#or resting their hands on the grip when they realize I have a rainbow pin on my jacket

[onbearfeet]

I didn't consent to see other people's terrible fashion choices, obnoxious bumper stickers, profanity-laden Trump flags, or guns in Starbucks, but remarkably enough my disapproval of those things doesn't count for shit. Those are the chances you take when you go outside, because your disgust is your problem and no one else's.

Frankly, if we're going to start restricting what is allowed to exist in public, I'd start with the guns, but nobody listens to me.

[enid-rhees]

Alrighty, I've got ✨ideas✨...

Non-apocalyptic Enid au!!

1. Enid works at a coffee shop. Reader goes there everyday for coffee (and because she finds Enid intriguing-). Eventually reader is just going there so she can see Enid. Reader even saves the coffee cups Enid hands to her ✋-

They both basically end up friends to lovers! Reader always blushing when Enid calls her name, hands her the coffee, etc.

(maybe a two part series where the eventually fuck on the counter once the coffee shop is closed hehe)

okay i need to write this . like so badly i need to write this now . i’m so obsessed with coffee shop aus and . i just love this idea so bad. hope you enjoy 🩷🩷

warnings: a bit suggestive but towards the end of the story.

this also turned more into a love at first sight type story :)

a/n: hope you all enjoy! requests are open! just read pinned for rules if you’d like to request :)

you were so running late for your college class, but you were so tired and just needed a coffee. you walked into the quiet cafe, rubbing your eyes so they could adjust to the words on the menu above you.

“hi! what could i get for you?” a soft voice asked. you looked back down, heart stopping when you made eye contact with the girl in front of you.

she had shortish light brown hair, and these beautiful green eyes. her apron had mini pins attached to it, one was a small rainbow and the other a smiley face.

“miss?” she questioned. you snapped back into reality, your face heating up. “sorry,” you chuckled. “um… just a large iced coffee with caramel… and cream and sugar.”

she grabbed a cup and pulled out a sharpie, “name?” she asked.

“uh, Y/N.” you mumbled, fumbling with your wallet to pull out your card. the girl smiled as she wrote it down, “alright, it’ll be ready in a few minutes. your total is $3.06.” you inserted your card into the card reader, and added a tip that was way more than the drink itself.

you sat down in a chair and scrolled through Twitter as you waited for your drink to be done. after a few minutes, you put your phone away and watched the girl make your coffee. you realized she was the only one working at the moment, but luckily you were the only person in the cafe.

she bit her lip in concentration as she added the caramel sauce, slowly stirring it. you smiled, just admiring her.

the girl turned around and reached for a cap. she snapped it onto the cup and brought it over to the other side of the counter with a straw. you stood up and went to grab it from her hands.

briefly, your hands touched as you took it out of her grip. your face burned once more but you quickly shook it off, “thank you uh..” you looked down at her name tag. “Enid. thank you.”

she smiled beautifully, “of course. have a great rest of your day!” you smiled back, “you too.”

when you walked out of the shop and crossed the street to get to your college campus, you took a look at the cup.

you nearly dropped it when you saw how she had written your name.

‘Y/N <3’

part of you assumed she did that with every customer, but another part of you wanted to believe that she did that just for you. but that would’ve been crazy, right? that was your first time ever seeing her, she couldn’t possibly think of you like that already.

but part of you hoped she did.

you ran down the hallway of the building. your classroom was all the way at the end, something you despised more than anything. swinging the door open, you scanned the room until you found the empty seat next to your friend, Lydia.

with a sigh of relief that she actually came to class this time, you sat down next to her. “why are you late?!” Lydia whisper-yelled.

“i woke up late and got coffee!” you responded, shaking the cup in front of her. she grabbed your wrist so you stopped shaking the cup and looked at it with wide eyes.

“what’s this?” she asked, pointing to the heart. a smile made its way to your lips, “the barista did that.”

“tell me everything. now.” she demanded. you giggled, feeling your face heat up once more. “i mean- it wasn’t anything groundbreaking. it was my first time seeing her and i literally froze and embarrassed myself. i told her my name for the cup and she just… put it there.”

Lydia hit your arm multiple times in excitement. “stop!” you laughed. “it probably didn’t mean anything, she could do it to every other customer as well.” you told her.

“whats her name?” she asked. “Enid.” you answered, smiling just at the mention of her name.

-

it was raining the next day, but you still wanted to go back into that cafe across from your campus. and of course, you didn’t even own an umbrella.

you ran into the cafe, drying your shoes on the welcome mat below you. “hi, welcome in.” the familiar soft voice spoke. you looked up at the counter, smiling when you saw Enid behind it. “hey,”

“what can i get for you, today?” she asked. “large caramel iced coffee with cream and sugar, please.” you responded, reaching into your soaked pockets for your wallet.

Enid bit her lip to hold back a smile as she grabbed a cup and wrote your name on it. she didn’t even ask you for it. when you inserted the card into the card reader, you pulled out a ten dollar bill and a five, dropping into Enid’s tip jar. Enid blushed.

“do you… work here by yourself?” you questioned. “no,” she responded, shaking her head. “i mean- i work the morning shift by myself, my other coworkers come in later.”

“doesn’t it get boring? being by yourself like this?” Enid shrugged, “not really, no. it’s kinda nice, actually. and i get to drink as many coffees and latte’s as i want.” she giggled, causing you to giggle as well.

Enid stirred the caramel sauce into the coffee and placed the cap on it, inserting the straw herself. “here you go,” she smiled widely.

you took a sip and groaned almost dramatically. “how do you manage to make this perfectly every time?”

Enid laughed, hiding her red face. “i’ve only made it for you twice,” she said. “and it’s been perfect both times. thank you, Enid.”

“of course. you go to the college across the street, yeah?” you nodded, taking another sip of the coffee. “yeah, i do.”

“well, i hope you have a good day in class.” she told you. you smiled at her, “thanks, Enid. have a good day!”

when you left the cafe, you slipped your hoodie on and made your way into your campus building. you turned your cup around, seeing what she wrote today.

Enid had surrounded your name in little hearts, along with a smiley face next to it. you couldn’t control the huge smile that painted your lips as you walked into your classroom.

“what’s with the smile?” Lydia asked cautiously, squinting her eyes at you. you showed your cup and her eyes widened.

“Y/N! she’s literally in love with you. no one just… puts hearts around like that! you need to shoot your shot.”

“stop! that’s just not true… it’s been two days!” Lydia rolled her eyes, “you are so stubborn it’s insane. if you don’t have her number by tomorrow i will do it myself.”

“no the fuck you will not.” you warned, pointing a finger at her. Lydia raised her hands in defense, “then talk to her! get to know her! she seems to actually like you, Y/N. i’m being serious, no one writes that on someone’s cup for no reason!”

you sighed, flipping your notebook open. “okay, fine. i’ll… see what i can do tomorrow.” you told her. “you better. or i’ll…. i’ll take your credit card.”

you fake gasped, pretending to act scared. “yeah, okay. try that without losing your limbs.”

Lydia pushed your shoulder and you laughed, taking a sip of what could be the best cup of iced coffee you’ve ever had. you needed to go back.

-

before you left your dorm, you actually took your time doing your makeup. you put eyeshadow, blush, lip gloss and eyeliner. you double checked yourself in the mirror at least three times, fixing your outfit, straightening out the fabric and even practicing stupid, cringey lines in the mirror.

you took a deep breath and left the bathroom, grabbing your keys from the table and exiting your dorm. your fingers fumbled with each other as you walked the small distance to the cafe.

when you reached the building, you peered through the window first, your eyes searching for Enid. she sat behind the counter, leaning against it.

“okay,” you whispered to yourself. “don’t.. fuck this up.”

you walked into the cafe and Enid turned her head towards the door, smiling instantly. her face lit up as she moved to stand in front of you from behind the counter.

“hi.” she said, unable to contain her smile. “hi.” you responded, mirroring that same smile. “you… you did your makeup.”

“yeah! yeah… i wanted to do something different… i guess.” you chuckled nervously. you weren’t exactly able to tell what she was thinking. she could’ve hated it for all you knew.

“i love it. you look- you look really pretty.” she told you, fumbling with her fingers nervously. “thank you, Enid.” you said, trying to ignore the heat rushing to your face.

“and i kind of already…” Enid trailed off, and turned around. she reached for something on the counter and then turned back to you, holding a cup of caramel iced coffee.

“oh- Enid, you didn’t have to.” you told her, taking the cup out of her hands. she shrugged, “i was waiting for you.”

you swore your heart almost exploded when she said that. you set the cup down and reached into your pocket for your wallet. “don’t.” Enid said. “it’s on the house.”

“Enid!” you whined, “you did not have to do that.” she shrugged once more, “i didn’t. but i wanted to.”

you still took out two 10s from your wallet, and handed them to her. Enid shook her head, “this is way too much.” she put her hand out to give the money back to you, but you backed away slightly.

“nope. that’s for you. keep it.” she groaned and slipped it inside her apron pocket. you looked at the clock on the wall, realizing that you were once again late for your class.

“fuck- i’m late again. i’ll- i’ll see you… tomorrow?” you asked her. “yep. i’m always here. see you tomorrow, Y/N.”

you smiled at her again and quickly exited the cafe. but once you reached the doors, you realized you had forgotten to ask for her number. you almost cussed yourself out until you took another sip of the coffee and noticed writing on the back.

‘maybe we can have coffee together sometime? :) xxx-xxx-xxx . Enid <3’

your heart nearly bursted out of your chest as you stared at those numbers. as you walked down the hallway to your class, you started to type them into a new contact.

when you walked into the classroom, Lydia wasn’t even there. you scoffed with a laugh and a shake of your head when you sat down.

you pulled your phone back out, finger hovering over ‘send message’ button. swallowing the knot in your throat, you clicked on it.

now for the hard part: try to figure out what to say without sounding stupid and embarrassing yourself.

you had to have typed out at least ten variations of the same sentence, and deleted each and every one of them. but you decided that maybe your first message her doesn’t have to be something grand, and you should just start simple.

‘hey :)’ you typed out, and finally hit send. you quickly put your phone on do not disturb and set it down, trying to busy yourself with your class work. your leg shook with anxiousness.

you gave up and took your phone off dnd, and there was already a message back from Enid. your heart started to race as you opened it as quickly as you could.

Enid <3: hey :) guessing you saw my writing? haha

you bit back a smile, wanting to kick your feet and giggle like a fucking child.

you: of course i did. so… about having coffee together..? when are you free?

Enid <3: are you busy later tonight? around 6 maybe? the cafe closes early tonight, but i’m allowed to keep it open just for us if you’d like :))

you and Enid… alone together in the cafe. your eyes scanned over that message repeatedly. just for us.

you: i’d love that actually :]

Enid <3: perfect. i’ll see you at 6 <3

you took a deep breath, leaning your head down on the cold desk below you as you smiled widely to yourself.

-

“Lydia, i’m freaking out why the FUCK did you not come to class today? you little shit.” you shouted into the phone, pacing your bedroom back and forth.

“i slept through my alarms I’m sorry! what’s going on, though?” Lydia asked. “Enid asked me on a date! at least i think it’s a date. she wrote her number on the cup and i texted her and then she asked if i was free tonight and then-“

“woah! slow the fuck down, Y/N! Enid asked you on a date?” you groaned, “YES!and you weren’t there for support! i’m freaking the fuck out, Lydia! our date is in a fucking hour!”

“okay- okay. you need to calm down, first of all. do you have an outfit planned?” she questioned. “no! that’s another problem. i don’t have a fucking outfit!”

you couldn’t see her, but you knew Lydia was sighing and shaking her head on the other side, annoyed with your antics.

“where is the date happening? Lydia asked. “at the cafe.”

“okay! so there’s a starter, you don’t have to dress up. why not wear a simple flannel and jeans. that’s like your entire wardrobe. maybe leave a few of the buttons down to tease her.”

you stared at your closet, “that’s not the worst idea you’ve had.” you mumbled. “what the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“nothing! okay, i’m going with the flannel, bye now.”

“wait-“ you hung up and threw your phone on your bed, pulling out a blue and white flannel. you slipped it on and buttoned the buttons until right above your chest, leaving a huge part of it open, and showing part of your cleavage.

you ran into the bathroom to check your makeup. part of it was already fading due to it being on your face all day. you scrambled to find the eyeshadow pallet and your eyeliner.

when you finished, you sighed and just stared at yourself in the mirror for a few minutes.

your text tone went off in the other room, breaking you out of your trance. you walked back into your room and clicked on the message.

Enid <3: the cafe is all closed up! you can come whenever :)

you smiled at the message, biting your lip to hold back an ever wider smile.

you: on my way :))

your heart was racing faster than it ever had before. you’ve never really been on dates before, but now you have one with the prettiest girl you’ve ever seen.

how was this even real?

after taking a deep breath and looking in the mirror one more time, you grabbed your keys off the table and left your dorm. your mind was going a million miles an hour, racing with every possibility this date could end with. bad, good, extremely good, or really bad.

the cafe came into your sight and your chest tightened. this was really happening. through the window, you could see Enid wiping off a table, and rearranging the stuff already on it to make it neat.

a smile made its way to your lips at how cute she looked while busy. you opened the cafe door with a shaky hand and stepped in. Enid looked up at the noise, smiling when she realized it was you.

“Y/N, you actually came.” you furrowed your eyebrows with a confused smile, “why… wouldn’t i?”

she shrugged, walking closer to you. “i don’t know. just thought maybe you’re too cool to go on a silly date at a cafe.” her eyes briefly looked down at your chest, and her face turned red.

you laughed, “i think you’re overestimating my standards here. this is perfect.”

“good. because i set up a table for us.” Enid took your hand and led you down to a table. your face burned at the contact.

at a table near the back of the cafe, Enid had set it up with drinks and pastries for both of you. you felt like your heart was about to explode at the sight of it.

“do- do you like it? i wasn’t sure if you liked these churros but-“

“it’s perfect, Enid.” you told her, sitting down across from her. “seriously. it’s absolutely perfect. these fucking churros are to die for and i mean that.”

Enid giggled, taking a bite out of hers. “and uh, i didn’t think you’d want coffee this late, so i made you a strawberry lemonade.” you took a sip, eyes widening at the taste.

“that drink is incredible, Enid. oh my god. you are… a drink making genius and i love it.”

what the fuck does that even mean?

“okay, i’m not that good! you think too highly of me.” she responded. you shook your head, “no, you truly make the best drinks.”

“okay, whatever you say.” Enid smiled, taking a sip of her drink as well. “so, Y/N… i really wanna get to know you and i’m sure you’ve been thinking the same about me. so we can start simple. what are you uh, studying in college?”

you wiped the sugar from the churros off your hands with a napkin, “psychology.” you responded. “i plan on getting my masters. so i can actually… go somewhere with it.”

“that’s really nice. are you liking it?” you chuckled, “it was definitely a choice to get into that field. but yeah, i like it. are you currently doing anything?”

“i’m taking a year off to get more money for when i go back.” Enid answered, “i was thinking about doing that. what were you studying?”

“cosmetology! it seemed simple… but it took quite a bit of money out of me,” she told you, laughing slightly afterwards.

“okay, we won’t talk about college for too long. tell me, Y/N…. favorite movies?” Enid asked. “if we’re basically playing twenty questions i am so down for that.”

Enid laughed again, and you swore it sounded more heavenly each time. “i really like Coraline, and basically any Spider-Man movie you throw at me. and i’d also say… The Parent Trap and Big Hero 6.”

“you have immaculate taste.”

you and Enid continued to talk about your interests for what felt like hours. (four hours to be exact.) there were so many things the two of you had in common, and it left you wondering why you’ve never met before this.

Enid was passionate about everything she talked about, she went into details about everything and even the small things. something about it made you fall harder for her.

she listened intently every time you spoke as well, like she wanted to remember every little detail about you.

you two had gone through multiple lemonades and more churros than you could process, but tonight was easily one of the best nights you’ve ever had.

“i uh, should probably get going soon. i have class tomorrow.” you smiled sadly. “right- yeah, you’re right. before you leave… do you want another lemonade?”

“yeah, that would actually be great.” you told her softly. Enid went behind the counter and quickly made another drink.

she handed it to you by the door. “i had a lot of fun tonight, Enid.” you told her. “and genuinely, probably of the best nights i’ve had.”

“i could say the same. tonight was great.” she smiled. Enid stepped closer to you, until you were only centimeters apart. your breath hitched as you realized how close your lips were.

Enid took the first move, leaning forward and connecting your lips. you blindly set the drink down and cupped her face in your hands. her hands went down to your waist, pulling you against her completely as your lips moved in sync.

the kiss went on for another minute before Enid pulled away to breathe, leaning her head on yours. she pulled you into another kiss after a few seconds, not being able to get enough of you.

“Enid,” you whispered. she pulled away, not breaking eye contact with you. you were in such a haze, “come home with me.”

her pupils widened, and Enid didn’t waste a second in taking your hand and pulling you out of the cafe.



[bucky-bucky-bucky-bucky]

Souvenirs & Keepsakes | Bucky Barnes x Reader

Hi, friends! I hope you'll all enjoy this quick lil thing I wrote while my students were at lunch. Have a lovely day :)

As always, send any comments, questions, or suggestions my way!🥰

Tag list: @beefybuckrrito, @everything-burns-down, @shadytalementality, @rainbow-unicorn-pony, @mandersshow 💘

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

Hurried hands pulled open drawers and pushed apart hangers in search of your favorite sweatshirt from college. The leaves outside your window turned a tawny color and a chill took up residence in the air. It was time for you to break out your cozy clothes.

But when you searched yesterday, you came up empty. And you came to the realization that when you stowed away your winter clothes last year, you'd clearly put your favorite sweatshirt in the wrong place. It was nowhere to be found and you made it your mission to locate it before the first snowfall.

"Alright, it's not in the hall closet or the armoire in the guest room. Anywhere else you think it might be?" Bucky already thoroughly searched his own closet and dresser, just in case you'd accidentally stored it there.

"Ummm, I don't think so. Sorry to rope you into this search and rescue just for an old sweatshirt".

Bucky's large hands snaked their way up your back and firmly gripped your shoulders, rubbing some of the tension out of your muscles. "Don't apologize. We'll find it, sweets. I'll go check the laundry room just in case.”

Armed with your phone’ flashlight, you disappeared under the bed. Maybe you accidentally stuffed your sweatshirt under there and forgot. The items beneath your bed didn’t provide promise. You counted one pair of old running shoes, a pile of clothes you kept forgetting to donate, Bucky's extra tactical gear, too many stray bobby pins to count, and a medium sized, unmarked black box. It rested almost completely behind the clothes you'd set aside for donation, almost completely out of sight.

"Found it!" It had to be in this box.

You pushed past the pile of old clothes and gripped the box, pulling it toward you. No memories of this nondescript black box surfaced, no matter how hard you racked your brain. Bucky had only moved in four months ago, and you were fairly certain it hadn't been there when you helped him with his things. With a shrug, you wriggled your way out from under your bed.

You turned toward the door, planning on triumphantly showing Bucky that you'd found your sweatshirt, but you instead collided with his massive, muscled body. In your moment of clumsiness, the box flew out of your hands and across the room. As it landed on the floor, the lid fell off and Bucky's eyes widened as the contents spilled out.

A few knives and a strange looking black, mask-like thing tumbled out and came to rest on the floor. Bucky seemed completely frozen as you made your away to the items and examined them closer. A creepy insignia was embossed on the handle of each knife, and when you realized the symbol belonged to Hydra, your heart sank. The mask appeared to have been molded specifically to fit someone's face- Bucky's face. A chill ran down your spine and your hands shook as you reached out to pick up the mask- the muzzle- Bucky had worn as The Winter Soldier.

"Baby, wait-" Bucky almost-whispered as he watched you examine the souvenirs he'd kept from his dark days.

"W-why do you still have this?" you turned to face him, your eyes filling with a few involuntary tears.

Bucky dropped his head for a moment before letting out a sigh. "I can explain".

“Please…”

With trepidation, he made his way over to you and took the mask from your hands, looking down at it with uncomfortable familiarity. "I didn't keep it because I want it", he said. "It's just that... so much of my life was erased. I have almost zero memories, and I'm over a hundred years old". A sad smile flickered across his face as he thought back on the few memories he did have, and you realized that they were probably all unpleasant.

"And most of the memories I do have- I'm not even sure if they're real, sometimes. So much weird shit has happened to me and- every now and then I need a reminder that my um... that my Winter Soldier days even happened, you know? A reminder that I'm not crazy..."

His eyes flicked up to yours, and he instantly smiled. "See, I still have these too," he said, as he reached out and played with his dog tags that had found a home around your neck. "They don't necessarily remind me of the best times either, but... it's something".

You brought your hand up to meet his and locked your fingers together. "I'm sorry, Buck. I didn't mean to assume anything, I just- I really didn't expect to find this under our bed". He shook his head and pulled you in close to him, giving you a tight squeeze. "Don't apologize. This is your place. I probably should've told you I was bringing that with me instead of just squirreling it away under the bed."

You pulled away, and gazed up into his kind, blue eyes. "This is our place now- this is your home. And if you need to keep these things, then keep them, Buck." He brushed a stray strand of hair out of your face and tucked it gently behind your ear. "You know, I keep good reminders, too," he began. "I have a matchbook from our first date, ticket stubs from every movie we've seen together, the 'I love you' post it note you left on the bathroom mirror when you left town for work... I keep it all."

[intheticklecloset]

Dr. Stone Coffee Shots #21-30

A collection of the Dr. Stone sentence starters I’ve done, compiled for the sake of ease. These are all stand-alone stories. Some are Modern AU. All are SenGen.

~~~

21) Lee Gen, Ler Senku

“Senku—”

Senku muffled Gen’s protest with another kiss – one of neither of them knew how many at this point.

Gen tried pulling away, but the scientist just held him in closer. “Senku, stop—”

Senku grinned into this particular yelp, his hands around the mentalist’s ribs, holding him firmly in place even as the other man squirmed in his hold.

“Stop, plehehease…” Gen gasped when he felt something solid against his back. Nowhere to run now. He was well and truly trapped, and Senku just kept grinning, just kept tickling, just kept kissing. “Senku, plehehease—!”

“What?” Senku murmured, right up in his face, keeping up when Gen twisted his head, enjoying the flustered mess he was making out of him. “I thought you liked it when I tickled you and kissed you at the same time.”

“Shut up—” Gen squealed when the scientist curled his fingers into the back of his ribcage, forcing him to arch into his embrace even more. He was breathless already, and he hadn’t even really been tickled yet. “Senku, please, stop teheheasing me—”

“You like it.” Senku captured his lips with another kiss, a harder squeeze to his ribs.

Gen shrieked out a round of giggles, pushing uselessly against Senku’s shoulders. “I know, but—”

“But what?”

“Plehehehease, I can’t—”

“Can’t what?” Senku snatched up his wrists and pinned them above his head, keeping one finger trailing lazily up and down the mentalist’s side, his eyes fixed on the two-toned man before him, smiling at how red and flustered he was. “You always want me to do this and then get all shy when I finally do. Why is that?”

“J-Just…” Gen stammered, at a loss for words for once in his life. He both loved and hated the intensity of Senku’s eyes on him in moments like these. “Just pick one, already…”

Senku considered a moment, then shot his free hand up into Gen’s underarm beneath his coat and leaned forward to enjoy the startled laugh he pulled from him with yet another kiss. “Nah,” he murmured. “I don’t think you want me to choose~”

*

22) Lee Senku, Ler Gen

Gen had been hugging him for quite a while at this point.

Senku stood with his arms trapped at his sides, pinned there by Gen’s affection, and the mentalist’s head was nestled on his shoulder.

Neither of them were saying anything. Neither of them were moving.

“So…are you going to let me go? Ever?” Senku finally asked.

“Nope,” Gen replied easily, sounding content even as he taunted the scientist. “Never. Never letting go. You’re going to have to deal with it now.”

Senku let out a dramatic sigh, deciding to play along. What else was he going to do? So he deadpanned, “Oh, no. I’m trapped. Whatever will I do? All my work, all my plans – ruined by a hug.”

Gen struggled to contain his mirth. He bit down on his lip to keep himself in check while sneakily wiggling his fingers into the space between Senku’s arms and torso, digging into his upper ribs with just enough pressure to make the scientist gasp and dissolve into helpless giggles.

“No! Nohohohohohoho! Gehehehehehen, dohohohohon’t!” he pleaded, squirming in the mentalist’s hold but going nowhere fast. His friend only held him tighter, trapped him harder, forced him to stay still and take it. “Gehehehehehahahahahaha!”

“Aw, what’s the matter, Senku-chan? Don’t you like my hugs?” Gen teased easily, lifting his head just enough to begin kissing the scientist’s neck in tandem with the gentle rib tickling.

Unfortunately for Senku, his neck was extremely ticklish. He squealed, scrunching up his shoulders, giggles turning to laughter as he struggled in the mentalist’s surprisingly strong hold. “Nohohohohoho! Not my neheheheheheheck! Gen!”

Gen chuckled into another kiss, gradually making his way up to the scientist’s ear.

Senku was giggling so hard he could barely stand up at this point. The ticklish sensations shooting through his nervous system were distracting him from everything else, forcing him to focus on them, focus on this moment right now. The longer this went on, the more flustered he became. Eventually he could feel the heat of a blush on his cheeks, rapidly spreading to his neck and ears, which Gen was still assaulting with deathly ticklish kisses, fingers digging into his ribs with relentless precision.

“Stohohohohohohop, Gen! Plehehehehehease!” Senku begged through his hysterics, giving up the fight. It was all useless anyway; he was at the mentalist’s mercy now, and both of them knew it. “Plehehehehehease! I’m too tihihihihihicklish for thihihihihihis!”

“Too ticklish?” Gen giggled, placing a kiss on his cheek in the midst of it all. “What a cute idea, Senku-chan~”

*

23) Lee Senku, Ler Gen

“That was the worst pun I’ve ever heard, you idiot,” Senku grumbled, flipping the morning paper over to the comic strips, eyes aimlessly scanning the pictures there. “It is way too early for you to be making puns that awful.”

“Oh, come on, Senku,” Gen whined. “I’m proud of that one!”

“You really shouldn’t be.”

“You’re just not a morning person.” The mentalist reached across the table to try and drag his partner’s coffee mug away in order to see his cute, grumpy, before-8am face, but Senku promptly reached one hand around the paper to stop him.

“If you don’t want to die, I suggest you leave my caffeine alone.” The scientist squeezed Gen’s wrist before letting it go. “It was your idea to wake me up at this ungodly hour of the morning to get to the Renaissance faire early. The least you can do is let me have my coffee first.”

Gen sighed dramatically. “I suppose that’s fair. But quit hiding behind that paper! I know you’re not really reading it, and I want to see your cute face.”

“Not happening.” There was silence. A chair scraped across the floor. Gen grasped the top of the paper, gently pushing it down until Senku had no choice but to give him a withering look. The adoring eyes he met almost melted him right then, but he remained steadfast. “What now?”

“You’re cute when you’re grumpy in the mornings,” Gen murmured, pushing the paper aside to kiss him gently on the lips. “I love it.”

Senku scoffed, turning his head to the side indignantly, hating the blush that he knew was giving him away. “Don’t get used to it. I’m only doing this so you can stop bugging me about it until next year.”

Gen chuckled and – without any warning whatsoever – grabbed onto the scientist’s sides, leaning down to begin peppering his sensitive neck with kisses at the same time.

Senku let out an actual shriek before exploding with laughter, trying to stand up from his seat but constantly pushed right back down by the force of Gen’s tickling and kissing. All he could do was sit there and take it. He flailed his arms, trying to beat his partner with the morning paper. Gen was undeterred, and Senku quickly lost this particular battle of wits the more his worst spots were assaulted in tandem.

“OKAY, OKAHAHAHAHAHAY!! YOU WIHIHIHIHIHIN, YOU IHIHIHIHIDIOT!! STOP IT – GEHEHEHEHEN, STAHAHAHAHAHAP!!” Senku grabbed onto his wrists, tossing his head back with laughter, and Gen took the opportunity to capture his mouth with his, silencing his hysterics in spurts as the scientist struggled and shrieked and pleaded for mercy. “AHAHAHAHAHAHAHA PLEHEHEHEHEHEHEASE!! I GIVE UP – MMMPH!! – YOU WIHIHIHIHIHIN, I SAHAHAHAID!! GEN!! – MMMPH!! – GEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEN!!”

Gen gradually let up on his full-frontal assault but never actually stopped tickling, keeping his fingers lightly skittering over Senku’s sides, making the scientist smile despite himself, a few giggles still slipping out of him here and there. “Feeling better now, grumpy pants?”

“I hate you,” Senku mumbled, then squealed when Gen gave a sharp warning squeeze to his sides. “NO!! Okay, yes, fine – I’m all sunshine and rainbows. Just—” He shoved his partner away, blushing furiously as he reached for his mug. “Let me have my coffee first, you insane mentalist.”

“As you wish, Senku-chan~” Gen kissed his cheek. “Anything for my evil scientist~”

Senku groaned. “Seriously. Coffee first.”

*

24) Lee Senku, Ler Gen

“Ugh.” Senku flopped into Gen’s chest, throwing his arms around his neck. “I’m so tired.”

Gen felt a warmth blossom where Senku was resting on him. He smiled. “You should sleep. You deserve it.”

“I have too much to do still.”

“Then why complain?”

“Because you’re the only one I can complain to.”

That warmth became a blazing fire. Gen gently grasped his waist and tried to push him away. “Go to bed.”

Senku’s breath hitched. He let out a tiny huff into Gen’s shoulder, shooting his arms down to grab at the collar of his coat. “Stop.”

“Hmm?” Gen was confused at first, but then he noticed the positioning of his hands and gave Senku an endearing and mischievous smile. He squeezed again. “Come now, Senku. If you’re tired you should sleep. It’s science.”

“Dohohon’t lecture me about scihience.” Senku giggled softly into Gen’s shoulder, gripping his coat harder, refusing to move. “I’m the brahahains around here.”

“If you’d stop being so stubborn, I wouldn’t have to lecture you about science.” The mentalist glanced down, saw the beaming smile his partner was trying to hide in his shoulder, and the blazing fire became a smoldering furnace. He didn’t mean to squeeze Senku’s sides any harder, but he did, and when the scientist let out a yelp he decided it best to just keep going. “Senku-chan~ Go to beeeed~”

Senku’s cheeks and ears were turning a beautiful shade of rosy pink now. “Gehehehehehen…”

“Go to bed, or I’ll tickle you until you’re too exhausted to do anything else.”

“Ugh,” the scientist said again, finally lifting his head to look into Gen’s eyes. “You suck.”

Gen smirked. He curled his fingers inwards. Senku’s hands shot down to his wrists, laughter bursting out of him before he even realized it. “I’m sorry, what was that?”

“Nohohohohohoho! Okay, okahahahahay, I’ll sleheheheheep!” Senku pleaded, squirming and twisting until he’d managed to turn around, only for Gen to pull him against his chest once more, placing soft kisses along his neck. “Ehehehehahahahaha! Gen!”

“Sorry, Senku-chan~” Gen chuckled, the furnace becoming a volcano the longer he heard his partner’s sweet, genuine, exceedingly rare laughter. “You had your chance to go quietly. Now I’m afraid I’m having too much fun to let you go~”

*

25) Lee Senku, Ler Gen

“So, wait…” Gen shook his head, confused. “You’re saying items never actually touch each other? Like, even if I’m pressed right up against a wall, I’m not actually touching it?”

Senku pointed at him excitedly. “Exactly! Not on the atomic level. No two items ever actually touch, even if they’re pressed so close together that it looks like they are.”

Gen blinked. His head hurt a little. “That’s crazy.”

“It’s science! See, it works like this…” And off Senku went on his tangent, gushing about the physics behind the reality. He may as well have been speaking another language for all Gen understood (which was very little) but the mentalist couldn’t help but smile, content to let his friend nerd out as he often did. He found it amusing and – if he was honest – rather endearing as well.

The more Senku went on, however, the more Gen wished he could find a polite way to stop his rambling. He didn’t want to shut him down entirely; just give him a subtle hint that he’d lost interest a few minutes ago.

An idea struck him suddenly, and he smirked, waiting until Senku’s back was turned before leaping at him and grabbing his sides, digging his fingers in ruthlessly. “So you’re saying I’m not touching you right now, then? That must mean you can’t feel this, right? Huh, Senku?”

“GEHEHEHEHEHEHEN!!” Senku shrieked with laughter, grabbing the mentalist’s wrists, trying to pry him off. He wanted to protest and explain the science behind why he could, in fact, feel this merciless tickle attack, but his friend was going right for his weakest spot, and it was making it impossible to say much of anything except, “STAHAHAHAHAHAHAP!! GEN – GEHEHEN, PLEHEHEHEHEASE!!”

Gen chuckled. “I don’t know, Senku. It sure feels like I’m touching you enough to make you laugh and squirm to me!”

*

26) Lee Gen, Ler Senku

Gen stared at Senku incredulously, feeling shaky from his nerves, barely able to stand beside him at this point. “What did you say?”

“I said, ‘I know,’” Senku replied, looking at him with an amused smile. He shrugged. “I’m no mentalist but even I can read the subtle cues that you enjoy it.”

“How…how?” It was all Gen could say, stammering the words out in a rather un-Gen-like way. He’d mustered up every ounce of courage he had to say the words out loud, and Senku knew? He just knew? What kind of crazy, telepathic mad scientist washe?

“Well, for starters, you’re always doing something to provoke me into doing it. I don’t think you meant to at first, but once I did it the first time I noticed an uptick in effort on your part. It really wasn’t that hard to figure out from there.”

Gen felt heat on his cheeks and ducked his head. “Wow. And here I thought I was being careful about it.”

“Why should you be?” Senku smirked. “It’s harmless fun and it’s a way to shut you up when I need to focus. Sounds like a win-win to me.”

“But…” Gen started, then shook his head. “Ah, never mind. I really shouldn’t be surprised. It’s you, after all.”

Senku gave him a sidelong glance, then took a step toward him. Gen instinctively took a step back, then another, and another as the scientist advanced.

“Do you need more proof that you weren’t being that subtle after all?”

He’d backed himself against the trunk of a tree. Eyes widening, Gen barely had time to feel flustered before Senku was skittering his fingers along his sides playfully. “W-Wait – wahahahahait, Senku—!”

“For instance, right now you’re just standing there and taking it. You squirm a little but never actually try to push me away. And your smile is incredibly genuine. I’ve seen a lot of smiles from you, but never one that looks this purely joyous.”

“Stohohohohop tahahahahalking,” Gen pleaded, giggling both from the sensations and how embarrassed he was. Senku was right up in his face, smirking with pride. “Sehehehenku, please – stop lohohohohooking at me like thahahahat!”

“Like what?” Senku walked his fingers up toward the mentalist’s underarms. “I just think you’re being incredibly cute right now, that’s all.”

“Shuhuhuhuhut up! I cahahahan’t – Senku!” Gen squealed when his friend finally started scribbling into the hollows, making him dissolve into helpless, elated cackles. He squirmed against the trunk of the tree but made no move to try and get around it.

Senku just kept smirking at him. “Well, what did you expect? I have to assume you wanted this. After all, you did just tell me you like being tickled~”

*

27) Lee Senku, Ler Gen

Senku was cute when he was trying to be intimidating, Gen thought. He folded his arms in front of himself calmly, smiling at the scientist as he rambled about the dangers of picking and eating the wrong kinds of plants – plants he thought Gen had been out collecting instead of what they actually needed. Gen had been doing no such thing, but Senku was so worked up and it was just so cute, he couldn’t resist letting him go on for a while longer.

“You need to be more careful,” Senku finally said with a frustrated sigh, frowning at the mentalist. “Are you even listening to me? I don’t want to lose you because you ate the wrong kind of berry—”

Gen held up a finger as though to say “hold on,” then – when Senku paused and waited expectantly – he moved said finger to the scientist’s side and simply held it there.

Senku was cute when he was trying to remain composed.

“Don’t,” he said simply, his voice even but with a hint of nervousness in his eyes.

Gen chuckled. “For your information, Senku-chan, I was not gathering the wrong kinds of plants all day. Check my work if you like; everything we need is here. Nothing is poisonous.”

Senku’s eyes dropped to the bag at Gen’s feet. He moved as though to reach for it, but that’s when Gen moved his finger, wiggling in into his side, and Senku broke into a huge smile and shot back upright again. Gen, in turn, stopped his playful attack.

“You’re not going to actually let me look, are you?” the scientist muttered.

“I will,” Gen replied, grinning wickedly. “If you can inspect it while laughing your guts out.”

Senku visibly reacted to that statement, eyes widening and an adorable pink blush painting his cheeks. He shivered. He glanced at the bag, then at Gen, then the bag again. He dove for it, but Gen was faster, and this time he latched both hands onto Senku’s sides and dug in harshly while the scientist tried to inspect his work for the day, shrieking with giggles as he did so.

In the end they both got what they wanted – Senku was satisfied that Gen hadn’t accidentally brought poison back to the village, and Gen was satisfied that he’d made his friend laugh so hard he didn’t care anymore.

*

28) Lee Gen, Ler Senku

“What the…?” Senku muttered, swiping through the images on his phone. He gave Gen an incredulous, annoyed look. “Did you seriously just take twenty selfies on my phone? You only stole it for five seconds; that isn’t possible!”

“Nothing’s impossible, dear,” Gen giggled, flopping back on the couch with a satisfied smirk. “But now you have twenty pictures of me to choose from for your phone’s background. You’re welcome~”

“I’m going to delete them.”

“No!” Gen shot upright, reaching for the phone again.

“Hey! It’s my phone, Gen!” Senku grumbled, quickly tossing it onto the neighboring armchair so it was safely out of his partner’s reach. Then he tackled him back onto the couch and dug his fingers into his underarms. “Quit being so dramatic.”

“AIEEE!!” Gen squealed, trying and failing to arch his back. Instead he tossed his head back and unleashed a tsunami of laughter, legs kicking frantically in the air behind his grinning boyfriend. “NOHOHOHOHO!! DON’T – NO FAHAHAHAHAHAHAIR!! SEHEHENKUUUU!!”

“What’s the matter? You obviously wanted attention. I’m just giving you want you want, dear.” Senku chuckled, leaning down to kiss him while still tickling, soaking up his laughter with his lips, making Gen flush a gorgeous shade of pink.

Gen twisted his head to the side, trying to free himself to cackle hysterically without hindrance. “STAHAHAHAHAHAP!! SENKU – AGH!!” The scientist had pressed his lips into the crook of his neck, kissing and biting gently, still tickling his underarms ruthlessly. “NOHOHOHOHO!! S-SENKU, I – AGH, PLEASE – N-NOHOHOHOHOHOT BOHOHOHOHOHOTH!!”

Senku snickered, continuing his double attack until Gen was a mess of weakening laughter and breathless whimpers, begging for mercy – though of what variety, neither of them could tell.

“This is what you get for taking selfies on my phone,” Senku growled into his ear, giving one last harsh tickle before moving on to more passionate kisses instead.

Gen groaned appreciatively. “Keep rewarding me like this and I’ll never stop, Senku-chan~”

*

29) Lee Gen, Ler Senku

“You’re so loud. I’m trying to think here,” Senku grumbled, eyes glued to the blueprints on the table in front of him.

Behind him, Gen whined dramatically and flopped himself against the scientist’s back, putting all of his weight on him, forcing him to become distracted long enough to listen at least for a moment. “You work so hard, Senku. Can’t you take a break? We can go for a walk in the woods. We can even gather materials if it makes you feel better.”

“Get off of me. I’m trying to work, mentalist.”

Gen sighed.

Annoyed, Senku reached behind him to grab Gen’s sides, digging in deep, immensely satisfied with the shriek of surprise that flew from his friend’s lips, followed by him finally staggering backward, away from him. Before the mentalist could get any ideas about retaliation, Senku whirled around, wrapped his arms around Gen’s waist in a hug, and continued to tickle him mercilessly.

“Ah! No! Sehehehehehehenku!” Gen squealed, bursting into giggles. He pounded on the scientist’s back desperately, trying to push himself away, but Senku could be surprisingly strong when he put his mind to it. “Plehehehehehehehease!”

“This is what you get for being so irritating,” Senku growled, but there was a playfulness to his voice now that hadn’t been there a few moments before. “You want me to take a break? Fine. I’ll tickle you until you’re begging me to leave you alone.”

“Okahahahahay, I’m sohohohohohorry! Please, Sehehehenku!” Gen grabbed onto Senku’s shoulders, unable to do much more at this point than submit and giggle hysterically into his neck. “Stohohohohohohop!”

Senku gradually let up on his tickle attack, but didn’t let him go even as he pulled away, keeping his hands on the mentalist’s waist. “Are you going to leave me alone now?” Gen pouted a little, but nodded. Senku squeezed his hips one more time, then finally released him. “Good. Just give me another hour, Gen. Then we can go for that walk, okay?”

The mentalist lit up. “Promise?”

“Ten billion percent.”

*

30) Lee Senku, Ler Gen

Senku hovered at the top of the ladder, staring at his partner with an uneasy feeling in his stomach. Normally at this hour they’d travel up together and cuddle as they drifted off to sleep, but after today…

Gen’s back was to him. He’d rolled over the instant he saw Senku’s face. Now the scientist felt waves of guilt crashing over him. He knew the mentalist only had his best interests in mind, and their argument earlier had really been his own fault for refusing to listen to reason, which – admittedly – was very unlike him.

With a sigh, Senku climbed up the rest of the way, traveled to where their bedrolls still lay beside each other in the observatory, and knelt down. “Gen…I’m sorry,” he said quietly, barely above a whisper.

Gen didn’t move.

“I know I should have listened. I know I work harder than I should. It’s just – no.” Senku shook his head. “I won’t make excuses. You’re right. I’m sorry.”

There was a long silence. Senku gradually settled into his bedroll, facing his partner’s back sadly. He felt awful. He wanted to cuddle like usual, but he knew that probably wasn’t a good idea—

“I forgive you,” Gen said at last, finally rolling over to face him. He offered a sad smile. “Can we just…cuddle like normal for now? I’m too tired to talk this out. Is it okay to save it for the morning?”

Senku was so relieved he couldn’t help but express it outwardly. He nodded. “Definitely. Come here.”

They scooted closer to each other, shifting their blankets to fall over one another, foreheads pressed together, arms across each other’s waists. After a moment, Gen pinched Senku’s side, making him giggle in surprise. He squirmed, but the mentalist only pulled him closer and kept pinching.

“I’m too tired to talk it out,” Gen murmured into his neck, kissing him there softly. “But I’m never too tired to teach you a lesson, Senku-chan~”

Senku felt happiness explode in his chest, making his giggling come out brighter and more childlike than before. He gripped Gen’s coat, mirth spilling from him in waves. “I suppohohose I d-deseheheherve it, don’t I?”

“Yes.” Gen squeezed his side harshly, pulling a bark of laughter from his scientist. “Yes, you do.”

[dcforts]

[week #1: summer solstice]

1.9k, deancas, established relationship, night out.

Dean killed the engine in the parking lot and looked across the street.

The huge neon sign on the door said Summer Solstice in yellow and orange and was decorated with palms and flamingos. It was flashy and intimidating.

“Is this the place?” asked Cas from the passenger seat. Dean looked over at him. He was wearing that baby blue shirt Sam had gotten him for Christmas and had styled his hair in a cute way – at least before Dean had gotten it all messed it up in the garage before they even left. Now there were some locks doing what they wanted in the back. Dean liked it anyway.

“Yeah,” he said, looking towards the entrance again. “That’s what Google says.”

“Mh,” said Cas. He didn’t sound convinced.

“We don’t have to go in,” said Dean, a little nervous.

A couple of young girls were disappearing behind the door right then. They seemed happy and relaxed and Dean was feeling uneasy.

He was too old for this. Had too much trauma, a too complicated history. This was more of a place for Claire. Or maybe not. Maybe she was too cool for it and she’d make fun of him if she knew where he was.

He and Cas didn’t belong there.

They should have stayed at the bunker, kissing on the couch, like the did every Friday night. Dean liked that.

They could still just drive away, pull over in the middle of nowhere and sit on the hood. But they did that all the time. This was supposed to be them trying new things – being out in the world, proud and all. They thought this Summer Solstice's Rainbow Friday could be a good start.

It had taken them all afternoon to find something they liked, driven an hour and a half. Cas had read him the place's entire website and now they were there and Dean was thinking of chickening out. He couldn’t believe himself sometimes.

Dean sighed. “We don’t have to go in, man,” he repeated like a broken record.

Cas was looking at a group of people coming out of the bar. They looked like they were having a good time. Behind them was a couple of guys walking hand in hand. The couple crossed the street to get into the parking lot and stopped to kiss all sweet and soft right in front of their car.

Fuck, alright, Dean was feeling really old and not at all okay.

He wasn’t even sure if he ever kissed Cas in public like that. Actually, that was a lie. He remembered every single kiss they ever shared, he just didn’t know if “no one around for miles” counted as public.

“I think we should go in.” Cas said but then looked over at him and his expression changed. “Are you feeling okay?”

Dean gulped, overheating all of the sudden even if he didn't have his usual jacket on. “Yeah, yeah.”

He rolled down his window, and now he could hear the bubbly pop song that was playing in the bar. That didn’t help.

“Dean, are you sure?”

Yeah. Yeah, sure. He was okay. He was. He could go to a damn bar with his boyfriend. That's what people did. He could do that.

“We can just see if we like it,” Cas said. “We don’t have to stay if we don’t.”

“You said you wanted to try their cocktails.”

Cas looked like he was trying very hard not to roll his eyes at him, “I think I’ll survive if I don’t.”

“It’s just – I’m not used to this kind of –" he couldn’t finish the sentence.

“I know,” Cas said anyway and Dean felt like he really did. He sighed and slumped against the seat. He caught Cas’ eyes. “We don’t have to like it,” he said once more. “It’s just something that we’re trying.���

Dean was watching his eyes and hearing his voice and he was feeling calmer already. He kept saying we and that was really helping for some reason. He couldn’t believe he'd just been freaking out about going into a bar.

“Okay, yeah,” he said, and this time he meant it. Kind of. He looked over at the place again. “So. What’s with that name anyway? Summer solstice?”

He was stalling.

Cas let him, “The longest day of the year,” he said, like a professor. Dean liked when he used that voice and didn’t say that he knew that already. “It signs the start of a new season.”

“What’s that – what’s that cocktail you wanted to try?”

“I think one was called Heatwave Sweet Heatwave,” he said and Dean couldn’t help but huff a laugh, “Oh, God”.

“And another was – Feeling Beachy.”

“Alright, stop, you’re killing me.”

Cas smiled at him. He knew Cas wouldn’t be let down if he said he wanted to go home. But Dean didn’t want to go home. He’d chosen his outfit and all, even ironed his shirt.

He didn't even know what was holding him back. He sighed, took one last look at the neon sign, then rolled the window up and took the keys out.

“Alright, come on, let’s do it,” he said opening his door.

Cas got out, rounded the car as Dean locked it and grabbed his hand.

Crossing the street felt like a huge deal, but being pulled by Cas' strong grip made it easier and Dean felt lighter and lighter. He kind of held his breath when he passed under the rainbow flag by the entrance, but nothing happened, no cold shower, no electrocution. And once they got in, he just felt – normal.

It was a long room, bustling with people, crowding the bar and the dancefloor on the far end. They were of different ages and wearing all kinds of different clothes - not the usual patrons of the hunter bars Dean was used to, but no one turned to stare at him like he'd thought would happen. They were all just chatting away and dancing and minding their business.

Cas squeezed his hand. Dean started to relax.

The bartender was half his age, had an hawaiian shirt on and sunglasses on top of his head. He was wearing one of those flag pins, but Dean couldn’t remember what it meant. He took one look at them and said, “First time?” and Dean thought he must have looked like grade-A idiot.

Not even the time to open and close his mouth like a fish that the guy had slammed two shots on the counter in front of them and winked, “On the house. Welcome.”

So that was a good start.

Then Dean got addicted real quick to a concotion called Tropic Like It’s Hot and went back for seconds and thirds on the mini sandwich platter on the buffet table, all while saying sandwich with fruit should be made illegal worldwide.

They played really terrible remixed songs that Dean didn’t know but got the crowd going, but then they played a bunch of his girl's Taylor and a bunch of the ones Cas liked. Cas said he wasn’t gonna dance but still followed him onto the dancefloor and kind of moved his head and feet a bit while working through his second Feeling Beachy and Dean got to dance all stupid around him and make him laugh so that was nice.

He went to the bathroom for two seconds and when he came out, Cas was at the bar again and someone was chatting him up. Dean prepared for the worst, but when he got closer the guy smiled all bright and said, “Hey, you’re Dean, right?”

He looked a little like Benny, which was weird, and was wearing very short shorts ,which Benny wouldn’t have worn, even if he could’ve totally pulled them off in Dean’s opinion.

Anyway, the fact that it looked a little like Benny made Dean feel instantly comfortable around him and he felt only moderately scrutinized when they were joined by a couple of his friends who asked about their whole life story – even the damn bartender from before leaned over the counter to listen in. Apparently they were all regulars of their Friday events and they all knew each other.

Dean almost doubled over in laughter when Cas said he was an exterminator and that got him thinking that he should definitely stop drinking Tropics, because apparently they were pretty strong under all the sugar. He was glad to let Cas handle the conversation and they were nice to them, even said they hoped to see them back before they left with their drinks.

Dean realized it was the first time he was being seen for who he was by total strangers and not feeling worried about it at all. It felt good, it felt exciting.

Dean looked at Not-Benny walking away with his short shorts and wondered if he could pull them off too.

“Yes, of course,” said Cas all serious, and Dean realized he’d asked that out loud.

Yeah, he should have stopped drinking like a drink ago.

Cas got suddenly very close to his face and said “Is everything okay? Do you wanna go?” and Dean leaned forward to kiss him, because everything was okay, and it was Friday night after all, and that was still his favourite thing to do on a Friday night.

Not-Benny found them again and gave them flower garlands to wear for being newbies and Dean only itched to get rid of his for the first ten minutes, but then he didn’t and the itch disappeared. Also, Cas kept pulling him around with it and that felt especially nice.

They came out of there two hours later and Cas stopped him by the car to kiss him all sweet and soft right there in the parking lot.

Dean felt dizzy and happy and not at all too old.

They got breakfast at a diner on the way to the bunker and although Dean longed for his bed, the sight of Cas sitting across from him sipping on his coffee, his left side lighted by the rising sun was so nice that he also kind of wished he could stay there forever.

“We should get something for Sam,” said Cas in the end, so they got up, went back to the car and drove the rest of the way, speeding with the windows rolled down, humming those catchy songs that got stuck in their head.

Sam was yawning in the kitchen, waiting for his coffee to brew, when they appeared on the door. He had an amused expression on his face in two seconds when he saw them, “You guys are just coming in?”

Dean gave him his donut. Sam smiled at him and said, “Really nice garland, man. Cas sent a pic.”

Dean regretted giving him his donut. He scowled at Cas, “How do you even do that?” He hadn't even seen him using his phone.

Cas was stealing Sam’s coffee and pretended not to hear him, his back turned, doing the worst impression of the Invisible Man ever.

He also put a cup in Dean's hand though, so Dean stopped scowling at him. They got out of the kitchen right before Sam started lamenting, “Guys, you drank all my coffee!”

They collapsed in bed without undressing and Dean got to unbutton Cas’ baby blue shirt and slip a hand in to touch his skin, then bury his nose in his neck. He smelled of pineapple and coffee and still somehow of that cologne he’d sprayed himself with the night before.

"In my defence, you look very good in that picture," whispered Cas, sounding like he was one moment away from falling asleep.

Dean stayed awake for a while longer, basking in an unfamiliar state of quiet euphoria. He was smiling.

He was okay. He was.

@bend-me-shape-me said #deancassummerprompts21 and I said YES

[bluejayblueskies]

agape

n. selfless, sacrificial, and unconditional love; love that motivates action, often for the sake or care of others 

Words: 2.3k Relationship: Jonathan Sims/Martin Blackwood Tags: AU - Tea Shop/Bookstore, Fluff, Asexual Jonathan Sims Warnings: internalized acephobia/biphobia (minor,), fear of homo/ace/transphobia (brief, unfounded)

|| Ao3 ||

.

Martin remembers, with crystal clarity, the first time that he saw Jonathan Sims. Martin’s tea shop opens at seven in the morning to accommodate the morning commuter crowd, but they’re really busiest in the afternoon, which is when most people deign to take a break from whatever work they’ve got for the day.

 Jonathan Sims is not most people. At promptly seven, the jingle of the little bell that Tim had hung over the door once as a joke but that had lingered out of sheer practicality had cut through the gentle humming of the kettle, the small one that Martin preferred in the morning as it took no time at all to heat and the small volume of customers generally didn’t warrant the larger, stainless steel water heaters that sat along the back wall. Martin had had a box of loose-leaf English breakfast in his hand as he turned; he remembers the way the bitter smell of the leaves had mingled with the cool blast of winter air that swept through the door, carrying with it the scent of something acrid and ashy.

 Cigarette smoke, his mind helpfully supplied. Then, Martin’s eyes found the man who had entered the shop, his mouth forming the automatic greeting the bell always elicited from him, a well-trained habit that made him feel not dissimilar to Pavlov’s dog.

 “Welcome to Blackwood Blends! What can I get started for you?”

The man—and the likely source of the burnt smell still lingering in the air—startled slightly at the sound of Martin’s voice, like he hadn’t been expecting to be addressed directly. He was wrapped in a comically large scarf, knit from chunky yarn and laced with warm yellow and midnight black, and he looked like the kind of person who might blow away in the wind if he wasn’t careful. His hair, long and brown, was streaked through with grey and seemed to be fighting a losing battle with the hat that was currently struggling to keep it contained. There were at least two jumpers of startlingly different colors peeking out from underneath a heavy black pea coat that was missing a button near the bottom.

 He was also quite possibly the most beautiful person Martin had ever seen.

 He was there and gone before Martin quite knew what was happening, cradling a steaming travel mug of Ceylon close to his chest like it alone could drive away the January chill, and Martin found himself watching him through the café window as he crossed the street with barely more than a cursory glance in each direction, fumbled with something in his pockets for a moment, and finally vanished into the building across the street.

 Beholding Books & Antiquities, the sign above the door said in curling calligraphy, barely visible from this distance.

 Martin wondered, briefly, if they had poetry.

 Martin knows now that they do, but that the man—whose name, he’d learned on the man’s next visit to the tea shop, is Jon—wrinkles his nose when people purchase them like they’ve caused him some great offense. He knows that Jon never gets the same tea twice in a row, and though he’s cycled through every possible blend that Martin’s shop carries, he’s not a fan of herbals and finds himself returning to earthy greens and floral blacks. (Which, unfortunately, includes oolong, which may be the only kind of tea that Martin can’t stand.) He knows that the bookshop opens at ten in the morning (but that Jon never arrives later than eight) and that unlike the surge of afternoon customers Martin’s shop gets, the bookshop receives a steady trickle of local customers and curious tourists throughout the day.

 He knows that Jon smiles like it’s a secret he can’t quite decide if he wants to share and that Jon’s fingers are warm and soft when they brush against Martin’s as he hands Martin his new purchase and that he might be just a little bit in love with Jon.

 He spends quite a lot of time browsing for books nowadays, to Tim and Sasha’s eternal amusement. But he can’t bring himself to mind.

 Now, the nip of winter air is far behind them, and the lovely warmth of June seeps in through the cracks in the windows and in bursts as the door opens and closes. He always gets more business in winter, when the promised warmth of a cup of tea lures customers in from the cold, but it’s steady enough in the summer. And though Martin’s always been a lover of bulky jumpers and drinks that warm you from the inside out and breath that fogs in winter air, he can’t help but love the onset of summer, because it brings with it June and his favorite yearly tradition: Pride month tea blends.

 Martin finishes scrawling the various specialty drinks onto the chalkboard he keeps propped up on the counter, feeling a little burst of pride at the new tea blends he’s selected for this year. He creates them all himself, making little changes from year to year and brewing cup after cup for Tim and Sasha to try until he thinks they must be sick of tasting ten different versions of fruity Earl Greys. It just feels nice, to put a piece of himself into each cup he makes, and beyond that, the shyly excited looks some customers get when they order a certain blend fills him with a warmth that tingles in his veins for hours after.

 It feels nice, to take care of people this way. To let people find themselves in his tea and to share a bit of himself in kind.

 So when the bell jingles and Martin glances up from the blackboard to see Jon standing just inside the doorway, blinking as his eyes adjust to the dimness of the café, the thrum of affection that always overtakes him when he sees Jon is magnified tenfold, accompanied in equal part by a bite of nervousness. Because, he realizes, for all that he and Jon have talked about their jobs and favorites and hobbies and everything in between, they’ve never talked about this.

 Martin’s never been shy about it. His jacket is plastered with rainbow-striped patches, his bag adorned with enamel pins in purple-black-white-greys and in blue-pink-whites. He knows Jon’s seen them. Jon has to have seen them. He’s just… never mentioned it. And Martin gets the brief, terrifying, and completely unfounded worry that it’s because Jon is bothered by it.

 He shakes the thought off as quickly as it had come. No, he knows Jon. He knows that behind the prickly exterior, Jon is kind—so, so kind, and that he cares more about other people than he lets on. With a small, anxious laugh that Martin barely keeps contained beyond a brief exhalation, Martin realizes that he also knows that Jon is possibly also the most oblivious person Martin knows. It’s infinitely more likely that Jon hasn’t noticed—or has noticed and has decided not to say anything—than that Jon is somehow a completely different person than the one Martin’s gotten to know over the past five months.

 “Are you all right?”

 Martin startles so badly that he drops the chalk. It rolls dangerously close to the edge of the counter before a thin-fingered hand captures it mid-motion and holds it out toward Martin, the dusty white stark against his brown skin. Martin takes the chalk with a sheepish smile and says, “Ah, sorry—got a bit, er. Distracted.” Then, in a quasi-professional voice, because he is at work: “What can I get for you, Jon?”

 Jon doesn’t even glance at the menu; Martin’s almost certain that he has it memorized by now. He taps a finger on the counter, and as he thinks, his eyes wander downward, landing on the chalkboard that’s still laid flat against the counter, the bottom left corner slightly smudged. “Are these new blends?” Jon asks, eyes bright and curious. He tilts his head, trying to see the words better, and Martin quickly stands the chalkboard up on its wooden feet and returns it to its spot on the counter so that it’s easier to read.

 Well, no time like the present, I suppose.

 “They’re, ah, my seasonal blends!” Martin says with a smile he hopes doesn’t look as nervous as it feels. “I always do them in June.” He lets out a little, disarming laugh. “My own way of celebrating Pride month, you know?”

 Jon’s eyes are scanning the chalkboard with an intensity that makes Martin shift from one foot to the other at a pace far too quick to be casual, his hands finding the edge of the counter and gripping it like it’s the only thing keeping him grounded. He can’t read Jon’s face; there’s something there, just below the surface, but he can’t get a handle on it. It keeps slipping away like wet bar soap when he tries too hard to get a grip on it, and eventually, he just gives up, waiting for Jon to finish with his heartbeat sitting high in his throat.

 Finally, after a period of time that feels just shy of an eternity and certainly too long to have been simply considering the merits of one tea blend over another, Jon looks at Martin with an expression that feels strangely vulnerable. “I… I can’t decide,” he says quietly, like this decision carries the weight of the entire world. He points a thin finger at the middle of the board, where bisexual berry is scrawled in spiraling letters that constitute Martin’s attempt at calligraphy. It’s an herbal blend, with bits of freeze-dried blueberries, raspberries, and strawberries. “I like most of this blend,” he says, “but er. Not on its own?” His finger moves down, nearly smudging the words asexual almond as it comes to rest atop the ingredients below them—Assam tea, almond flavoring, cinnamon sticks, and little white blossoms that Martin includes purely for the visual effect. “Some people think that black tea wouldn’t go well with herbal,” Jon says, studying the board like it has the secret to life itself scrawled upon the dusty black, “but they’re really not that different at all. It’s all tea, and- and liking one kind of tea doesn’t preclude you from liking another kind, right? So asking me to- to decide between one kind of tea and another is—well, it’s just ridiculous. There’s tea that I like and tea that I don’t and I don’t have to pick just one.”

 Jon’s still staring at the blackboard, his forehead creased in what could be concentration but could also be irritation. It’s still early enough that the tea shop is empty save for them; Tim and Sasha don’t come in until after noon as usually, Martin can handle the morning crowds by himself. And Martin is really quite sure that this isn’t about his tea at all. So, in the gentlest tone he can muster, Martin says, “You can order more than one kind of tea, you know.”

 Jon jerks his hand back, almost like he’d forgotten Martin was there. “I—what?”

 Feeling significantly less nervous than before, Martin adjusts the sign so that he can see it better and says, “These are all just suggestions, Jon. Blends that I like and ones that I’ve found that other people like too, but they’re not set in stone—people have all kinds of preferences, and when it comes down to it, it- it’s all just tea.” Then, because apparently he’s feeling bold today: “I- I can make a new blend if you’d like? One that, er.” Just say it, Martin. “One that’s for you, specifically. Whatever you’d like.”

 Jon’s eyes are as wide as saucers as he stares up at Martin, and Martin can’t help but shift nervously under his gaze. Fuck, I shouldn’t have said that, that was weird, what a weird thing to say when someone’s coming out to you with bad tea metaphors, fuck fuck—

 “If- if you’d like,” Jon says quietly, slamming Martin’s thought spiral headfirst into a brick wall and nearly knocking him off his feet as he registers that Jon just said yes. “I’d like that. Though I- I do enjoy the flavors of berries and almonds together.” He smiles then, a wry thing that sends Martin’s pulse into the stratosphere and his stomach aflutter with butterflies whose wings gleam an iridescent rainbow against the backs of his eyes. (Not his best bit of poetic imagery, to be true, but he’s a little too busy being utterly in love with Jonathan Sims to think about much else.)

 Martin makes the tea, choosing the black over the herbal because elaborate metaphor or not, Jon really isn’t a fan of herbal teas. Blueberry is a strong enough taste to pair with the bitterness of the black tea and it couples well with almond and cinnamon, creating a flavor profile not unlike that of a blueberry muffin. And because Martin can’t help but think of Jon every time he smells it, he switches out the Assam for a Lapsang Souchong and Earl Grey blend—smoky and floral, smooth enough that it won’t overbalance the other flavors but robust enough to stand out.

 When Jon accepts the mug and takes his first hesitant sip, his face lights up in a way that Martin wants to see all day, every day for the rest of his life. And when Jon smiles at him, says, achingly soft, “Thank you, Martin. I love it,” and cautiously, gently places his hand over Martin’s where it sits on the counter, Martin thinks, for the first time, that maybe he can.

 Wouldn’t that be nice, he thinks. And the smile he gives Jon in return feels like a blank-paged book, waiting to be filled.

[imaginetonyandbucky]

Flights of Fancy

Chapter 2 (AO3) by @dracusfyre

Content Warning: in this chapter Bucky and Tony are both 17 and engage in consensual, non-penetrative sexual activity.

Five Years Ago: Tony

Tony smiled as he saw Bucky’s eyes drift closed, drowsy and relaxed in the quiet privacy of the stables. A lantern, partially shuttered so that the light wouldn’t go past the hay loft and attract attention in the night, cast a rosy glow over him, and for a moment Tony was so in love his chest ached. Smiling privately, he turned his gaze back to Bucky’s secondaries, smoothing down the vanes on each feather so they lay straight and unbroken, picking out stray down and detritus that gathered in them from Bucky’s work on the estate. Bucky was laying on his back on the blanket that they’d spread out over the hay, wings sprawled at his side, while Tony sat cross-legged at his hip to groom him.

“What do you think about red and gold?” Tony asked softly, now just stroking the tips of his fingers down the rachis of each feather. Bucky’s wing twitched like it tickled, but it settled back down. Red and gold paint would look lovely against Bucky’s dark brown wings.

Bucky made a humming noise, then said, “I like silver. Red and silver?”

Tony tilted his head, picturing it. Then he stretched out his own wing, eyeing it critically. His wings were a lighter color than Bucky’s, a medium brown that turned reddish in the sun. Gold would look better on his own wings, but he said, “That sounds lovely. Bars, I think, not stripes. And maybe dots, as an accent?”

Bucky opened his eyes and met Tony’s gazes. “We could paint my wings rainbow polka dots, as long as they match yours,” he said, gaze warm with affection, and Tony flushed. Without thinking, he raised his wings and Bucky’s eyes zeroed in on them, and the hungry look on his face made heat flash through the rest of Tony’s body. Under his hands Bucky’s wings tensed, and Tony had to fight the urge to bury his hands in the thick feathers and find the skin underneath.

Tony forced his wings to settle against his back and ducked his chin. “I wish we could fly together,” he said, putting his hands in his lap to avoid temptation and staring down at them. “I love you so much, the wait is killing me.”

“Just one more year,” Bucky said. “Then we’ll reach our majority, and your father can go hang.” He sat up and then there was a wing under Tony’s chin, tilting his face up. “We can go see the world, just like you always wanted.” Bucky pressed a soft, lingering kiss on Tony’s lips, and Tony leaned forward to chase Bucky’s mouth as he pulled away.

“I could get us paint,” Tony said against Bucky’s mouth. He pressed Bucky back against the blanket and leaned over him. “We could paint them, and we’d both be 18 by the time we shed our secondaries.”

Bucky’s face went slack with surprise. “Are you serious? We’d be in so much trouble if we were discovered!” His hands came up to frame Tony’s face. “As much as I love you, I don’t want to think about what would happen to you if the Duke found out you’d painted your secondaries with a commoner like me.”

“I could give up flying for a year if it meant wearing your colors,” Tony said stubbornly. “I wouldn’t even  open  my wings, if that’s what it took.”

“Oh, sweetheart.” Bucky pulled Tony down on top of him and wrapped his arms around him, burying his face in Tony’s neck. “My love, are you sure?” he said, his voice so small and uncertain that any fears Tony had vanished.

“Yes,” Tony said, suddenly wanting it more than anything. “The next time we meet, we’ll do it.”

They didn’t get another few hours alone for a week, but when the moon rose that night it found them back in their hayloft, wings spread and two paint pots between them. Now that it was time, Tony found his hands were shaking every time he tried to pick up the paintbrush. There was a piece of paper on the floor with the design on it that they’d drawn out together, having already gone through three pages of paper trying to sketch something out. “It’s not too late to change your mind,” Bucky said when he saw how nervous Tony was. He took Tony’s hands in his own, squeezing them. “I will still love you the same if you want to wait.”

“It’s not that,” Tony managed. The nerves in his chest turned into a lump in his throat, then a hot press of tears in his eyes. “I just want it to be perfect.”

“Whatever you paint, I paint,” Bucky said softly, drying Tony’s cheeks as the tears spilled over, his own eyes suspiciously damp and voice hoarse. “And whatever that looks like, will be perfect.” Seeing that Bucky was also affected made it both better and worse, and after a few moments Tony managed to swallow back his tears.

“I’m ready,” he said, taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly. He picked up the paintbrush and dipped it in the red, smoothing off the excess paint on the edges of the paint pot. Bucky did the same, and as Tony put brush to feather on the outermost secondary feather on the underside of Bucky’s wings, Bucky did the same on Tony’s. The popular novels, the ones that Howard always complained about, said that you could feel the paint going on, damp and cool, but to Tony’s disappointment all he felt was pressure. But the sight of the red on Bucky’s feather more than made up for it, and he couldn’t help but turn his head and compare it to his own.  He met Bucky’s eye, who was doing the same thing, and they both smiled and leaned in for a kiss. Doing the rest of the wings took a good hour before they were both satisfied that the design on their secondaries matched, and then they closed up the paint pots and set them aside so they wouldn’t spill.

“Now what do we do?” Tony asked, realizing that he was going to have to hold his wings open for a while to let the paint dry or else the design would be smudged. When Bucky didn’t answer immediately, he looked up to see that Bucky was giving him a wry look, wings also spread rather awkwardly.

“I don’t know, Tony. Given that most people paint their secondaries on their wedding night, what would they possibly do while their wings dried?”

Tony made a face and wished he had something to throw at Bucky, knowing that his face was red again. “Well, I know  that, ” he said. “But it just seems like it would be awkward, trying to do it while holding your wings open like this.”

Bucky’s eyes darkened and he lay back against the hay, keeping his wings splayed. Tony swallowed thickly at the display; he’d seen Bucky with his wings splayed open, but this was different because now Bucky was holding his wings open like he was flying, like an invitation. When Bucky gestured for him to come closer, he did, and at Bucky’s urging Tony settled into his lap, pulse quickening when he realized Bucky was already half-hard. “I imagine they could do it like this,” Bucky murmured, dragging his gaze from Tony’s to rove hungrily over Tony’s spread open wings. His hands settled on Tony’s hips, and when he rocked up Tony bit back a moan at the delicious friction. He did it again and again until they were both fully hard and straining at their breeches; when they had settled into a good rhythm, Bucky’s hands slid up Tony’s shirt, skating over his ribs and digging into the muscles of Tony’s back where they were tense from holding his wings still. “You can flap, if you want to,” Bucky said, voice low and dirty, and Tony shuddered.

“We should stop,” he said breathlessly, but despite his words he didn’t stop his rocking; the pressure of Bucky’s hardness against his own felt too good. They’d always stopped before it got this far, but tonight was different. Tony didn’t think either of them felt like stopping. Flapping his wings helped him keep his rhythm, but the real reward was hearing the broken sound Bucky made in his chest at the sight, thrusting up so hard that Tony had to squeeze his hips tight with his thighs like he was riding a restive horse.

But then Bucky stopped, eyes squeezed tightly closed. “We can stop if you want to,” he said, and when he started to release Tony, Tony grabbed his hands and put them back on his skin.

“No,” he said. “I know we should, but I don’t want to. I’m yours,” he said, waving his painted wings to make the point. “I don’t need a piece of paper or society’s approval to know that.” He leaned over Bucky, bracing himself on his shoulders and wings spread over them both, then kissed him, mouth sliding against his and tongue thrusting in hungrily. Bucky groaned and his hands plucked at the laces holding Tony’s shirt together at the sides, then buried his hands in the scapular feathers to grip Tony by his shoulders, pulling him down to meet his hips as Bucky thrust up. Stars burst behind Tony’s eyes at the sensation and he gasped against Bucky’s mouth. The movement of their bodies became desperate then, as they chased their relief; Tony moved his grip from Bucky’s shoulders to his wing shoulders, pinning them down, and Bucky bit back a curse and came, throwing his head back as he spilled hot and wet between them. His hands tightened almost painfully on Tony’s wing shoulders as he shuddered under Tony, and the sight and sensation sent Tony over the edge as well, toes curling and breath punching out of his lungs at the force of his orgasm. He wanted to collapse against Bucky but remembered at the last minute that his wings might still be damp, so instead he just rested his forehead against Bucky’s, both of them damp with sweat.

They breathed there in the silence together, Bucky’s hands gentling on Tony and raking through the scapulars that he’d disarranged at the height of passion, then after a moment Bucky said, “That outta do it for the paint, though,” and Tony couldn’t help laughing. He sat up, grimacing a little at the wet, sticky feeling of his breeches, and examined his wings. Sure enough, all the flapping had made the paint dry, and it was easy to pick off the few bits of hay that had stuck to the paint as it dried.

“I love you,” Tony said as he folded his wings, hiding the paint. It was going to be hard to hide the paint from his parents, but so worth it, to be able to see the design on his wings whenever he was alone and remember this moment. It would be easy work to fake a sprain and just ride a horse wherever he would normally fly. Bucky probably wouldn’t have to do the same; his work usually kept him busy enough that the only time he was even able to go for a flight was on his half-day, and no one would notice if he wasn’t flying on his time off.

Bucky’s eyes were full of awe and wonder as they roamed over Tony’s face, like he was afraid that Tony was too good to be true. He sat up and kissed Tony again. “I love you too,” he whispered against Tony’s mouth, and even though they were in a hay loft, surrounded by the smell of horses, in that moment Tony felt like he was flying.

“What in the  hell is this?” Howard thundered, voice tight with rage. He grabbed Tony’s wring wrist, fingers digging in painfully at the joint, and yanked Tony’s wing open. Tony tried to fight him off, struggling to get away, but Howard’s wing came up and clubbed him by the side of the head, stunning him.  Howard held him there for a long moment, one hand on his wing wrist and one on his shoulder, staring down at the painted secondaries.

Tony felt hot and sick with fear and anger, trembling all over. He had no idea how Howard had found out, but he was just as furious as Tony had known he would be, face white and eyes blazing. Finally, he shoved Tony away, sending him almost stumbling to the floor. “Who is it?” Howard demanded. “Who have you been flying with?”

“No one,” Tony mumbled, because it was true, he and Bucky had agreed to only go flying when they were both of age, despite the taste of marriage flight they’d had in the hay loft.

Howard slapped him. Tony gasped at the shock of pain, eyes tearing up from the surprise of it. He forced them back, though, because he’d be damned if he’d show weakness to his father. “Don’t tell me you haven’t been flying when I can see the paint with my own goddamn eyes!” He roared. “Now  who is it?”

But Tony shook his head stubbornly, crossing his arms across his chest and closing his wings tightly against his back, one of them aching from Howard’s rough grip. “Fuck you,” he said, lifting his chin. “I’m tired of you clipping my wings. I’ll be an adult in six months and then you can’t touch me anymore.”

“Oh, you haven’t even  seen  me clipping your wings,” Howard said, curling his lip. “It won’t be difficult to find out who you’ve been cavorting with.” Tony felt a spike of dread at the thought of Howard discovering Bucky, and he made a break for the balcony to try to warn him, but Howard caught him by the wing and threw him back into the room. Tony hit the corner of the desk sharply and fell to the floor. Before he could get to his feet, Howard had him by the back of his neck and was half-pulling, half-dragging him towards the closet. He shoved Tony inside and slammed the door, and Tony heard the lock turn.

“No!” Tony yelled, banging and kicking on the door. “Stop! You can’t do this!” but there was only silence on the other side of the door. Tony fought the door until his hands were bloody and his body ached, but to no avail, so finally he slid down to the floor and buried his head in his hands, praying that Bucky figured out what Howard was doing and could escape.

The thin strip of light under the door had gone dark before the door opened again, and Tony squinted against the bright light of Howard’s lantern as he stood in the doorway. “Get up,” he said, pulling Tony to his feet when he didn’t stand up fast enough. With a tight grip on Tony’s elbow he led him to Howard’s study, closing and locking the door behind them. There was a fire burning merrily in the grate, and a tray of dinner was on Howard’s desk, but that’s not what drew Tony’s eyes.

It was the pile of dark brown feathers on the desk, red and silver paint gleaming in the firelight. Tony’s blood ran cold at the sight and his knees went weak, making him stagger before he caught himself on a chair.

“I told you it wouldn’t be hard to find your lover,” Howard said. He picked one up and ran it through his fingers; Tony could see that the feather had been cut, not pulled out, so at least Bucky wasn’t bleeding out somewhere from his lost secondaries. But Howard had still brutally cut the sign of Tony’s love off of Bucky’s body; Tony felt queasy as he imagined how one or more of Howard’s goons would have had to hold Bucky down while Howard did it, could almost hear the metallic click of the heavy shears as they cut through each rachis. He doubted that Howard had stopped at the secondaries, too, and sure enough, as Howard gathered up the pile he saw the tell-tale tapered ends of primary feathers. Now Bucky would also have to bear the shame of everyone seeing that his wings had been clipped, obvious even with his wings closed; it would be months and months yet before they would start to be replaced and Bucky could even do the most basic flying again.

“I hate you,” Tony said, voice low and full of loathing. Howard shrugged and started feeding the feathers to the fire. Tony’s hands curled into fists and he trembled with rage, throat tight as he watched each red and gold feather, so carefully and lovingly painted, go up in flames; he wanted to throw himself at Howard and save them, but Howard would beat him black and blue for the effort and burn them anyway. “Are you going to clip mine, too?” he sneered. “Show everyone what a harlot your son was for a stableboy?”

“If I thought that would shame you at all, I would consider it,” Howard said mildly. “But you have already demonstrated you have no shame,” he added, waving one of Bucky’s feathers at him before he threw it into the fireplace. “Instead, I’ll be binding your wings until all of your painted secondaries have been replaced. You’ll be confined to the house as well, since I can’t trust you around the estate.”

“You can’t keep me prisoner forever,” Tony said. “The first chance I get, I will find him and you will never see me again.”

“Over my dead body,” Howard said, enunciating each word for effect, then dumped the rest of the feathers in at once, making the fire snap and throw off a greasy, stomach-curling smoke. “Or better yet, his. You either submit to my rules or I’ll have my men finish what we started, your choice. Either way, you will never see him again."

[spiltscribbles]

I Carry Your Heart With Me

~Notes: Hiya loves! So I wrote this in dedication and thanks to the gorgeous @sophiegaladheon for donating to the amazing Fandom Trumps Hate event!!!! I moving this from AO3 just because of me wanting to just a couple things lol. You’re a remarkable person Sophie! Thank you for being so SO beyond kind and for being patient with me and I’m glad that you enjoyed this when you read it<3<3 It literally makes me emotional with joy!!

.-

Send ME A Prompt  |  A Reblog Is So SO fucking amazing!!!

.-

And as the bandaged knot was tightened,

  the two men smiled  into each other’s eyes 

—Hart crane

.-

There’s muffled laughter that reverberates through the door, drown out by the playlist Pez had queued up as soon as they all had clambered into Alex’s room to begin getting prepared for the wedding of the century. Henry can easily picture the way Beatrice is swiping a makeup brush across June’s cheekbones, and how Pez and Nora alternate between dancing on Alex’s bed to screaming about their hatred for most people; and it makes him grin. Their group is unconventional as hell, but they’ve all slotted into one another’s lives so seamlessly that there must be something like providence that brought them together and kept them as bound as they are. And Henry loves them all with every inch of himself, but he soon loses attention when his eyes flicker from the door to the mirror in front of him where Alex is still primping and preening.

The dim light of the loo attached to Alex’s room glitters in his brown eyes, softly caresses his features while  he sprits on his final coat of cologne before the night commences, a idl hand tousling his hair into an artful sort of muss, and Henry can’t take his eyes off of him from where he’s lounging against the wall behind him, flickering between appreciating the sight of  Alex’s miraculous arse in those black slacks,  and his gorgeous reflection that’s grinning at him knowingly; either way  Henry’s smiling to himself at the lovely sight of it.

Alex is beautiful through every layer, to his very core, and it makes Henry go weak at the knees, makes his head swim with the realization that he’s with him, that he chose Henry. Alex loves Henry, and that must mean something. Must mean that the frantic thudding to Henry’s heart— the adoration and love and need Henry’s always been crippled by— is mirrored in Alex’s own. Not to as drastic of a degree surely, but it’s there. And that’s enough, that’s all Henry had ever wanted ever since  that brilliant day at the Olympics that sealed his fate so unswervingly. A fate that was made only more permanent once they had fallen into one another at Philip’s wedding, and just kept falling in different ways in different countries in different intensities. A falling that never stopped, a falling that intwined them in ways that Henry could never fathom unwinding. A falling that locked them together in ways he was brought up reading about in feted love stories printed out in black and white, and what he got to see painted out in real life with how his mother’s eyes always twinkled that bit brighter when gazing at his father, and how Arthur’s smile in turn only ever got soft in that particular way when she was besides him. A love story Henry never thought he could have, never thought would be within his grips considering how bleeding gay he is. But he did. 

Henry found that picture of glittering color, that wave that can swallow him whole if he’s not careful, that strumming to his insides. He found it in how Alex laughed with his head thrown back when he's especially happy. Found it in the way Alex reads while mouthing the words, like his lips couldn’t stay still even in silence. Found it in the look on Alex’s face when Henry brings him over the edge in their bed. In the way Alex kissed him back underneath a thousand polluted city stars and amidst the vivid greens of the Whitehouse garden that January night. Found it in the way Alex’s touch to Henry’s skin always felt like a cocktail of excitement and wanting and comfort. 

Henry’s found his forever with Alex and there’s no doubt in any nook or crevasse of his insides that they wouldn’t spend the rest of their lives knotted into one another. But the thought does feel like a bit of a noose clamping  around his heart— painful and terrifying with its intensity— when it makes the left pocket of his suit drag that bit heavier. The pocket where Henry tucked in a small velvet box with the wedding band his father had worn till his final breaths, the one that Henry’s resized in Alex’s measurement and bought a matching pair for himself. And it’s making his insides go this strange tingling feeling, standing here in the confluence of all he and Alexander are and all they have been and all they will be.

It’s not like he doesn’t want to ask, like he hasn’t wanted to ask Alex every minute of every day ever since his mother had given him the piece of jewelry six months ago with a thin smile and watery eyes. When she had asked him to help make their family full once more.

God, Henry wants to ask him, wants to get to call Alex his partner in every delightful sense of the word. And he even thinks Alex’ll say yes, is almost positive of it. Even if they end up with a longish engagement. That doesn’t matter to Henry, it’s the promise of the whole ordeal, the promise of wanting to spend forever tangled into each other’s arms. But for all of Henry’s talent with a keyboard and his knack for syntax and his naturally developed mind that’s always been able to fold words into one another to read like a stream of thought. He’s not nearly as well versed with his tongue, with his spoken syllables pouring out his mouth in a coherent, tender sort of way the first time around. And Alex deserves that, deserves the whole damn experience of it. He deserves pink flamingos and double rainbows and a big band playing the first song they kissed to while they stood in the center of fairy lights with a crowd crooning and crowing in the background.

Alex deserves it all and Henry doesn’t know how to give him any of it, but God he wishes he could.

“We look like a pair of stallions if I do say so myself Henryson,” Alex says, pulling Henry out of his romantic daydreams, and pinning him with a smile as bright as the bloody sun.

Gingerly, Henry reaches his arm out and twirls a finger into one of his curls, tugging slightly. “I suppose you’re decent. Perhaps Zahra won’t skewer you on her big night.”

“Hmm,” Alex smirks, saddling closer up to him, hips brushing against hips as he locks each of his hands on either end of Henry and dimples up at him, affecting that mischievous air that Henry’s always been weak for. “And tell me sweetheart, would you protect me if she harmed one little  hair on my perfect head?”

Henry exhales amusedly from his nostril, bending his head forwards to press against Alex’s own, and dragging his thumb across his plump bottom lip. “Dunno, I reckon you might’ve deserved it. You do have a cheeky mouth after all love. And your hands are a bit of a hazard.”

Alex leers right then, glittering with intent. “I bet you’d like to see what my hands could do to you.” He counters, sliding his palm to the front of Henry’s already pitched trousers, and as much as he does crave the silent offer, he suddenly gets the awful thought of Alex finding the weighted pocket and the ring embedded there, and no. Absolutely not! Henry will not propose to the love of his life in the middle of a sodding bathroom while in the midst of getting a handy!

In a flash, Henry’s moved so Alex is crowded against the shut doorway— the music louder here and clouding Henry’s mind slightly as he dips down to crash his lips against Alex’s own. Admittedly, it’s not their smoothest snog, more like a cacophony of spit and lips and teeth, but it still makes his every nerve endings go ablaze and his toes curl and his ruddy heart pulse unevenly. And Henry reckons that it’s just a side effect of merely being in the presence of Alex like this, full of intent.

Unlatching himself from Alex, Henry moves to mouth against his neck, tasting his skin that’s a bit soured by the endless cologne but pleasant enough if only Henry knows that its Alex’s supple skin beneath his grazing lips. 

“Ooo,” Alex pants out breathily, canting closer eagerly, and hands fisted in Henry’s curls. “Yeah, mmm. I like this too.”

Henry smirks to himself, snorting at him as he slowly moves apart so that there foreheads are touching once more. “You reckon you can stay quiet for me?” He asks lowly, pressing a none too delicate finger down his clothed chest before landing at the front of his trousers, and begins to circle the hardness growing there.

“Why?” Alex asks, dark eyes glinting and lips quirked into a cocky sort of grin. “You think you’re good enough to make me loud Henryson?”

The growl caught in Henry’s throat takes them both off guard, but it also makes Alex beam with pure mirth, so Henry only kisses him once more— hard and rushed and greedy— before he twists him around without warning and begins to kiss across the nape of his neck and the breath of his broad shoulders, stopped intermittently by a lapping tongue or tender teeth— as Henry also palms Alex’s front, unbuttoning his suit jacket to tossing it to the countertop, quickly moving to unbutton Alex’s shirt too, so Henry can drag a hand through his very hard, very naked skin, nipples pebbling under his ministrations, before he gingerly— methodically— undoes Alex’s trousers, falling along with his pants to the ground and shackling his ankles in place.

“I reckon I can, but I also need you to be quiet about it lest the others get concerned over your mewling,” Henry whispers, lecherous against Alex’s ear as the hand not playing with Alex’s nipple, grips his now fully hardened dick, pumping only slightly as he thumbs at the leaking seam. 

“Humph, I don’t— Oh. I don’t mewl!” Alex grumbles out, trying to rock his hips to get some friction going but instead getting increasingly redder with frustration at Henry’s unyielding wrist.

“Oh? You don’t?” Henry asks with a smug sort of grin as he quickly squeezes harder around his shaft, twisting and pumping,  making the other boy toss back his head, turning it so that his small yelp is muffled by Henry’s neck.

“Fuck you.”

“Maybe later tonight, but for now if you don’t mind putting your hands against the door while I grab the lube?”

Alex glares at him with an air of absolute irritation, but agrees anyhow, kissing him deftly before pressing his hands against the door, bent slightly so that his naked arse is out for show, clenching and relaxing in a sort of sensual rhythm with anticipation. And Henry smiles at the lovely sight of it as he shuffles through the drawer they had tucked away their essentials the first day of coming back to DC for the wedding. He plucks out the jar of lubricant from the mess of other tools and a few toys, idly thinks of popping out the plug to tease but decides against it. He wants to feel Alexander, wants to really be inside of him.

“You are such a slow fucker Henry!” Alex barks from over his shoulder, still poised for a good shagging.

Henry snickers, flicking Alex’s nose endearingly before shedding off his own jacket and undoing his trousers. “Oi, I’ll show you slow.” He goads, rubbing a good amount of the clear liquid into his palm before he takes his own cock in hand and strokes leisurely, reasons he could really just come from the sight of Alex waiting for him, perfect and precocious and panting. Though it’s not much of a punishing considering that Alex’s pupils only grow that bit larger and his cheeks flush in a familiar, wanton way.

Henry smirks. “You’re enjoying yourself?”

“You’re fucking hot,” Alex sputters. “How can I not?”

Henry bites down on his bottom lip so not to appear too pleased at the retort, but he also can’t stay away from Alex for much longer, and just saddles up behind him, cloaking his fingers up with the lube hurriedly.

“You ready love?”

“Have been ready you dickwad.” Alex snipes, shaking his arse again for good measure. Henry just grins,  bending down to nip at his shoulder in penance as a singular finger circles around Alex’s fluttering hole, before he just dips it into the entrance up to his first knuckle, making Alex moan. 

“Shh,” Henry reminds him, clapping a hand against his mouth pointedly. “I love hearing you dear, but I don’t think either of us want to suffer through the ribbing the others will dole out.”

Alex nods, face grimaced but still eager as he rocks backwards, making it so Henry gets up to his second knuckle before reasoning that it’s about time for a second finger. 

“Jesus, you’re gorgeous,” Henry breathes out, can’t prevent the wonder from seeping into his voice as he stretches Alex out, just barely pulling out for a third digit before Alex’s chest rumbles with a sound of exasperation. 

“Just go in already.”

“Oh? yeah? You think you can take it?”

Alex swallows down, hard, before nodding quickly. “Please Henry, you’ve been playing with me for like hours.”

“It’s barely been five minutes,” he says wryly, laughing when in turn Alex only sticks his tongue out fumingly. “Right, right, well I suppose we do have a prior engagement.”

“Yeah, course. We don’t wanna be late? Think about how gauche!”

Henry chuckles once more, rubbing a new coat of lubricant to his cock before lining up to Alex. “You’re just afraid that Zahra’ll have your head on a plate.”

“Please, sweetheart, for the love of God can we not bring other people into the conversation while you’re getting ready to fuck me?”

Henry concedes with an abashed quirk of the lips, takes Alex’s flagging erection in hand and strokes it once and sure before he slowly inches into him. And fuck, Henry will never not love the sensation of Alex, in all forms. On him, against him, inside of him, around him. Alex is the headiest sort of drug and Henry doesn’t think he’d ever survive a withdraw, that he can ever not crave him in all his variations of light.

Breathing in deeply, Henry finally bottoms out, practically collapses over Alex as he tries to re-acclimate  himself to the tight, throbbing heat of him. It’s so bloody miraculous. 

“H— Alex nearly whines, shaking himself a bit. “Move, will you?”

“Oh, right,” Henry musters back up his focus, sliding out of him only partially before slamming back inside, is always afraid of hurting Alex. But then Alex squeezes on the wrist where his hands are resting on either end of his hips, and squeezes, And that’s as clear of an instruction as he can give while staying hush, hush. So tossing all caution to the wind, Henry thrashes into him without abandon, pulling out nearly completely and then pounding back inside in a graceless, unforgiving pace, and it’s enough for Alex to leap on his toes, for him to squeeze his eyes shut while his head rolls back on Henry’s shoulder, for his hands to shake on their perch against the increasingly rattling door. And some idl part of Henry’s mind— the one that isn’t swallowed up entirely by Alex and all the sensations he sparks to life within Henry— prays to God above that their friends aren’t paying any mind to the shut bathroom entrance.

“Yes, yes, yes Henry.” Alex moans out,  losing his footing when Henry pushes in that bit harder, that bit deeper, targeting exactly that nest of nerves within him, and he quickens his pumping of Alex’s dick, feeling buoyed when Alex comes without warning. Hot, white liquid pulsing out of him in a pulsing stream, and making it so Alex can only lie boneless against the doorway. And it doesn’t take Henry long to follow, an arm slung tightly  around Alex’s waste as he thrashes forwards, lost in the entirety of him, kissing the nudges of his spine as he catches for his release, nudged on by the pulsing and slickness and it’s just once more before Henry is coming also,  hurriedly pulling out as his own spunk spills across the expanse of Alex’s back and arse and the tops of his thighs. Henry stares at the picture of it with reverent eyes as he leans against the sink, breathing heavily.

“God, we are good at that.”

“Tell me about it,” Alex says, face flushed an absolutely glowing as he rummages for a couple hand towels, and then seemingly thinking better as he glances at them, and then his and Henry’s messy states.

“Second shower?”

Henry nods, “Think we ought to.”

“Right, well you wash me first because I think i’ll need like another ten minutes before I can move any extremities.”

Henry laughs and tugs him close for a quick kiss. God he loves him so much.

.-

The grandiose, Willard ballroom is dressed in ornate decorations and filled with sharply clad folks who are some of the top tear heads of Western politics, though for the most part they’re drown out by the familiar faces of Shaan’s family, and even more that either share Zahra’s nose or the shape of her eyes. It’s beautiful in its discrete, demure nature and it makes Henry’s heart flutter. He only wishes he had a decent sodding poker face because right then Beatrice, in all her smug glory, saddles up to him, and leers.

“You thinking about that wedding journal you had as a lad.”

Henry glares, fuming. “I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about.”

“Your theme was red with golden accents wasn’t it?”

“Did I ever tell you that you were adopted.”

“You even had all these cute little sample cards for the invitations.”

“We found you in an alien species of barmy bints.” Henry continues to growl.

Beatrice laughs raucously, tossing back her chestnut curls and pinching his cheek like the doting older sister she’s always been. “You’re precious when you get all cross.”

“I hate you.”

“Nah, you really don’t,” she says loftily. “Now c’mon, Alex and Nora are trying to steal some flowers from the bouquet before Zahra notices, and we’re s’pose to be distracting the newly weds.”

Henry rolls his eyes long sufferingly. “We’re dating absolute lunatics, you do know that, right?”

Beatrice smiles— resigned— and hooks her arm through Henry’s own. “I know, we’re truly a mess.”

.-

If there was ever the picture of a glowing bride— beautiful and bright and breathtaking— Zahra would be the epitome of it. Her curls are pulled back into an elegant bun and her lovely features are only accentuated by the makeup rather than obscured by it, and she hasn’t let loose of Shaan’s hand for the whole reception. It brings a pang to Henry’s heart, not envy per se, but longing. Longing for what they have, for the pure, unadulterated simplicity of it. And it’s only settled when he thinks of Alex, knows that he has that precise kind of relationship with him. And God, he’s never wanted to show it off more.

“You guys having fun,” Shaan asks, pecking a kiss to Beatrice’s cheek and slinging an arm around Henry’s shoulder.

“’s a beautiful night,” Henry tells them, his voice vibrant and his heart full.

“Thank you sweets,” Zahra preens, brushing back the curls from his forehead and eyeing him speculatively when her fingers come back wet.

“Erm— Don’t ask?”

Zahra looks only mildly alarmed but fully understanding, humor twinkling in her dark eyes. “Ah, well then, speaking of which. You two mind informing your better halves that they aren’t slick, and they’re only lucky I put a decoy in the place of the real bouquet instead of actually punishing them.”

Laughter bubbles out of the foursome and Henry isn’t at all surprised that she’s always two steps ahead.

“Bloody hell, I told those dunces that they could never pull one over on you!” Beatrice groans, arms crossed and weight slung to her left hip. “But do they listen? No of course not.”

“We should probably tell them that they need to wait in line for the bouquet toss like the rest of us, yeah?” Henry asks her, smiling pleasantly at a new couple that’s meandered over to shake hands with the bride and groom.

“Oh no, let them deal with it on their own, we, my lovely little brother, will be drinking to forget.”

“How very British of us.” Henry snorts wryly. 

“Never said I wasn’t predictable,” she retorts, grabbing his wrist and carting him off to the open bar.

.-

It’s an hour later that finds a very disgruntled looking Alex saddling up to Henry with a very prominent frown, his hair covered with wayward petals that Pez has been tossing around without abandon for practically the entirety of the night. The venue’s dwindled down so that it’s only Zahra’s and Shaan’s nearest and dearest that are left. From the table’s he’s sat at Henry can see his mother holding a conversation with Luna and Leo that’s filled with laughter, and he sees June with her father trying to set up a new playlist to the speakers once the live performers had left. He can also spot Ellen and Zahra giggling like school girls while Shaan nods along, and kisses his now wife’s hand intermittently between the smiles he tosses Nora and Beatrice who are starting a ridiculous dance with a few others to the tune of the Peter Gabriel song playing out. 

It feels like the room has been  bathed in a sort of serenity that makes something warm and remarkable unfurl in Henry’s gut. An ambiance of love and nurture cradling them all together.

“You could’ve told us it was a ploy you dick.” Alex harrumphs for the umpteenth time in the past ten minutes.

“You should’ve known yourself,” Henry toots, a little too busy musing on how Alex’s long lashes kiss the tops of his cheekbones every time he blinks and how beautiful he looks in the moonlight shimmering through the wide partitions.

“How did she make it so they stung! That’s all I ask you!”

Henry smiles indulgently, moves forwards to kiss the hinge of Alex’s jaw to console him. “She’s a evil genius love, don’t let it upset you.”

Alex sniffs, still sulking but already beginning to relax his muscles. “Yeah, whatever, at least Pez caught it instead some random fuck.”

“He is happy with himself, it’s cute. Innit?” Henry says, flickering his eyes over to where his best friend's dragging a giggling June off to the dance floor.

“Mmm, yeah.” Alex says, tucking closer to Henry’s side. “Makes you think, doesn’t it?”

Henry pulls back, pinning him with a one eyed squint. “What do you mean?”

“You know,” Alex shuffles in his seat, cheeks flushed and eyes downcast. “The whole thing. Like it makes you think of the future and all of that crap.”

Henry swallows down the lump in his throat, feeling suddenly dazed. “Yeah, yeah it does.”

Alex looks up, smiling thinly. “So what? You want something like this? With the flowers and music and you in a white dress.”

Henry glares now, flicking Alex’s nose. “Oi, who said I’m the one in the dress?”

“Well sweetheart, you do have the legs for it,” Alex croons smugly, kissing the corner of Henry’s mouth tenderly and laughing when Henry begins to prod at his side.

“You’re an arse.”

“But you still do,” Alex asks. “Think about it I mean?”

Henry breathes out, caressing Alex’s cheek to try and infuse all the love and adoration he feels for him in that single touch. “I think about it every bloody day Alexander, I want you for forever.”

Alex’s shy grin transforms to it’s ordinary, megawatt brilliance, and he kisses him right on the mouth with fervor. “God I love you.”

The knot in Henry’s chest loosens, and it suddenly feels like he can breathe again, like the love he feels for Alexander isn’t drowning him with its intensity but coaxing him into wakefulness, into feeling alive for the first time in a long time. 

“I’ve got a ring,” he admits, speaking against Alex’s lips, and tugging him closer.

Alex pulls back a bit, brows hiked and gaze alight. “Oh yeah?”

“yeah, yeah I do. But I reckon if I propose to you in the middle of Zahra’s wedding she’d poach my head to a stake.”

Alex snorts. “You’re not wrong. But lucky us we’ve got a whole hotel filled with empty rooms.” 

Alex smirks wickedly and Henry feels his insides go abuzz. “Let’s go.”

And when Alex twines their fingers together, pulling him up and kissing him softly before they can rent out a room, Henry suddenly feels so very light.

[daaedoodles]

Building walls (just to tear them down) | 2, Memories

A/N, TRIGGER WARNING for semi-graphic descriptions of self harm and anxiety.

Cloaked in the darkness of night, the urges come again.

She knows she shouldn’t do it.

She knows she shouldn’t hurt herself anymore than she already has.

She knows she shouldn’t throw away all of that progress, all of the good in her life.

But she does.

That feeling is intoxicating, the quietness and the sense of calm that passes over her - a promise for a release in the pain she causes herself, a way to escape, to feel better - Sarah Reese can’t find the strength in herself to refuse.

It tempts her with every birthday that comes and goes, with every time she's taken the backseat, watching a past version of herself wandering through the endless halls of her childhood home.

She’s suddenly 18 again, standing in the kitchen staring down at a stove she once remembers being so much taller that despite her 10 year old self’s best efforts at tippy-toeing could hardly see the top of. Dragging the pads of her fingers against every wall of the house and memorizing each and every bump and dent beneath her fingertips. Sitting at the foot of the tiny bubblegum pink bed that was hers once upon a time.

The image of a little girl, a shiny rainbow party hat sitting on top of her lion's mane of curls that frames her chubby cheeks, catches her eye from across her bedroom. She’s sitting before a massive cake that’s at least twice the size of her head with the biggest smile on her face, flashing a missing tooth. Carefully piped clouds of white cream surround the words ‘Happy Birthday Sarah!’ piped in a pink, messy scrawl she recognizes as her own mother’s, atop the cake. Tentatively reaching out, she picks up the photo frame. A lump rises in her throat as she studies the photo with intent, feeling the grime of the dust that’s collected on it over years of never being even looked at. Thumbs sweep across the glass thoughtfully, hot breath shuddering against her cupid’s bow.  Her father is grinning too, bending down to the left of the young girl as he reaches out with a flickering flame in his hands to light the number ‘5’ candle that’s stuck haphazardly by tiny hands into the chiffon. Her mother is at her other side, an arm slung around her shoulders as she draws her close to her chest. It’s the only memory Sarah can begin to place as the last time she or her family were genuinely happy.

Because come her sixth birthday, her father is gone. 

He’d simply packed his things and left without a word. 

She remembers her mother’s voice, screaming and shouting protests through broken sobs. They paint the walls of a home she once loved in the dark blues and purples of the pain in her every cry. She remembers her father, his silhouette through the cracks of her bedroom door, grabbing fistfuls of her mother’s shirt. She can’t tell whether it’s the floor beneath her feet or her that trembles with every thud that reverberates through her home. 

Then, silence.

The next morning, his study has been cleared of every book that lined his walls, his half of the closet is suddenly empty and the photos of her family that hung in the living room are on the ground- cherished memories, now shattered beneath the glass of broken picture frames. 

Even then, aged five and three-quarters, she knew things would never be the same again.

Sarah Reese isn’t a sentimental person. There isn’t much sentiment to spare for the things in her life. They’re empty and hollow, she tells herself, nothing but painful reminders of the memories she could have made if things were different.

Despite every rational thought in her head pleading with her not to, she’s removing the backing of the photo frame and removing the photo that was affectionately placed for display all those years ago. She holds onto the foolish hope that after being let down so many times, she’d be ready to let go. But she stuffs the image in her pocket and packs her memories hastily into cardboard boxes. They’re crammed and shoved desperately into the back of a U-Haul, a last minute addition to a boot packed to the brim crisp, white boxes, full of more brand new things that could ever use.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t be there Sarah.” Her mother’s voice crackles through the speaker, the cold screen of her phone pressed against her ear. This time, she doesn’t feel her heart sink into her stomach.

Although, she can’t help but hope - that her mother might still come home and scoop her up in her arms like she’s five again, tears tracing down her cheeks as she places lipstick-stained lips against Sarah’s forehead in a goodbye. She knows better now than ever that it’s nothing but wishful thinking.

“I want to make sure you have everything you need.”

She’d convinced herself months ago where she’d go.

Chicago, thousands of miles away from Amsterdam. Thousands of miles away from all of it, maybe she’d finally be free of all of the haunting memories, of all of the silly hopes and pain.

But it isn’t so different after she leaves home and the dread that she’ll never escape begins to close in on her.

Sarah was alone on her 19th birthday, like the year before and the one prior and pretty much every birthday she could remember; left only with her thoughts that easily filled every inch of her apartment. They hang thick, full of grief as she mourns the loss of hope in the way the whiskey seems to coat every inch of her mouth and burn as it makes its way down her throat. Grief, a bitter companion in her isolation that refuses so adamantly never to leave her side.

She can’t tell how much she’s had to drink, too out of her mind to even think straight because suddenly the air is too thick to breathe and she feels like she’s choking, her chest tightening as she feels her heart begin to race. Her skull feels like moments away from exploding, the thoughts in her head too loud and too quiet all at once. Sarah can’t stop herself as her hands scramble, clawing desperately at her skin and pressing her face into her knees as the scraping of her fingernails cuts through the noise, a scalding heat spreading across her entire scalp. It’s the only thing she can focus on at that moment. The sensation of her fingernails digging into her skin, the strange dampness that begins to stick to her fingers and the harsh smell of metal that hits her nose. It doesn’t even register in her brain what she’s done to herself until she’s scrubbing her hands and fingernails of her own gore.

When it happens again, she finds herself subconsciously beginning to scrape at her skin, sending shocks of pain throughout her body under her touch.

It became a crutch that she found herself relying on more and more over time as things grew hectic with the turn of 20.

As the competition between her classmates grew tighter at 21, it wasn’t enough anymore.

So completely blind and oblivious to it - the way her entire life tears away at what was left of Sarah Reese by 22.

At 23, she was nothing but a terrified girl who’d learned to pin every last hope on her own self-destruction.

She’s 24 now. Sarah grew to appreciate the brief moments when that crushing feeling she’s lived with all of her life releases it’s relentless grip on her, where she smiles and laughs and then the weight on her shoulders suddenly lifts, in the memories of quiet comfort she holds close to the heart that she’d collected over the years in Chicago. It’s an absolute relief while it lasts.

But just as quickly as they come, they leave. It becomes easier to hate the good because those fleeting moments of freedom only begin to hang over her head, pointing at her, taunting, mocking, laughing at her.

25 and she finally feels like for once in her life, things might turn out okay. It’s still hard, every single day is a struggle because that hurt never truly goes away, no matter how badly she wants it to. She falls into the cycle of throwing her feet over the edge of her single bed in the cold winter mornings, wandering through her apartment with her mind still cloudy with sleep, slipping her flannel pajamas off her feet and into her work clothes then catching the bus to Gaffney Chicago Medical. In the ED, that girl realizes a warmth, a genuine sense of comfort and belonging in her colleagues and the companionship. Sarah Reese is exhausted and she can’t help but feel like she’s found a home, even a family, in these people. There’s a part of her that wants so badly to push them away so she can never get hurt again but she’s too comforted by the way her heart swells in their company, with what she can only discern in joy, to listen to it. Now, there’s a reason to fight and she doesn’t know if she wants to give up anymore.

Near 26, her pale skin.once a blank canvas was left brutally scarred and damaged in hues of purples, reds and whites. Scars layered on top of one another as she’d run out of space in places easy to conceal, easy to hide from people. There’s a sickening feeling of guilt that fills her each time she sees the damage she’s done to herself.

In the moment, she's too far gone to care. She’s lost count of just how many there are, just how many times she's found herself frantically trying to patch herself up, just how many times she's woken up to blood on her sheets and scabs under her fingernails.

Her thoughts barely come back into focus only as she’s shakily pressing the adhesive of the bandages around her wounds. It’s absolutely silent, her mind foggy and clouded with pain - the panic, fear and anger have passed - and she’s focused on nothing but the heat of the blood pooling at her skin and the darkness seeping and spreading across the white gauze. Sarah’s vision flickers in and out of focus, eyes hazy and heavy, begging for rest. As the adrenaline too begins to fade, just how exhausted she is becomes apparent as she falls back onto her bed, greeted by a pitch black when her eyes fall closed despite her willing them to stay open.

Sarah's jolted awake when her phone buzzes on her bedside table. Through her foggy vision, it's lit up with a brand new notification.

She groans, reaching for her phone and pressing fingers blood encrusted onto the power button. It flashes on, the time displayed in bold in the foreground of an image of herself caught mid laugh as she's surrounded by the people in the ED who are donning cheap Christmas hats and silly expressions, the ward around them decorated with paper ornaments on the glass of each bay in some attempts to brighten the place against hospital policies. Beside her is Dr Charles who has a hand raised and stroking the fake Santa beard strapped onto his chin. Halstead is directly behind her with sparkling red tinsel wrapped around his neck that extends its way down the row of Dr Manning, Connor and Choi.

The memory of the banter and laughs shared that Christmas Eve rises in her head and she feels lighter already.

She's staring blankly at her superiors and the tinsel that hangs off their shoulders with enough left over on either end to fall to a heap on the ground, brows furrowed and lips pursed. "Found it at Party City," Maggie announces nonchalantly, motioning from her spot where she's kneeling with the rest of the nurses, April on her left turning to face the younger girl with a tinge of concern in her eyes.

Sarah blinks, shaking herself out of her thoughts, eyes wide as she looks at the Head Nurse. "They sell Christmas decorations?"

Maggie laughs, "Never been Reese?" She queries, earning a shaking head in response. "They sell just about damn near everything."

She's dismissing the memories from her mind as she taps the text notification that pops into her vision.

It's from Dr Charles.

As her eyes scan the words, Sarah feels her lips begin to tremble as they turn upwards in the tiniest of grins.

‘Happy Birthday Reese :).’

It's funny how just three words could mean so much to her - how just a simple text could make her heart shatter into a million pieces and so carefully piece it back together again.

It’s a bittersweet feeling.

For the first time in years, she's not alone anymore.

[widowsofchaos]

The Wolf, The Widow, & Their Angel

Writing’s Game created by the baddest, Roo! @darkficsyouneveraskedfor​ *screams like a feral banshee* tHe BaDDesT BiTcH sHE iS!

~my given prompt~

Pairing: dark!BuckyNat x black!Reader

Summary: You start to dissociate looking through windows, and it concerns your captors.

Warnings: ddlg relationship, forced age regression, mentions of spanking, water sports, and kidnapping, eventual Stockholm syndrome. a dash of yandere behavior.

a/n: hiii, so glad im finally into the swing of writing, and I really wanted to dive into this writing challenge made by Roo! Trope: Snowed In // Item/Location: Windows. Seems really fun, and gives a chance for people to explore different kinks and scenarios given to them! So I hope you enjoy! There has been things changed for sake of the story, like cause fuck canon sometimes, right? Muahaha💋

do not repost my works!

Snowflakes hit against the windows, sounding like tiny BB bullets as the bellowing winds harshly beats against the bullet-proof glass.

Ever-growing thick piles of snow surrounded the Avengers compound, as New York City is under attack by one of the worst snow-storms the city has ever endured in years.

Airports are temporarily shut-down, so are local businesses, the streets deserted with no sign of life. Nature’s cold wrath forces citizens to self-quarantine, and celebrate Christmas indoors, snowed in for perhaps a few weeks.

So much for your grand escape.

Six months you have been held captive, and forced to prance around like a living doll. A toy to satiate your captors’ sexual appetites and deep-rooted needs to protect ‘an innocent angel like yourself.’ As you sit here on the cold floor of the living room, battling boredom, and your solemn thoughts, mindlessly chewing on the pink paci in your mouth, you didn’t hear one of your captors and one of their accomplices walk in.

Fidgeting in your white onesie that had multiple crayon drawn rainbows printed on it, as you try to find some comfort - your buttocks still stung from this morning’s spanking. Your coco-brown buttocks peaking from your onesie, your diaper peaking from the edges, deep purple and yellow bruises painting your skin were apparent. That’s the abuse a metal prosthetic can inflict.

Your bronze skin now shiny with lotion to soothe the burgundy raw welts. You can barely sit still, rocking back and forth to relieve some tension. Sniffling trying to zone out in your mind.

Your hair was in two split curly pigtails, each split of massive hair clipped with two pink bows. Your index finger twirling in your chocolate curls, as the other hand was toying with the fabric of your white booties, with tears in your eyes, trying to imagine time spent with your real family.

Are they okay? Do they miss you? Have they been searching for you?

You can still recall the day you were kidnapped, it was a blur, it was so quick,

As the two perpetrators waltz silently towards you, as your back facing them, suddenly one of them playfully pull on your pigtails.You gasp, your eyes wide as saucers, as your mouth opened, your paci fell on your lap. Your day-dreaming shattered, as if you were high in the clouds then held by the calf and dragged right back to reality.

“Hey baby.” A husky velvety voice spoke against your ear, your heart hammering harshly against your chest. It’s him, the former Winter Soldier, his close companions call him Bucky, but you’re forced to call him daddy.

“Uncle Steve told me that you have been sitting here for hours” he brought his thumb to wipe away a tear you didn’t realize began to fall. You glanced over your shoulder to see Steve standing by the door-way smiling adoringly at the sight of a daddy and his baby, leaning against the door frame, with his strong hands stuffed in his jean pockets.

You felt menacing cerulean blue eyes burn a hole in your skull, Bucky couldn’t pull his eyes away from yours even if he tried. To him, you were perfect. You were a gift from God, an angel sent to ease his burdens along side his wife, Natasha. You couldn’t bare looking into his eyes, too intense, too suffocating. A flash of affection beamed across his eyes.

You whined, shuffling as best as you could away from your captor, “Baby, you dropped your paci.” Bucky plucked your pacificer from the floor, bringing towards your chapped lips, “Now it’s dirty, my sweet baby can’t have a dirty paci ...” he trailed off, the rims of your eyes slightly red, glossy from the forthcoming droplets.

He knows why you’ve been crying, he had to punish you this morning. You were trying to act like a big girl, and refused to be bathed, insisting you can clean yourself as an adult.

A smirk slowly crept on Bucky’s bearded face, he noticed you was leaning forward, preventing any bodily pressure to increase on your sore ass. “Is my baby’s cute ass sore?” His nose brushed against your cheek, a guttural moan vibrated in his throat, inhaling your scent; his hot breath fanning over your tear-stained face.

His pink lips hairs away from yours, growing agitated that you didn’t respond, he gripped one of your pigtails with his flesh hand.

You yelped in pain, your button nose scrunched, brows furrowed deeply; the prickly pins and needles sensation scorching throughout your scalp, as Bucky held your hair in a death clutch. “Answer your daddy! Is my baby’s cute ass sore?!” Bucky snarls like a beast.

You choked back a sob, forced to look into his cerulean blue eyes, clouded by grey storm clouds. His pupils dilated, his nose flared, not to further infuriate the former soldier, “Ye-yes, daddy -” your throat tightened in fear, “my butt is sore.” Satisfied that you answered sweetly, Bucky relinquished his hand, kissing away your tears with feathery pecks, “Don’t cry, my angel.” His voice lowered softly.

His stubble tickled you, but you resisted a chuckle in your throat along with your untamed bile, he shushed you, “Don’t cry, baby. Daddy’s sorry he had to get loud.” Bucky cooed, talking to you like you were a toddler.

Your sobs quieted down, now simmering to hiccups, as he pulled you flushed against his broad chest. Even when he cradled you, his physicality reminded you, that you can’t escape.

Bucky is at least, two hundred pounds lean, built into massive biceps, and sculpted abs. You can’t fight him, nor her. Natasha’s physique is slender, but she’s toned.

Enquiped to defeat any enemy, a master in trickery and slealth, able to disappear within thin air like her husband ... many have fallen for sadly mistaken the Russian for beauty over brains ... don’t underestimate the former assassin. You already learned your lesson.

Your delicate fingers gripped his red Henley shirt, the cotton fiber bunching between your brown fingers, as you whimpered, your cheek squished against his frame.

Bucky sported a smug smirk on his stubbled jaw, glancing to his oldest best friend. A chuckle was breathed out of Steve’s nose, knowing the breaking down method was slowly progressing.

Steve knows that this is what Bucky, and Natasha needs in their life. Something innocent to protect, the couple hasn’t had a pure light in their life for years, so it’s understandable that for the first time they encountered you, they had to have you.

It was fate.

Indeed the meticulous harsh punishments was working. No matter how hard you tried to fight back, and resist the urges to succumb to their sexual pleasures, your mind was betraying you.

There has been moments of your compliance, calling everyone by their designated names. Natasha as your mommy, Bucky as your daddy, and the rest of the Avengers as your uncles and aunt. Letting your uncles and aunt baby you, feed you, play with you, and punish you if needed too.

Let’s just say, the punishments were just as equally barbarous. Wall-seats, harsh spanking, knees on raw rice, gas lighting, slight choking, knees resting on raw rice, electrical nipple clamps as your head will be dunked in water, that’s Bucky’s go-to if his patience runs dry.

And a few slaps here and there if you cuss everybody out.

Natasha’s favorite is clit cream, it causes severe itching on your pussy, you would rub your mound on any solid surface to relieve yourself to the point of your vagina being raw, and irritated.

How does the sadistic couple help the itching and burning stop? Take turns squirting their piss directly on your clit.

Shame and humiliation has become your constant demons.

Bucky’s red shirt had a strong but subtle smell of mint, and oak. You rubbed your nose into the shirt, it’s calming your frightened senses, as numerous flashbacks of pain came flooding your shattered mind.

“Awh my baby, loves holding her daddy.” Bucky spoke into your brushed curls, you didn’t realize you were practically clinging to Bucky like a baby kola. Bucky nuzzled his nose into your curls, his eyes closed, relishing in this rare moment.

Bucky’s strong biceps slithered around your petite waist, you involuntarily clutching your arms around his neck for support. His open palms calmly rubbed circles under your thighs, but close to your painful bruises.

You flinch at the close proximity of his fingertips grazing your abused flesh. It was his reminder of how quickly his temper can switch.

Don’t misbehave.

You prefer to seek his approval, to fall on his good graces. 

“D-daddy?” you crooked into his now tear-stained shirt, the dampened spots now a deeper shade of red, you sniffled, scared to look him in the eye, “Yes baby?” Bucky’s smirked.

“I wanna look at the windows more. The snowflakes are pretty.” You hated how your voice was trembling, and trailing into little space.

You’re conversing with Bucky as if you were a toddler. One discovery you stumbled on during this ordeal is that deep inside the crevasse of your mind, there’s a little girl.

Sub-space, or little space ... you knew you had it, which in turn, helped you adapt to your new environment from time to time. Catching yourself enjoying being pampered, no longer being burdened by of the problems that come with being an adult. No longer do you work, you hated your office job. You gracefully fall into a space of hazy clouds.

Bucky’s brows furrowed, a bit befuddled, as his eyes pleaded with Steve’s, who in return shook his head, no.

Steve brought this new found habit of yours up to Bucky and Natasha earlier, whenever you were punished, you hide away to look out the windows.

Steve realized that you were probably dissociating. That worried everybody, it means you were suffering from not accepting your new life, clinging onto your old one, and if you’re in pain, Bucky and Natasha are in pain.

You’re more than their little girl, you’re their missing third. Their companion, their angel, and even if you rebuke it, your best friends. Many occurrences, Nat and Bucky has confided to you about their dark pasts, revealing secrets not even their close team mates are aware of.

To gain your trust, and your sympathy, to show despite their cruel punishments, they are broken humans emotionally dependent on you. In any bond between lovers, that’s your best friend.

Out of love — tough love, but love nonetheless.

Bucky’s lip formed into a thin-line, “No, baby. Uncle Steve told me you do this a lot, you know he’s worried about you? So is everybody else, you haven’t even eaten since this morning” Bucky’s voice got stern, but it was contrast to his facial features softening. His brows now slanted in-ward, demonstrating his distress.

It’s the truth, you’re co-dependent on bullet-proof glass. You can observe the outside world. It helps you escape to your imaginary getaway. Whatever your heart desires, your brain creates unabashed scenarios of being surrounded by your family, and friends.

But more recently, you imagine poppy fields, sleeping in high-end stocks of flowers — but soon the demons roam in search of you, and the sky darkens.

“No, baby. No more windows. Ever again.” Bucky’s eyes squinted, you gasped. You were ready to beg, plead to stay on the floor just a little while longer, “Now it’s lunch time. I can hear my little angel’s tummy growling.” Bucky patted your belly gingerly, with no hesitation, he scooped you in his arms lifting you in the air.

Instinctively you locked your legs around his waist, your eyes never wavered from the frosty chilled windows. Your body began shaking, choking back pitiful sobs, as you ducked your head in Bucky’s neck.

“Maybe she needs a nap, she’s been crying all day.” Steve recalls hearing you sniffle since this morning, after getting a spanking. Bucky’s thumb rubbed circles into your shoulder blades, cooing you to settle down.

“Yeah, you’re right.” Bucky kissed your scalp, “she’ll feel better when she wakes up.” As the two soldiers discussed about you as if you weren’t present, you just went limp, your legs dangling. If it wasn’t for Bucky’s inhuman strength, you would’ve fallen.

What’s the point in fighting anymore? Your body is worn, and your brain is fried. There’s no escape, for years you thought so highly of the Avengers, but you learned that they were not so righteous.

Steve noticed your eyes were dull, it’s blank. Steve subtly caressed your cheek, as he walked by Bucky’s side. A small lopsided smile curved at your lips, but Steve was still worried.

Finally reaching Bucky’s apartment, Steve helped open the door as Bucky was pre-occupied holding you, “Steve, can you wash her pacifier for me?” Steve nodded, taking the pacifier from Bucky.

As Steve reached the kitchenette, to wash the paci in the sink, Bucky went to your bedroom. A custom made state of the art bedroom, the walls covered in white wallpaper with multiple printed teddy bears. Fuzzy pink carpeting, stuffies galore spilling out of the bin, toys ranging from blocks, puzzles, coloring books, barbies -- you name it, they spoiled you.

Bucky cooed in your ear sweetly as he laid you down in your custom crib, the plush mattress welcomed your body. You whined a bit, a few tears falling, “Hush, baby, it’s okay. Uncle Stevie is bringing your paci.” Bucky caressed your arms, and face trying to cal, your nerves.

Your eyes were droopy, mental exhaustion overpowering you, but you were resisting sleep. You started rubbing your eyes, as if you were a restless toddler refusing naptime. 

Bucky and Natasha also has been popping sleeping pills, bladder weakening pills and birth control pills in your milk. To set your body on schedule, so you can learn to adapt using a diaper. Fall sleep at proper time during the day. 

Steve entered the bedroom, to see Bucky trying to stop you from your agitated state. “She’s fussy.”Steve’s tone was laced with concern, he quickly gave Bucky the paci, and you shut your mouth. “It’s okay, baby. It’s your paci, say ah.” Bucky was trying to persuade you, you hated that you were becoming dependent on it.

You pouted, Bucky sighed. Once again, he had to resort doing it the hard way. Bucky pinched your nose shut, preventing any oxygen, after a few seconds, you had no choice, but to open your mouth for air.

You gasped, and Bucky took advantage, quickly popping the paci in your mouth, shutting your mouth with his palms. You whined, as Bucky kissed your forehead. Bucky tucked you in, “I love you, angel.” With that Bucky and Steve started leaving the room, turning the light switch off, and closed the door behind them.

Darkness and silence looming over you, your eyes drooped shut, drifting into a dreamless slumber.

***

It’s been over an hour of naptime, and finally Natasha returned from training. She entered the apartment to see Bucky sitting on the couch with his head in his hands. “Bucky, what’s wrong?” He lifted his gaze up, and Nat saw tears in his eyes.

Nat dashed to her husband’s aid, sitting next to him on the couch. “What’s wrong? What happened?” Nat was growing increasingly worried, “Our angel hates me.” Bucky croaked, his voice was hoarse. Natasha pulled Bucky into her arms, Bucky sniffled as he sunk himself into her chest.

“She doesn’t hate you. She’s still learning.”

“You didn’t see the fear in her eyes today. Her eyes looked dull, as if she wasn’t there. Even Steve saw it.” Bucky wailed in Nat’s arms. “It’s okay, she’s not broken. It’s not a quick procedure to get our angel. She will realize this is what’s good for her.”

“I just want her to be happy with us.”

“I know, Bucky. Me too.” Natasha kissed his head.

What Natasha didn’t realize was that you heard their conversation, as you awoke from your nap.

***

Was life with these people really that hard? They spoil you to no end. Yes, their choice of punishments aren’t ordeal, but after punishments they soothed you as if you were the most fragile treasure in the world. Can you learn to love them? Perhaps. Do you feel bad for them hurting? A little, and that’s what scares you.

You care, and it’s been bothering you.

For weeks, your hatred towards the Avengers has been simmering down. You did enjoy no longer having responsibilities, enjoying little space, you were slipping into the headspace more and more.

As thoughts were swirling in your mind like angry bees, the door opened, you quickly closed your eyes again. The light turned on, and their footsteps sounded quiet, not wanting to disturb your sleep, towards your massive crib.

Natasha and Bucky were hovering over you, watching you sleep, as if it’s their favorite view. So obsessed with you, vowing to kill anyone who will try to take you away from them.

Both Nat, and Bucky brought their fingers to your face, caressing your tear-stained cheeks. It was like this for a few moments, until they slowly shook you awake. Tenderly they coaxed you awake, your eyelids fluttered open.

“Hey pretty girl, time to wake up.” Natasha softly ruffled your curly ponytails. You don’t know what snapped in you, maybe your brain has given up, or maybe it’s the way these two are affectionately staring down at you.

Beyond the misty darkness that clouds their eyes, is love. Moments of good moments of playtime with them, or how they touched you giving you cummies, your body coming alive to their touch, or how your heart ached at their sadness flashed in your mind.

Maybe you do love them.

“Mommy. Daddy.” You mumbled against your paci, you made grabby hands outward to them. Natasha’s and Bucky’s eyes widened, their breaths hitched in their throats. At last, their little girl wants them - on her accord.

Natasha quickly took you out of the crib, holding you in her arms in an air tight hug. Bucky engulfed both of you in a bear hug.

At last.

***

It’s been a few weeks of you being the perfect angel, and quite frankly, you were happy. Stress of freedom slipped away, you were taken cared off. Adulthood was hard on you until Natasha and Bucky took you. It was unorthodox at first, slipping into your old apartment in the dead of the night, but it was worth it.

You were sitting on Bucky’s lap, as he sat on the couch watching cartoons with you. Your back against his chest, Bucky hugging you in his arms, your arm reaching behind his head, as your hand played with his hair. Bucky melts every-time you do that. You were sucking on your paci, and Natasha was in the kitchen preparing dinner.

The peaceful atmosphere was soon disrupted, as an urgent news broadcast flashed on the screen. You whined, and Bucky started looking for the remote to change the channel.

The broadcast flashed a picture of you, explaining that you were still declared missing, and your family was looking for you. Bucky’s whole body froze, as your silence was making him nervous. Natasha slowly peaked her head out from the kitchen.

You were unfazed, but you’re not dumb. You knew you had to reassure them, “Daddy, change the channel! I want cartoons.” You bounced a bit on his lap, to show your bratty impatience. Bucky picked up the remote, and put cartoon network on.

Both Nat’s, and Bucky’s heart fluttered, you didn’t care about your old life anymore. You took your paci out for a moment, and kissed your daddy. “I love you, daddy.” You put the paci back in your mouth, and watched the cartoons.

Bucky had tears in his eyes, and so did Natasha.

Their angel didn’t hate them, their angel loves them, and they love you.

Extra A/N: sorry that this was trash. This was beyond trash, I’m so sorry! This was rushed, and I’m bothered by it.

[tatooedlaura-blog]

Geometry of a Triangle

I found a few hours of quiet time and what better way to spend them than to revisit that beautiful thing called, “Triangle” ...

It’s a standalone and I’ll be tagging @today-in-fic ...

:)

&&&&&&&&&&

“Oh, brother.”

With that statement, she pushed herself off the bed rail and turned, click-heeling back into the hallway, running into a clump of boss and unwashed boys, “how is he?”

“He’s delusional.” Moving past them, she hit the down button on the elevator when she reached it, “he needs time, rest, and probably another CT scan, which I will schedule for him once I get downstairs.”

The four of them, following like obedient dogs, got on the elevator with her and just as the doors were closing, “damn it. I forgot my keys in there.” Recklessly flinging her arm in between twin metal deathtraps, then stepping out once they’d reopened, “why don’t you guys go and I’ll call you if anything changes?”

Not one to question her, ever, they said their goodbyes and disappeared. Once the elevator had definitely left the floor, she took a deep breath, wondering if collapse against the wall would be appropriate given the amount of stress still choking her system. Why was he always trying to kill her, inadvertently mind you, but still, every time he left his apartment, he put her in panic mode.

She really fucking hated panic mode.

Taking a minute to collect herself while staring out the window at absolutely no view at all, hospital expansion building blocking the view of what was probably a very pretty neighborhood.

Whatever.

She took her time going back to his room, companions not fluttering around her, peppering with questions, irritating her with endless regurgitation, explanation and exaltation of the exploits of her thankfully not drowned partner.

And Skinner just needed to go away in general; she’d kissed him in the elevator and now couldn’t look him in the eye  given mortal embarrassment.

She needed a vacation.

&&&&&&&&&

Finally, many deep breaths later, she was back at his door, numbered 342 in the grand scheme but from her last count, it was hospital room number 206, give or take; she also counted emergency room curtained off areas as rooms so her count might be a little skewed.

Walking back in without knocking, she thought maybe he’d be asleep and she could do her thing and go home to warm bed, fragrant bath, cup of hot chocolate, not necessarily in that order. He wasn’t asleep, however, instead looking up at her, tracking her as she carefully shut the door, turned, crossed her arms, “I was beginning to wonder if you’d be back.”

“I had to get rid of them before I could …” her voice cracked here, tears rushing to the surface, falling freely down her cheeks in under a second.

Mulder tried to get up but was forced back down by gravity and dizziness, so instead, he reached out his hand, “come here. I’m sorry. I hate seeing you cry.”

“If you wouldn’t do such stupid things, maybe I wouldn’t have to cry.” Swiping her face, the torrent already slowing to a trickle, she sniffed hard, “maybe you’re like a puppy. You need a good swat every now and then in order to learn not to put me through this crap.”

Beside his bed by now, he reached his hand out, hooking it in the pocket of her jacket, “I have never intentionally set out to make you cry. I swear.”

Growling at him, she dried her face one last time with her fingers, looking down at him, “did you really say earlier that you loved me? How many drugs are you on, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“You should know. You’re the doc, doc.”

Moving to see his chart again, she zoned in on the narcotics area, perusing then sifting through her memory, “looks like plenty. More than enough to say all kinds of incriminating things.”

Looking at her sheepishly, “did I really say ‘I love you’ though?”

And her heart jumped then sank, bobbed back to the surface and sank again, “you don’t remember?” He looked innocently guilty and she tilted her head at him, “I won’t hold it against you then.”

“Thanks.”

Moving back to his side, she pulled the chair over, slotting her feet in the undercarriage of the bed and settling back, head comfortable after a moment, Mulder’s fingers wiggling in her direction, his discreet invite to hold his hand while they fell asleep.

She both hated and loved their routines.

“I really am sorry I always make you cry.”

“I can’t imagine this life without you, Mulder, such as it is.” Thinking back to all the times she’d cried for him, both inside and out, “I have often wished that my stress levels weren’t congruent to the production of my tear ducts but they are and we have both learned to live with that.”

“I still hate that I make you cry.”

Squeezing his fingers, “go to sleep, Mulder. I’ll see you when you wake up.”

&&&&&&&&

Ten minutes later, she expected him to be deep in dreamland but looking in his direction once she realized she didn’t hear his whistle-snoring nose, she saw his eyes open, staring intently at her, studying form and function of his Scully, “why aren’t you asleep yet?”

“Trying to ignore my headache while I think about a few things.”

Dusk was dropping outside, their room growing dim and soft, her voice quiet across the vast region between them, “what kinds of things?”

“Nazis and Thor’s hammer and shiny red dresses.”

He must be wandering his delusions again and she figured, why not wade in with him, “were the Nazis wearing the red dresses?”

“No, thank God but you were.”

“I was wearing a shiny red dress? How did I look?”

“If I answer that question, you’ll hit me again.”

Maybe she shouldn’t play into his medication after all, “well, why don’t you go to sleep and dream about things and tomorrow, we will get another head scan.”

The side of his face ached from her 1939 clenched fist and deciding to go for broke, given he knew she’d chock up anything he said to drug-addled haze, “your hair was slicked back, pin-curled, perfect even as we ran up and down the halls, thwarting Nazis and trying to find a way to get me home.” Continuing when all she did was tilt her head, listening with both ear and he hoped, heart, “you saved the world in a knee-length dark red dress and heels and,” pinpoint focus on her darkening blue eyes, “you looked more beautiful than I’ve ever deserved to see you.”

Oh, she could so easily be dragged into his delirium … dream … reality …

This was headed to a bad place and she needed to stop the train before she got fully onboard, believing every last word falling from his lips, “I always thought I looked pretty good in my pajama pants and Yosemite Sam t-shirt.”

“That’s my t-shirt, by the way.”

Returning to lightness even as her heart pounded unexpectedly in her chest, “you say yours, I say mine. I keep it. We both win.”

“How do I win?”

Was she really going to say it?

“Because you get to see me in it.”

She said it.

“If I ever find that red dress, Scully, I’m buying it and you’re wearing it and we’re going out on the town to make sure everyone sees you in it. There’ll be so many guys falling at your feet, you won’t know what to do.”

“So, I’ll just stand there and let them swoon?”

“And then you’ll come home with me.”

She felt the blush blooming across her chest and crawling up her face, “you need to go to sleep, Mulder. As both your doctor and your …” she hesitated without understanding why, partner seeming cold, friend seeming inadequate, anything other distinction making her blush even more, “you need to get some sleep, Mulder and so do I.” Standing quickly, squeaking chair legs against tile, “I should probably go. I’ll pick up some clothes for you and bring them back tomorrow when they release you, okay?”

She still hadn’t let go of his hand.

Odd.

In fact, her fingers were firmly joined with his, zippered closed, thumb stroking thumb.

Very odd.

“Hey, Scully,” tugging her hand so she moved towards him, she leaned across the bar of the bed once again.

“Yes?”

“Be with me tonight. Spring me from this place and take me home and hover and feed me meds and check my stitches and just … be with me.”

Another ‘oh, brother’ should have risen up her throat, fallen to his ears but instead, she leaned in even more, “let me go find a doctor.”

&&&&&&&&&&&&

There was finagling and promising and coercion to the highest levels but in the end, she helped him off the elevator and down the hall to his apartment, setting him on the bed, taking in his weary eyes, his pale face, “you look terrible.”

Not able to argue such a valid point, “could you find me something to wear, please? I feel like I’m about to die or at the very least, begin having hallucinations of pink elephants playing poker in the corner.”

Not about to dispute the obvious, pink elephants fairly likely at this point in their day, “can you sit up for a second or do you want to lay down while I find things?”

Hands firmly gripping mattress edge, “I’ve got it. Just don’t leave.”

She’d return to that statement later on but for now, “I’ll be back.”

At the dresser, she pulled out stuff for both of them, missing the Yosemite Sam shirt but happy with her find of ‘Sit on it, Potsie’ black, frayed glory. Soon, she was back beside him, gently pulling his shirt over his head, wincing along with him when she passed the collar over his bruise-darkening eye. Pants weren’t too difficult, Scully holding his arm for balance while he dropped scrubs and pulled up ratty sweatpants, “remind me not to follow any ghosts ships in the near future.”

“No.”

He smiled as best he could but most of his energy and being was wrapped up in desperate need to lay down, go to sleep, rid his head of the terrible pounding that had wedged itself behind his eyes, “did you bring drugs home with you?”

“Several. What color do you want?”

“Rainbow me up, please? My head feels like it’s going to explode.”

Drugs swallowed, Scully changed – he would comment on her shirt at some point in the evening – and after tucking him in, she turned out the light but came back to his side, “I’m going to go sleep out on the couch, okay? Do you need anything?”

Even through pain and wavering reality, “be with me, remember? The couch is too far.” Indicating over his shoulder, eyes already closing for longer and longer intervals, “I have plenty of room behind me, softest mattress in the place, I promise.”

She could seriously just wait two minutes then go out to the couch, he’d never know but Scully being Scully, especially tonight, especially now, especially here, “okay but if you kick me in your sleep, I’m kicking back.”

Slurred, sleepy, “I’ll try not to kiss you in your sleep, promise.”

Nearly correcting him, she instead checked the front door locks one more time, then, incremental debate later, folded back the covers opposite him, sheets cool, pillow shockingly comfortable. She’ll admit it, she may have let out a slight, happy, back of the throat groan when her head sank down into it.

This pillow may have to go the way of Yosemite.

&&&&&&&&&&

Never expecting to fall asleep so quickly, she had no idea she had until she found herself blinking, eyes rolling and lids sticky. Concept of time had disappeared, clock telling her it was after 2 am but mind firmly believing she’d only been asleep for a few minutes. Wondering what had woken her, she turned to her other side, coming face to face with Mulder, still asleep but hand twitching, searching.

He must have touched her back while he moved and taking his wandering fingers, she was surprised when he bought them to his lips, kissing her knuckles, “I should have kissed you again after you hit me.”

Wondering if he was still dreaming, “Mulder?”

His eyes opened suddenly, wide awake like she’d never seen him, “You saved the world and I should have kissed you again.”

“You kissed me?”

Smiling, his eyes closed, drifting back to dreams, “and I want to do it again.”

Still back on the last statement, “you kissed me?” He answered with a deep sigh, sleep capturing the conversation in limbo and driving her forward, 2 am a thing of both beauty and shadow, she maneuvered to get her lips to his, a light brush, a tentative touch, a fleeting taste, “I love you, too, Mulder.”

[yunatheintrovert]

Chapter 1 | Neva 741

Fandom: Call of Duty

Characters: Dimitri Ivanovich Belikov, Female Bell (Call of Duty).

Pairing(s): Dimitri Belikov/Bell, Dimitri Belikov & Bell. 

TW: Suicide Attempt, drug use.

Your hands slipped slightly in their grip on the blood-slicken surface of the glass vodka bottle as you poured yourself yet another shot, the stream of clear liquid shaking ever so slightly and overfilling the shot glass. You watched indifferently as the liquid spilled wastefully through the metal bars of the table and onto the concrete below. 

Your “companion” beside you wasn’t going to need the drink.

Nor was anyone else in the coming hour or so. 

Months of drugs, pain, remembrance all for this. 

Perseus, you had thought months ago with only tatters of your jagged memories, was never a man without another plan. 

When one had failed, Perseus would come up with an even grander plan. 

The West will fall. 

The East will fall. 

We will all fall together, you thought, tilting the shot glass up sharply to your lips. The numbing burn of vodka down your throat was pleasant. 

You didn’t want to feel. 

No, that wasn’t quite right. 

You wanted to feel nothing. 

Oblivion. 

It was quite easy for you to slip your hand into the pocket of your parka, finding the familiar shape of the small bottle. As you opened the cap, you found yourself staring into the familiar rainbow of pills you had familiarized with over the past several months.

For the greater good, you had reasoned to yourself.

Like you were some hero. 

"You’re a goddamned hero, you know that, kid?” 

“No,” you spoke softly as you looked to the burning sunset sky contrasting against the skyline of Leningrad, “I’m a coward.” 

You couldn’t face the consequences of your actions, your failure. 

This time the vodka poured in a steady stream into the shot glass. With little grandeur, you popped the rainbow of pills into your mouth and chased it down with the vodka. 

You leaned back into your chair with a sigh, the sense of urgency finally leaving you for the first time you could ever remember. You had already done everything you could now. You told the good old Company everything. You had always done so even when they sent operatives to chase you down. 

They thought you were desperate. 

And you were. 

You just happened to not be lying at the same time. 

You glanced over to Leningrad's skyline and the burning sun setting over the various apartment buildings scattered all over the city. The sun burned your eyes as you instinctively blinked several times. 

You must have lost yourself in the burning sky as when you finally tore your eyes away from the sight, you caught a glimpse of the blurry outline of an all too familiar figure.

You nodded in acknowledgment at the figure.

The man behind the slaughter himself.

“I’ll see you in hell.”  

________________________________________________________________

Your eyes squinted as you looked down at the clear glass bottom of the vodka bottle. It was finally empty. 

You felt a pleasant haziness over your being as well as an all-consuming heaviness tugging at your being. You knew what was to come, but you couldn’t feel it anymore. 

Oblivion was coming. 

You could barely make out the countless shiny bright jewels of light littering the distance in the skyline of Leningrad. They were all those brilliant against the darkness of the night. 

As much as you wanted to admire it all, you longed, even more, to close your eyes and submit to that heaviness tugging at your eyes. You weren’t going to fight it. 

You didn’t want to be around for what happened next. 

It wasn’t the kind of death that awaited you that made you take the coward’s way out. 

No, it was seeing your consequences. 

Seeing the faces of those who had to bear them-

You shook your head slightly to yourself as you finally rested your head on your folded arms on the table.

You wanted it to be quick.

And so you awaited Death with each and every breath you took.

…However, Death sure was loud and windy , you mused hazily much later. The strands of your hair were slapping against your face as you proceeded to bury your head further more into the shelter of your arms against the sudden gusts of wind-

“давай скорее, друг мой!”

And Death spoke Russian as well.

Apparently, he wasn’t taking your silence as a “no” as you felt yourself being hauled against something firm and metallic with your feet dragging on the ground. Eventually, Death himself must have grown impatient for your world tilted sideways with your chest shoved against the hard, metallic surface once more.

You could hear the scream of sirens in the air that just droned on and on until you could hear the chorus of other screams intermingling with it all. Laughter escaped your lips as your shoulders trembled.

Death sure had good timing.

Speaking of Death…the Grim Reaper was apparently in a hurry. You felt your very breath knocked out of your lungs when your back connected against the…seat you found yourself in. Large gloved hands pulled straps over your shoulders to connect into a cross harness.

“Хорошо! Если мы уйдем сейчас, мы сможем это сделать. Еще не поздно...” you heard Death murmur to himself.

You blinked. This…this wasn’t all what you expected your final encounter with Death to be like. But then again, here you were in a nuclear apocalypse.

…it was only when you heard Death walk away a few steps before hearing the sound of metal clanging that you realized he was out in front of whatever you were in.

…The familiar whirring of blades slicing through air was something you couldn’t mistake.

You once again blinked.

Death had a helicopter.

Nice, you mused distantly.

You leaned back against the surprisingly comfortable seat, gazing out at the jewels shining down below in the night.

They wouldn’t shine so brightly soon enough.

You felt your world suddenly tilt as the helicopter was going higher and higher. Soon enough, the jewels shining in the night grew smaller and smaller until they faded out in the distance.

Now, all you could see was the darkness below.

You noticed the fiery streaks going through the sky, smoke following them like a trail. Some erupted from the ground in the distance while others were pin streaks raining down from the sky.

If it was put into biblical terms, it was akin to the wrath of heaven and hell itself.

However, in that moment, you couldn’t help but compare them to shooting stars.

You had never seen them before in memory, what little you could remember anyways.

Make a wish, you thought to yourself.

‘I wish -‘

Your thoughts were cut off by the sudden string of rapid-fire Russian coming from the Grim Reaper over the crackling intercom system.

“дерьмо, дерьмо- ” You registered a fiery pin streak rapidly going through the air towards a clearing amongst the endless forest of trees in the distance. The pin streak grew larger and larger until it struck the clearing, sending a fiery cloud shooting upwards.

A mushroom cloud.

It was almost instantaneous. The trees surrounding that small patch of clearing suddenly bowed in the other direction in the shockwave erupting from the nuclear explosion. You felt the helicopter violently turn to face away from the explosion as it climbed higher into the air.

Yet there was no escaping it.

You vaguely wondered if it was possible to die when Death had already taken you away.

The whirring of alarms coming from the cockpit made your very ears ring sharply. And then the helicopter spun round and round until your very head spun along with it-

And suddenly you knew nothing.

________________________________________________________________

The afterlife sure was hot.

Not that you were surprised by that outcome of your destination.

Yet as you blinked away the heat and smoke irritating your eyes, you wondered why the afterlife still stuck with the helicopter.

Was it some kind of sign?

Your thoughts were swept away by the sound of banging on the door of the cabin until you heard it slide open with a deafening bang. You stared blearily at the blurry figure awaiting you at the open door.

Death.

You laid your head back on the ground once again. At this point, you were too tired to even deal with Death ironically enough. Your vision was already clouded in a series of flashes with color splotches and stars scattered across your field of vision.

Yet even as your vision went dark for several moments, you heard debris and metal getting kicked aside and familiar gloved hands grabbing you by the arms and pulling you over the burning remains of the helicopter cabin until you felt solid ground against your back.

You tried to speak but whatever you said came out as more of a strangled whimper than anything else.

Those large gloved hands slid underneath your back before hauling you up into the air. You felt your body spasm slightly from a numbed sensation you could only attribute as pain. It was only when you leaned back against Death that you realized the metallic surface was armor .

How medieval, you thought with a light laugh that only made your chest ache as you shook with laughter. Even as your ear ached from bumping into the hard surface of his armor again and again from all the jostling, you couldn’t help but laugh.

Eventually, all the jostling came to a stop and you forced your eyes to open while blinking as much as you could to focus them. It was darker now. No light from the burning fires, fiery pin streaks in the air, or jewels twinkling in the night…

And then suddenly everything went white.

You immediately shut your eyes as white light streamed from above in all angles. You could hear the sound of something heavy and mechanized moving but all you could do was blink rapidly in an effort to get adjusted to the light.

“Мы сделали это! Ведь хитрый Петров был прав… ”

You finally looked up at Death only to blink at what you saw. You weren’t entirely sure if it was the adrenaline that caused your brain to temporarily lift from the fog. But all you knew was that he looked... familiar. The uniform, the blonde hair, the Russian accent and communication, and the helicopter-

And then you just knew.

Dimitri Ivanovich Belikov.

It was a name you had mulled over in your thoughts from time to time over some vodka. He was the double-agent in Lubyanka that had assisted you and Adler in getting the names of the sleeper agents, even at the cost of him blowing his cover. After Solovetsky, you heard about the hit placed on him thanks to The Company’s policy of tying up loose ends.

You bought him some time with a sniper bullet to the assassin’s head and some intel tips later on in the past couple of months.

Although, really you knew that Belikov didn’t need your help.

You saw the body bags in Lubyanka after all.

You forced yourself to roll over onto your belly with your arms shakily helping you off the ground as you stood on rather shaky legs while now holding the wall in front of you.

“I uh already gone through with killing myself.” You said as best as you could, trying your best not to sound awkward in the final moments of your life. Really, you weren’t expecting an ex-KGB pilot to suddenly grab you out of a rooftop on Leningrad and secrete you away to some bunker out in the woods, “I’ll be keeling over at any moment now.” You added awkwardly after a moment of pause.

…still no response. Although, you didn’t bring yourself to look up at the man. Really, you were already disappointing him enough as it was.

As you felt your lungs start to tighten more and more, you quickly said, “You uh might want to throw me out now. I bet you don’t want a corpse in your bunker. I don’t mind the radiation trust me-“

And then you finally felt your legs buckle and give way.

Your vision flared white again and again as you felt your body suddenly shake and tremble until all you saw was white-

________________________________________________________________

“ Это Служба радиовещания военного времени. Эта страна подверглась нападению с применением ядерного оружия- ”

You couldn’t help but groan at the rather loud and constant crackling string of Russian in the background and more importantly the acrid taste in your mouth. It was as if someone made you eat the ashy remains of a firepit.

“ -Связь серьезно нарушена, а количество пострадавших и степень ущерба пока не известны .”

But even that was at the back of your mind as soon as you noticed the feeling of cotton sheets on your person and the white fluorescent light swaying above you ever so slightly with the occasional flicker.

You were still alive.

And all you could feel wasn’t even sadness or anger but just the familiar numbness that enveloped you after Solovetsky.

You flexed your hands out in front of you, distantly comprehending still that you were here.

Even after everything that happened-

Suddenly, you shivered. You threw back the cotton sheets and gripped the hand rails of the hospital bed you were on, as you swung your legs onto the floor only to feel them instantly buckle with your arm catching most of the fall onto the floor.

You immediately heard footsteps rushing to your side and the sound of rapid-fire Russian spoken quickly. You still couldn’t bring yourself to look at him.

Hell, you didn’t even want him to look at you.

Not now.

Not after what you did.

And so all you could do was grab the slightly rough olive-green fabric of his military coat and pull him towards you as you stared down at your hands grasping the collar of his coat.

“Why? Why me?” 

Because there was one simple truth you knew:

You weren’t worth saving.

You felt a light pressure at your chin, tilting your face upwards. You allowed the motion reluctantly only to see dark eyes staring down at you with an almost sympathetic look to them.

"Я всегда возвращаю свои долги. ”

You vaguely wondered why he kept on speaking Russian when he knew you weren’t a native speaker. You knew he probably hadn’t guessed that your knowledge and skill in Russian and other areas had been affected by Solovetsky. As it would turn out, bullet-inflicted brain damage sure did put a damper on a lot of things.

“I never asked to be saved,” you said tiredly, still looking up at him. Let him see how you were numb to everything, how you couldn’t go on after everything that’s happened. Then he would understand that he needed to let you go.

Belikov tilted his head slightly with a rather oddly amused smile.

“И все же вы выглядели так, будто вам нужно спасти.” 

________________________________________________________________

Author’s Note: Well, this came about as an interesting Bell whump idea while combining a semi-cracky premise of Belikov saving Bell amidst all the chaos. And so this fic came about! 

Also, I had to rely on Google Translate for the Russian...so apologies in advance to any Russian-speakers who happen to be reading this! 1: "Come quickly, my friend!" 2: “Good! If we leave now, we can make it. It isn’t too late…” 3: "Shit, shit-" 4: “We made it! That sly Petrov was right, after all…” 5: "No, no, no-" 6: "This is the Wartime Broadcasting Service. This country has been attacked with nuclear weapons." (actually copied from the old British "four minute warning" emergency nuclear broadcast since I couldn't find out much about soviet nuclear warning systems during the Cold War) 7: "Communications have been severely disrupted, and the number of casualties and the extent of the damage are not yet known." (actually copied from the old British "four minute warning" emergency nuclear broadcast)

I finished up writing this at 3am so I technically wrote this on Christmas...Well, anyways, Merry Christmas, y'all! I hope you enjoyed reading this. Thanks for reading!

[stereksecretsanta]

Merry Christmas, foolishsel!

For @foolishsel. I enjoyed writing this fic for you and I hope it meets all of your Sterek likes (: Merry Christmas!! -your S.S>

Read On AO3

️*****

Christmas at the Loft

The pack was sitting around the loft, everyone’s eyes on Derek. They were waiting for him to decide-it was all up to him.

His boyfriend nudged him from his spot beside him, “Come on Der, if you don’t play someone else has to sit out.” Stiles got that look in his eye, the one he usually got right before he began begging.  

Derek glared around the room. “Is this really going to break Christmas if I don’t agree?” The pack all chimed in at once, “YES!”  

He sighed heavily, still not wanting to give in. Stiles eyes met his. “Oh, come on babe, don’t be such a sour-grinch-wolf.” Derek’s brow raised and a smirk touched his face. “You just come up with that one?” The brown eyed boy shrugged his shoulders. Derek chuckled his direction, “You’re so proud of yourself right now, aren’t you?” Stiles winked at him flirtatiously. Almost at the same time they realized they weren’t alone, and turned back to the group. Derek gave them all the answer they’d been looking for. “Fine. How does this Secret Santa shit work anyway?”

The pack whooped and hollered in their victory as Lydia set out to make up name cards.  

“Everyone fills out a sheet and puts it in this bag, then we all draw a name. Remember it’s a secret.” Lydia glared at Stiles for that last part; he feigned shock. “What?”

Everyone took a piece of paper with a matching red or green pen, Lydia made everything festive, and went to work writing down their likes and dislikes.  Derek hadn’t a clue how to answer half the questions. What was his favorite restaurant? Favorite store? How would he know; not like he had time to stroll the town what with all the creatures that came to Beacon Hills threating to kill them and such.  

He ended up skipping some altogether or answered, ‘I don’t.’ The weirdest question was ‘what is your favorite scent?’ The only thing he could come up with was Stiles. He’d memorized his fresh laundry smell mixed with mint, and that hint of Stiles anxiety-his scent was home.  

Derek finished filling out the form, handing it back to Lydia; he felt sorry for whoever picked his name. They all agreed Lydia would keep hold of the master list as she was the only one who could be trusted not to lose it; they only hoped she wrote their names and not some cryptic code -it happened more often than not.  

Lydia came around with the bag for everyone to draw a name, writing down who each person drew as she went. Stiles seemed happy about his pick. “Oh, this is going to be so easy!” Derek figured he got his best friend Scott whom he’d known practically his whole life. Lucky bastard.

Once it was Derek’s turn, he pulled out the last name hoping for someone easy like Isaac-he could just get him a stupid scarf. He reached his hand in the bag timidly, pulling out the last name, the one he’d hoped to avoid-Stiles. As if it being their first Christmas as a couple wasn’t enough, now Derek had to find him not one, but two amazing gifts. The only thing he’d come up with so far was some string and markers for his ‘who done it board’, though he was afraid Stiles might find a different activity for those items.  

Once all the others had piled out of the loft, Derek and Stiles were left alone at last. Derek lunged for Stiles, but he squirmed out of his grip quickly. Damn wiry thing he was!  

“Oh no you don’t my sexy werewolf! We only have a few days to shop for these gifts and I’m guessing you could use all the time you can get.” Derek flipped him off, moving quicker this time and pinned him to the wall. “How about I give you a gift right now?” Derek raised his brows in challenge, Stiles pecked him on the lips. “Maybe later babe.” Derek let him slide away, for now.  

He moved to the couch and laid back, hoping an idea for Stiles would spring to life. It didn’t, but it’s was the thought that counted-right?

~

Derek spent almost the entirety of the next few day searching high and low for anything he could give Stiles, but always came up empty. What does one buy a neurotic teenager who cares more about people than things?  

Christmas was two days away which meant Christmas eve was tomorrow night, and that was the day they were exchanging Secret Santa gifts.  

The cool air fogged up around the werewolf as he puffed out heavy breaths. He could hear Stile’s heart beating semi rapidly as he approached the door, but not for the reasons he was thinking. Christmas music was blaring when he opened the door and he took in the sight in front of him. Lights were strung up everywhere around the loft: rainbow colored ones, classic gold, snowflakes, and ones that looked like dripping icicles. There was a massive Christmas tree in the middle of the floor, complete with more lights and ornaments that surrounded them. Stiles was pacing around the loft setting up miscellaneous decorations here and there, not noticing that his boyfriend had walked in.  

Derek growled low in his throat, flashing his blue eyes. Stiles turned to see the noise. “Ahhh!”  

He dropped the décor he had in his hands, ornaments clanging to the floor. “Jesus Derek, what did I tell you about sneaking up on me?” Derek flared his blues once more. “Probably the same thing I told you about decorating this place.” Ignoring his broodiness, Stiles strode over to him and Derek wrapped his arms around him from behind, resting his chin on Stiles shoulder.  

“See now my sour-wolf, isn’t it a beauty?” Derek smiled into Stiles neck, trying to see everything through his eyes. He bent to kiss him along his jaw, sending shivers down Stiles arm. Derek whispered low in his ear, “The view’s not so bad I guess.” Stiles practically melted under him. “Ok Christmas later. You, me, bed, NOW!”  

They chased each other around the loft until they were pinning one another to the bed, kissing each other fervently. Falling asleep with Stiles tucked safely in his arms that night, Derek finally knew what he was going to get him, but he was going to need some help.  

~

Derek was up and out of the cozy-lit loft early the next morning, kissing Stiles on his forehead before heading out. He wanted to crawl back into bed and warm his boyfriend, but it would be selfish of him; he had gifts to get together by tonight.  

On the way to his car, he stopped at Stiles jeep to grab an item he would need for part of the present, then he was on his way.  

He stopped at the store first, knowing none of his pack would be awake this early. The craft store was lined with paper, stickers, paints, and all sorts of things Derek had never envisioned in his lifetime. He stood out like a sore thumb with his brooding looks and leather jacket. One of the workers eventually came to his rescue, helping him gather all of the supplies he would need: paper, glue, stickers, and a large box of sharpie markers. His next stop was Lydia’s house; she would know how to help him start the project and put it all together.  

Once at Lydia’s place, he showed her the materials he’d gotten, laying out his plan for the gift. Lydia was left speechless; she stared at him in awe. Derek rubbed a hand through his hair, “Oh god. This is a stupid idea isn’t it?” Shaking herself out of her trance, Lydia placed a palm on his forearm. “Not at all. He’s going to love it!” She gave him a reassuring smile and he could see the glimmer of moisture in her eyes.  

Lydia helped him set everything up, arranging the pages just so. Once the book was put together, Lydia created her page and sent Derek on his way to his next stop-Scott’s. Derek gave Scott the same spiel and was met with almost the same response as Lydia. Derek glared at him, “What?” Scott looked up at Derek’s glowing eyes, “Whoa, whoa! It’s a good idea…great idea! He’ll love it!” Derek growled slightly at him, but let him finish his part in peace.  

Derek continued to make his way through the rest of his pack, skipping the ones who were out of town for the holidays. By the time he was done, he had a page from everyone: Scott, Lydia, Allison, Malia, and even Isaac-he knew Stiles secretly loved having him around.

Derek finished it off, putting everyone’s pages together, adding his own at the end. Stiles texted to let him know he’d be home in an hour or so, which gave him just enough time to grab the tools he needed to finish the other part of Stiles present. He finished the second gift in no time, leaving him a few extra minutes to change before everyone arrived.

~

The loft was filled once again with his pack, all of them wearing some kind of festive sweater or headband thing, Derek opted for his usual t-shirt and jeans combo, only slightly snarling when Stiles put a jingle bell necklace over his head. “It’s so you can’t sneak up on me anymore my love.” Stiles winked at him and Derek pulled him closer.

The gift exchange was going well and the pack was finally able to relax from the luring creatures of Beacon Hills. Stiles had gotten Scott after all, gifting him with new lacrosse gear and date-night activities for him and Alison. How cute; Derek rolled his eyes.

Isaac handed Derek a small gift box, looking away nervously-the rest of his pack shrugged their shoulders. Derek eyed the box cautiously, opening it slowly to reveal a dark green-scarf? Derek didn’t get the chance to say anything as Stiles was already on a tirade.  

“Oh, I don’t think so Lahey! You’re not going to push your stupid scarf fetish on MY boyfriend. No sir!” Derek let him get it all out, eventually grabbing him by the elbows to pull him back down to the couch. The rest of the pack snickered to themselves, Isaac looked ready to vomit.

Derek bent to Stiles, trying to whisper quiet enough that the others intensified hearing wouldn’t pick it up, but loud enough that Stiles human ears would. “You know, I have a few ideas of what we could do with that scarf.” Stiles gulped loudly, looking around at the others also hoping they hadn’t heard. No one seemed to notice and the gift exchanging continued.

The time had finally come to hand Stiles his gift. Derek picked up the present and gently placed it in Stiles lap. Stiles looked up at him with a wide grin spread across his face. Derek watched Stiles take the top off the box and delicately pull out the book. Stiles began flipping through the pages completely mesmerized. Each of their friends had found their favorite picture of them with Stiles and wrote a little story about their friendship to go with it.  

Stiles looked around the room, moisture flecked in the corners of his eyes. “You guys did this-for me?” “We love you Stiles!” The pack tackle-hugged him, brining Derek down with them. Stiles looked up at Derek knowingly, thanking him in their unspoken language.  

With the gifts all opened, Derek sat back watching his pack pile food on their plates, gathering around the Christmas tree; it was a calming sight to see. They stayed through most of the night, the loft filled with music and banter among them.

Later, after everyone had left, Derek and Stiles were curled up on the couch together listening to the fire crackle while the lights danced on the walls. The clock struck midnight and Stiles jumped out of Derek’s strong arms. “Merry Christmas!!” Stiles looked like a kid on-well Christmas. Derek chuckled softly, “You’re such a dork.” Stiles grinned at him, “Yes, but I’m your dork.” Derek rolled his eyes playfully, standing from the couch. He went to the tree and reached under it until he found the package he was looking for. Derek went back to the couch where Stiles now sat with his book from earlier. It was sprawled across his lap, opened to Derek’s page. The picture was of them back when they were ‘just friends’, not that they every really were. They both had tooth-grinning smiles plastered on their faces; Derek knew it was one of Stiles favorites. The writing under it read: ‘Even when we weren’t together, we were. You’ve always been my best friend Stiles. I couldn’t do any of this without your crazy antics. Love you, D.’

Stiles beamed from beside him, tears in his eyes. Derek brought him closer, placing small kisses on his head. He slid the other present onto Stiles lap. “Open it.” Stiles pulled away slightly so he could look him in the eye. “More?” He held up the photo book, “This wasn’t enough?!” Derek laughed, pushing the present closer to him, “Nope.” Stiles sighed dramatically though Derek could hear his heart beating with excitement.

Stiles first glance at the present was puzzlement until Derek told him to turn it over. It was Stiles bat, his prized weapon of choice. Derek had polished it up and engraved it with Stiles initials and the spiral that matched his tattoo. Underneath those were the words: ‘When I can’t protect you, this will.’

Stiles was fully into his emotions now, burying himself into Derek. When the tears settled, Derek asked him, “So, did I do ok?” Stiles looked him dead in the eye. “Ok? I-I” Derek howled with laughter. “Wait did I actually leave Stiles Stilinski speechless?” He faked shock and Stiles swatted him slightly. They fell into each other’s arms again, Stiles nestled up closely to him.  

“You know, this might be the best Christmas I’ve ever had.” His boyfriend eyed him suspiciously, “You haven’t even opened any presents yet!” Derek kissed him on the forehead, rubbing his hands over Stiles soft skin. “I already have the best one.” Stiles turned around to face him, finding Derek’s lips with ease as they kissed each other tenderly.  

Pulling away slightly, Stiles asked, “You meant the scarf, right?” Both of them burst into laughter.  

They fell asleep in each other’s arms, wrapped up like gifts. Christmas wasn’t so bad after all Derek thought. He could get used to this; in fact, he already had.  

[kosmikowboj]

@spnprideweek day 2! let’s hope tumblr doesn’t eat this post like it ate yesterday’s, haha.

day 2: mlm / pride

the apple of eden

[read on ao3; word count: 1000+]

When Castiel was a younger being—a statement which is already wholly arbitrary, considering “younger” and “older” can mean anything when time started with your birth—his sense of pride had been tied to the fact that he was an angel, inherently better than any other creature. The crests and valleys of the Earth and the humans that pillaged them were nothing compared to the divine grace of the Holy Host, and both parties knew that; if any humans failed to grasp the concept, paralyzing flashes of holy power tended to set them straight again, clambering to cleanse the stains of sin from their souls and repent, repent, repent.

It was a vicious, self-fulfilling cycle that Cas had since realized was tortuous regardless of whether one was of flesh and blood or of grace and ichor. It was stifling knowing that your existence was spent ruining that of others, and even more so never experiencing the wonders brought about by human emotion. 

But this sort of pride, the sort that leaned so completely into human expression and enjoyment, this is different. It doesn’t leave him with a hollow feeling of unaccomplishment, a nagging sense that, despite all the self-professed greatness he supposedly carried, there was something more. He had found more, cupped in the hand of a man he thinks he may have been chasing after his entire existence; the very reason he didn’t step on that fish. He didn’t know it then, but looking at the sunlight dusting Dean’s face through the Impala window, he knows it now. 

“You don’t have to do this,” Cas says, watching Dean anxiously drum his fingers on the steering wheel. “Sam offered to go with me. I’m sure he wouldn’t mind meeting us there with Eileen.” 

“‘S fine, Cas,” Dean responds. “I kill shit for a living. This is nothin’.” 

“You save people for a living,” Cas corrects. “Regardless, the two aren’t comparable. This is deeply personal, and I don’t want you to feel like—”

“This conversation is stressin’ me out more than I feel like the actual event will,” Dean cuts in, but the nervous smile he flashes in Cas’s direction doesn’t reassure him. “Look, I wouldn’t have said yes to goin’ with you if I didn’t mean it.” 

“I’m not doubting that. Or you,” Cas adds, and then he gives a soft, loving smile. “I am happy you’re with me. Thank you.” 

As a person in an orange vest directs them into a parking lot, Cas rests his hand in the middle of their seats, an open invitation. Without taking his eyes off of the spot he’s backing into, Dean accepts it. 

After some careful maneuvering Baby is parked, and Dean slides out the passenger side so as not to let go of Cas’s hand. His grip has become a bit more demanding now, less of a delicate entanglement of fingers and more of a grounding squeeze, and Cas taps his knuckle twice as he starts to pull the stuff he brought out of the back. 

“You’re positive this is alright?”

“Cas.”

Cas pulls his head out of the Impala to look back at Dean, faux-scowling. “Dean.” 

Dean makes a face at him before very obviously changing the subject, nodding at the stuff Cas is rummaging through. “What’s all that?” 

Cas holds up the flag in his fist, a rainbow one Sam had helped him find. Sam had helped him find everything he brought, actually, because Cas had been rather lost on what everything meant without his guidance. “This is a rainbow flag, for me. And, um.” He gestures to the bisexual flag still on the seat. “That one is for you, if you want it. Sam helped me find these pins as well—” he lets go of Dean’s hand to grab two trans pins and a bi pin— “if you’d rather wear something small. Or you can just hold my hand. I would like that very much, too.” 

Dean takes the bi pin from his palm, running his thumb over the surface. “This one is because I like everything, right?” 

Cas chuckles. “Yes. Here.” He sets his flag down and uses both hands to fasten the pin to Dean’s shirt, adjusting and readjusting until the lines of the coloring are almost parallel to the ground. When he looks back up at Dean he finds him smiling a little despite himself, and Cas presses a delicate kiss to his jaw. 

“What are those ones?” Dean asks, nodding towards the trans pins in Cas’s hand. “That because I...? You know.” 

“And me. You know.” When Dean stays quiet, Cas offers, “You don’t have to.”

Dean’s shoulders visibly loosen, and he lets out a small, relieved sigh. “Next year, maybe,” he says, and Cas beams at the prospect of this being a yearly occurrence. In a similar fashion to what Cas had done a few moments earlier, Dean takes one of the pins and fastens it to Cas’s trench-coat before shaking his head with a slight laugh. “You’re gonna melt, dude.” 

“Humans are not capable of melting in these temperatures,” Cas argues, frowning. He puts the other pin back in the Impala and grabs the rainbow flag again, holding his free hand out for Dean. Dean takes it, rolling his eyes. 

“Not literally. I mean you’re going to overheat in that big coat of yours.”

Cas shrugs as Dean shuts and locks the Impala. “Well, you’re not carrying anything. I can just pass my coat to you if I ‘melt.’”

Dean laughs, and they start walking in the general direction of everyone else getting out of their cars in colorful attire. Cas watches as someone nearby tosses their flag—one with yellow, white, purple, and black stripes—over their shoulder and mimics the gesture, letting the rainbow trail behind him as a gust of wind passes by. Dean gives a small huff of amusement. 

“What?”

“Nothing, nothing. It’s just—the flag tossed over like that. It kinda looks like a pair of wings, if you don’t think too hard.” 

Cas glances over his shoulder, which doesn’t actually do much to improve his view of the flag, but he smiles at the thought regardless. There’s something comforting in it, a reaffirmation that this kind of pride is infinitely more holy than anything he had carried while serving Heaven.

“I love you,” he says without really meaning to, and Dean smiles. 

“I know. I love you, too.”

[mymoodwriting]

Perfect Love

Bang Chan/Jisung, Bang Chan/Felix, Felix/Jisung

Genre: Yandere AU

Warning: Drugs, Nightmares, Anxiety, Collars, Electrocution, Medication

Words: 1.9K

Chapters:

One | Two | Three | Four | Five | Six | Seven | Eight | Nine | Ten | Eleven | Twelve | Thirteen | Fourteen | Fifteen | Epilogue

Prompt: When Jisung started dating Chan it was a lot of fun, but that’s all it was and he wanted more. It was a mutual break up, or at least he thought it was. He had no idea what Chan was capable of, that is until he finally went to his house, carried into it actually. A second chance at love is entirely out of his control, and he might not have been the first of Chan’s lovers to be in this position.

   When Jisung came to he was sitting at the table. His arms were pinned to his sides with rope, hands tied together and wrapped with tape, legs also tied together, he could barely moved. Felix was sitting across from him, quiet, he wasn’t his usual self, well, not his happy sunshine and rainbows self anyway. His eyes were hazy, clearly not all there, Jisung wondered if that’s how he looked like after some of his treatments.

   Chan was cooking, finishing up anyway, and setting the table. Jisung didn’t know what to say, but he didn’t look at the older boy, keeping his head down. This new quiet was unsettling, he felt like the worst was upon him. When the table was set Chan sat next to him, trying to feed him.

“I’m not some pet that needs to be fed.”

“So he speaks.” Chan put down the utensils. “Well then, if you’re hungry, you can eat with your face. Felix needs more of my attention anyway.”

  Chan moved over and sat next to Felix, feeding him. The boy smiled and leaned against the older one, but he was still pretty quiet.

“What did you do to him?”

“I saved him, and now I need to look after him after the stunt you pulled.”

“What? Trying to wake him up!”

“You triggered him you idiot.”

“What…”

“It’s gonna take a while to fix him up, but at least I know how to fix you too now.”

“Chan… you need help…”

“Me? I’ve always taken care of myself, I had too, and now I can take care of you two.”

“Not like this… you don’t have to…”

“Eat… if you can.”

  Jisung felt the tears sliding down his cheeks, falling onto the table. He heard scratching on the window again and jumped, nearly falling over. He looked around but there was nothing, Chan wasn’t bothered, he hadn’t heard anything. Jisung heard the noise again, frantically looking around for the source. It had to be in his head, it couldn’t be real. He closed his eyes, wishing this nightmare would just end.

   He only opened his eyes again when he heard the others move. Chan had picked Felix up and took him upstairs in silence. Jisung stayed put, he thought the other would come back soon, but he didn’t. He was left alone, unable to move. His stomach growled but he refused to eat, there was no way he’d stoop so low. So he was left with nothing but his own imagination, and it was driving him insane.

   The scratching on the windows kept happening, each time getting louder. He shut his eyes again, singing a song hoping he could drown out the noise. He stopped when he heard footsteps. When he opened his eyes he realized it was dark out, it was nighttime, the house was quiet. He heard footsteps again, running around upstairs, then suddenly in the living room. It felt like something or someone was in the house.

“Chan!”

   He started squirming in his seat, screaming for the older again. He was panicking and he was terrified about what was happening. He screamed again, starting to sob. A hand grabbed his shoulder and he yelled again, nearly falling over but he was caught. He looked around, it was day again and Chan was steadying him.

“Easy, Jisung, I’m here, it’s okay.”

  He didn’t understand what just happened, but Chan pulled him close and pet him gently. He couldn’t help but sob into the older boys shirt. His head was spinning and he just wanted it to stop. He didn’t want to say what he was going to say next, but he just needed the peace.

“Chan… I’m sorry… can I please… can you make it stop… please make it stop…”

“Oh baby, I can’t do that right now, I need you to get clean, okay.” Chan kissed his head. “I’ll make your pills tonight.”

“No! No please… I can’t…”

“You’ll be okay, it’s all going to be okay in the end.”

“Chan!”

“Come on, I can’t leave you up here and I need to take care of Felix.”

“What? No… no don’t…”

  Chan picked Jisung up and took him down to the basement and sat him down, untying him. When his hands were free Jisung wiped away his tears, trying to pull himself together. The older boy reached over and caressed his cheek before taking the collar off.

“Now I want you-”

  Jisung bolted when the collar was off, scrambling up the stairs and bursting out of the basement. He took a second to catch his breath, and out of the corner of his eye he noticed that dark figure that had been haunting him. He screamed and got up only to see that same figure standing in front of the door. He fell back, crawling back, bumping into the older one who had come upstairs.

   Chan bent down and hugged the boy. The little one was shaking in his embrace, eyes glued to the door. He couldn’t help but chuckle, wondering what the other was seeing. He had an idea, but he just cuddled Jisung, whispering words of comfort to help soothe him. He heard footsteps coming from upstairs and saw Felix coming down.

“Is Sungie okay?”

“He will be, he’s off his meds right now, you know how bad it can get.”

“When will he be better?”

“Soon, soon, I see you’re better aren’t you?” Felix nodded. “Are you still mad at Sungie for what he did?”

“No… he’s off his meds… can’t be mad for that.”

“You hear that Sungie?” Chan kissed Jisung’s head. “Felix isn’t mad at you anymore, that’s good, I can’t have my two boys fighting.”

    Jisung hadn’t been listening, but he was holding on tightly to Chan, scared of what would happen if he let go. The figure didn’t move, and even without eyes, without a face, he knew he was staring at him, burning a hole into his soul.

“Sungie, baby, you need to rest, and not to run off, come on now.”

  Chan managed to get the collar back on the other without much issue and got him on his feet. Felix ran down and grabbed Chan’s hand though.

“No, Jisung should stay with us.”

“Lix, I need-”

“Please, I’ll take care of him with you… I know what happens when I don’t take my meds…”

“Alright, but he needs to go to sleep first. Go upstairs and put your headphones on, we’ll be up in a minute okay.”

“Promise?”

“Yes, now go.”

    Felix nodded and headed upstairs. Chan carried Jisung into the living room, sitting him down on the couch. He was clearly in his own head, still shaking. Chan pet his hair, waiting a moment before setting off Jisung’s collar. The boy screamed and curled up on the couch, the screams only stopped when he passed out.

   Chan didn’t move for a while, letting the other calm down. He got up and kissed his head then carried him upstairs. Felix moved over to let Jisung lay down, he took off his headphones and lowered the volume on the TV.

“Chan…”

“Hm?”

“What happened to Jisung…”

“Hm… I suppose it’s best for you to know, so you can better help me take care of him. I have his records right here.”

“Records?” Felix had put Jisung’s head in his lap, petting him. “He’s done bad things?”

“No, no, no, bad things happened to him.”

“Oh… did you know? Is that why you brought him here?”

“Honestly, no, I didn’t know what happened, but I had a feeling. Besides, life wasn’t good to him anyway.”

“Life wasn’t good to me either…”

“Don’t think about that baby, you’re okay now.”

  Chan and Felix spoke for a while, Felix understanding Jisung a little better, hugging him tight whenever he whimpered. By the time nightfall came Felix asked not to take his medicine, not wanting Jisung to be alone in case he woke up, knowing Chan was gonna be busy that night. Chan was a bit hesitant, never having done so before.

“Lix, you won’t sleep well if you don’t take your medicine.”

“I know there’s a chance… I won’t sleep well… but I can’t leave Jisung alone. It’s just one night Chan, please.”

“Felix-”

“You’re not giving Jisung any meds either.”

“Fine, but I don’t want you asking not to take your meds in the morning.”

“I’ll take it, promise.”

“Okay, try to have a good night sleep, yell if you need me.”

“I will.”

  Chan gave them both a kiss before going down to his lab to work. He didn’t like the idea of leaving either for the night without their medicine. He couldn’t give it to Jisung, but Felix, he hoped nothing bad happened. He wasn’t gonna get Jisung’s medicine right on the first try, he knew what he needed but the dosage was probably gonna need to be adjusted.

   Since he was already doing that he figured he’d refill Felix’s meds too. He spent the whole night in the lab, thankfully there was no issue from his boys. When he finished he added pills to Felix’s bottle and place another in the medicine cabinet for Jisung. He wouldn’t try anything on Jisung for a few days at least, so tomorrow would be worse than today. At least he could trust Felix would help him out.

♥♥♥♥♥

   Felix only woke up once in the night, when Jisung was subconsciously squeezing the life out of him. He squirmed to turn around, gently shaking the other until he opened his eyes. Didn’t help much since Jisung only gripped him tighter.

“Jisung… it’s okay… nothing’s gonna hurt you… breathe…”

   The other nodded, slowly loosening his grip. He was taking deep breaths, calming himself down a bit.

“I should go get Chan.”

“No… no don’t go… just stay…”

“But-”

“Please… if… if you really wanna go get him… then we go together…”

  Felix thought for a moment, seeing how shaky Jisung was and just laid back down. It wasn’t a good idea for either of them to be walking around the house at night. He took Jisung’s hand, soothing the other so he could go back to sleep staying awake until he was sure the other was back in dreamland.

♥♥♥♥♥

   Chan woke Felix up in the morning, asking him to go down and set the table. He knew they both needed his attention so he planned for a simple breakfast. As Felix ran downstairs Chan told him to take his medicine as well, saying he’d be busy with Jisung for a while. Felix knew where his pills were, the bottle in the medicine cabinet with an ‘F’ on the top. He noticed a new bottle in their too, a ‘J’ on it.

   When he grabbed his bottle he noticed it had been refilled. His eyes lingered on Jisung’s for a while, knowing the boy wouldn’t be taking any medication for a while. He grabbed a pill, rolling it around in his hand. He promised Chan he would take it, but he was having other ideas. He knew the older one kept count of his pills so he never over did it or forgot.

  Felix dumped the pill in his hand into the sink and then turned the faucet on to get rid of it, putting the bottle back just as Chan came down with the other. He smiled at him, grabbing the plates and setting the table as he was asked. It was probably a bad idea not to take his meds, he figured he could handle it, and that Chan wouldn’t noticed. Jisung didn’t seem so bad and he gave the boy a smile, knowing the next few days were gonna suck.

[tweedlydumbtweedlydoo]

Off Limits (Spencer Reid) #7

Previous Chapters:

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Tag List: @on-my-way-to-erebor​ , @haileymorelikestupid​

NOT MY GIF

Warning: Just a little trigger warning, there is part with a guy who pulls a move (unwanted) on Ava. Nothing too serious though, I wanted to keep it minimum for any readers who may have experienced something similar. 

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When the team arrived at Rodger’s house, Emily and Spencer went in to speak with him, while the rest waited in the SUV. They walked up to the door and knocked. Rodger answered and allowed them inside. The group agreed they would only speak to him and if anything seemed off to get out of there. Ava watched from the SUV, nervous about what was going to happen, if there was going to be another shootout like in Dallas.

“He’ll be fine.” Morgan whispered to her, seeing her nervously fidget. She jumped when she heard the gunshot. Not again. The team quickly exited the vehicle and headed for the door. Ava wasn’t sure what to do, should she stay or go with them? As if he read her mind, Morgan turned back to her and pointed, “Stay in the vehicle.”

Before the team even made it to the door, Spencer walked out, Rodger in cuffs and a bullet wound in his shoulder. He was okay. She breathed a sigh of relief and exited the SUV, catching up to the group. Spencer was explaining what had happened.

“Well, he pulled a gun on us. Must have realized we were there for more than a few questions.”

“Spencer reacted quickly and shot him before he could get a shot off.” Emily nodded, proudly, “also we found evidence he was behind this.” She handed the list to Hotch, “it’s a list of all the employees at the firm. The victims who have been killed have their names scratched. Along with details of what he did to set the fire.”

“Great work Reid. And Prentiss.” Gideon pats Spencer on the shoulder before taking Rodger, “I’ll take him in.”  

“How about a round drinks? I think we need it.” Emily looked at the group.

“I know the perfect place.” Ava took them to a bar in midtown. It was like Mya’s bar back home but not as laid back. They had a band playing on the stage up front. The room reeked of smoke but hey that’s what a bar is about. It’s not going to smell like flowers and rainbows. The team settled in the back, pushing two tables together.

“Come to the bar with me,” Spencer whispered in Ava’s ear.

She nodded in response, “Spencer and I will go get the drinks.”

Once out of the eyesight of the group he took her hand and guided her to the bar through the crowd of people. “You did great today. I’m glad Hotch asked you to come with us to Atlanta.” Spencer leaned against the bar and glanced back at the group. They didn’t have a view of Spencer and Ava. There was too many people and the group were sitting in the far corner, deep in conversation.

“I’m glad I could be of service.”

The bartender walked over, looking Ava up and down, before smirking. “What can I get you, beautiful?”

Spencer cleared his throat, interjecting, “We’ll take 5 beers and she’ll take a vodka sprite, please.” He didn’t like the look the bartender was giving her. The bartender had realized his mistake. She was with someone. “Yes sir.”

She looked up at Spencer, “I could have ordered for myself.” She teased, poking his side.

“I didn’t like the way he looked at you,” he mumbled.

“Oh, someone’s jealous I presume?”

“Just watching out for my girl is all.” Spencer replied, looking down at her

My girl. “So, does that make me your girlfriend then? Officially?” Ava raised an eyebrow. They never made it official and gave them a title.

Spencer thought for a moment, “Yeah. I guess it does make you my girlfriend.” He slid his arm around her waist and rubbed her lower back.

She leaned into him, groaning, “I wish I could kiss you right now.”

“Later… When we get to the hotel room, we can kiss all we want for as long as we want,” he smirked.

Ok time to change the subject. She was ready to drag his ass to the bathroom and let him take her, “So, why didn’t Gideon come with us?” The bartender slid her her drink across the counter and then put the other beers up there.

“He’s not a big fan of the bar scene.” Spencer paid and fixed the 3 beers in his hands. Ava grabbed the rest, heading back to the table.

Later, the group was situated around the tables, joking around when one of the bartenders came over and set a drink down in front of Ava, “Compliments from the man at the end of the bar.”

“Oh, Ava’s got another admirer.” JJ smirked.

Ava glanced at the bar and saw a man looking her way, holding his drink up to her and giving a smile. He had jet black hair, slicked back and he wore a nice suit. Probably worked here in midtown. He looked like a very important and rich man considering the Rolex watch on his wrist.

She gave a small smile at him and then glanced around at the table, “Little suspicious don’t you think?”

“No! It’s his way of flirting. I’m sure it’s fine.” Emily puts her hand on Ava’s arm. “It’s just a drink.”

Ava nodded before taking a sip, vodka sprite. “Maybe you should go talk to him!” JJ says. “If you don’t, I will cause he is one handsome man.”

“I’m seeing someone back home… remember?” She took a glance at Spencer.

“She said she’s seeing someone, alright?” Spencer snapped, taking a swig of his beer.

The group was shocked at his outburst, “Spencer they’re just messing around. It’s fine.” Ava tries to blow it off and hopes no one thinks too much into it. She thinks they’re in the clear when Emily pipes in, raising her hand, “I’ll take him then.” This causes the group to laugh, taking their mind of Spencer’s outburst.

A little while later Ava had finished her drink, “I’m going to the bathroom. Be right back.” She slipped off the bar stool and headed for the bathroom, stumbling a little. She probably should have ate something before having that second drink.

Spencer watched as the man who’d sent her the drink, got up as well. The man threw the rest of his drink back and headed after Ava. This didn’t sit right with him.

“Hey, kid, you okay?” Morgan asked. Spencer was zoned out of the conversation and focused on the man that just walked to the back.

“Yeah, I’ll be right back.” Spencer quickly got up from his seat and headed after the man.

Ava searched through her purse for her chapstick, stumbling again, when she felt hands on her waist. Finally, a little alone time. Thinking they were Spencer’s she turned around to face him, smiling, “I should have-” It was not Spencer but the man at the bar.

“You didn’t come to say hello after I sent you that drink.” He tilted his head at her.

She quickly took a step back, causing his hands to fall off her waist. “I’m sorry I’m seeing someone.”

He took a step forward, causing her to take a step back. This was not going to end well; she could feel it in her gut. “well, I don’t like being ignored.”

She quickly sobered up, ready to walk away. “I should really get back to my friends.” She started to push by him, but he pushed his body against her, cornering her.

“I said, I don’t like being ignored.” He whispered threatening. He was close enough she could smell the booze on his breath.

“Move out of my way” She went to push him out of her way, but he pushed her against the wall. Okay time to panic. She was about to scream when she heard his voice.

“Get the hell off her!” Suddenly the weight was lifted off her, the man thrown into the wall. Spencer. He gripped the man by the shirt and pushed him back into the wall again, “Don’t fucking touch her!” Spencer lifted his arm and started punching. He was pissed.

“Spencer! Stop!” Ava tried grabbing at his arm to stop him, but it was no use. “Please, Spencer! Stop!”

“Reid! Reid, enough!” Morgan yanked Spencer off the man, his knuckles bloody. The man’s face was bloody, probably a broken nose and busted lip. “What the hell man?!” He glanced at the other guy, who was groaning on the ground, then at Ava who looked terrified.

“The sick bastard had her pinned against the wall!” Spencer started to lunge again but Morgan held him back then looked at Ava, “Are you okay?”

Ava nodded and wiped the tear that had fell from her cheek. “He wouldn’t let go of me.”  

“I’ll take care of him. Reid, check on your girl.” Morgan slowly let Reid go, making sure he wasn’t going to lunge at the guy again and grabbed the man, carrying, well really dragging him out of the bar.

Spencer turned and looked at Ava. He went in to touch her, but she cowered away. “Hey… it’s okay.” He softly whispered, trying again. She let him wrap her in a hug. “Did he hurt you?”

She shook her head into his chest. He kissed the top of her head and ran his fingers through her hair. “I think it’s time to get out of here.” He pulled back to look at her.

She nodded again and he walked her back to the table, explaining what happened. Morgan had already informed them though. “I’m going to take her back to the hotel.” The group nodded in agreement, the girls giving her a hug. Spencer and Ava left the bar and headed back to the hotel.

When they arrived at the hotel, he took her to his room, grabbing a t shirt out of his bag and laying it on the bed, “You’re staying with me tonight.”

She didn’t argue and sat on the edge of the bed, setting her purse on the floor. He bent down to her eye level, where she sat on the edge of the bed. He took a knee and started to pull her shoes off, looking up at her for permission first. She nodded and he continued to undress her before slipping his shirt over her head.

After he got her changed, she slipped up on the bed and slid under the covers. He took a seat on the edge of the bed and was slipping his shoes off.

“Thank you. For saving me tonight.”

He looked back at her over his shoulder, “I’ll always protect you. No matter what.”

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Hope you enjoyed. Leave your thoughts and comments down below xx