Jason says, "but he's gonna look me in the eye when he goes."

A cold wind screams across his face, brushing his dark hair into even darker eyes.

"When I take him from this world, I want him to know it was me."

#I will admit #this one got away from me #Jason Todd #Bruce Wayne #talia al ghul #precrisis!jason #red hood lost days #batman comics #ficlet addendum #headcanon is not a bad word #continuity breadcrumbs #whoops i made myself cry #long post

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storytellerofuntoldlegends · 4 years ago

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an icarus and his sun: chapter 2

A/N: the flower husbands do be kinda 😳 in this part so obligatory reminder that this is about their characters, not the irl people! anyway homoerotic swordfight lets gooooo (also look at me posting two days in a row hell yeah)

Warnings: arguing, violence, swordfighting, flirting

AO3 Link - Tumblr Masterpost

It was a good day. The sun was shining, Jimmy was finally getting some organization done in his empire- and then he showed up. Jimmy just about dropped the materials he was carrying to his storage building when he spotted Scott standing on his roof, looking down at it with a frown. Jimmy let out a frustrated groan, quickly hustling into the building to dump his materials in a chest and then back outside to glare up at Scott. He gave a cocky grin and a wave, and Jimmy let out another frustrated sound.

“What are you doing here?!” Jimmy demanded. Scott merely shrugged.

“I dunno, was bored. Decided to fly by. Your roof is terrible by the way,” Scott said, shifting his weight on the wood and grimacing when it gave a creak.

“What do you mean, my roof is terrible?!” Jimmy protested with a frown. He thought his buildings weren’t half bad! Sure, they were nothing fancy like Scott’s, but they made do! They were simple, Jimmy liked simple.

“I mean I can barely get a foothold here without feeling like I’m gonna fall off, it’s way too steep!” Scott replied with a grimace. Jimmy rolled his eyes.

“My roofs aren’t meant to be perches, Scott. Besides, steep roofs are kind of the style around here!” Jimmy said, crossing his arms. He was slightly aware that he looked like a pouty toddler at the moment, but was too irritated by Scott’s presence to really care. Scott wrinkled his nose in distaste.

“Jimmy, you wouldn’t know style if it smacked you in the face,” he retorted.

“Excuse you, I have a lot of style!” Jimmy protested.

“You wear a cod head,” Scott said flatly.

“Exactly!” Jimmy said, as if it was obvious. Scott rolled his eyes, and Jimmy scowled at him. Scott could have whatever opinions he wanted on Jimmy’s style, but his roofs were fine! He would show him, Jimmy could stand on top of the roof just fine if he wanted to! With a determined frown, Jimmy equipped his elytra and flew up to the roof, startling Scott slightly.

“What on earth are you doing?” Scott asked with a resigned sigh. Jimmy landed on the roof, and only wobbled a tiny bit before he caught his balance and stood on its steep slope just fine. Well, maybe not just fine, but he was trying to prove a point to Scott here. He didn’t need to know that Jimmy was frankly struggling with keeping his balance.

“See, it’s not too steep! I’m standing just fine!” Jimmy said proudly, putting his hands on his hips in a triumphant pose.

“You’re really trying to out-perch the person here with actual wings?” Scott scoffed, raising an eyebrow. Jimmy deflated slightly.

“Okay, well- it does sound dumb when you put it like that- but what does that say about you if the guy with an elytra can perch better than the guy with real wings!” Jimmy said, faltering only for a moment before regaining his confidence.

“Please, I’ve kept my balance on worse than this,” Scott huffed. A semi-victorious smirk came to Jimmy’s face, and Scott looked at him in confusion.

“Then why were you complaining about it?” Jimmy asked, voice cocky and a full on grin spreading over his face. Now it was Scott’s turn to look frustrated, and his mouth opened and closed uselessly for a few moments.

“I- well- that’s besides the point! I had to think of a functional purpose for why your roof was bad other than it was ugly, Katherine told me to play nice!” Scott finally shot back, moving forward and poking Jimmy in the chest. While it wasn’t even that hard, Jimmy nearly toppled over anyway, only saved by Scott rushing forward and grabbing his arm to steady him. Jimmy’s face suddenly felt warm at Scott’s touch, and he blamed it on the frustration he felt over what Scott had said.

“You’re only here because Katherine sent you?!” Jimmy asked, surprising himself at the disappointment that underlaid the annoyance in his tone. Scott let go of his arm with an eye roll.

“Why else would I visit you? And you’re welcome for not letting you go splat,” he scoffed.

“I would have been fine, I don’t need your help!” Jimmy shot back.

“Oh you definitely need help Jimmy, looking at the state of your roofs,” he retorted.

“For the last time, my roofs are FINE!” Jimmy shouted, shoving at Scott without really thinking about it. Scott stumbled backwards, and with a gasp Jimmy reached out for him- only for Scott to right himself with a powerful flap of his wings, blowing Jimmy backwards a bit. Jimmy opened his mouth to apologize, but stopped cold at the downright murderous look in Scott’s eyes. Scott had always been a tall, imposing figure- but with his wings flared, a hand on the hilt of his sword, and icy blue eyes glittering with anger- Jimmy was beginning to wish that he would take a moment to think before he did something like shove someone who was definitely better at fighting than him.

“Jimmy, you could have killed me,” Scott said, voice low and dangerous.

“But I didn’t! You caught yourself and- wait no Scott, wait- SCOTT!” Jimmy rambled, voice tapering off into an undignified shriek as Scott drew his sword and lunged forward. Jimmy managed to scramble to the side and avoid the strike, unsheathing his own sword as he did so.

“Wait for what, Jimmy? You attacked first,” Scott taunted as he raised his sword again, and Jimmy was barely able to block the blow in time, a resounding clang echoing through the swamp.

“Katherine said to play nice!” Jimmy protested, cringing internally a bit at how much he sounded like a whiny toddler.

“Katherine isn’t here right now,” Scott growled. Jimmy grit his teeth, pushing against Scott’s sword with his own and causing Scott to stumble backwards.

“Fine, then I’ll actually be able to fight you this time,” Jimmy said with a determined scowl.

“I’d like to see you try,” Scott taunted with a smirk. Jimmy advanced with a shout, Scott sidestepping to the side easily, the tips of his feathers barely brushing against Jimmy’s sword. Jimmy stumbled forward, unable to slow his momentum- until he toppled over the side of the building. Luckily he was able to glide down with his elytra just fine, but that didn’t stop him from glaring at Scott indignantly as he effortlessly landed on the ground. He ran at Scott again, slashing and jabbing but only growing more and more irritated as Scott easily deflected every blow.

“This is ridiculous!” Jimmy panted as he tried to catch his breath, while Scott didn’t have a single feather or hair out of place. Scott smirked, slowly circling as he lightly twirled his sword, adjusting his grip.

“It is, I thought you’d at least put up somewhat of a decent fight,” Scott said with a mock disappointed hum. Jimmy barely took a breath to reply before Scott lunged at him, and Jimmy brought up his sword to deflect- until Scott’s true target hit as his blade slid under the hilt of Jimmy’s sword and he brought his blade up harshly, causing Jimmy’s sword to fly out of his hands. Scott swung at him again, and Jimmy dodged the blow and made a break for his sword. Scott leapt after him, knocking Jimmy to the ground. His sword ended up stabbing into the ground, inches from Jimmy’s head. Jimmy let out a low sound of frustration, viciously jabbing his elbow back and unable to keep the satisfied smile off his face when his elbow connected with something solid, resulting in a shout of pain and frustration from Scott. The moment of victory was short lived as Jimmy tried to scramble up, but was yanked back down by Scott again.

The two of them grappled for control, each of them trying to get to their own sword but being pulled back by the other. Eventually Scott ended up on top of Jimmy, hands pinning his wrists to the ground and nose barely an inch from his. Both of them were breathing heavily, and Scott’s hair was rather disheveled from their fight, a few strands hanging from their usual place and brushing Jimmy’s forehead. And inexplicably, all Jimmy could think about was how he could kiss Scott if he wanted to. They were practically sharing the same air, and Scott was looking at him with something burning in his eyes despite the icy tone of their hue- Jimmy’s face flushed at the sudden rush of thoughts, how vividly he could envision the feel of Scott's lips on his own. Scott’s burning expression turned curious, and he smirked in a way that sent Jimmy’s stomach flip-flopping not unpleasantly. Scott shifted, until his breath was ghosting Jimmy’s ear- and oh this is how Jimmy died. Not with a sword through his stomach, but with whatever Scott was doing to make his insides squirm like that.

“If I had known you liked being pinned, I would have done so much sooner,” Scott said in a low croon, and whatever Jimmy had been feeling before was quickly replaced by irritation. He wanted nothing more than to shove Scott off of him, but seeing as his hands were pinned, he couldn’t.

“Get off of me,” Jimmy growled. Scott let out a short, low chuckle, and Jimmy internally cursed his body for shivering at the resulting breath against his ear.

“That’s not how this works, we’re fighting,” Scott said with amusement lacing his tone.

“Oh really? Cause you seemed very interested in something else a few moments ago,” Jimmy huffed, turning his head to try and glare at Scott. Scott relented and shifted so he was looking Jimmy in the eyes again.

“Only because you were blushing, you idiot,” Scott retorted with a laugh.

“I was not blushing! I just… my face gets red very easily, and fighting takes physical effort!” Jimmy protested.

“Uh huh,” Scott said with an unimpressed stare. Jimmy scrambled to think of something to say back, to maybe unbalance Scott as much as the winged elf had unbalanced him- but any train of thought was halted by a disapproving voice.

“You two are either getting along too well or you aren’t getting along at all,” Katherine said, and both Scott and Jimmy’s heads whipped over to see the head of House Blossom glaring at the two of them with her arms crossed.

“Oh. Hi, Katherine,” Scott said with a sheepish grin.

“Don’t you ‘hi, Katherine’ me! I knew sending you over her alone was a bad idea,” Katherine snapped, and Scott had the decency to look at least a little embarrassed.

“I don’t think Jimmy was complaining about this turn of events,” he muttered. Jimmy glared up at Scott incredulously.

“I very much AM complaining, get off of me!” he protested. Scott finally relented with a sigh, letting go of Jimmy’s wrists before getting up, wings shaking out any dirt and a hand smoothing his hair back to where it should be. Jimmy scowled, getting up as well, brushing the dirt off himself and adjusting his cod head. Scott walked over to where his sword was still buried in the ground and yanked it out with a grimace, looking it over before sheathing it. Jimmy’s sword was still lying a little ways away, and he walked over to it with a sigh.

“So what argument were you having before you decided it was necessary to solve it through swordfighting?” Katherine asked, disapproval lacing her voice.

“Jimmy pushed me off the roof,” Scott replied with a shrug.

“You pushed first! And you said my roofs were terrible!” Jimmy protested.

“I poked you, and your roofs are bad! That’s just a fact!” Scott retorted. Jimmy opened his mouth to reply, but was cut off by Katherine coming to stand in between them. Jimmy hadn’t even realized that they were moving closer to each other until Katherine had stepped in.

“That’s enough! Scott, I told you to be nice, and Jimmy I thought you were gonna try not to let things get to you too much!” Katherine reprimanded, gaze switching between the two of them. Both of them were silent for a moment, each looking a little sheepish but neither one wanting to be the first to own up to what they said. Jimmy’s eyes met Katherine’s, and she gestured towards Scott with a pointed expression. Scott looked baffled for a moment, while Jimmy simply sighed as he begrudgingly gave in to what Katherine was undoubtedly expecting. Jimmy looked to Scott, and the winged elf jumped slightly at the sudden solemn eye contact.

“I’m sorry for pushing you, I was frustrated and let my emotions get the better of me,” Jimmy said softly, and Scott blinked in surprise at the sincere apology. He was silent for a moment, until Katherine cleared her throat expectantly. Scott sighed, rubbing the back of his neck with a nervous laugh.

“I.. I’m sorry too. I was trying to get a rise out of you, and I guess I shouldn’t have reacted so… extremely when I succeeded in that. And your roofs are… acceptable,” Scott said, looking like saying the last statement caused him physical pain. Jimmy laughed good-naturedly.

“You don’t have to lie about my roofs Scott, it’s fine. I know they could never compare to the grand-ness of Rivendell’s buildings- but apology accepted all the same,” Jimmy said, a pleasant bubbly feeling growing in his stomach at Scott’s resulting smile. Katherine looked far too pleased with herself as she grinned as her gaze shifted between the two of them. Scott was still looking at Jimmy though, something almost calculating in his expression, but softer. More… intrigued, maybe? Jimmy couldn’t quite decipher it. Scott suddenly looked away, clearing his throat.

“Well I uh… I think I’ve kept you long enough. From… doing whatever it was you uh. Were doing. Bye!” Scott said, taking off before Jimmy had a chance to say goodbye or even wave. Jimmy watched until Scott’s form grew smaller and smaller in the sky, feeling hopelessly confused. Katherine patted his arm gently, Jimmy only slightly jumping at the touch as he turned to look at her.

“Now that wasn’t so bad! Maybe the next meeting will actually go smoothly for once,” Katherine said brightly. Jimmy chuckled, looking back up at the sky, even if Scott was no longer in view.

“I think that’s a bit much to hope for us,” he said remorsefully. But all the same… he hoped that maybe Katherine was right.

MCYT General Fic Taglist (ask to be added/removed!): @corazon10000 @damiensaidno @franticfandomfanatic @gattonero17 @hetapeep41 @space-ace123

AIAHS Taglist (ask to be added/removed!): @riobug

#empires smp #jimmy solidarity #scott smajor #katherine elizabeth #flower husbands #empires smp fic #mcyt #aiahs #sage writes

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ghostofstudentspast · 5 years ago

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Obligatory (part 3)

Series masterlist

Warnings: a panic attack in the first half.

I am BACK! I finished this baby up this morning and while I won’t be posting as frequently anymore because of college I’ll still be posting/finishing up all my wips!

For the first time in your life, you would have given anything to stay at Hogwarts during the Holidays. Your house had lost its warmth and instead every shadow started to look like a ghost to you. Your father only left his study for dinner, where the three of you sat in uncomfortable silence as knives and forks scraped fine china. Your mother seemed light years away. She could often be found cleaning things unnecessarily, staring off into the distance and only ever casting you soft smiles that didn’t reach her eyes.

You could feel how the weight had shifted in the Pureblood community. Everyone was on edge and keeping secrets from each other. Christmas was a lackluster event in your house this year. Your mother had insisted on a tree and family dinner, but things felt strained. Not at all like the laughter filled Christmases you remembered growing up. Your mother had purchased an absurd number of expensive gifts, as if that would make up for the lack of holiday spirit. Clothes and jewelry and expensive quills littered the dresser in your bedroom and you didn’t want to touch a single item.

“Darling?” Your mother’s voice broke through your absent thoughts. “We’re expected at Malfoy manor in thirty, are you ready?”

You were perched on the edge of your bed, hands clasped in your lap to stop them from picking at the dark red material of your dress. You were vaguely aware of your mother coming to sit next to you on the bed and taking your hand in her own. Her fingers were warm and helped pull you back down to earth.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, “I didn’t think-“she took a breath and didn’t continue.

All you could do was nod numbly as her thumb stroked the back of your hand. You hadn’t noticed your hand had been shaking until now. Raising your head to meet your mother’s gaze you saw how red her eyes were, how the purple bags were still prominent despite the makeup covering them, how she had faint tear tracks running down her cheeks.

“I know.” Your voice cracked as you nodded again, this time stronger.

“He’s going to be there tonight.” There was no need to say much more, her eyes betraying the fear that could never be voiced out loud.

“I’ll be good,” you offered her a lifeless smile, “I promise.”

The terrifying thought of seeing the Dark Lord in person hung over you all the way to Malfoy Manor. Stepping into the cold atmosphere of the ballroom did nothing to loosen the knot in your chest. Where once the parties thrown here had been lively, full of music and wine and chatter, now it was filled with hushed whispers and something stronger than wine.

“Can we talk?” Draco had appeared at your side like a shadow.

“No.” You didn’t meet his eyes and made to step away from him when a hush fell over the room.

There he stood, dark robes and snake slithering around his feet. The Dark Lord.

“My children,” his voice was high and sharp, “I’m so happy to see so many of you here tonight, proving once again who is loyal to our cause.” you doubted he had ever been happy in his existence.

As if he’d heard you speak his eyes locked on yours. A horrendous red colour, eyes like a snake, bored into your very existence. Your skin crawled and you felt like you might throw up at any moment.

“And our lovely bride and groom to be,” a smile creeped its way onto his face. It was less a smile and more a grimace. “The first in the new generation to follow in their parents’ footsteps. Wise.”

His eyes bored into yours and you could feel his magic pouring into your head. Pushing through your thoughts forcefully. Your heart rate sped up and your breathing hitched. The only thing that reminded you where you were was Draco’s hand resting on your lower back. You pushed all of your thoughts towards the back of your mind and focused on his finger tapping ever so slightly against you. You shot a glance at him and thought you saw his head shake the tiniest bit.

Legillimency, you could feel the Dark Lord prying at your memories. You knew he couldn’t go there, couldn’t know how disgusted he made you feel. You clenched your teeth and thought about the contract, you thought about marrying Draco, pushed the idea of loyalty forward with bile rising in your stomach.

“Continue with your festivities,” he finally broke eye contact and turned his eerie smile to the other guests as your shoulders drooped.

You felt exhausted. Like someone had just ran a bulldozer over your brain. He’d walked through your mind, through your thoughts. You’d never felt more exposed then at that moment.

“Excuse me,” you muttered to Malfoy and turned on your heel to slip away through the crowd of people.

Walking faster than normal you tried not to break into a run as your breathing became unsteady and panicked. You threw yourself into the large bathroom down the hall and threw the door shut before sliding onto the floor and letting out a painful sob.

Tears were streaming from your eyes as you desperately tried to control your breathing. He’d violated your mind. What if he’d seen something dangerous, you’d be endangering not only yourself but your family and friends. You sobbed pathetically, drawing your knees up to your chest and moving into the farthest corner of the room, away from the door. A soft knock at the door only added to the panic filling your veins. You shook your head and covered your ears, unable to breathe. Unable to tell them to leave you alone. Not even your sobs were audible anymore as you fought with your thoughts.

“Hey, hey, you’re okay, he’s gone.” the voice was soft and kind and broke through your thoughts. You shook your head and kept your eyes squeezed shut. “Breathe Y/N. In through your nose, out through your mouth.” the voice repeated until you did what it said. Breathe in through your nose, out through your mouth.

Your breathing was shaky and didn’t quite fill your lungs but slowly you managed to control your air flow. Tears still running down your face and falling into your lap you uncovered your ears and opened your eyes. Across from you sat the last person you would want to see you like this.

“You’re okay.” Draco spoke softer than you’d ever heard him speak. You nodded, and he offered you a sympathetic smile. It wasn’t pity, instead it held understanding. “I get them too.” He confided without meeting your eyes.

“It’s new for me,” your voice was hoarse and sounded foreign to your ears. He nodded in understanding as you closed your eyes again, rubbing them with the palm of your hands, makeup smudged across your cheeks.

When you opened your eyes again Draco was gone just as quickly as he’d came in. The bathroom floor felt just a bit colder as you dropped your head back against the wall.

When you arrived back at Hogwarts the following week Draco made sure to give you space. You were grateful he hadn’t brought up the Christmas incident again and from the lack of pity in his friend’s eyes, you didn’t think he’d told them either. You did notice that he spent more time looking at you these days. He always wore an unreadable expression and his eyes still held a sharp calculating look but this time he was observing you.

It took a few days of him watching you for you to get fed up and resolve to talk to him. This is why you were currently following him out of the potions classroom and down the hall farther into the dungeons. He stopped about halfway to the Slytherin common room and rounded on you, arms cross and one blond eyebrow raised.

“Stalking me Y/L/N?” his lips almost quirked up into a smirk.

“Christmas, you said you wanted to talk to me,” you raised your chin, so you could look down your nose at him, “so talk.” If you kept up your snooty pureblood persona around him, it was easier to pretend he hadn’t seen the most vulnerable side of you.

“Right,” he let out a short laugh and shook his head, “I was going to tell you that I found something interesting in the Manor library over the break. It’s definitely not something we want to try as a first option but if you’re this desperate,” he dug through his bag and fished out an old leather-bound spell book.

“You found something to break the contract?” Your demeanor perked up and your eyes zeroed in on the book in his hands.

“Maybe,” his voice held an unspoken warning, “again, this is very much a desperate man’s last resort. Or in this case desperate woman.” He added seeing you fidget with your sleeves as he held out the book. “Don’t try anything without me.”

“Yeah, no of course not.” You snatched the book from his hand and immediately opened it to where Draco had folded the corner of a page. Skimming the title quickly you found your stomach rolling in unease, “This is blood magic.” You looked up at him with a frown.

“Yeah, which is why I don’t have high hopes for two underage wizards working it out safely.” He grimaced, “read it for yourself.” He motioned towards the book and turned to keep walking to the common room.

“No wait, Malfoy,” you chased him, still holding the book open to the folded page.

“I have bigger fish to fry Y/L/N,” he kept walking, his long strides taking him much faster than yours, “if you’re desperate enough to try blood magic, you know where to find me.” He sighed and left you standing by yourself clutching the book between your hands like your life depended on it.

Finding a free spot on a windowsill near the common room you began to read. The cold frost on the window had your wrapping your robed around you tightly as your eyes flicked between the pages. Blood sacrifice for magical contracts. No. Blood bonds and magical contracts. Also no. Breaking magical contracts with blood. Ah, that’s the one.

Magical contracts are rarely breakable. The witches and wizards who enter in a magic bound contract will be tied by said contract for the remainder of their lives. The only way to exit out of such a vow is for either party to pass on (ghosts cannot be held to a magical contract).

“I don’t want to kill him,” you rolled your eyes and kept reading.

It is therefore possible to trick the magic bond by imitating death. First, one or both parties must provide a vile of blood to be spilled on the original document. Second, one or both parties must take a dose of Draught of Living Death (instructions on pg. 66) and a half dose of calming draught (instructions on pg. 80) note; the users blood must be infused with both potions. These two potions will bring the user into a two-day long death-like state. This along with spilled blood on paper will render the contract useless as ‘one party will have passed on’ very briefly.

WARNING: taking too much of these potions or using too much blood can result in irreversible damage including but not limited to; loss of memory, narcolepsy, weakened magic, blood clots, death, etc.

You closed the book and stared at the cover as you tried to process what you’d just read. Basically, there was a very slim chance that you’d be able to pull this off and a very large shot at accidentally inflicting lifelong damage. Or death.Unfortunately, in all of your time spent researching, this was the only viable option you had come across.

How much are you willing to risk to break this contract?

Series Taglist: @xkonpinkx @detroitobsessed @follow-me-down-to-wonderland @pointlesscoconut @irlkell @thehumanistsdiary @mo-onstarrs @summer-writes @aplaintart @jjjmaybank

#Draco malfoy #Draco x reader #Draco Malfoy x reader #harry potter #hp fanfic #hp writing #Harry Potter au #obligatory series #Obligatory #Draco Malfoy writing #Draco series #hogwarts #fanfiction #writing

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leatherbookmarking · 5 years ago

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bilboo replied to your post

“[[MOR] this is very ‘mortifying ordeal etc’ BUT that would come up...”

I literally can't wait to write this bc in my head jc's disciples and servants LOVE HIM, he is grumpy ALWAYS but he's also endlessly fair and doesn't suffer bullshit, everybody is treated so well at lotus pier I LOVE ONE ANGRY SOUR MAN

YESSSS EVERYTHING PRECIOUS ON EARTH FOR THE GRAPEBOY

and now i’m thinking about, for example, some important conference everyone has to attend (even though it’s basically glorified small talk, and everyone DREADS it aside from sect leader yao, who is finally allowed to talk, and not stop talking, and he has five days) so at some point the disciples gather and exchange juicy gossip talk respectfully about their sect leaders, and

“surely you jiangs have it tough, i mean no offense, but sect leader jiang looks like he’s permanently on a verge of a meltdown--”

“--right, i’ve noticed that too, and the way he’s constantly clenching his teeth? he must be very good at cracking nuts, and i admire that, but at the same time, i can’t help but worry--”

“--and okay, you can punish me for that (in fact look, i am punishing myself as we speak), but i mean, his life can’t be that stressing now, all the serious stuff is long since over, so... i mean, you know... kind of makes you think that all this tension...”

“...aah--”

“--is because he doesn’t have... you know”

and the jiang disciples are just sitting here like :-) because on one hand, their first instinct is to vehemently deny everything, how dare you;

the second is to give the others a knowing look, lean forward and spill some of the secrets in a stage whisper, let those other disciples wander around for the rest of the conference, take one look at the scary sect leader jiang and experience internal anguish knowing this ruthless man is in fact in possession of three spiritual dogs and one dog dog, named apricot, pear, hunter and persimmon, you’re free to guess which is which, and he takes great pleasure in flipping their ears, then telling them “your ears are flipped, you know?”. yes, there is proof, but you’ll have to ask a-mei in private, sect leader has forbade her from ever talking about it to anyone, and if he hears her laughing like that, he will know;

the third is to keep silent, because really, where does one start?

there was one little girl, a-ming, who was so bad at archery it seemed almost like a conscious effort (even though of course it wasn’t, she was too young for that). most of her arrows missed the target completely, usually landing in the grass, other disciples’ targets or, on one memorable occasion, almost in sect leader jiang’s own person, because he just had to be taking a walk right next to that disaster of a lesson. a-ming burst into tears before sect leader even managed to drop the hand he caught the arrow with; tears so miserable and dramatic that something must have cracked in him, because a second later he was next to her, talking so quietly you couldn’t hear what he was saying, but, if one can allow themselves to theorize, probably trying to prove a-ming that he is, in fact, still in one piece, so there’s no reason to cry like that, now. and then, once she more or less calmed down, he positioned her little hands himself, checked if she was aiming at her own target (she was not), assured her that it’s obligatory to be bad in the beginning, how else does she expect to become good, and then, in what must have been a flash of godly wisdom, asked her, “do you see that point in the center of the target?”, to which a-ming replied with the saddest silence imaginable, and every single adult present suddenly felt very, very stupid

for obvious reasons the jiang sect has many young disciples, also those helping w/ pretty responsible things, like Finances and Trade and all this stuff i’m scared of, and many of those disciples have shared stories of fucking up, thinking “oh, that’s it. i’m going to die OR i’m getting kicked out of the sect into next thursday OR both” and getting scolded but also... somewhat encouraged? they’re not sure in what way, exactly, since everything sect leader jiang said sounded angry, but... one man who missed a line in a list of things to be shipped out has been told “no, you’re not leaving this sect unless sudden death takes you, and in that case i’ll be dragging your ghost to work here, do you think it’s so easy to find a good accountant?” and realized a week later that, in fact, yes, the good accountant was him

literally everyone and their dog has heard a threat of physical violence of sorts, including but not limited to (insert bone) breaking, dismemberment, flogging (regular or a few round with zidian to help you find the motivation to (crowley voice) DO BETTER!!!), drowning, etc, etc but no one has ever received it, mysteriously

several times, when young-but-old-enough-to-know-better disciples have Spoken when it wasn’t really their turn/position/the TIME to say anything, sect leader jiang raised his head and said, slowly and quietly, what the fuck did you say to me? most of them, pale as a sheet, said that nothing, nothing and drowned in their own apologies. one girl, though, repeated what she said, assuming that well, if she fucks up, she fucks up with style. sect leader jiang looked at her, looked at the Papers, looked at her again, and said “you’re right. thank you”

she was later found stress-sobbing

she was, much later, awarded a Position

maybe it is not exactly a proof of sect leader jiang being a good person per se, but there are rumors of the faces he pulls and things he mutters when reading Important Sect Correspondence, and it all makes everyone have warm thoughts

on the other hand, the insinuation that sect leader jiang is a bitch because of sexual tension and no one to resolve it with is the funniest thing they’ve ever heard, so there.

#bilboo #conversating #is that a fic? is it? unclear #anyway i spent more than an hour on it. wondering if i should be ashamed #(fruit research had to be done)#quastion: why is the correct tag [[MORE]] but displayed in replies it's always [[MOR]?#i am going to wonder about it for 45 years

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friendlyneighborhoodsecretary · 4 years ago

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3. Prompt: Gardening

By his third day of hiding out at the lakehouse post-Beck, Peter had run out of distractions. Going anywhere near his phone or the TV was out of the question. He couldn't concentrate well enough to do any of the suit tinkering or web fluid adjustments he would usually have fallen back on. He'd already made the rounds of the house, fixing the little leaks and squeaks and anything else he could mindlessly turn a wrench to (not that there were many in a Stark-built home). And there were only so many times a person could take a stroll around the same lake and skip the same stones and swing their legs off the same dock before they went thoroughly and irreversibly insane. He was all but vibrating with restless nerves. And being cooped up out here, where the silence of the woods pressed in on him like dungeon walls and the empty hours yawned ahead of him like a life sentence, wasn’t making it any easier.

By the time Pepper found him after lunch on the third day, he was dangling upside down from the eaves, absently shifting from foot to foot and counting the seconds to see how long it took before he fell. It was possible, Peter realized as he dropped sheepishly back down to the floorboards—just possible—that he might have already slipped over the edge.

“Trust me—I’ve seen worse.” Pepper hadn’t even batted an eye as she brushed off his sputtered explanations. She’d just gathered up the sunhats and the neat bundle of work gloves from the shelf by the door and towed him through the back door with the practiced efficiency of someone who was used to managing chaos before it tipped over into calamity. "Come with me.”

He trailed her reluctantly around the side of the house to the neat rows of raised beds that housed Pepper's garden. Carefully-staked tomato plants here, the scraggly foliage of carrot tops there, lines of squat goji bushes in one bed and the small round buds of new lettuces in another—there were a few things he could identify, but many more that were just...green. Green and vibrant and robust, leaves gently rustling in the hot July breeze and produce of varying sizes and shapes ripening in the sun. He was pulled from his inspection by Pepper pushing a pair of the gardening gloves into his hands and dropping a broad-brimmed sunhat over his eyes (“Yes, I know you’re superhuman, but I don’t think skin cancer discriminates like that”). There was a brief summary of which greens were intentional and which were intrusive, a deft demonstration of proper weed-yanking technique, and then Peter was shepherded to a row of carrots for practice. Pepper settled in amongst an adjacent patch of lettuce and left him to the job. For a moment, he just sat there, the grass prickling against his knees and the sweat beginning to bead up under the heavy gloves as he brooded. Gardening. What was he doing puttering around in the Starks’ backyard, gardening, while his actual life imploded out there in the real world? At least Pepper had earned the break—he caught snatches of her phone calls to the legal team, to the publicists, to all the people who were actually doing something about the mess he was in, and the reality that he wasn’t one of them stung every time.

Peter stared out over the sea of bobbing leaves and sighed. Still, if it wasn’t gardening, what else would it be? More waiting and wondering and wearing new tennis shoe trails in the track around the lake? One was about as productive as the other. Peter squared his shoulders and bent to the task in front of him. If he was going to lose his mind out in the wilderness, he might as well be helpful while he was doing it.

As it turned out after half of an hour’s worth of work, there was something weirdly soothing about kneeling in the dirt and burying yourself in the process of pinpointing what stayed and what went. In the careful concentration it took to yank up a stubborn weed without uprooting anything good that happened to be growing near it. In the calming repetition of pinching off a dead leaf here or a damaged stalk there. There were ladybugs crawling lazily along the stems, occasionally bumping against Peter’s fingertips a few times before they grudgingly redirected around him, and a few birds hopping cautiously along the rim of the beds, mining for unlucky creepy crawlies. It was a steady rhythm of activity—just enough of it to keep Peter’s mind from straying too far beyond the next bunch of nettles to dig out—with a refreshingly comfortable lack of pressure or tension.

Pepper didn't say much, but the silent companionship was…nice. In a way, it was soothing, too. Or, at the very least, a relief from May's fretting and Happy's hovering—not that there was anything wrong with either of those, per se, but when it was all you had day in and day out, it began to smother you alive. The summer sun beat down on his back, the breeze swept lazily across his brow, and for a while, time ceased to exist. There was nothing but the black earth under his hands and the scent of topsoil in his lungs and the steady cycle of the job.

"I started planting things a few months after we moved out here," Pepper said quietly, a solid hour into their work. "Not much at first—just enough to give us a reason to be out in the light rather than holing up inside."

"Us? Mr. Stark helped?" It was an odd image—Peter had always had trouble imagining Tony out in the country at all, let alone elbow-deep in a tangle of zucchini plants or hauling buckets of fertilizer. But then, most of life these days was odd—Tony was recovering from saving the literal universe with a snap of his fingers, Pepper was flicking aphids off of her tomato plants, and Peter felt increasingly more like he was just along for the ride.

Pepper’s mouth twisted in a wry grimace.

"I'm not sure 'help' is the right word given how some of those first few plants fared, but yes, he did pitch in. Under duress, sometimes, but it grew on him.” Peter let out an obligatory snort at the pun, and Pepper forged on, the faint smirk on her lips the only indication that she’d meant it as one. “I saw a quote once—a very, very cheesy Pinterest sort of thing—about planting a garden being an act of belief in having a tomorrow. And back then, right after the Blip, we needed any hope for tomorrow we could find. Or cultivate, as the case may be.”

“It was a good way to refocus. To step back and take a break from trying to put the world back together.” Pepper shot him a pointed look over the carrot tops, and Peter pointedly ignored it. “It was a good distraction, too. I think Tony spent at least five or six hours a day out here during the weeks before Morgan was born, when all we could do was wait for something to happen.”

Peter paused in chucking a handful of weedy foliage at the compost-bound pile that had sprung up between them. The relentless urge to find something, anything helpful to do had eased a little, but it was far from gone. He pursed his lips as he finally turned back to uproot another fistful.

"I just—I wish there was something I could do besides waiting out here. I mean, everything that’s happening is all my fault, but you're the one who's having to fix it and I know it has to be costing you an awful lot and—"

Pepper tipped her sunhat back to level him with a long, hard look that reminded him forcefully of May when she was gently, but firmly pointing out the obvious facts of life, such as "the homework won't do itself" or "the laundry will not make its way from the dryer to your room by magic" or “that Red Bull won’t give you actual wings, so you’d better not expect gravity to give you preferential treatment.”

"Peter. There isn't a single person in this house who wouldn't spend their last dime on making sure you get through this okay. And believe me when I say that we've got a long, long way to go before we even need to start worrying about burning through Stark Industries' supply of dimes."

Peter opened his mouth, a dozen arguments about his opinion of throwing other people’s money at his problems, about sitting on the sidelines while everyone else did the work, about running from the consequences of his own blunders all welling up on the tip of his tongue. Pepper cut them off.

“You’ll have your work cut out for you in a few weeks, when things have settled a little more and there are fewer people agitating to have you arrested. When that happens, we’ll all work on fixing this together. Until then…try to take advantage of the rest.” Her voice softened. “I know it isn’t easy, Peter. But you’re wrong about it being your fault—and it certainly isn’t your sole responsibility to fix. You’ve got a lot of people on your team.” She coaxed the last tendrils of unwanted clover from her last row and rocked back on her heels. “And a whole lot of tomorrow to believe in. Even if it isn’t exactly what you were envisioning it would be a few weeks ago.”

"Thanks,” Peter murmured. It would’ve sounded trite from anyone else, but from Pepper—Pepper, whose practicality rivaled May’s and whose honesty could rival Happy’s (just in a more polished, less aggressively blunt way)—he could almost believe it. “Not just for this, but you know—for everything."

"Any time, kid.” Pepper shucked her gloves and brushed the dirt from her knees as she stood. She left him to it with a squeeze of his shoulder and an unshakably reassuring smile that Peter would hold onto for a long time to come. He stayed out in the green until the breeze blowing in off the lake had turned cool, and the twilight had started creeping in among the shadows of the pines. There was still a knot of unease in his chest when he finally meandered inside, but it was…smaller. More manageable. The driving restlessness of that morning had been driven out by the bone-deep exhaustion of a long afternoon in the heat and the distinctive tingle of a rising sunburn. It took a solid ten minutes to scrub the grit from his palms and the dirt from under his fingernails, but for the first time in what felt like an eternity, he didn't feel like he'd completely wasted his day. He stumbled through a hazy shower and an even hazier dinner before he fell into bed. And for the first time since he'd arrived, sleep came without a fight. For the first time since he’d arrived, he was too tired to dread it. And while he couldn’t quite bring himself to believe in tomorrow…he didn’t dread the idea of meeting it, either.

#my fic #mcu spiderman #peter parker #pepper potts #post-ffh #swing into summer

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hedwigstalons · 5 years ago

Text

High Expectations - Ch4

This time the chapter art had me digging out the pencils. Sorry Gordy - you’re looking a bit old and tired rather than the youthful Olympian I envisaged.

Also, more thanks to @willow-salix who helped me try and improve both wonky writing and wonky chins.

Earlier parts: One, Two, Three

Chapter Four

The call connected but brought not the cheery tones of a brother but the now overly-familiar sound of yet another voicemail request to leave a message after the tone. The last few days had been a litany of missed calls and crossed text messages. Whenever he had a break between training and physio appointments the family seemed to be watching another event with phones off. Whenever he returned from a gym or pool session there would be another blinking icon waiting for him. Another failed attempt at contact.

It was great seeing the messages wishing him good luck followed by messages offering congratulations as he cleared his heat but it would have been nice to speak to his family in person. Everyone else on the squad seemed to be able to schedule video calls with loved ones. You would have thought that with such a large family he would have struck lucky at some point.

Gordon scrolled through the call history. Alan. Scott. Virgil.�� Even John, the least sociable of his siblings and apparently with an allergy to small-talk, had made two attempts to reach him over the last few days. And there, right at the bottom, one single attempt from his father to make contact shortly after his initial heat. He wondered how the call would have gone. Would he have received congratulations for making it to the final or would he have had to justify his second place finish? It was too late to speculate now. His coach was rapping impatiently on the door; it was time to head to the pool for the race of his life.

The changing area was filled with the incomprehensible babble of a multitude of languages. Old rivals sat alongside new upstarts. Gordon plugged in his earphones in an attempt to drown out the sound and get into the zone. He had been competing for long enough to know what worked for him; even his coach knew better than to try and intrude at this point. The familiar playlist hammered into his head as he leant back against the cool tiles. Eyes closed. Breathing regulated by the sound of the beat. He waited to be called through for his race.

The playlist wasn’t working. He wasn’t normally prone to nerves but this was the big one, the race everyone had been talking about. From the early whispers as a kid on the junior circuit through to actual squad selection the word ‘Olympics’ had never been far away. This was the dream. This would be his defining moment. It was as if none of his other achievements mattered. This was what he had been training for all these years. Everything else was just a warm up.

He checked his phone one last time. Nothing new. Of course there wasn’t, everyone would be up on the balcony already but it gave his hands something to do. Every muscle felt jittery. The announcement that it was time to go pool side had him bouncing up as though the starting gun itself had gone off.

xoxoxox

Alan practically hung over the balcony rail, straining to see the far end of the pool where the competitors would be making their entrance near the starting blocks.

A heavy hand on his shoulder pulled him back and stopped him leaning out too far.

“Steady there. He’ll be out soon enough. Don’t want you going into the water.”

Alan huffed at Scott but complied, sitting heavily back in his seat, eyes roving to the big screen that was showing a shot of the top end of the pool. It was difficult to be patient when his brother would soon be competing in an Olympic final. For most of the spectators it was just another race in the session but for the Tracys it was personal.

It wasn’t just Alan that fidgeted with impatience though, there was an air of barely repressed excitement running through the family group, the atmosphere in the venue just served to increase the tension. This was a big medals day in the pool and Team USA had already added a gold and two bronze to their total haul. The swimming squad was representing their country well and showing that USA was a sporting force to be reckoned with.

A cheer rippled through the venue as the athletes entered. A kaleidoscope of tracksuits parodying the flags and emblems of their nations appeared at the top end of the pool. The yellow and green of Australia shone out amongst the variants of red, white and blue worn by the representatives of USA, Russia and France. Eights athletes filed in to take their place on the seat behind their block. Eight bodies jiggled legs and stretched out arms and shoulders. Take a drink. Adjust goggles. An array of displacement activities and rituals as each competitor did what was needed to mentally prepare themselves for the task ahead.

At a signal from the officials eight figures stood and disrobed, exposing honed muscles and expanded shoulders. Gordon, placed in lane six after his narrow inclusion in the final, bounced on the balls of his feet. Slightly shorter than the average swimmer in the line up he was dwarfed by the Norwegian in lane five, his neighbour in the pool towered a good eight inches above the young American.

There was no holding Alan back now and even his more self-controlled family were leaning forward against the railing to get a better view than that already offered by their front row seats. Eyes were fixed on the distant figure fifty meters away at the far end of the pool.

Giving a start of realisation and guilt that he had almost forgotten Alan dug into his backpack, pulling out the banner he had cajoled Virgil into painting. He shoved the two ends into the hands of Scott and John who proceeded to tie it to the balcony so it could be seen hanging down from the guard rail. It was impossible to read the expressions of the swimmers from this distance but Alan swore he could see Gordon turn and smile in their direction. Whether this was true or not the others couldn’t tell but their squid certainly seemed to gain an air of calm after the banner was unfurled.

A further signal from the officials had the competitors stepping up on to their blocks. Silence descended over the crowd.

Poised.

Taut.

Ready.

The starting gun had eight figures launching into the water with enviable grace and speed.

Stroke. Glide. Breathe. Repeat. Each competitor found their rhythm and gave the performance of their life.

Ordinarily the pack would form a V shape. An arrowhead through the water as those that had won their heats were graced with the more desirable centre lanes.

Today was no ordinary day.

Today was the day Gordon Tracy dredged into reserves he barely knew he had. Start strong, stay strong, end strong. There was no let up in his pace and determination. Focus and rhythm aligned. The arrowhead was broken. Soon the commentary was focussed on lane six and the seventeen year old competing in his first Olympics.

Cheers erupted from the Tracy section as the swimmers reached the final board and triggered the timing pads. From their seats aligned with the end of the pool they were in the perfect position to see Gordon hit home in first place.

For the swimmers in the water the rankings were less clear cut. Without the benefit of a grandstand view eight sets of eyes were focussed on the board awaiting the final results. Moments stretched into eternity as they waited for the official times.

1 USA GORDON TRACY 1:44.20 WR

There, on the first line of the board was the confirmation of not only his success but an achievement surpassing all hopes. A world record.

The family watched as down in the water Gordon shook hands over the lane dividers with the swimmers to left and right. He was a sportsman to the core and he congratulated those who had provided stiff competition. Only then did he turn and wave to the balcony, acknowledging the family that had supported him through years of training then followed him to the opposite end of the Earth to witness his crowning glory. The cameras tracked between the Tracy in the pool and the Tracys in the stand, capturing their moment of shared joy for eternity.

xoxoxox

The fluttering feeling in his stomach was off-putting to say the least and probably wasn’t helped by the two celery crunch bars and a glucose tablet he had inhaled after getting out the water, he knew they were needed after his intense energy usage though. The last time he’d tried to skip the obligatory post-race refuel he had nearly taken a header off the podium as his blood sugars crashed. He wondered if throwing up on an official was more embarrassing than fainting on them.

The call to head out to the podium soon put a stop to the nerves as he was ushered back pool-side between the other two medallists. This time there was no escaping the fact that all eyes were on him but there was no performance required; the joy spread across his face was pure and true. This was the culmination of years of early morning training sessions. Gym, yoga, vitamins, nutrition schedules. Every missed party. Every rejected invitation to go bowling. The sacrifices he had made had come together to create one perfect moment.

The medal, the anthem, the flowers; everything played out as he had imagined. The flash of a thousand camera bulbs only partly responsible for the tears in his eyes.

His dream.

Complete.

#thunderbirds #thunderbirds fanfiction #high expectations #Gordon Tracy #olympic final #my art

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parkeraul · 6 years ago

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anatomy | oneshot

a/n: i don’t know what it is but i had this stuck in my phone’s notes and i’m going to give it a try lol. i got inspired by a post here on tumblr and another one on twitter (both different, both NOT what you’re thinking they are) and this is like... nerdy!shawn? college!shawn? student!shawn? idk read it to find it out. plus, this is a work of fiction, so the situations named in here aren’t exactly what happens in real life, my dudes. i don’t know if this is how it happens, i’m assuming stuff just to give them an atmosphere. all built up for shawn and reader’s relationship to go somewhere on this imagine. sorry in advance to any medical students lmao.

shawn x reader warnings: cursing, smut (?). words: 7.272

It’s nearly 10pm in a saturday when he knocks on her door with his free hand, holding his book in his other hand kind of nervously. She tiptoes downstairs, quickly knotting the strap around her robe to cover her recent showered body. Her mind goes confused, wondering who might be standing outside at this time. Peeking through the magic eye, she can barely recognise the tall figure standing in front of her door with what she figured out as a backpack hanging on his back and something under his tattooed arm. She wasn’t expecting anyone from college because the finals were still happening and she finally managed to get home after passing hers, so everyone else should probably be stuck in their houses half studying, half praying. When she saw his hand coming up to curl in a fist next to the wooden material, she flicked the keys to the side and made sure to hold the upper part of her robe, pulling the edges together to cover her breasts and collarbone. Opening the door, she meets him wearing a desperate expression on his flushed face. He sighs in relief before putting his shit together. “Shawn? What are you doing here?” She asks smiling insecurely, he doesn’t follow her though. “Thank God you’re home!” He vents and exhales heavily. “I know this is super weird and random, but I honestly don’t know who else to look for. I’m really sorry. God... I shouldn’t-“ “Spit it out, Mendes!” She giggles, opening the door a little bit more to show him somehow that she’s welcoming him. “You know you can count on me to something more than just having my veins available for you to train your blood-removal skills.” She winks and he smiles shyly, remembering how insecure he felt when first asking her to volunteer and be his pair to this class in specific.

They’ve become pretty close, always getting paired for the classes because they knew that they were responsible and worked greatly together – always hitting high grades even in the most difficult subjects. Medical school is hard already, so they’ve found in each other an easier way to go through it all by supporting each other since their class is filled with so many selfish people. Shawn and Y/N were rarely hanging out when not in college – but more than friends, they are also something like partners in crime. Although he had a very serious crush on her at first sight, he kept on doing his best to get rid of the feeling eventually, even though he knows he’s not 100% there, he thinks that he’s seen everything he could and his rational side is working constantly to make him get used to live next to her like a normal person would do (seeing her as a nice classmate who’s there for him, not someone who he wants to trace every single inch and experience his daydreams with). She finds him attractive, she can’t even lie. But she would never make a move considering how reserved he is, fearing that he might reject her right at first and never look at her face again. Things couldn’t get this awkward.

Y/N opens some space for Shawn to step inside her living room and gives him a gentle smile, always reassuring him wordlessly that he can feel comfortable in her presence to ask whatever he wanted to ask – she felt more than glad to solve his doubts, actually.

“I’m sorry for showing up so late and...” He finally sees that she’s wearing nothing but a black cotton robe and her hair is wet, clinging to her back. “Well, s-sorry for interrupting your s-shower, I-“ Shawn facepalms and rubs his forehead, trying to brush his nervousness off and find the right words to say. He doesn’t want to look like a creep. “Mendes, you’re rambling,” She warns him and closes the door, grabbing his stuff for him to have free hands to take off his coat and shoes. Knowing it, Shawn rapidly does it all before putting both hands together to wait for further instructions. “Stop apologising! You know I don’t care about it.” Shawn knows that Y/N doesn’t really give a shit about things that some other people would do. She always says that a body is a body: it’s not an object and that a body and sex should be seen as something natural, not something who demands silly and unnecessary jokes when you look at it. And considering the partnership they’ve been developing, she felt more comfortable to talk to him about these things without stuttering or feeling embarassed. If they wanted to build a professional career, they had to deal with bodies normally.

Maybe this is one of the reasons why they’ve never sat down to spill the tea about their secret little crushes. Shawn is a gentleman, of course, and that’s what keeps him fighting his willing to love on her like he never did with anyone else. He is misunderstanding her words, perhaps. She always talked to him about how much she hates when their classmates started joking and sexualizing human bodies like they were made for nothing more than sex. But that didn’t mean that she’s not into finding out how their touches can melt delightfully, because that’s been currently taking over her imaginations more often than she’d like it to – debating with her own mind how wrong is this, how awful it is of her to imagine Shawn maping her body with those intentions that she wishes her whole class could stop feeding. Maybe she had forgotten to say that, if they’re both agreeing on doing this, if their feelings are matching, then it’d be a whole another story (that she’d love to live intensely, thank you very much). This is such a hot mess.

She trails her way to the kitchen and he follows her before he can miss the sight of her. She points to the big island in the middle of her kitchen for him to sit as she places his book and backpack on top of it. “What’s going on, Shawnie Boy?” She asks while opening her fridge to look for something to eat to offer him. “Thank you for being way too nice, Y/N,” He chuckles to himself, also thanking the universe for crossing their ways. “I couldn’t pass Sally’s latest test and she’s going to eat me alive if I fuck up with the upcoming final exam.” Y/N grabs a box of grape juice to put on top of the island along with some Doritos she found on her cabinet. She thought he might probably want to sink down in unhealthy garbage to calm his damn nerves. “Sally is really unpredictable, isn’t she?” Y/N jokes and also grabs what’s left of her chocolate cake inside the oven to join the other stuff. “What was it about?” “Anatomy,” Shawn says unpleasantly, grabbing the glass that Y/N is giving him so he can pour some juice to himself. “Women’s body kind of anatomy, more specifically. It makes me wanna give up on this damn class.” He opens the box and starts filling his glass with the deep purple liquid. “You actually can’t. This subject is... How do they say? Obligatory.” She says, staring at him and finishing setting the island with tiny plates and forks. “See? I know I should be studying music or whatever doesn’t envolve vulvas and labias.” His tone expresses all of his disappointment. Shawn hates to fail and also hates the whole process of learning from his mistakes. He never allowed himself to fuck it up even though he had no previous knowledge to execute something perfectly for the first time. “Keep thinking like that and you’ll end up seeing your own hand for the rest of your life.” Y/N is effortlessly pushing him over the edge of his stress, but he knew she was only playing around so he pretended not to care that much. He thought of replying her as boldly as she’s doing, but when she leaned forwards a little bit to cut a piece of cake, he accidentally saw her skin underneath the dark fabric – almost getting the view of the swell of her breasts. He swallowed harshly, immediately searching for his book to find the pages that have been driving him insane over the past weeks. ‘It’s fine. This is fine. Everything’s okay.’ He quietly warns his own body. Shawn shakes his head and takes a generous sip of his juice and tries hard to blink and miss the view of her not even noticing what just happened and still trying to cut a perfect square to place on a plate. “I... Mm... Have been reading from page 45 to page 97 over and over again for two weeks straight and-“ He starts with difficulty and, as if it wasn’t hard enough for him now, she’s licking and sucking at her fork she used to set under her piece of cake to lift it up and off the tin while looking him deep in the eyes, waiting for him to conclude his first doubt of the night. She didn’t mean to seduce him on purpose, but if she only knew the way she is messing with his head right now, she’d probably do something much worse.

Shawn feels like cursing all the words he knows out loud.

He’s been managing to keep his first impressions controlled for years. Why is this shit coming up again like he’s seeing her for the first time in his life? His brain, always hungry for coherent answers, figured things out in a matter of seconds. When he understood it all, he came back to earth and denied his own instincts angrily. Hopefully, he would never ever need to explain this reason to anyone else.

“And?” Y/N snaps him back to reality, removing the fork out of her mouth and clicking her tongue to finish the small taste she had from the tiny crumbles that were glued to the steel. “And... I...” He keeps on turning the pages frantically, not wanting to waste time. Who knows that she wouldn’t get him lost between running to the closest bathroom to splash some water on his face and staying frozen in his seat to never get up again until he stops hardening against his sweatpants during this quick lack of words? “I c-couldn’t quite understand and memorize these parts and their functions.” Shawn fixes a single curl back to its place and then he points to the figure on his book. “Really?” She frowns. How a smart and handsome guy like Shawn can’t understand simple explanations about a vagina? “Why have you circled this so many times? You can barely see what it is.” She points to a messy grey sketch. “It’s the clitoris,” Shawn rolls his eyes and clears his throat before moving on. “Need to remind myself that this shit is killing me mercilessly with this stupid amount of nerve endings.” “You wish, Shawn,” Slicing her cake, she jokes and wraps her lips around the fork once again. Shawn can literally feel the palms of his hands sweating and he swears to God he could explode at anytime. Why anatomy of the reproductive system? Why not microbiology or pharmacology? He knew he should be a pro by now. “You better take notes about this little thing in particular if you want to pass or make a girl squirm under you.”

Can she stop? Great. Now he’s picturing it.

“Plus, I can guarantee you that, once you get to find where it is and how it works, you’ll wish you could reciprocate the merciless part everyday.”

This is not study. This is torture. Bad grades and bad thoughts. The “perfect” combo. Shawn gets his notebook and pencils out of his bag and works fast to find a blank page to start writing.

The time flies by with her careful explanations. Y/N might joke a lot with him but she knows when to talk seriously. She’s patient to describe every single detail and say things once more in a different way for him to see it all in a different way. She speaks; he writes and asks again. All happening in a loop and Shawn’s pretty surprised that the chills that were taking over his lower region were gone now. He’s been doing his best by looking down at the paper all the time, refusing to peek at her. “No! Nah-nah-nah...” She says and stretches her arm to grab the eraser next to him. He falls out of his concentration and reacts by traveling his eyes from her fingers to the expansion of her covered arm and finishing at her now exposed collarbone. The scent of her moisturizer escapes her robe to invade his nostrils. He can’t help but inhale deeply as she brings the eraser to rub the words he’d been writing. “What’s that on your clavicle?” Still studying her skin, he asks impulsively. Shit. She looks at him and then down at her own body. “Oh... This?” She sets the fabric to the side a little bit more, now almost showing her entire shoulder. Shawn feels like choking on his own air. “It’s just a little scar. Got it when trying to run away from my cousin once. Nails strong enough to mark me,” She remembers and giggles lowly. “Unfortunately not as cute as this one you have on your face.”

Shit. Shit, shit, shit, shit.

She just noticed that she revealed loudly one of her favourite things about him. For the first time in the night, he smiles. He feels his chest burning – still shyly – and she can’t take her eyes off his beautiful teeth, perfectly shaped and getting her missing the patterns of her breathing.

From there, the tension between them seemed to grow more and more and the emotions blooming up from this atmosphere were screaming louder than words, intensifying not only their desires but also the other feelings coming to their surface. It was like throwing alcohol in a bonfire. And it’s certain that the flames were getting higher and higher. They tried to focus one more time on whatever they were doing now (neither of them cared to understand exactly what it was), Shawn a lot more lost than her, already writing things that weren’t even about anatomy, he thought.

“Nope!” She says again. Erase, wipe the dust, explain again.

The clock is ticking.

“Shawn, no.” By now, he was finishing his third glass of grape juice and she had completely given up on her cake. Fork hitting the plate aggressively as she bends over the cold marble to repeat her actions. Shawn rubs his face and runs his fingers through his dark curls. Erase, wipe the dust, explain again.

“Jesus fucking Christ, what the hell are you doing?” If she was patient before, she’s not losing her shit for fucks sake. “Vulva is this external part, not the inside. The internal part is the vagina, down here in this entrance, see?” She’s pointing with his pencil and circling the spots with caution, because otherwise she might rip the page apart. Shawn drops his arms against the island and tilts his head to meet the hard surface, hitting his forehead and his sighs turns into a deep growl.

Erase, wipe the dust.

“God! Have you ever seen a pussy in your life?” He freezes in place and doesn’t get up, hoping she’s going somewhere else with this question. “Seriously! C’mere, I’ve got this kind of a plastic mould and you’ll touch this shit until the information gets inside your head somehow.” She stands in her feet and she knows that she’s being kinda rude. He doesn’t care, he knows he’s not going anywhere if she keeps on being all nice and shit but at the same time he’s so nervous that he wishes he could stay in that kitchen for the rest of his life until his problem goes away. “I don’t really-” His voice comes out muffled by the white marble under his face. “Mendes, you’re coming whether you want it or not!” She grabs his arm and pulls him off his seat. “I told you I’d help you and you know I won’t stop until I get my work done. Come on!” He seizes the last seconds where his face is still hidden to smile. He loves how much she cares about him now and it seems to vanish away all of her impulsive attitudes before. She just wants him to succeed and once she gets a goal inside her mind, she ain’t stopping until she makes it happen. Shawn gives up and she’s practically dragging him upstairs to her bedroom, steps punishing the degrees under her feet.

“Get yourself comfortable, I’m gonna find this thing.” She says as if he even could. Shawn falls in her bed while she turns the lights on and goes to her shelf, eyeing all the spaces where that mould could be hiding into. She tiptoes across her bedroom and checks every part of it like her life depends on it.

Wardrobe? No. Drawers? No. Desk? No. Under the bed? No. Bookshelf? No.

If the bedroom was even larger, she’d be running a marathon across it and the way she’s walking with powerful footsteps and picked up rhythm makes the hem of her robe swing and get loosened, sometimes showing the back of her thighs a little bit more and gradually exposing her chest. And if Shawn felt like dying before, now he’s sure that he’s floating between heaven and hell so quickly that he can’t do anything else but widen his eyes in desperation, fight his own mind and press down on her mattress for dear life. “You can’t think like that. She’s your friend, she’s not a piece of meat. Control your damn hormones.” He whispers to himself and closes his eyes. He doesn’t want her to think that he’s just another one of those stupid classmates of theirs or some kind of a weirdo who acts like he had never seen a semi-naked body before. Although that yes, he had never. Y/N might be cool about talking of sex and stuff, but he managed to just nod and agree. He never told her he was a virgin and something about the way she messes with him so easily makes him feel like organising a whole speech – in the most polite way ever – about how much he wants her to teach him everything: where to touch, how to touch and what to do to have her feeling not only relaxed in his presence but also pleased. If he only had the braveness, he’d be on his knees right now divided between begging for mercy or for a chance.

She closes the last drawer where she guessed the plastic cast could be inside of and turns around with her hands covering her mouth. Shawn looks at her concerned expression and concludes that she’s thinking, considering how fast her eyes are running across the room.

“Y/N, you don’t have to. It’s okay, I can find some other way...” Shawn tries to calm her and she tugs some strands, pulling them back and then dropping her arms down. She can’t think of anything else than this and she knows she might be taking a risk in here. She steps backwards to close her door and it gets Shawn frowning, gasping and blinking rapidly. What the hell is she doing?

If he could’ve only guessed that some dreams can come true sometimes...

“Mendes, don’t freak out, okay?” She looks at him worriedly and his grin is filled with doubts. He thought she was joking about his study routine or whatever happened a few seconds ago. But when he sees that her face ain’t changing to something more playful, he gulps once more. “You’re gonna have to do this in anyways in the final exam and, since you can’t even name things correctly, there’s no other way to do this. Tell me if you don’t wanna do this and I’ll stop.” She finishes and grabs the knot of her robe. In one fluid motion, she undoes it and the black fabric is pooling down around her feet. Right now she’s not thinking about her crush on him, she’s not trying to get him moaning her name. No. She’s trying to get anatomy inside his head because she’s been there before and she knows that, if he touches the wrong places, Sally is definitely not going to give him any other chances. There’s no dirty in here, there’s no seduction. She’s offering to a test just like she offered her veins once; or like when he let her feel his temperature and see if his throat was sore. “What are you doing? Y/N, seriously...” He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. “Cover up, you don’t need to do it for me.” “Is that what you want? I’ll do if you’re feeling awkward on doing this,” She reassures him and catches her robe from the floor. “But I want you to know that I’m okay with it. It’s totally up to you.” Shawn can feel his limbs turning into cold stones and his leg starts to shake uncontrollably. He feels like someone just threw a ball on fire to him and he knows he’s got the opportunity to put the fire down. He just doesn’t know how. “C-Can you... like...” He rubs his face, still not looking at her (who’s covering her front with the robe now) and tries to make a smart decision. “Get under your covers so I... can... t-touch you without looking at you?” “Is this going to make you feel more comfortable?” “Y-Yes.” “I’ll try to guide you then.”

An inconvenient silence takes over the place and it had never been so annoying. He gets up, turning his back to her and she goes under her blanket, trying to feel less unsuited. “Hold on. I’ll wash my hands before... you know...” “Second door to the right.”

A few minutes later, Shawn is back and not so afraid. She looks at him and sees that his hairline is wet, he might probably had splashed some water on his face before returning. “Are you okay?” She asks, feeling her chest heaving in concern. “I’m good,” He closes the door with his foot and keeps his hands in the air, away from any object. “Sure you wanna keep going? You don’t have to-” “I’m sure,” She nods and he sits at the end of the bed. “With that I’m even feeling like a real patient now.” She points at his hands with her chin and chuckles bending her knees. He follows her and giggles too. He can’t even believe how amazing she is, he feels like nothing in this world can gift her enough for being this good to him. “You can, like, start from my pubic bone and then you can say what you remember, you know?” She incentivates him. “When you get to touch those parts we were seeing down in there, you’ll tell me what it is and what is it for.” He nods and she shifts her body up closer to the headboard, making some space for him to come forward and slip one hand under the blanket. “Don’t you want me to wear gloves?” “I’m out of gloves in here but I don’t really mind.” She says and he’s just going with her flow. “Showed you my exams before the tests, so you also know that I don’t have anything you should worry about.” She’s giving him so many reasons to leave his nervousness behind that he’s feeling like he’d forgotten for a moment that, on top of it all, they’re still friends. They’re not strangers. They should count on each other and this is what she wants him to do, this is what he wants her to do. “Go on, I trust you.” Her sweet tone reaches his ears and he smiles at her, so happy to know that she’s there for him and, more than anything else, she sees in him a person that she can trust. It’s just priceless. “And I trust you,” Shawn responds and she smiles back at him, feeling more comfortable against her pillows. “Excuse me.” He asks before touching her and she nods in confirmation, allowing him to go on. Shawn knows that this is not his body, so he must have her approval and excuse to touch her. His palm is softly sliding along the expansion of her shin to her knee and inner thigh, looking her deep in the eyes, attentive to any sign that she’s not liking it so he can stop. He wants to show her that he doesn’t wanna hurt her or do something harmful, so he rubs his thumb from side to side, caressing her and showing that he’s being so careful. She looks at her own ceiling, trying to keep her breathing calm and remain herself that she suggested it, so she must stay true to her pure intentions and leave her dirty thoughts locked and forbidden. He reaches the spot she told him to look for. He stops moving when he gets there and waits for her to give him another permission. “What’re you touching?” She asks. Shawn gets it as a chastise and lifts his hand up, widening his eyes. She slips her arm under the blanket and places it back to where it was, making him gulp and miss a heartbeat. “I’m not asking you to leave, Mendes,” She laughs. “I’m asking you what’s this specific spot you’re touching right now. This is still a test.” His eyes are still wide as ever, comprehending her words and looking for the answer in his mind. “The pubic mound... Okay...” He answers more to himself and tries to remember the words she made him take notes about. “It’s... a fibroadipose tissue that stays on top of the bone and it divides into the labia majora on either side of the pudendal cleft.” “Very good,” She praises and he smiles, actually wanting to scream in happiness for answering correctly and in tension, because her words made his nerves sparkle somehow. ‘Just breathe’ he says to himself as a mantra. “You can feel it if you want to.” The tips of his fingers press lightly against it, choosing random spots to feel and then he lets go of it. He can read about it in the books where his gravity is going to be centered. “Should I keep going?” He asks. “Yes, please.”

Oh God, not please.

Both of them getting a type of disquietude after this word in particular. She didn’t mean to say it, she knows that ‘please’ doesn’t even fit correctly to the moment but somehow it escaped from her lips nearing a state of beg. She couldn’t let him know. This is still forbidden. He swallows harshly and moves down slowly, almost reaching his next stop.

“Okay, stop.” She says and he immediately stays still. “I’m gonna ask you something very embarassing but necessary.” “...Alright?!...” Shawn eyes her with concentration, trying to understand if he did something wrong at any point. “Lick your finger before touching this next spot,” Unable to look him in the eyes, she asks and covers her face. This makes him comfortable to remove his hand and lick his index finger before she can see him doing it. “You shouldn’t do this to your patients, but I’m very sensitive and when it’s all dry it might hurt a little.” “Okay,” He gets back to where he was before and sets his hand back down on her. “Was I here?” “Yup,” She says popping her ‘p’. “You can touch it now.” His touch is now wet and cold, making her shiver slightly and it glides easily. She removes her hands from her face but keeps her eyes shut to focus on not getting wetter than his finger. “Clitoris.” “Nope.” “No?” “Try to remember about the first time I yelled at you downstairs.” “Oh, alright.” He tilts his head down and laughs to himself. His finger is moving so delicately that it’s nearly tickling her heat. She shifts her ankles further just a little so she can see that flushy face of his, eyes now looking up as he tries to find a blank spot where his sight can help his imagination to picture what it looks like as he touches her. “Clitoral foreskin? Clitoral hood?” “Hood is better.” “Fine,” He grins. “It’s a mucocutaneous tissue that covers and protects the clitoris. It can fully cover the clit sometimes, but it also can just partly cover it.” “Thought you’d never get it right, not gonna lie.” She confesses and he moves his pretty greenish eyes to look at her, and she finally reciprocates. “Thought you trusted me!” It’s so good to interact as they typically do. It’s so good to feel more normal and less awkard. The two of them could now feel their bodies relaxing and free to get back to joking and playing. Nothing’s really planned for ages before acting, it’s just natural. This is what they were looking for. His cold calloused finger goes down shortly and she lets a sigh fly from her lips, instantly biting at her bottom one. She writhes sparsely, trying not to do what she’d normally do if they weren’t studying. “Clitoris? Is it here?” “M-hm.” “Erectile nub placed at the top of the vulva. It has around 8.000 nerve endings and blood supply. Would you mind if I see it?” She shakes her head in denial and grabs the cover up to reveal her lower half, making it rest on her stomach. Shawn takes his finger away for a moment to see the little nub and memorize where it is. He thinks he’d never seen something so beautiful in his life; he never thought it’d look this beautiful. Totally compelled, he licks his digit again and touches her clit, differently from before. Now, he’s softly drawing tiny circles around it and she accidentaly moans lowly. The tip of his finger is sliding so deliciously that she couldn’t even notice the time when she showed such weakness. “If you keep doing like this, you’re gonna turn me on and-” “How sensitive is it?” He cuts her off and, to be honest, he wasn’t even listening. All of his concentration got directed to her clit, now swelling under his control. “What?” “How sensitive is it? With so many nerve endings, it must be really delicate. Isn’t it?” She’s not quite understanding. Shouldn’t he know this already? Or was he one of those guys who never finds a clit during sex? “It’s sensitive enough to get me excited,” She warns but it’s not like he’s giving a single damn right now. “But if you press it hard, then it’ll hurt me bad. Like... you can add a little bit more of pressure...” And he immediately does, watching the way his finger works carefully but performing firmly now. She exhales strongly, trying so hard not to lose her shit. “A little bit more...” She demands and he obeys. Where is this going? She can’t answer herself now that this feels so good. His touch rounding her clit, sometimes going from side to side and he takes his time feeling all the extension of it. “Don’t go further than this, otherwise it’ll only harm me.” This amount of pressure was just perfect for her taste. Shawn doesn’t even know about this, but he keeps going and he even leans closer to see it better. Now there was no hell, it was just heaven. Heaven in the way her face contorts everytime he hits the center of her clit; heaven in the way her chest is moving up and down, trying not to lose the pattern of her respiration; heaven in the way her eyes squinted – but no completely – peeking at him with some struggle. He stops eyeing her heat, saving the last information he got from it and looks at her, eyes practically dark. “Let’s move on to-” “Can I put my mouth on it?” Her jaw falls. Such a question she didn’t know she needed to hear today. She knew she wanted to, but never knew she needed it so bad. “Are you asking to eat me out, Mendes?” For a minute there, she thinks she’s dreaming. Dreaming wildly. She promptly supports her body on her elbows and tosses her blanket away from her body. “I’m sorry. God, I’m sorry,” It’s like a force pushed him back to earth. He felt so intoxicated by her that his attention flew out to somewhere else. “I’m such a-” “Do it.” “What is it?” “Do it,” She insists. Can’t miss the chance, can’t have him going back now. Not now. “You want it?” He nods kind of desperately. “Then show me what you can do.” She tilts her head to the side and smirks at him. His mouth forms an ‘o’ shape. Jesus Christ, she can get him around her finger so easily that he feels lucky that he was the one to get her around his finger previously. But how is he supposed to do this? He decides to get started by kissing the inner part of her leg, planting wet kisses along her smooth skin and it feels so satisfying to have her skin exposing goosebumps under his touch. He’s getting closer and she sighs so sweetly that he’s hoping he’s doing the right thing. The scent of her is driving him crazy, he can’t wait to know the taste. “I-” He starts that old speech of explanation. He doesn’t want to but he feels like he needs to be honest with her and tell that he’s still a virgin. Lost and anxious to find himself. Find her. “I know. I’ll guide you, don’t you worry about that.” She’s just perfect. There’s no better definition inside his mind right now. He’s the opened book she loves to devour every single page of, absorbing the details and letting herself get immersed. She arranges her body on her bed to give him more space to lay down on his stomach and between her parted legs. When he finishes his trail of wet and hot kisses, she stands in one shoulder as her other arm goes to reach his brown curls that she loves so much. “You can kiss it first,” She directs him. “See what it feels like against your lips and oh,” She moans because he wasted no time on licking his lips and kissing her clit. “G-Get yourself used to it, take your time to adjust yourself, no need to hurry.” But she didn’t really mean that. She does need the hurry, ‘cause she might collapse from this torture at any second. Shawn tries the kissing, doing it from her clit and covering every inch of her lower lips then going back to the smaller ones. Over and over again, until he gets kinda bored. He wants to make her squirm like she said before in the kitchen. He wants to put his daydreams to a proof as quick as possible. “You’re so wet,” He notices and is unaware of the effect it had on her. Her glistening pussy is inviting him and he wants to live in this for the rest of his days. He knows he has no experience, but this time, he doesn’t wait. He sinks his head down on her and his tongue is flattening against her heat to lick a stripe from her entrance to her clit, covering her with his mouth in order not to miss a single inch. And fuck she tastes so fuckin’ good. Nothing compared to his imagination. “Oh my God,” Another moan slips out and she drops her head backwards, gotten my surprise. “That’s it...” He embraces her thighs and her ankles are now resting on his back. His head buries in her pussy and she returns to look at him. It’s the best view in the world. Cheeks flushed and eyes closed, looking so serene and enjoying the taste of her like he never did with anything else. Shawn pulls her hips closer to him, growing hungrier and obsessed with this moment. “Shawn!” She calls out and giggles, thinking that he’s also in the mood to play. Not now. “How hard can I suck you?” He pulls away, not going very far just to breathe and ask her. “Hard enough to show me how bad you want me, not hard like a crazy animal would probably do.” He groans against her heat and frowns in what he thinks it must be suffering. How can she get him so fragile to her? He feels his head spinning and she hasn’t even touched him back yet. “What are you doing to me?” Shawn whispers, thinking out loud. He drags his tongue up and down against her boldly, mixing the wetness of his tongue with her wetness and it’s slow, painfully slow. She tugs his hair when she feels that tingling sensation down on her entrance and it spurs him on to try his first suction. He does, giving her the best job he could do for the first time in his life. “Close your mouth a little and suck harder.” She recommends and he promptly does. His lips are wrapped around her bundle of nerves as he licks her before, tongue gliding in circles and he’s keeping his tongue relaxed, what makes her see stars with this pleasant sensation. It’s so smooth and so tender that she’s afraid she’s going to pass out from the pleasure. He tries sucking for the second time and earns the perfect reaction from her: toes curling, eyes rolling to the back of her head and she gasps, body giving up against the mattress. She feels her clit throbbing and the way he sucks it is pushing her over the edge. It’s wet, it’s warm and so precise. “Fuck Shawn, fuck!” Her lungs are supplicating for air and she makes a good effort to look down at him again – eyeing her through his eyelashes – and, although he’s still finding a way to please her, he knows he’s being good, so he gives her a devilish smile. “Keep doing like this, baby, don’t stop...” That’s it for him. He tries to suck her again. It’s long he’s deliberately repeating series of suctions, having her crying out in her bed and arching her back. He tests it harder and faster and her hands instantly fly to grab his curls. Her moans are gradually turning into frantic screams and she’s trembling. Shawn Mendes never imagined he could get his friend shaking hectically with his mouth on her heat, sucking and licking her with his whole body and soul. His member is so hard inside his sweatpants but he doesn’t care, as long as she’s enjoying it, then he didn’t need something more. And he thinks she looks impossibly prettier with her beautiful lips parted to free her whimpers, sometimes smirking down at him to tease him; hair getting messier than her body quivering and being stopped by his large hands, caressing the sides of her waist and traveling down to the sides of her bum and legs, holding them forcefully so she wouldn’t escape from his touch. “Shawn,” She gulps before moving on, throat dry from moaning uninterruptedly. “Pull away, I’m gonna come.” With her clit gently tugged between his plump red lips, he shakes his head from side to side in denial lazily and it’s a new sensation to her, so so so good that her vision gloes blurry. Shawn just revealed himself not only stubborn in his studies but also in bed, and she’s so eager to dominate him like this... He remembers about all the things they should be studying right now and maps her core to find her entrance with his index finger. Just as she taught him, he licks the digit and thrust it inside of her as soon as he finds it, bringing his mouth back to her clit to suck rapidly as his finger moves slowly. She fights back a loud scream, covering her mouth as she feels her pussy aching deliciously, searching for its release. “Can you take two?” Shawn feels her walls squeezing his finger and doubts that she can keep another one. “Yes, please.” She says through gritted teeth and it’s good to give this word the real meaning she wanted to give before. He pushes another finger into her and she moans once more, she doesn′t know how long she can wait. He thrusts the fingers so gingerly, not sure about what to do and what pace to pick. Was he hurting her? “You’re so tight...” He comments so innocently, he thought that it wouldn’t be this constricted. He starts to imagine how heavenly his cock would feel hugged by her dripping pussy. “Mendes,” She says under her breath. “I need you to go faster.” “Like this?” He picks up his rhythm shyly. “More.” His digits are covered in her juices and moving with ease. She feels that knot on her stomach tightening and about to explode. “More.” She begs and broken sobs are slipping past her lips. He goes deeper, fingers completely disappearing inside of her. “Right there! Oh, right there,” He finds her spot and her eyes roll to the back of her head once more, making Shawn dig the nails of his free hand into the skin of her thigh and suck at her bundle of nerves as fast as his fingers are working now. “Do it like this.” She can’t raise her hand right now to show due to her weakness but Shawn’s eyes are quick to find her fingers moving in a ‘come here’ motion and he immediately gives it to her. He can’t comprehend exactly where he’s taking her, but when she stops moaning and her legs starts shaking, he understands it. She’s feeling every inch of her core pulsating as her orgasm washes over her body and he can’t believe he just made her come. His fingers are slowing down and he pulls his mouth away, looking at her body coming down of her high. He removes his fingers slow and carefully and gives one last lick, catching what she released, and one last suck, her back arching for the last time. He waits for her to settle down and get back to her senses before doing anything else. And when she does, she glances at him and silently invites him to come closer. “You’ve done this before, haven’t you?” She taps his strong chest as he crawls over her, knees supported by the mattress under her parted thighs and upper half covering her front. He must be kidding. “Not really...” He vents, embarassed but glad that he provided her something nice. “But did... Did this just ruin what we have?” “I honestly couldn’t care less if it did,” She spits out and he fears her next words. “I couldn’t fucking wait to have you like this since the very first day we spoke.” “Would it be weird if I told you I feel the same way?” “Nope. But that’s something you can save for later,” She pulls him by the shirt and pecks his lips, savouring the taste of herself on his lips. “I wanna make you feel good first. What do you think about that?” “Glad you finally asked.”

#shawn mendes #shawn mendes fanfic #shawn mendes fanfics #shawn mendes imagine #shawn mendes imagines #shawn mendes blurb #shawn mendes blurbs #shawn mendes oneshot #shawn mendes masterlist #mine #ficsofmine #I NEED HOLY WATER AND I KNOW IT

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freudensteins-monster · 5 years ago

Note

I wish you would write a fic where Loki and Sigyn try to one-up each other pranking Thor, Valkyrie and the Avengers while on Earth. (Thanks, and Happy New Year! xoxo)

Dear Anon, I know you probably don’t remember sending me this ask, considering you sent it on New Years Day - two years ago - but better later than never, right? (Set post-Ragnarok, minus Thanos)

Loki’s return to Earth had notexactly been celebrated, but the Avengers needed him on an upcoming mission so hispresence was tolerated. Eventually they reached the end of their patience andso he was sent to annoy Doctor Strange at the New York Sanctum. He had to begrudgingly admit that theircollection of magical knowledge and artifacts was impressive, though it paledin comparison to Asgard’s. And didn’t he feel that loss keenly? He’d managed tosquirrel away almost a hundred of his most treasured volumes into his personalpocket dimension during his all to brief reign as king but there were hundreds of thousandsmore that had been lost to the fires of Ragnarok.

The Sanctum also held another mysterioustreasure.

“Sigyn? Is that name supposed tomean something to me?” Loki replied with disinterest, not bothering to raisehis eyes from his latest book.

“It should,” Strange smirked.“She’s your wife reincarnated.”

At that Loki deigned to raise hiseyes, flitting from the irritating Strange to the mortified initiate besidehim. She was fair of face and hair, the latter pulled back in elaborate braidsthat fell down to her shoulder blades, and she wore thick gloves on her hands inaddition to the standard burgundy garb of any initiate of Kamar-Taj.

“Is this a reference to yourlurid mythologies?” Loki drawled. “Because in truth I have never taken a wife.Though if you wish me to take her off your hands I would require a substantialdowry, say the Axe of Angarrumus? I received Thor’s name in Stark’s wintersolstice gift giving game and such a weapon would mean I don’t have to lowermyself to visiting one of Midgard’s marketplaces.”

Rather than reply Strange huffedwith irritation and flounced out of the room (the sorcerer may have justturned, the Cape of Levitation did all the flouncing). The woman gave him acurt bow before disappearing into the rows of shelving, and Loki would haveforgotten all about her the moment she was gone from his sight if Strangehadn’t screamed his name as he stormed back into the library less than a minutelater.

Loki laughed. He couldn’t helpit. The Sorcerer Supreme was standing in the middle of the room, his dark bluerobes now emerald green and his famed cloak a blinding gold, as his face turnedan interesting shade of red. It was the best thing he’d seen since the Hulk hadthrown Thor around like a ragdoll in the arena.

“What? It wasn’t me,” Loki arguedas Strange continued to glare at him after he’d been able to stop laughing.

With one flick of his wrists thesorcerer changed his robes back to their original hue and with another he cutthe legs off Loki’s chair, causing the Asgardian to fall on his ass with athud.

Loki was dusting himself off whenthe woman, Sigyn, reappeared, a heavy tome in her arms and a small smileplaying on her lips.

“It was nice to meet you,” she saidin lightly accented English before leaving the room via a portal she’dconjured.

Loki stared at the space she hadoccupied for a long minute before smiling to himself, “Interesting.”

In the days leading up to theMidgard winter solstice celebrations Loki thought of the curious Sigyn often,and though he frequented the Sanctum he had not seen her again, and dared notask Strange as to her whereabouts and give away his interest. In the end she came to him, arriving via a portal on the balcony of Stark’stower along with Strange and two other sorcerers, a hour late for Stark’sChristmas party.

Since they had last crossed pathsSigyn had apparently completed her training, having exchanged her initiaterobes for more formal ones of grey overlayed with a dark purple sleeveless coatwith silver embroidery. She still wore gloves the same shade as her robes, andtoyed nervously with the bindings. Stark was being his obnoxious self as heintroduced the sorcerers to the rest of the superheroes, scientists, andobligatory celebrities gathered on the 68th floor, and just as Lokiwas sure that Strange was about to push Stark through a portal to the farreaches of the universe, the Man of Iron was distracted by his AI systemintroducing the newest arrivals to step off the elevator – in Latin. Their hostsufficiently distracted, the sorcerers began to mingle (Strange making for oneJane Foster, the next smartest person in the room, much to Thor’s thinly veiledannoyance), and Loki made his way over to Sigyn.

“That was a nice trick.”

“I have no idea what you’retalking about,” she replied automatically as she took a glass of somethingbubbly from a passing waiter.

“Of course you don’t,” Lokismiled. “Just as I have no idea what’s going on over there,” he said, pointingto the bar where Valkyrie was trying drink after drink, growing more frustratedas each turned to water on her tongue.

Sigyn stifled a laugh beforegazing around the room in search of her next target. The slight twitching ofher fingers was the only indication that she had made her play and it was a fewminutes before Loki understood what it was. There was a small commotion acrossthe room and the man out of time stumbled away from a group of overly affectionatedebutantes, a sprig of mistletoe followed him. If he stayed in one place forlonger than five seconds the mistletoe hovered over his head and the peopleclosest to him felt compelled to kiss him. It resulted in the good captainrunning laps of the room as he cursed Stark for inventing some sort ofmistletoe drone.

As the party guests laughed Sigynraised an eyebrow in challenge but before Loki could contemplate his next movea loud slap rang out. All eyes turned to find Doctor Strange getting chewed outby Doctor Foster before the petite brunette stormed off.

Sigyn gasped. “What did you do?”

“It wasn’t me. Itseems as though the Sorcerer Supreme is fully capable of making an ass out ofhimself without my assistance.”

They watched as Thor made tofollow Doctor Foster and the moment he caught up with her Loki sliced the airwith his arm, sending the former lovers flying into a storage closet at the endof the hall. He immediately sealed the room – no one would be able to heartheir cries for aid and for all Thor’s strength he would not be able to breakout of the room before dawn’s first light hit the tower.

“Really?” Sigyn scoffed.

“They have been tiptoeing aroundeach other for weeks. It’s been painful to watch. One way or another it endstonight.”

“Fair enough,” she mused as hersharp gazed scanned the room. With a sly smile she ran a finger around the rimof her glass and half the room fell silent before findingthemselves singing a rather passionate rendition of “Santa Claus is Comin’ ToTown”.

Loki barely had a moment to enjoythe confusion before he felt a sharp pinch between his ribs.

“That’s enough,” the widowcommanded, pressing a blade so hard against his side it pierced through hisleather vestments.

Before Loki could proclaim hisinnocence Sigyn took a sip from her glass and the chaos fizzled out intoconfused laughter and the sounds of drinks being topped up. Loki breathed asigh of relief as the blade was removed from his side.

“If you can’t behave yourself itmight be better for your health if you retired for the evening,” the widowsuggested before rejoining her friends.

“Haha,” Sigyn chortled into herdrink. “You lose.”

“How so?”

“You got caught,” Sigyn repliedas though it were obvious.

“But it wasn’t my trick.”

“It still counts.”

“It does not!”

“It does too!”

In a fit of frustration, and inan effort to best his sparring partner, Loki threw a glamour over Sigyn,ridding her of her robes and dressing her in a glittering golden gown similarto those he had seen a few models in attendance wearing. The figure-hugginggown was quite alluring on her, as was the amount of exposed flesh, until onegot to her now glove-free hands which were misshapen with leathery scars. Sigyndropped her champagne glass with an anguished scream when she realised whatLoki had done, angry tears filling her eyes when she felt the room staring ather. She turned on her heel and summoned a portal with her sling ring,disappearing in a shower of sparks.

“What did you do?” Strange sighedirritably as he appeared at Loki’s side.

“I may have taken things a steptoo far,” Loki conceded.

“You don’t say.”

“Is there any way to follow her?”

With another put upon sigh,Strange summoned a portal for him.

“If my favourite student doesn’tcome back, neither should you,” Strange warned before shoving him through.

The portal closed and Loki foundhimself face first in the snow. He righted himself and in the grey light he wasable to follow Sigyn’s footprints towards a church and the cemetery behind it.He found her seated before a headstone once again dressed in her in grey andpurple robes. Her gloves were lying on the ground beside her and her misshapenhands sat in her lap. Loki approached cautiously and when she failed to attackhim he sat down next to her, joining Sigyn in staring silently at the headstoneof one Marta Magnusson.

“Most days I can forget aboutthem,” she said without preamble, turning her scarred hands this way and that. “But thensomeone will comment on my gloves and I remember it anew. If I don’t wear them I have to put up with looks of disgust or pity. I’m notsure which is worse.”

“…How did it happen?”

“When I was but a child my fatherthrew me into the fireplace during one of his drunken rages, pushed me down bythe heel of his boot, my little hands pushing back against the burning logs asflames licked my face. It felt like hours of agony but my mother assured me itwas only seconds, either way the damage was done. Recovery was almost aspainful, and whenever I cried about it my mother would wipe away my tears andsay, “Women are defined by what they can endure, little Sigyn, so it is in allthe great stories, and you are far too strong to give up now.”

She fell silent then, content toignore her companion in favour of losing herself to long buried memories. Itstretched on long enough to make Loki fidget, a dozen empty platitude dying onhis silver tongue.

“I’m not showing you mine,” hemuttered, just loud enough to draw Sigyn’s attention.

“Hmm?”

“I’m not showing you my scars soyou’ll think us even,” he bit out petulantly. “Just know that I have them. Also,”he added with a belligerent sigh, “I’m sorry for bringing yours to light the wayI did. It was cruel.”

She accepted his apology with abrief nod but made no move to bury her past once more and leave the frozen cemetery. Loki sighed again, cursing his newfound sentimentality, and outstretcheda hand towards the headstone. Within minutes an ice sculpture formed behind itin the shape of a mother embracing her child. The child may have resembled Sigynbut, Loki realised too late, the mother was most definitely Frigga.

Sigyn’s eyes lit up inappreciation but as she turned to Loki her smiled faded. Loki followed her gazeto his outstretched hand, now azure blue. Chastened, he gave it frustratedshake as though his true heritage was something he could easily rid himself of.He crossed his arms to hide it from view until it returned to his prefershade and avoided meeting her eyes.

“Can you only manipulate ice?”she asked, surprising Loki.

“What?”

“Is it only ice you can create?”she repeated, smiling as her eyes drifted skyward to the flurries of snowflakesthat drifted past on the wind.

Loki, sensing mischief, smiledback. “What did you have in mind?”

The karaoke portion of Stark’s Christmasparty was due to begin, but as the host took the stage a blizzard developed outof thin air, pouring in from the balcony and blanketing the room with snow.Panicked and freezing guests sought to escape it but where met with icy gales thatpushed them back from the elevators and stairwells.

It disappeared as quickly as it came but left the entire floor covered in two feet of snow. Stark was thefirst to regain his senses, but before he could call for Loki’s head his ownwas struck with an icy projectile. He turned on the spot to find the SorcererSupreme smirking back at him, his cocky cloak dusting snow off whatever its equivalentto hands were.

“Oh, it’s on now, Strange.”

Loki hoisted himself up onto thebar and helped himself to an abandoned glass of champagne, laughing at thechaos before him as dozens of enhanced individuals engaged in an all-outsnowball war. Sigyn joined him moments later after quickly forming a portal withher sling ring to divert a wayward snowball down the back of Wong’s robes.

Loki beamed at his partner inmischief and pushed a drink into her gloved hand. “To what doesn’t kill us,” hetoasted.

Sigyn laughed and clinked herglass against his. “May it always make us a riot at parties.”

#i wish you would write a fic where...#loki #sigyn #logyn #pranks #post-ragnarok #no thanos #dr strange #tony stark #not that i can actually remember writing any of this #but i'm pretty sure sigyn was inspired in part by riley blue and lagertha

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etherealwaifgoddess · 5 years ago

Text

More Time - Chpt.6

Summary: The guys finally make time for a date night after their first week back to work. Master list can be found HERE.

Warnings/ Content: More fluff! And a truly adorable tiny tipsy Steve.

Word Count: 2.2k

Author’s Note: Oh boy, lovelies... it’s time we get our first peek at Emma! I’m so excited for what’s to come now that she’s arrived in their lives. Terribly sorry this is going up two hours later than usual. I got lost for the past few hours working on a reader x non-binary Bucky fic. I’ll probably never post it but omg I’m having so much fun writing it. Hope everyone is having a good weekend so far! XOXO - Ash

Chapter Six

Friday was their first day off after working three days in a row. It felt luxurious to sleep in together and take their time planning a grocery trip over morning coffee and omelets.

“Let’s go out and celebrate tonight.” Bucky suggested on their way back from the store. They had passed by the local bar countless times but had never bothered stopping in. Neither of them had ever really been drinkers and Steve had absolutely no tolerance for it anymore. Bucky found it endearing how after decades of not being able to get drunk Steve would flush from head to toe and giggle over everything after a single glass of wine.

“We always say we’re gonna go. Might as well try it out.” Steve agreed with a shrug.

After a long day of doing absolutely nothing, Bucky reminded Steve of their date night and took over the bathroom for what felt like an eon to get ready.

“Come on!” Steve called as he flopped down on the bed. He had been ready to go for twenty minutes and couldn’t understand what on earth Bucky could still be doing in there. He’d gotten ready when he heard the shower turn off and he hadn’t been quick about it. Steve had paired his standard khakis with his nicest blue cashmere sweater. The one that Bucky said made his eyes glow impossibly blue. It had been a Christmas gift from Pepper and he loved how soft it was.

Bucky emerged a few minutes later and the sight of him had Steve’s mouth going dry. Bucky had picked out a charcoal button up shirt and black skinny jeans that did unspeakable things for his thick thighs. His hair fell in soft waves to his shoulders, the top half pulled up in a small bun at the back of his head, and he had trimmed his beard so it was little more than dark scruff again. Steve couldn’t wait to feel it scraping across his skin and wondered how much of him would be covered in beard burn the following day. “You okay there, Rogers?” Bucky asked with a wicked smile. He knew exactly what he was doing.

Steve swallowed and nodded. “Just peachy.” He said through a tight throat.

“You still want to go out or would you rather stay in?” Buck sauntered over to where Steve had sat up on the edge of the bed.

Steve looked up at Bucky, fighting for control over his raging hormones. “You look too good to be at home on a Friday night.” He told him honestly. “I wanna take you out and show you off a little.”

Bucky preened at Steve’s words, “I don’t know, I think you’ll be the one getting shown off. I love that sweater on you. You look like every good dream I’ve ever had come to life.”

“Mm. Smooth talker.” Steve all but purred as Bucky leaned down to kiss him.

It was with great difficulty they pulled themselves apart to head down the block for dinner but they managed after several whispered promises of ‘later’.

Matty’s Bar was sweltering inside despite the frigid February weather. They shucked their coats and gloves off as soon as they found two open seats on the far side of the bar where it was quieter. Bucky couldn’t help his smile watching Steve clear the fog from his glasses and struggle up onto the tall barstool. It was so much like their dance hall nights in the ‘30s that his heart ached with fondness. The bar wasn’t overly crowded, most people staying home because of the cold, but it was still a Friday night in the city. They looked around admiring the old school dive bar ambiance with framed pictures on every wall, the obligatory mirrored wall behind the bar, and the dark wood surfaces everywhere. It was inviting in its simplicity; the kind of place you could come to alone and still feel like you were a part of something. Steve wished they had ventured in sooner and Bucky had to agree. The menu was basic but they didn’t need anything fancy. Hell, everything was fancy in the twenty first century compared to what they’d had back in The Great Depression.

The bartender was busy but made time to smile down at them and hold up a finger signaling she’d be another minute. Bucky’s gaze lingered on her and Steve took a second glance to see what had caught Bucky’s eye. He watched as the bartender hurried down to their end of the bar, a bright smile on her face as she greeted them and set out napkins for drinks. It was obvious what had caught Bucky’s attention because she had captured Steve’s too. The woman looked like she was in her mid to late twenties and was a good inch or two shorter than Steve with hair so long it swayed in a thick auburn column all the way down to the small of her back despite being pulled up in a ponytail. Her full lips were pulled into a wide smile and her hazel eyes shone honey brown and moss green in the bar’s lowlight. It was difficult to see because of the bar but Steve appreciated the rounded curves of what he could see of her body. He wished he could draw her, so perfectly feminine and beautiful. He would make her a goddess reclining in the sea, nymphs floating above her, a modern day Birth of Venus.

Thankfully Bucky was paying attention while Steve daydreamed. He ordered them each a Makers Mark on the rocks which the bartender had in front of them in a blink. “You ready to pick your jaw up off the floor?” Bucky whispered quietly into Steve’s good ear.

“Shut up, jerk. I saw you making eyes at her too.” Steve replied just as quietly.

Bucky made a scoffing noise, “You’d have to blind not to make eyes at her.”

“I’ll drink to that.” Steve clinked his glass against Bucky’s and the two men chuckled at their foolishness. It had been a lifetime since they had admired a pretty dame together and even longer still since they had taken one home together.

They ordered a few plates to share when their drinks were finished and Steve was regretting drinking before eating. Bucky ordered another whiskey while Steve sensibly stuck to water for a bit until he could get some food in him. Bucky’s version of the serum didn’t make him completely immune to the effects of alcohol but it would take significantly more than the average person and even then he only got a pleasant buzz.

The bartender, who’s name they learned was Emma, gave Steve a sympathetic look when she handed him his water and promised their food was coming up soon. Bucky watched her as she moved back down to the opposite end of the bar to help other patrons and Steve kicked him lightly. “You know, it’s not nice to be so smitten with someone other than your date.” He joked lightly.

Bucky gave him a long, exasperated look, “You know I love you, punk. ‘Til the end of the line.”

Steve smirked and leaned over so he could rest his head against Bucky’s shoulder. He was blissfully happy to be able to take Bucky out on a real date without the fear of being beaten or jailed. It had taken some time after waking up from the ice to fully understand how much easier queer folk had it in the twenty first century and years later it still made him overjoyed. Being himself wasn’t a death sentence anymore. The world wasn’t perfect and there would always be homophobic people but it was nothing compared to the widespread hatred and fear they’d hidden from in the ‘30s and ‘40s. Back then, any time they had wanted to go out on a date they had to find a pair of girls to take along to be their “real” dates. It was always awkward and disappointing for all parties involved.

“What’cha thinkin’ about, Stevie? You’re awfully quiet.” Bucky asked pressing a kiss into Steve’s hair.

“We have it so good, Buck.” Steve told him, still buzzed from the bourbon, “I never dreamed we’d have it this good.”

“You and me both. But here we are.” Bucky tried not to dwell on the time he was with HYDRA and after he’d escaped when he truly believed he was nothing more than a weapon. The idea that he would be not just alive but thriving and in love would have been beyond anything he could have dreamed up back then.

Emma swung down with their plates interrupting their suddenly maudlin moment. They tucked into the food and people watched as the crowd thinned out while a storm picked up outside. It was down to them and two other bar-flies by the time they finished their meal and were nursing another round of drinks. Steve felt like someone had loosened his bones as the bourbon hit his system again. His metabolism was shit and while he normally hated that, it was kind of nice to feel the warm buzz of alcohol again after so many years of not.

“It’s getting bad out there.” Emma commented when she stopped by to check on them. “You guys live close by?”

Bucky nodded, “Right down the block. We’re not afraid of a little snow though.”

“Oh good. The city takes forever doing the sidewalks and it can be rough going.”

“It’s sweet of you to worry, doll.” Bucky flashed her the grin Steve had seen melt even the hardest hearted old nuns at St. Agnes back in the day. Steve swooned a little just being in proximity to it.

“Doll?” Emma snorted in amusement, seemingly immune to his charm.

“Shit, sorry, I know that’s not polite anymore. I meant no disrespect.”

“What are you, eighty years old?”

“Try a hundred and seven.” Steve giggled before he could stop himself.

Bucky looked over, wide eyed at Steve who had not only outed their identities but honest to god giggled. Emma chuckled but was assessing them, wondering what the joke was. Bucky pulled the sleeve up a little on his left arm, exposing more of the shining dark metal, the gold accents catching in the light.

“Oh.” Emma murmured. There was no mistaking that arm. “Wow.” She failed for words again. “But you’re…” she looked at Steve, recognizing him from the history books but not understanding how he was at least a foot shorter than when she’d seen him on TV a year ago.

Steve watched her confusion with amusement. He hadn’t been recognized since the incident and he was too tipsy to care. “Shhh.” He held a finger up to his lips conspiratorially. “Bruce made a whoops and I went weeee” Steve made a shrinking motion with his forefinger and thumb causing Bucky to lay his head down on the bar in embarrassment.

“Wow.” Emma repeated, unsure of what to say to that.

Bucky lifted his head, ready to get his inebriated partner home and tucked into bed. “Sorry, someone doesn’t know how to hold his liquor anymore.”

“It’s okay,” Emma assured him, “I’m a total lightweight too. I can cash you guys out if you want.”

“Yeah, that would be great. And if you could just not, ya know…” Bucky hated having to ask for her silence but the last thing they needed was the world knowing what had happened to Steve.

“Oh!” Emma exclaimed, knowing exactly where he was going. “No, of course not. You guys deserve your privacy just like anyone else.”

Bucky was relieved, sensing the honesty in her voice. “Thank you. Not everyone feels that way.”

Emma nodded sympathetically and handed him their check. Bucky made sure he left a more than generous tip before helping Steve into his coat. “Come on, big guy. We gotta get you home to bed.” He told him placatingly.

“Mmm. I like our bed.” Steve mused.

Bucky slung an arm around Steve’s narrow shoulders and steered him towards the door. “Come on pal, keep it moving or I’ll pick you up and carry you, like it or not.”

Steve giggled and waved over-enthusiastically at Emma who bit back a laugh and waved goodbye to him.

Back in the safety of their apartment Bucky helped Steve undress and practically poured him into bed.

“Hey Buck.” Steve said in a too loud whisper, “It’s later. Remember? Later…” He wasn’t any closer to sober but Steve Rogers had always been a feisty little shit and some things never changed.

Bucky was tempted, he always was by Steve, but he wasn’t about to start something up when Steve would most likely be asleep within minutes. Bucky grasped the hand that was busy exploring and held it close to his chest. “I know, but it’ll be later later too and right now you need sleep.”

“Aww Buck no.” Steve whined.

“Come ’ere and I’ll even let you be the little spoon.”

Steve rolled over in a whirlwind of blankets and blonde hair, scooting back so Bucky could wrap himself around him. “I love the little spoon.” He said sleepily.

“I know, pal. Get some rest.” Bucky buried his nose in Steve’s hair and listened to the sound of Steve’s breathing evening out as he drifted off to sleep.

Tag list lovelies: @godofplumsandthunder @remilupin22 @supraveng @hiddles-rose

If anyone wants added or removed please lmk!

#more time #stucky #stucky x original character #stucky x original female character #stucky x ofc #stucky fanfic #stucky fanfiction #steve rogers #preserum steve rogers #post winter soldier bucky barnes #shrinkyclinks #marvel #marvel fanfic #marvel fanfiction #post endgame #post avengers endgame #endgame fix it #endgame fixit

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