#remembered his 'current concern' and then felt the need to draw him in his school uniform

[hinata-boke]

Drawing a randomly generated Haikyuu character (almost) every day until I give up    

46. Matsukawa Issei

[kingalooo]

❀𝐅𝐋𝐎𝐑𝐄𝐒 *:･ﾟ

A little jealous dbf!miguel x fem!reader for those who are like me and are STARVED for more of this man. It’s concerning how much I want him :(((

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!

Summary: After a sorority event at your college a guy decides to give you flowers. Bringing them home with you, your dads best friend Miguel gets a little jealous.

Word count: 2.7k

Pairing: dbf!miguel x fem!reader

Proof read-ish

⋆┈┈┈┈┈┈┈｡ﾟ❃ུ۪ ❀ུ۪ ❁ུ۪ ❃ུ۪ ❀ུ۪ ﾟ｡┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈ ⋆

(Outfit: baby pink long sleeve with really short shorts for the thick mamis yummy)

A crush was an understatement.

Definitely an understatement when it came to this man.

I peered outside of my bedroom window to look down at the pair that were standing in the yard. My attention wasn’t currently on my dad that hadn’t stopped talking for the past 5 minutes but instead was on the other man directly in front of him.

It was as if God himself came down to earth just to carve this handsome and incredibly sexy human being into existence.

Miguel continued nodding to whatever was coming out of my dads mouth with his arms crossed over his chest, making his veins fairly visible even at a distance. I felt myself drooling over this man. Quickly shaking my head I grabbed my school backpack and headed off to the sorority meeting that I needed to attend.

I took a deep breath before stepping out of the door to face both of the men outside.

“Princesa! A donde vas?” My dad quickly turned his attention to me as I opened the door, making Miguel’s eyes stray. I gulped. (Princess! Where are you going?)

“Apa I have to go see my sorority team for our charity event today, remember?” I crossed my arms over my chest as I spoke, knowing he had completely forgotten. (Apa- Dad)

“Ya te estás poniendo viejo! Como no te vas a acordar de los eventos de tu hija?” Miguel playfully hit my dads shoulder as he spoke. (You’re getting old! How are you going to forget your daughter's events?)

My eyes darted to Miguel as he made his comment. My dad instantly glared at him before turning back to me.

“Okay que te vaya bien mi niña…” My dad sighed before giving me a kiss on the forehead. Miguel stood there eyeing me before giving me a small grin and waving his hand. (Okay my girl good luck)

“Como andas mami?” He asked kindly, I felt my heart skip a beat. With a genuine smile I make my way towards him as well to give him a hug. He placed his big hands on my waist and gripped my hips tightly. (How are you mami?)

“I-I’m good…y tú?” Fuck me. God was not on my side this morning with the way my legs gave in a bit. I felt my face heat up as I quickly pulled away from his grasp. My gaze found his, he grinned down at me it almost felt taunting.(and you?)

“Bien mami, que te vaya bien hoy al rato nos vemos.” He said softly before turning his attention back to my dad. I nodded quickly and said goodbye to both of them before heading to my car. (Good mami, good luck I’ll see you later.)

My mind was everywhere after that simple conversation, it’s been like this since my dad and him became friends back in my freshman year of college. Both of them ended up working at the same carpenters company and became close instantly. He would invite Miguel to our cookouts, family parties, or just to watch the soccer games. My heart would beat out of my chest anytime he’d come over. Whenever he would come talk to me and let me chismear with him about college, he would always seem so interested in how I was and how school/life was going. Which was one of the reasons why I was starting to crush on him. (Chismear = gossip)

Not just because of how undoubtedly attractive he was. But it was definitely on the list.

I tried my best to draw my attention to anyone else in school to at least diminish the crush but it never worked. It would always be the comparisons between the guy and Miguel.

Was he attentive? No. Miguel would always be attentive to me.

Did he make sure to make me feel comfortable? No. Miguel always makes me feel comfortable.

Does he know your favorite color? No. Miguel knows my favorite color.

No.

No.

No.

It was aggravating how none of these other guys, who were my age, fit the Miguel checkbox. It was tiring enough to have a crush on my dads best friend.

•✿❀✿•

The sororitys charity event had gone smooth thankfully. It was dark out by the time I got back home. I quickly lock my car and unlock the front door to the house. Chatting and laughter was instantly heard as I stepped in.

He’s still here?

I grip the bouquet of flowers in my hands and make my way into the living room.

“I’m back apa.” I say before giving my dad a kiss on the cheek.

“Como te fue mija? Y esas flores que?” My dad asked curiously as he eyed the bouquet in my hand. I flush instantly. (How did it go sweety? And what about those flowers?)

“The event went well! A-Ah…this guy at the charity event gave them to me! He was one of the freshmen that came to assist us.” I stammer noticing Miguel’s stare from the corner of my eye.

“Why?”

Both mine and my dads eyes snapped towards Miguel. His tone wasn’t soft and sweet like how he would always talk to me but instead cold and harsh. After noticing the questioning looks me and my dad were giving him, he quickly changed his intense expression.

“I mean…was it for all of you girls or for the event?” He cleared his throat and caught himself quickly.

“Oh…no it was just for me actually. It was a really nice gesture.” I smiled genuinely as I tried to ease the awkwardness. My dad chuckled.

“He likes you~” My dad teased while poking my ticklish side.

“Apa no! He was just being sweet, that's all!” I frowned at him and swatted his hand away.

Miguel on the other end wasn’t having it. He was fuming in his seat as he took another sip of the beer in his hand. His eyes stayed on the bouquet of roses in your hand making him want to throw them away just to get you a better bouquet and not from some random boy.

Was it stupid to be jealous over someone younger than him? Sure. Did he give a fuck? Definitely not.

The daughter of his best friend has been a plague in his mind ever since he stepped in this house. He purposely tried to come over any chance he could just to see you. The way it was obvious how nervous you would get whenever he was around. The way you stammer over your words whenever he gets too close. The way your innocent eyes would look at him. He desperately wanted to see those eyes rolling back as he ruined you and pounded into you mercilessly.

It was addicting.

Too addicting.

Sometimes he’d have to keep himself from looking too long just like today. Those fucking shorts were too short for your own damn good. The plumpness of your thighs and how the meat of your ass was almost out for everyone’s eyes. It was too much for him. The way the color pink makes you look so innocent but so sexy at the same time made him go ballistic.

The sudden sound of a phone ringing snapped him out of his thoughts.

“Pinche madre… ahorita vengo me anda llamando el jefe. Bueno!” My dads voice echoed down the hall into his bedroom as he shut the door behind him. (Motherfucker…I’ll be right back, the boss is calling me. Hello?)

Silence.

I cleared my throat before heading into the kitchen and leaving the flowers on the counter. My heart was racing too much. I tried to keep my cool before speaking again.

“Do you want anything else to drink Miggy?” I called out to him.

Silence.

“Miguel?” I called out again. I pursued my lips together as I heard footsteps, assuming they were my dads I turn my back to the living room and grab water. The foot steps drew closer while I turned back around with a cup of water in my hand.

“Is Miguel mad apa?-“ I ask before two arms trapped me against the counter. My eyes widen as I look up to see Miguel’s eyes staring back down at me.

“Am I mad?” He asks back in a harsh tone.

My mouth fell open as I tried to answer back with my mind going completely blank.

“Cant even get an answer back…” He spit, he took the cup from my hand and took a sip before putting off to the side.

“I am mad mami because some random little boy decided to give you flowers…” He said with a grin before twirling a strand of my hair with his finger. My brows furrow, my hands press against his chest.

“And what about it? I-It was just a nice gesture!” I say back and turn away from him with a huff.

“Ha…a nice gesture? Don’t defend him mami because you and me both know that little shit likes you…”

I don’t respond but instead pushed him away from me. He stared down at me as I put some distance between the two of us.

“Why are you mad about it anyway…”

I mumble turning my back to him. My fingers delicately run over the petals before his hand gripped my wrist in a swift motion. His chest was pressed against my back as he leaned into my ear.

“Because I don’t want any man giving my girl flowers…”

Holy shit.

My breath hitched but not only because of how close he was. But “My girl?” My legs quivered a bit but I tried my best to stand my ground.

“No soy tuya…” I spit back knowing damn well I would drop at the chance of being called his again. He chuckled in my ear before pressing himself closer against me. (I’m not yours)

“Don’t pretend that you don’t like me mami. Those pretty eyes of yours tell me everything I need to know…” He whispered as his hand trailed up and down my waist.

“Miguel my dad is going to come out any minute!” I try to push back only to be met with his hips pressed against my ass. His hand grips my waist as he rubs himself against me.

“Mami me vale, lo único que quiero ahorita es tenerte para mi y solo para mi…” The tone in his voice softened down almost to a whisper. The way he spoke did something to me, it made me not care about my surroundings and the consequences of getting caught. I threw any sense of control away as I slowly leaned down on the counter to arch my back a bit. His hands gripped my hips tightly as he brought me closer to him. (Mami I don’t care, the only thing I want right now is to have you and only for me)

“Ves? Sueño en tenerte así…” He moaned softly, seeing me oblige to his touch. (See? I dream about having you like this)

”¿Sueñas conmigo?” I tease, completely letting go of the shyness that I originally felt. I rub my ass against his stiff erection that touched my inner thigh. He groaned in response. (You dream about me?)

“How the fuck could I not? Mírate mami…te rezo…” His tone only made me weak. He thrusted against my clothed area almost begging to take off what was separating us. (Look at you mami…I pray for you)

“Miguel~…” A soft whine left my lips as the dry thrusts were only making my neediness worse. He huffed in a frustrated manner.

“Fuck this.” Was all he said before moving the denim fabric to the side as he inserted two fingers into my dripping cunt. A small moan left my lips before my hand quickly covered my mouth.

“Calladita mami…we wouldn’t want your dad to hear how needy you are do we?” He whispers in my ear as he pumped faster into my cunt. My eyes shut tightly while my walls tighten around his thick fingers. (Quite Mami)

“You’re swallowing me mami…”

His dirty words only made me want more from him. My dad begin a couple rooms down from us completely left my mind, all I could think of now was Miguel. The adrenaline was sky rocketing as my hips bucked against his fingers for more friction.

“M-Miguel this- this isn’t right…” I moan helplessly, feeling a knot in my stomach forming once he sped up.

“Oh but it’s so right mami…look at you moving all on your own for my fingers.” He mused in my ear. Quiet moans were muffled by my hand as he continued to finger me mercilessly. But before I could release against him, the soft vibration of my phone echoed in the kitchen. My eyes darted instantly to the phone next to me before Miguel’s hand grabbed it. A small ‘tsk’ left his lips before he clicked answer.

“Hello?”

“H-Hi is Y/N there?”

“She’s busy right now. Who is this?” He mumbled back in an annoyed tone as he slowed his pace. I whine softly and I turn to glare at him.

“Can you let her know that Eric from the charity event called? I just wanted to ask if she liked the flowers…”

My eyes widen once I heard that familiar voice. Miguel instantly inserted another finger and fastened his pace again but this time more aggressively. I gripped the counter top tightly trying to hold back my moans while he was on the phone.

“We’ll this is her boyfriend speaking and I’d appreciate you not giving my girlfriend flowers.” He spat back before hanging up and putting the phone back down of the counter.

“Did you like the flowers mami? Tell me right now if you liked him giving you those fucking flowers.” He asked harshly into my ear as he continued pumping into me. I shook my head in response, feeling my release nearing again.

“Use your words mami…”

“N-No~ I-I didn’t like them…” I whine back as quietly as possible.

Satisfied, he pumped faster and faster before my sweet release dripped all over his hand. I held myself up with the little bit of energy I had left in me before standing up straight again.

“That’s my girl…always doing so good for me…” He said, staring down at me with a smirk as he licked on his fingers and hand until he was all cleaned up. He pulled me against his chest while I adjusted my shorts again before frowning at him.

“You didn’t have to be so mean you know?” I cross my arms over my chest as I tried to ease my panting. He shrugged before kissing my cheek.

“Serves him right for liking my girl.”

“Dónde están?” (Where are you guys?)

Our heads snapped to the sound of my dads voice getting closer. I pushed him away and quickly sat on the opposite side of the counter before my dad came in.

“Aquí estamos apa!” I say back. He stepped into the kitchen and stared at the both of us. (We’re in here dad!)

“Por que tan callados?” He asked suspiciously, turning his attention to Miguel who shrugged. (Why are you guys so quiet?)

“Por nada solo le decía que ese muchacho que le dio flores está enamorado de ella” Miguel smiled in a teasing manner before my dad turned back to me. (Nothing, I was just telling her that the guy that gave her flowers has a crush on her.)

“A lo mejor si mija échale ojo!” My dad laughed before going back into the living room. (Maybe my girl, keep an eye on him!)

I glared at him. He motioned me over with his hand, making sure my dad was out of sight. I peer into the living room before going back to him again.

“What?” I whisper.

“There’s gonna be something waiting for you tomorrow morning. Be on the look out okay?” He whispered back before planting another kiss on my cheek. I smiled before nodding as we both head back into the living room.

•✿❀✿•

I woke up bright and early to get a head start on my homework before running some errands. After finishing some assignments there was a soft knock at the front door. I waited a bit before heading out and opening the door.

An enormous bouquet of roses laid on the door mat. My mouth fell open as I looked around for anyone in sight that could have left them. I pick them up and shut the door behind me. There was a small note on the top that read:

“Estas flores son más hermosas que las que te dio ese idiota.

Con mucho amor, M”

(These flowers are way more beautiful than the ones that idiot gave you. With love, M)

Yeah. Definitely an understatement.

[lovelyladyabsinthewrites]

Hi please can u write Edward Cullen x sick reader. Where the reader is stubborn and still shows up at school despite being sick. (I’m sick rn and can’t find any Edward fics) hope u have a nice day

Thank u :))

Nurse

Warnings: none really, sick!reader, potentially getting other people sick 😅, stubborn!reader, firm and patient edward, thank you for the request btw and sorry it took so long for me to get to it ❤️

Words: 1307

Edward knew immediately when you sat in the front passenger seat of his car that you were sick.

His brows draw heavy with concern. "You're-"

"I'm fine." You croak and buckle up. Moreso lying to yourself than to Edward. Your head felt like it was stuffed with cotton and you were pretty sure a small fever was beginning to rise on your forehead. Like hell you were missing school that day. You'd studied day and night for your test; was finally confident that you were going to pass.

Reading your thoughts, Edward sighs and leans back into his seat. "(y/n), a test doesn't matter when your health is in question. Your teacher will let you take a makeup test. You need to go back to bed."

There was no energy in you to roll your eyes. "After I take my test then I can rest. I just want to get it over and done with."

"You won't do well if you're si-"

"Edward, please. I know my body. I can survive until second period." Arguing did nothing to help you feel better.

He could just grab you and take you back to your room. Doing that would further enrage you.

"You promise to let me take you home after second period?" The pleading in his voice softens you.

"I promise."

Exhaulting another sigh, Edward nods to himself. "Alright. I'm holding you to that."

A part of you doubts that you'll be able to make it to second period, but you would try to.

Edward may not have fought you more, that didn't mean he was pleased watching you struggle that morning. You were bumping into other students and walls as you lost your balance several times.

Alice pulled Edward aside, her honey eyes narrowed. "Why would you let her come to school like that? She's obviously sick, Ed!"

"I know. Believe me I tried. She promised to let me take her home after her test in second period." Edward lowers his voice, he doubts you can hear him. His gaze is on you as Jasper helps to steady you.

"I don't think she'll make it." Alice frowns and folds her arms in front of her chest. "I don't have to look into the future to see that."

"You try telling her then. See how easy it is."

She wouldn't even try, having experienced your stubborness before. You always wanted to appear tough to the Cullen family as you were selfconcious of being the only human among them. Compared to them you were weak. You compensated by doing whatever you could as a human to appear strong. Including refusing help when you were sick. Edward knew it would wound your pride greatly if he forced you home. So did Alice.

You didn't share first or second period with Edward. He kept tags on you via his mind reading to see how you were faring.

Struggling to stay up in your chair, your eyes were fighting every second to remain focused on the whiteboard at the front of the class. You don't remember much of what the teacher was talking about. Conserving your energy and mentally going over things for your test the following period. You were fading fast. Chugging water helped a little.

When the bell rang, finally alerting of the end of the first period, you were slow to get to your feet. If you tried to move any faster than your current pace, the world would slip from under you.

You use desks to coast your way to the classroom door. Barely making it to the door, there appears Edward. Frazzled when he takes in your flushed face.

Before he could object to you continuing the school day, you stop him by placing a hand on his chest. His mouth closes as he quietly surrenders.

Help me to my next class. Please. You ask him via your thoughts. Doubting you could talk without feeling vomit rise up your throat.

Edward breathes through his nose but doesn't complain about you overworking yourself when you needed rest.

Ever the gentleman, Edward cups your elbow and guides you.

"The moment the class ends, I'm taking you home." He whispers to you as he helps you through the scattering of students running late.

You'd smile if you could. I love you.

You catch the quirk in the corner of his lips and the brightening of his eyes.

It cost you the rest of your strength, but you did it. You fucking did it. All questions answered to the best extent of your knowledge.

There were few steps that were between you and the teacher's desk.

You suck in a breath and stand, hand gripping the edge of your desk for support. Navigating through rows of kids bent over their paper's, you focus ahead of you.

When your teacher notices you, she pauses at the waxen sheen of your face. The moment your test is on the surface of her desk you quietly croak "Can I go to the nurse's office?"

Edward was right outside the door, prepared to take you into his arms. You wanted to laugh.

The thought of a mother hen pops into your mind, making Edward scoff. "If I'm a mother hen so be it." You were unable to protest when he easily scoops you up and dashes to his car. Alice is waiting, rocking back and forth on her feet until she spots the two of you. There's a plastic bag in her hand that looks overly full.

"I'll tell the office." Alice takes Ed's car keys to opening the passenger door for you. Then she places the grocery bag in the back seat. "I googled what made people feel better when they're sick."

"Thank you Alice." You manage to get out as Edward opens the door with just one finger. He sets you down and straps the belt across your chest but not before tossing your backpack into the back seat.

Wondering what Alice had bought you, your forehead presses against the passenger side window, you momentarily fall asleep.

Only waking up when Edward is carefully picking you up from the car's passenger side. He's so careful with you. Always.

You realize when he opens the door that he's brought you to the Cullen house when the front door doesn't match your's.

"I don't want to leave you sick and home alone." He explained while hurrying up the stairs.

And. . .

"Ed. . ." Are you scared?

His jaw clenches. In his room he makes sure you're comfortable with whatever you needed. Water. Pillows. Blankets if you got cold.

Then he settles next to you. His face unreadable. You curl up closer to him and just that mere contact melted him.

"My mother and I. . . we were very sick when I became a vampire." This was something he'd told you a while ago. They'd become sick during the Spanish influenza outbreak. "I know the medical world is much more evolved than it was during my time, but it still terrifies me when you get sick."

"Oh Ed," You sit up even when Edward urges you to lay back down. "I should have-"

He furiously shakes his head. "No. You didn't do anything wrong. Sickness just reminds me how human and fragile you are." Rolling onto his side, you copy him. Head comfortably cradled by a pillow.

Rest.

You could finally rest.

His fingers brush along your brow, soothing your warm skin. You shimmy closer against him. Edward's much larger frame conforms around you.

"I know you won't die from this. Not that I'd let you die from illness." Adding the last part a bit under his breath, you still caught it.

For a second, Edward pulls away from you to retrieve a bottle of medicine from the bag.

"Now be a good girl and take your medicine."

[showerthoughtsonly]

Inspiration

Captain Rex x reader (mostly platonic with romantic undertones) 

Summary: There are times where creating something to unwind feels like wrangling a swarm of angry bees into a much too small jar. It piles up into frustration and ire that you can’t quite help. The sweet Captain reminds you that  creating can be hard, yes, but that you are also more than capable of tackling the task. 

A/N: Ngl, I’ve been hardcore struggling with writing and drawing rn. I took spring break in the middle of bfn, and its a bit better now, but I can’t promise how much I’ll be able to produce, lol. Enjoy, my loves, and remember that you are loved and appreciated! 

Tags: @sugarpuffsstuff​ @misogirl88​  (lmk if you wanna be tagged in future works ;))

You squirmed slightly in your seat, pen in hand as you stared down in distain at your datapad. It had been quite some time since you’ve struggled with this and you had foolishly believed that time wasted staring at a blank page had passed. This wasn’t quite the matter of desire either, you had even put down a few lines on the paper just to try and start it, but nothing seemed to follow and thus, you had erased your progress.

There was a firm brick wall between you and your creative well at the moment and it was causing you great distress. It was bad enough that working for the military had cut your normal creative time in half.

Running back and forth across a ship, helping out where you could as an officer, had you busier than you had ever been, excluding some of your earlier years of school. You barely got a second to sit down and breathe, let alone create. With your current day off, however, you had the time, just not the creative juice.

It had literally been hours of staring and trying to get ideas flowing through your head now. You hadn’t vacated your room all day, save for a ten minute tea run. Unusual for you, as you usually at least attempted to hold normal food hours so you could engage with your little friend groups on board, but it was your day off, so you weren’t exactly expecting anyone to check in on you.

Perhaps that’s why you nearly jumped out of your seat when a loud round of knocking broke you out of your looping empty thoughts.

“Come in! Door’s unlocked!” You shouted, unable to completely muster the energy to get out of your chair to welcome the intruder into your thinking space. When the door slid open to reveal Captain Rex, you sat up straight.

“Is something wrong, Captain? Do you need me?” You asked, already starting to stand up to gather your stuff. He’s never visited your room before, unlike some others of Torrent company, and you didn’t really believe he would come unless it was an emergency.

“No, nothing’s wrong. I was just asking around deck and no one’s seen you today. So, I wanted to check in. I brought some rations as an offering.” Rex extended his hands to show two energy bars and a bottle of water. His mannerisms were slightly sheepish, as if he didn’t quite know if he was welcome in your personal space yet.

The sudden show of concern for your well-being lifted the cloud that had been hanging over your shoulders. It wasn’t entirely unexpected from the sweet Captain, you had noticed that he occasionally checked in with everyone, but now that it was your turn to be on the receiving end of his attention, everything got a little bit brighter.

“Thank you. I really appreciate it, Captain. I didn’t really realize that I’d been holed up in here all day.” You said, gratefully taking the food and drink from him. Your fingers brushed in the exchange and you were struck by how warm his hands felt.

“Don’t mention it, kid. Anything else I can help with? You look a little, um…down.” Rex continued. The concern in his warm eyes had you melting in seconds.

“Not really. I just finally had some time to indulge my hobby and it , uh, didn’t go as planned.” You said, shrugging softly to try and lessen the feelings welling up in your chest. Your gaze was suddenly on your pen in your hands, busying yourself with spinning it back and forth to avoid his gaze.

A warm hand clasped your shoulder through your loungewear, bringing your head back up. Rex was suddenly much closer, a fact that had your heart suddenly racing.

“That sounds frustrating. Do you wanna take a walk with me? Let that unconscious brain do some processing and get your thoughts flowing? I was about to go back to the barracks. The boys are settling down for a couple of games.” He offered. The offer was sincere and sweet, you could see it in the way he offered his arm and glanced nervously from your face to the wall and back to your face.

Still, you were loath to part from your desk, especially if this walk ended in hanging out with the men back in the barracks. There was no guarantee that you would return in a timely manner if you got sucked into whatever insane game they had concocted this time. Rex must have sensed your hesitancy because he continued on.

“We can talk about your frustration, if you want. It might be good to vent and move around a little.” He said quickly, clearly wanting you to move around. You took another second to ponder, then joined him at his side.

“Sure, why not. Might be a bit nice.” You muttered, still slightly sour at the thought of leaving your hovel before you had produced an acceptable masterpiece. To your delight, Rex offered his elbow. You slid your arm through his, relishing in the smooth slide of plastoid against your soft top and the warmth that basically seemed to radiate off his body.

The two of you stepped out of your room and established a steady rhythm quickly, settling into a leisurely pace down the gray, stale hallways. You hadn’t had the pleasure to really get to know the Captain quite yet. Nearing upon three months aboard, you were just now settling into some friendships and a nice routine. Rex was around as you tended to hang around the Torrent company often, but you had alone been alone together once or twice.

Him intentionally seeking you out in order to make sure that you were alright really touched your heart. It was nice that he cared.

“So, would you like to talk about it? Try to nibble on that bar when you can too.” Rex gestured to the bar that you hadn’t set down while vacating the room. You slipped your arm out to unwrap it before quickly replacing it, unwilling to part from the physical point of contact that he had offered.

“Sure, I guess. Creating is kind of… a release. It’s hard to start sometimes and often doesn’t want to go, if that makes sense, but not putting things down on paper really bugs me. It’s, for a lack of a better analogy, it feels like you want to crawl out of your skin.” You explained hesitantly, hoping that your analogy wouldn’t seem too graphic to a captain used to the horrors of war.

Rex squeezed your arm briefly, nodding for you to go on as you rounded a corner.

“It’s just really frustrating when I finally have the time to sit down and nothing wants to come out. It’s all bundled up in my head and desperate to escape, it’s just that every time I start it, it feels wrong. Not good enough.” You said, a little sigh punctuating the end of your small rant.

Rex waited for a couple of seconds, only responding when you took a bite of your snack to make sure that it was his turn to speak.

“I get it. I have a tough time believing that anything you could create wouldn’t be good enough, though. I can’t exactly speak from experience, but it sounds like you’re struggling with tension and some anxiety. See if taking a deep breath and letting some of that go helps. Do a couple of idle warm-ups. Your brain needs exercise just as much as the rest of you does and you never just leap into a physical practice without warming up.” He offered. Rex’s tone of voice was a soothing baritone that had your body nearly melting. To your surprise, his words seemed to make your earlier struggles make a bit of sense.

The words seemed to linger in the air as you swallowed your snack. This hallway had enormous, open windows, displaying stars and space swirling past as the ship flung through hyperspace. The passing lights swirled over Rex’s face and lingered on the smooth round of his cheek and bridge of his nose as he looked at you, warm emotions you weren’t exactly ready to confront lingering in his eyes.

“That makes sense. I’ll try some things when I get back. Thank you, Captain.” You smiled softly at Rex and something in your chest twisted pleasantly as a new color flushed through his cheeks faintly.

“Anytime. And, uh, call me Rex when you’re off duty.” He said, not seeming entirely comfortable with all of your attention on him. You continued on with your little walk, resisting the urge to lean further on him or softly put your head on his arm.

Captain Rex was a soothing presence, one that you hadn’t really noticed before. Just being around him made tension bleed out of your posture, despite being a figure in authority above you. It was nice to have his support behind you.

When you returned back to your room after a quick round of some random card game that Fives had created on-the-fly in the barracks, you sat down, took a deep, calming breath and put your pen to your holopad. This time, thoughts bled onto metaphorical paper, flying from your mind to your hand.

This time, it wasn’t long until you had effectively created something that you felt proud of. You had a suspicion that your Captain would be proud of you as well.

[writtenonreceipts]

a prompt?

single parent trope for feysand, pretty please?

more prompts for this would be great, otherwise you get my rambling mind and we all know how that goes...

Find my main masterlist here

#

An Intimate Display of Insecurities and Hopelessness

The air-conditioning was out.  Again.  And Feyre had already stripped down to a tank-top and shorts.  The heat was miserable.  

“Sweet mercy,” she muttered as she stood in front of the large fan she’d bought yesterday to try and keep things cool.  It wasn’t working.

Feyre brushed her hair from her sweaty brow and bit back a curse.  This day was not going at all the way she’d wanted it to.  It had taken her far to long to get anything started, not to mention coordinating with Elain on how she wanted to participate in the shop.

It was only three days to her deadline to get her shop up and running.  Three days to get pallets made, canvases designed, and interior design finished.  All in one-hundred-degree weather and boob sweat.

She turned back to the mess of her shop.  This was going to take more work than she had time for.  Or sanity.

The front door opened behind her with a clatter.  Feyre wasn’t that concerned about it, knowing she was getting some things delivered.

“Just leave the deliveries on the floor,” she said, not looking back.  She was trying to have a vision of what she was going to accomplish, a vision that would be epic and glorious.

“Excuse me?” 

Feyre spun at the smooth voice and nearly stumbled.  The most attractive man she’d ever seen was standing in her shop.  His black pants were crisp and cleanly lined and his black shirt was rolled up to the elbows, displaying his tanned skin.  He was tall, lean, and with his black hair swept neatly back.

Feyre felt sweat roll between her breasts.  Oh hell.

“Feyre Archeron?” He asked and took a step forward while holding out his hand. “Rhysand Avitas.  I’m the new building manager.”

A dozen curses ran through her head as she did her best to wipe her sweaty hand on her shorts inconspicuously.  Because of course she knew who Rhysand Avitas was.  Everyone in their small town did.  He was the son of the police chief and now the youngest elected mayor in Valeris history.

He had also been just a year ahead of Feyre in school.  So she knew the kind of person her was.  At least, she thought she did.

“Rhysand, of course,” she said as she took his hand. The heat didn’t seem to effecting him.  Jackass. “Sorry, I guess I lost track of time.”

Indeed, it was half-past two right when she’d told his assistant that he could come by the shop.  And see that everything was in order for her opening deadline.  Except she hadn’t really expected him to show up.  

“Not a problem.” He smiled in such a charming way that Feyre found herself wanting to hate him.

But Feyre already did hate him.  He had bought the building just two days after her father’s death.  Just two days after the building was up for sale.  She hadn’t even had the time to get funds together to convince the bank that she could buy the lease herself.  Now, she was going to have to open her shop under him.

In school he had been captain of the football team, president of the ASB club.  He had been the kind of person Feyre had never wanted to interact with.  High and mighty, proud and cruel.  He’d worn a mask of indifference to anyone beneath him, she was convinced.

Feyre cleared her throat. “Things are a little messy right now, but it’ll be ready for opening day on Monday.”

Rhysand nodded as he walked around the shop.  Bits of wood crunched under his too fancy shoes and dust clung to his pants when he brushed up against one of the pallets that Feyre was still trying to decide how to convert into a display case.

“You’re a painter, correct?” he asked.  He looked over his shoulder at her and Feyre was taken aback by his eyes.  Bright blue—so bright that she could have sworn they were violet.  And damn her if she didn’t want to at least try and draw them.

“Yes,” she replied. “My sister does some gardening and does floral arrangements and I’m planning on having her sell some of her work here as well.”

“I remember,” he said, “Mrs. Ellis always made sure all of her classes knew about her protegee.”

Feyre rolled her eyes.  The high school art teacher had been someone no one really liked.  Aside from her.  Maybe it was just because Feyre had wanted someone to pay attention to her, but the woman had always been nice to Feyre.

“My work wasn’t that good back then,” she said.  And it was true, it had taken years of study and experimentation to get to where she was now.  Ten years after those miserable high school years and here she was, finally maybe a little bit confident with what she could do.

Rhysand said nothing, only observed.  “And you’re sure you’ll be ready by Monday?  No offense Miss Archeron, but it seems like a lot needs to be taken care of.  You assured the bank, and my assistant, that your shop was worth allowing in the complex.”

Feyre’s mouth pursed as she watched his man before her.  With his impeccable clothing, that silver watch on his wrist, it was hard to imagine that he’d had any hardships in his life.

“Yes, and I keep my word,” she said, her voice cold enough to rival any a/c.  “What I would like to know is why the air conditioning still isn’t fixed.  It’s been this way for a week now.”

“It’s being looked into,” Rhysand said. 

His gaze turned sharp as he looked her over again.  Something passed over his face that Feyre didn’t care to try and understand.  She just wanted this man out of her shop so she could get back to work.

“Was there something in specific that you wanted to discuss?” she asked, “or were just interested in questioning my ability to run a shop?”

He smirked at her and shook his head. “You always did have that fire in you, didn’t you?”

Feyre was ready to tell him to get out when a soft cry caught her attention.  She held up a finger to silence him as she listened.  Maybe she’d imagined it.  Hell, she hoped he’d imagined it.  Unfortunately the cry came again.

“Just a minute,” she said.

She hurried to the back of the shop where a door led into what would be used for the breakroom.  It was a few degrees cooler back there, which was why she’d set it up for it’s current use.

Sitting up in the pack-and-play was her daughter.  Seren with her golden hair and large blue eyes looked up at her and cried again.

“Momma!” 

Immediately, Feyre scooped her daughter up.  Seren latched on with a snake-like grip.  Her arms wound around Feyre’s neck tightly.

“Hi baby,” Feyre murmured.  “Why are you awake?”

It had only been a half hour since Feyre’d put her down, she’d been hoping for at least one hour of uninterrupted work.

Seren said nothing and only whimpered into Feyre’s neck.  As Feyre whispered to her daughter to sooth her, she went back out into the main part of the store to find the diaper bag she’d packed that morning.  In one of the insulated pockets, she found a bottle of apple juice.

“Here, honey,” Feyre said.  Seren snatched the bottle and began drinking, tears still rolling down her cheeks. “Okay, there we go.  Momma need to talk to Mr. Avitas okay, can you let me do that?”

Seren nodded and the almost two-year-old tucked herself right against Feyre’s neck.

Pressing a kiss to her daughter’s forehead, Feyre turned back to Rhysand who stood right where she’d left him.  The hard look in his eyes was gone and whatever hard-ass talk he was no doubt going to deliver evaporated.

“It seems I was wrong,” Rhysand said, “you do have some help, don’t you?”

Seren wiggled in Feyre’s arms to get a better look at the man, her bottle sticking in one cheek.

“Momma,” Seren said, her voice just slightly muffled.

“Yes, you are my big helper,” Feyre agreed, “even when you get into my paints.”

Seren beamed up at her. “I help.”

Feyre snorted a bit of laughter.  Help.  Sure.  There were some painted handprints on the wall that aid otherwise.

“Did you have any other concerns you needed to address, Mr. Avitas?” Feyre asked.

He seemed so taken aback that Feyre had had her daughter in the back room napping that it took him a moment to speak again.  It would have been amusing if the man hadn’t been so annoying to begin with.

“She looks just like you,” Rhysand said.

That was the last thing Feyre’d expected.  She quirked a brow at the man.  She knew it was true.  Seren, thank the heavens, looked like an Archeron.  There was barely a trace of her father.  Something Feyre would give thanks for every day.

Feyre heart gave a painful squeeze.  Of course that was what he meant.

She met his gaze, holding it for a long moment.  Her hold on Seren tightened automatically, something she always did when she remembered her baby’s father. 

“Yes, she does,” she whispered.  Feyre wondered what Rhysand could possibly know.  When she’d moved back to Valeris two years ago, just after she’d found out she was pregnant, she scrubbed her life clean of that man.  Rhysand couldn’t possibly know who the father was.  Even if he did, he shouldn’t care.

“Right,” he muttered and ran a hand through his hair. Once again, an un definable look flashed over his features, and disappeared just as quickly.  “I’ll see what I can do about the air-conditioning.”

“Good,” Feyre said, “I’d hate to have to delay opening.”

And much to her surprise, Rhysand laughed.  “Of course not.  That would be rather inconvenient, wouldn’t it?”

He turned back to the door and looked as though he would leave without saying anything else, until he paused. He seemed to be having an internal dilemma when he looked back to Feyre.

“If there is anything I can help with, let me know.”

The words were halting and careful.  Feyre wasn’t sure how to read them, how to respond.  So she only nodded.

#

i wanted to add more to this for the first part, but well here we are...

tags

@aelinchocolatelover // @more-espresso-less-depresso-xx // @bamchickawowow // @ireallyshouldsleeprn // @courtofjurdan // @sassys-world // @sleeping-and-books // @superspiritfestival // @chieflemming // @julemmaes // @lysandra-ghost-leopard // @firestarsandseneschals // @emikadreams // @rapunzel1523 // @booksofthemoon // @highladysith // @fangirlprincess09 // @rowaelinismyotp // @vanzetanze // @jlinez // @cassianscool // @stardelia // @my-fan-side // @sjmships // @tillyrubes10 // @acourtofsjmtrash // @hellasblessed // @rhysandswhore  //  @story-scribbler  // @post-it-notes33 // @live-the-fangirl-life // @strangevil321 // @whythefuckdoiexist // @pastasiren // @beanco8 // @lemonade-coolattas @foreverfallingforthestars // @surielandiareendgame // @feysand-loml

[hypersonicxd-blog]

Obey

You stumble through the compound door clumsily, smashing into the cold arch of the doorway. "Sorry" You mutter looking back to check the arch was okay, you hesitate, shaking your head trying to clear the fog mixing in your brain. You have just got back from a mission; the only problem being you couldn't remember the mission; well the end of it. You walked into the mission room, finding your teammates sat around the oval table.

You gulp as you stand in the doorway, breath hitching in your throat. "Shut the door." Your boss snaps, you gulp obeying immediately. You freeze in place, scared for the debrief to begin. "Sit down." Fury orders again, already tired of your shit. You drop in your place automatically sitting where you were stood. You register a snicker from Tony.

"Don't be a smart ass Agent Hale, get your ass up." Again your body shoots up before your brain has the chance to process the command. "Take a seat." Fury orders again, this time pointing to a vacant seat between Steve and Bucky. You body obeys, rushing over and sitting in the seat, Steve shoots you a caring glance, worry in his eyes. You try to nod at your best friend, but only manage to move your head a fraction. "Agent Hale, eyes front." You head snaps back to look at the director of Shield, missing the confused glance Bucky was shooting your way.

"Mission report" He snaps, growing increasingly annoyed at your behaviour. He was used to your stubbornness and sassy tones, it's why he never paired you with Tony. He couldn't cope with you both at the same time. This behaviour was odd. "Yes Sir, so we got to New York, we were fighting the Chitauri, we managed to close the portal that was allowing more ships through and now here we are." You say, recalling what you could. In reality you could not remember anything from the portal closing, to walking into the compound.

Your mind was a complete blank as you try to think about why you hadn't come back with the team. "Right, but where did you go?" He presses. A rather masculine British voice breaks through the fogginess of your mind an answer. 'When they ask, tell them you went for a pint to celebrate. You fell and knocked your head pretty bad, hence why your a bit hazy on details.'

You clear your throat and repeat the words; "I went for a pint, to celebrate. I fell and knocked my head pretty bad, hence why I'm a bit hazy on details." You say, staring at Fury. "You went for a pint?" Fury seethes the same time Bucky and Steve speak. "You mean a beer, your ain't British doll." "Shit are you okay?" You maintained your eye contact with Fury as your answered his question. "Yes I went for a pint." You turned to Steve "I'm good Capsicle." You turn your glare on Bucky. "Same thing robocop."

"You sure, Bruce should check you out." Nat voices, concern on her face. The same male voice piques in your head. 'No, tell them you're fine. It won't be good for you if they investigate further, or for the people you love.' "I'm fine, I promise the medics checked me out before I left." You lie. "I thought you said you didn't remember anything after your fall." Bucky questions, your turn slightly and shoot him a glare. "I said I was hazy of details, clean your ears out gramps." Tony laughs, clapping his hands together.

"Well that's definitely the Y/N we all know and love, so I'd say everything is fine." He makes to stand when Fury orders him to sit back down, he huffs but did as he was told. "This is not fine, Loki is still at large, we have no idea when he will strike again." You scrunch your face in confusion, before righting your face to neutral expression. 'Who the hell if the Loki?' "I will ask Heimdall to keep me updated if Loki appears anywhere within the 9 realms." Thor speaks up.

"Loki is your brother Thor, shouldn't you know him well enough to find him." Again you felt confusion flood your mind; 'Why was this the first time hearing of this man, who was supposedly Thor's brother? You tighten your lips not wanting to interrupt with a question that would draw more attention to your current predicament. 'Good girl.' The same male voice purrs in your mind, you almost gasp at the jolt the praise sends to your core, quickly schooling your reaction. You look at your hands in even more confusion. 'I will explain in dew time, my pet.'  You freeze slightly. You tune out of the conversation going on around you. 'I'm going crazy. Maybe I did really hit my head.' 'No pet, not crazy. Now focus and be a good little obedient pet, for me.'

'Yes Sir.' You tune out of your head snapping your attention back to the room, the conversation coming too a close with the dismissal of the agents. You make to stand and leave, when Fury's voice calls you back. Telling you to sit back down, he wasn't done with you yet. Steve gives your shoulder a squeeze on his way out, leaning into your ear.

"I'll come find you later, don't sass him. It will only make it worse." You nod as he stands and pats your shoulder once more before leaving the room. You turn your full attention back to your boss and settle in for your lecture.

~

A hour later you leave the briefing room, huffing to yourself. 'An hour of your day wasted, just great.' The fogginess in your head has simmered into a dull cloud allowing clearness to peak through like sunshine in an over cast sky. 'Not a waste pet, I now know exactly how much they know about me.' You smile to yourself, happy to please the mysterious voice.

'So I did good, sir?'

'Yes pet, I'm very proud. Now I have some business to attend to so I won't be in your head as such for a while. Do you remember the rule kitten?'

'Yes Sir, I am to obey my teammates, so they do not question me. I need to be believable, keep them happy and keep our interaction a secret.'

'Good girl,' the voice purrs. You preen again at the praise and rub your thighs together as you walk. You're looking down as the fogginess starts to once again cloud your mind, your body bumps into something again. "Sorry" You mutter expecting to see another door frame, instead your eyes fall on Bucky. "Did you just apologise to me?" He smirks, you roll your eyes at him and shove past him. "Wait." He orders, your body freezing without your consent. You glare at the floor, trying to figure out why you couldn't move. "Apologise, you just slammed into me, twice." He says smugly, taunting you. "Sorry for slamming into you, twice." His eyes widen slightly.

"Wow, I didn't actually think you would." Bucky pauses. "You must have really hit your head doll." He laughs. "Don't call me that." You snap angrily, he glares at you a smirk playing on his lips still. "Oh I'll call you whatever I want, got that?"

"Yes Sir." You hear James' breath hitch, but he doesn't say anything. "Can I go now?" You huff, as you watch confusion flush his face, but he still doesn't respond. As if trying to figure something out. "Please Sir?" You ask impatiently. You just wanna go vent to Steve and then have a bath. "You can go." He pauses as your feet lift to storm off. "After you've given me a kiss doll." He teases, testing his theory. Your body obeys without your brain obeying, you approach Barnes before leaning and placing your lips on his and kissing him. His metal hand reaches and wraps through your hair, pulling you closer.

 After a few seconds, he pulls back smirking. "This is going to be fun, doll." He releases you and walks away, calling over his shoulder. "You can go now Kitten." You walk off confused. Why had you just kissed Barnes, you hated him and he hated you. Or at least that's what you thought. You shake your head and storm off in the direction of Steve's room. You reach his room and walk in without knocking, your eyes scan the room finding no sign of Steve. You sigh and head over to his bed, flopping onto it and laying on your back.

'Why on earth did Barnes want me to kiss him? Why did I kiss him? Why did I not just flip him off and leave? Did I want to kis -' You're pulled from your thoughts by Steve walking into the room. "Of course, help yourself to my bed." Steve groans, as he approaches the bed, joining you. You turn to face him and take in his appearance, beads of water rest on his chest, dripping down his sides as he lays next to you. Your eyes travel further down his body taking in how the towel is wrapped around him, how it parts slightly at the legs.

'Damn, what I'd give for that towel to just fall open.' You sigh, rolling your eyes at yourself. You force yourself back onto your back, looking at the ceiling. 'Keep your legs crossed.' "Did Fury give you a hard time?" Steve asks, turning to face you. "Of course he did, guy needs to remove the lead pipe from his ass, may be a little bit more tolerable then." You admit. "And did you sass him?" He asks, looking at you intently. You turn yourself to him once again, keeping your eyes on his face.

"No Captain, I was well behaved." You mock as you prop yourself up on your arm. "Good girl" Steve teases. You bite your lip as your core throbs. 'What is wrong with me?' Your clench your thighs slightly as your core throbs for a second time, you whimper softly as you feel the wetness pooling in your panties. Steve notices your thighs clenching and moves his gaze down, you follow his eye line and see his towel has fell open, from lying on his side. You gasp as you see the angry looking head of his erection. A drop of precum hangs from the tip, tempting you to taste.

You rub your thighs together, trying to get some much needed friction. "Like what you see baby?" Steve asks, a smirk on his face. You choose not to answer, instead closing your eyes to try and calm yourself. "Don't ignore me." He growls, gripping your face. "Sorry Captain" You start, he tightens his hold on your chin. "Answer my question." He demands, mischief in his eyes.

"I like what I see." You moan as your core throbs, releasing more slick. "Show me how much you like it babygirl." He orders, releasing your face. Before you can decide otherwise your body moves off the bed, till your kneeling in front on Steve. He perches himself on his elbows, giving you his full attention.

"Well..." He pushes. Your hand reaches up, unwrapping the towel from his body, you groan as you clench around nothing. Your finger wrap around his member, your fingers not meeting due to his girth. Your hand rubs up over the tip softly causing Steve to buck his hips into your fist. You use his precum to ease the slide of your hand. "Fuck Y/N." You tighten your fist slightly, rotating your hand on the upstroke.

"Fuck, use your mouth and get it nice and wet for me." Steve purrs as he watches you. You lean forward and capture the tip in your mouth, laving over the head before moving your lips down his shaft. You begin to bob your head up and down in addition to your hand movements. "Fuck, I knew you'd be amazing at this with those lips of yours." Steve groans, pushing you up. "You're gunna let me fuck your face, okay?"

"Yes Captain." You obey. Steve stands up, guiding you up until your level with his crotch. "Open up for me, you slut." He hisses as he pushes forward, pressing his tip against your lips. You obey, opening your mouth for him to slot himself in, which he does. Sliding home in one thrust, his head breaches your throat and you fight to stop yourself from gagging. You place your hands on his thighs as he draws out.

"Breathe baby." He purrs, before sliding back in your mouth again, throat constricting around the head of his cock. You groan around his member as he thrusts in and out of your mouth relentlessly. "Fuck, you're too good at this" He groans as his hips speed up chasing the sweet relief.

"Hey Stev-" Bucky's voice cuts short as his eyes fall upon the scene in front of him. His blood begins to boil, anger consuming him. "What the fuck are you doing?" He screams storming over to you. Your mouth stays on Steve's shaft as he keeps his pace, too caught up in the feeling. "Y/N! Get off him." Bucky orders, your body obeys trying to pull off Steve immediately. Steve follows your face, chasing his orgasm, not caring about his best friend being there. He thrusts into your throat one last time before Bucky pulls you back. Steve groans as his hips still and his member pulses, painting your face with his release. Steve doesn't get to enjoy his climax too much as Bucky's fist soon connects with the side of his face.

"You knew! YOU FUCKING KNEW HOW I FELT ABOUT HER?! HOW THE FUCK COULD YOU DO THAT TO ME" Bucky screamed punching him once more. Steve just laughs. "She wanted it, trust me." You could see Bucky getting even angrier, before you could stop yourself you stood up placing yourself between the two super soldiers. "Bucky stop." You beg, holding your hands in a pleading motion.

He looks at you, your plump lips, covered with his best friends discretion. Your watery eyes, from being throat fucked, by someone he trusted. "Fine" He snaps at you, looking at you with venomous eyes. His gaze settles back on Steve. "You need to back the fuck off, she's mine." He hisses, grabbing your wrist and pulling you from the room. "We'll see about that" Steve's voice follows you as you're pulled towards Bucky's room.  Bucky's grip on your wrist doesn't lessen as he drags you through the compound towards his room.

He drags into his room, slamming the door behind you turning the lock into place. Before you get a chance to protest Bucky is ushering you towards the bathroom. "Strip" He commands, your fingers shake as you obey him, without question. Your body moving on its own accord. You reach up to your combat jacket and undo the zip as quick as you can, not wanting to anger or displease the super soldier in front of you. You could still fell Steve's release on your face, sliding down your neck and you shivered as your jacket slid from your arms.

Once your jacket fell to the floor you bent at the hip to untie your combat boots, before standing and toeing them off. You reach for the hem of your vest and tug it up out of your pants before bringing it over your head, trying not to tarnish is with the cum on your face. You next unbuttoned your pants, shimmying out of them. You looked at Bucky as you stood only in your black bra and black lace panties, it was the plainest set you owned. But it was still cute and you knew you looked good in it. You lock eyes with Bucky as you stand tall, proud almost. You notice the icy blue of his eyes has practically disappeared, being replaced with black. You gulp, you know that look. Had seen it aimed your way so many times. You just never thought you would be on the receiving end of that look from Bucky Barnes.

You thought he hated you, so you were very confused right now, not just about him. But Steve as well and why the hell you had obeyed to strip in front of the super soldier. You couldn't stop though and a fullness in your stomach told you, you didn't mind it as much as you thought you would. You rubbed your thighs together subconsciously. Buck smirked as he caught your action, he reached a hand down to adjust himself, groaning as his palm brushed his arousal. His action caught your attention and your gaze was drawn to his crotch. You gasped as you took in the bulge that had formed in his pants.

"If you thought Steve was big, you're in for a shock with me doll." He purrs as he motions to your bra and panties, a non verbal command you quickly rush to obey. He watches you reach behind yourself to unhook your bra and chooses to talk again. "Even better than Steve, I was always big, so the serum only made me bigger by a little. Steve's is mainly serum." He huffs a laugh, not caring that he's talking shit about Steve. He put his hands on my girl, he thought angrily. He watched intensely as your hands reach to the straps, sliding them down your arms, allowing your breasts free from their captors.

Bucky groans as he absorbs the image of your breasts greedily, eyes falling on the shining glimmer underneath your stiff nipples. "Fuck, I'd hoped you had your nipples pierced, whenever I'd look I always had a feeling you had them done from the outline." He purred as he reached to palm himself through his pants. "You've stared at my tits?" You question, hands moving to your panties. Your brain prompts you to stop, but your body doesn't let you as you hook your thumbs into the side of them, drawing them down your legs in an almost seductive manner. "Yeah doll, I 've stared as pretty much every part of you. You're just to dense to notice." You halt your movements.

"I didn't say stop, did I. Panties off." He orders as he steps forward. "I'm not dense." You snap, removing your panties and standing up, trying to cover your body slightly. "Ah don't cover up. Let me see you." He purrs stepping forwards. "And you are dense when it comes to some things doll, like seeing that you drive me absolutely fucking insane. You can't even imagine how many times I've thought about bending you over the meeting table and fucking that sass you like to spew so much out of you." He growls as he pulls you flush to him.

You startle slightly at his admission. "Bucky, please don't." You know its futile, you don't understand how you ended up here, why you'd even listened to him in the first place. "Don't what doll. I'm not doing anything." He replies, as his finger traces the curve of your breast, ghosting over your pert bud. "You're going to shower, I'm just here to make sure you clean yourself." He pauses as he pinches your nipple between his fingers. "Thoroughly, we don't want you missing a spot, now do we." He purrs as he pushed you towards the shower. He opens the door and reaches in for the switch, setting the water to a mild temperature.

He didn't want it to be too hot as he didn't plan on letting you relax to much, that and the coolness would help cool you both down. He motioned for you to step into the shower, but you hesitated, finally feeling like you had a ounce of control over your own body. "In the shower Y/N. Don't make me repeat myself. You won't like what happens." He growls the last part as he removes his t-shirt, throwing it in the corner on the floor. He smirks when you obey this time, reaching to pop the button of his pants open.

He watches you stand under the fall of water, washing away the disrespect of his so called best friend. He removes his pants and boxers in one move, before joining you quickly and crowding you against the wall. "So how is it that Steve got you on your knees for him, huh?" He pushes you as he cages you with his arms against the cold shower wall. You shiver as the cold washes over you, arching away from the wall slightly and pushing your breasts against Bucky. Your nipples run against his chest teasingly and you moan at the contact, feeling the jolt it sends to your centre.

"I don't know" You admit honestly as you shake the lustful thoughts from your mind. "I know." Bucky laughs, crowding against you further so he's flush against you, his length poking your thigh. You look at him in the eyes. "How?" You ask. He ignores you and brings his hand to your head cupping your face and bringing it to his. "Doesn't matter. But tell me something honestly. Do you like Steve?" He is face is a mere breath away from yours now, your heart pounding in your chest. 'How is Bucky Barnes of all people making me go weak in the knees.'

'Sshh Pet, I wanna see how this plays out.' The voice purrs , his tone a mixture of lust and amusement. 'Sorry Sir.' You prompt immediately, angry at yourself for disappointing the voice. 'It's okay Kitten, I know you're confused and I will explain all in dew time. Right now though I need to see more of you. I want to devour you.' The voice rasps, you gasp as Bucky grips your throat, drawing the focus back to him.

"ANSWER ME" He roars at you. You whimper slightly as your body releases another wave of slick. "Of course I like Steve, he's my best friend." You say, as you try to make yourself smaller, hoping you can disappear. "You don't just suck off your best friend doll. Me and Steve are- were best friends for 70 years and I never once sucked him off nor he me." He laughed as your face blanched. "SO I'll ask one more time doll. Do you have romantic feelings for Steve?" He demands. "No Sir. I think he is attractive and sexy, but I only see him as a best friend. I don't know why I did what I did. It's like I couldn't stop." You huff out.

'Be careful Pet, can't have you letting out my secret. You intrigue me. But don't think that will save you, if you fuck this up.' The voice warns sternly. You gulp; 'I'm sorry Master, I'll do better I promise.' You hear a dark pleased chuckle bounce through your head. 'Good girl, now give this fellow a kiss, one so passionate he drops his arms. I want you to place your front on the glass door. So I can see you better. Okay kitten?' The voice purrs.

You almost lunge forwards at Bucky trying to obey the voice, but stop yourself from crashing into him just in time, allowing a more gently touching of your lips. You put all the emotion into the kiss you could muster, lust, anger, fear, love. You kissed Bucky like your life depending on it, moaning into him as his hands wrapped around your lower back, pulling you impossibly closer to his body. Bucky's tongue probed your bottom lip, but you hesitated for a second too long, causing Bucky to reach down and pinch your ass with his vibrainium hand. You yelp into the kiss, Bucky taking this opportunity to slip his tongue in your mouth.

You manage to manoeuvre yourself so that your back is flush with the glass of the door. 'Your ass would look beautiful brandishing my mark, pet.'  You moan into the kiss as your pussy throbs, a weird sensation falling over you. You moan again as you feel the sensation travel up your thigh. You feel Bucky's hands, one is cupping your breast the other is palming your ass, so what is touching your thigh. You get drawn back to Bucky as he bites your lip, creating a small cut and suckling at the blood there. He groans as his hips thrust against you, his erection rubbing against your thigh.

That explains it, you think. You feel yourself being spun around as Bucky slams your front against the door, previously warmed by your back it doesn't make you gasp, what does is the glowing emerald eyes staring back at you. 'Master?' You ask, the person smirks and nods. 'Yes Kitten, you look ravishing. I bet you feel it too. Shame this oaf is going to get you, before I do.' He purrs. You freeze slightly at the implication Loki just told you. Now he's in front of you, you recognize the black haired god. The one you were supposed to take down on the earlier mission. 'Hold on you're Thor's brother?'

'Adopted brother, but yes Kitten. Now shush and enjoy this.'  You stare at Loki in confusion, but don't ask any further questions as instructed you shush and enjoy the sensation of Bucky rubbing soap onto your shoulders and back. "Gotta get you all clean, pretend you and Steve never happened. Mine." Bucky says to himself as he kneels and begins working on your legs. You feel the phantom sensation again on the vee of your pussy, it feels like fingers trailing along the skin. You gasp as you feel a long, thin finger brush through your folds.

You look up at the man on the other side of the glass, noticing the green swirling around his hand as he makes circular motions. You moan as the phantom fingers circle your bud, applying just the right pressure to bring you so close to the edge. Bucky works on scrubbing your knees, moving to your thighs, as another phantom hand joins the mix, two long fingers thrusting deep into your centre, you arch your body. You hear Bucky groan as you all but shove your ass in his face, he teasingly nips at your check. "Patience doll." He teases as he rubs soft motions on the inside of your thighs.

'Poor guy has no idea you're about to cum, does he. I was gunna just watch.'  The voice paused as the thrusting fingers sped up and the fingers circling your clit  increased speed and pressure. 'But I decided I want to be the one who makes you cum first tonight Kitten.' He smirks as he locks eyes with your through the slightly foggy glass. You bite your lip as your legs begin to shake. Bucky moves from your thighs, standing flush against you, his erection slips between your thighs, rubbing along your folds. Pushing the phantom fingers impossibly deeper.

'Be a good girl and cum for your master.' Loki maintains eyes contact with you as Bucky's hands grope your breasts toying with your nipples. The extra stimulation sends you over the edge as you gush over the phantom hands and Bucky's length, you bite your lip to keep in your cry of ecstasy. 'Good girl Kitten, shame I had to waste my seed on a rag though. You would look delectable round with my child.' Loki purrs. "Did you just cum?" Bucky asks confusion evident in his tone. You don't answer, but whimper in reply. "Words doll, use them." Bucky spins you around to face him, seeing the flush of red on your face, already answering his question.

"Yeah I just came, I'm sorry." You begin, before Bucky crashes his lips to yours in a searing kiss. "Don't apologise babydoll, that was so fucking hot. You squirted untouched as I played with your nipples. Fuck. I was gunna wait but I need you now." He lifts you up so you wrap your legs around his hips, his length resting against your entrance. "Tell me you need me, tell me you want me." He begs, knowing you'll do what he says. He knows he shouldn't be taking advantage of you, but he's past caring. "I want you Bucky.." You say as you wrap your arms around his shoulders. "I need you Bucky." You pant in his ear, he thrusts into you as hears the final word leaving your mouth. He slams into you, groaning into your neck as your tight channel grips his cock.

"So tight for me baby girl." He purrs as he begins a brutal pace of thrusting in and out your wet walls. "Do you feel that baby, feel how your walls cling to me. How you fit me like a... " Bucky groans as he feels you clench around him, your orgasm fast approaching. "Like a fucking glove. Fuck. I'm gunna cum. Got me so worked up by squirting on my cock. My little cock slut. All mine." He growls as you whimper, nails digging into his back. "You gunna cum again baby? Gunna cum all over my cock, milk my cock so you can be filled with my cum?"

You moan as you capture Buckys lips. "You like that? Wanna be my cum slut?" He growls as his pace slams into you, probably leaving bruises on your ass from how hard his thighs are slamming into it. "CUM" He demands as his cock twitches inside of you, his thick release coating your insides. Your body obeys him as you seize and your orgasm floods you, drowning you in euphoria. You feel your vision start to blur, as your eyes fading to black.

[akitohsworld]

Disclaimer: I wrote this some time ago, when I was very sleepy. How they could've met before the exchange? I love stupid references don't@ me lol

Warning: slight NSFW at the end (under the cut)

Put a spell on me |Solomon X m!Reader

Saying Solomon was feeling under the weather was an understatement. He felt like absolute shit. His stomach was recoiling, giving him the impression he had to vomit, but couldn't. Resulting in him being wobbly on his feet. Although, he was currently trying to sober up. The lack of water caused his head to hurt, while he walked alongside the river to go back to his apartment. He was in no shape to teleport, not with the sense of orientation he had right now.

A frustrated groan escaped him as he grabbed onto the metal fence beside the river, letting gravity take over as he slouched down onto the floor.

It was a beautiful night, you could see the starry sky reflecting in the river. The silence only being disturbed by some outlandish music in the distance. Somewhere, there was another party raving besides the witches sabbath he had successfully escaped.

He knew he shouldn't have accepted that many drinks from the witches. But it had been a successful year, he was only going back to the Devildom next week... And, probably, going to meet that other exchange student by then.

"Hey fam, you okay?" A voice slurred above him, blocking the blinding streetlights before him.

"Yeah yeah, thank you for your concern-," Solomon looked up surprised. He thought he was the only one here-

"Here ," a handsome guy, probably not a sorcerer, held out a bottle of water to him, grinning friendly. "You gotta stay hydrated when drunk."

"Uhm.. thanks?" Solomon chuckled. "That's nice, but I hear I shouldn't accept drinks from kind strangers"

Their hair reflected in the warm light, along with unfocused eyes glistening in the dark, when he shot Solomon a kind smile.

Solomon suspected he was from where the music was coming from. Another rave or party or whatever, since he was wearing flashy attire and sweat was glistening on his smooth skin.

From dancing, maybe? It wasn't that warm. Rather fresh, if Solomon would say so himself.

"Hmmm", the stranger put a hand on his chin. "I guess, I'm feelin' a biiiiit brave tonight haha. Here, I'll take a sip from it first."

He chucked down a bit of water. "There."

Solomon just stared at him for a solid second. Maybe, probably, surely, this was the alcohol. But this stranger had something alluring about him. His glistening lips from the water made Solomon unable to do anything else but stare.

"You going to take it, or not?"

"Ah yes", Solomon grabbed the bottle and took a sip before putting it back down again.

"May I sit with you?" He put a hand on his neck and averted his gaze. "I- uhm came here to get away from all the noise for a bit- I don't wanna be creepy or anything-"

"Oh- Yes of course! Don't worry about it"

The grin returned to his face as he slouched down beside him. "Thank you."

Solomon took another chug of water. He didn't really have anywhere to be, nor did he have the strength to go home anyways. So he figured he might as well sober up, while making some new memories.

"Out of curiosity.. what do you mean by brave?" Solomon smirked at him.

"Well...", the stranger just smiled, a slight tint of colour dusting his cheeks. "You're pretty handsome. And I normally can't ask out guys for the heck of it.. so yeah. I'd say I'm being stupidly brave by talking to someone as hot as you."

The sorcerer laughed. "How very direct"

"Must be the alcohol", he chuckled. "I don't know anyone around here.. and I have a habit of drinking too much when I'm at social gatherings without friends.. What about you? Why are you here all alone?.. If it's okay to ask, at least."

"Ah it's okay~ I'm trying to sober up from drinking too", Solomon sighed. "It was an exhausting night.."

The stranger nodded sighing. "Tell me about it."

"So.. what are you celebrating?"

And so, they proceeded to talk about the reasons why they were here. Their conversation slowly but surely going of its original rails, from politics to religion to light-hearted shows and childhood memories.

Solomon, of course, didn't go into much detail about magic nor anything like that. They were simply trailing off into more and more different topics, running their tongues because of the alcohol.

"Wait, people avoid you when you invite them?" He asked in shock, "Even after you offer to cook for them?! Woah, that's rude after everything you've done..."

Solomon hung his head in disappointment. "I really don't know what the issue is, you know? It's not like they outright avoid me when we nee- want to hang out, but everytime I offer my hospitality they just.. you know?"

"Shiiiit bro... ," he thought for a bit, then joked, "Maybe your cooking sucks?"

Solomon sighed dramatically, proceeding to pout. "Can't blame the tasteless."

"Just kidding kidding!!" he smiled sympathetically, "Maybe it's best if you ask them directly about it. Honesty is always key, no matter where you're from."

Solomon remembered something.

"So, I'm guessing you're not from around here?"

The stranger looked him up and down, seeming to think for a bit and then smirking back at him.

"You tell me, wizard boy. Am I?"

"Oh? How do you know?"

"Know what?"

"That I'm", Solomon gesticulated dramatically, "a wizard."

He became serious and leaned closer to Solomon, putting a hand on his shoulder. Solomon's breath hitched ever so slightly as the stranger's intense gaze held him entranced.

"You're a wizard, Harry."

"Huh?"

The stranger wheezed at his reference, as Solomon finally understood and erupted into laughter himself.

He stopped himself to respond seriously:

"..A wizard?"

"Don't you feel it ," the stranger put their hand over Solomon's heart, making his heart pound a bit harder, which surprised him, "...,Mister Krabs?"

"Huh- What?-"

After a perplexed pause they looked at each other and wheezed and cackled in the cursed manner your friends laugh when someone tells a ridiculous, dumb joke.

As they sat there, next to a river enveloped by the light of street lamps in a park, their laughter erupted through the silent night. Nothing but very faint music could be heard in the distance. Solomon didn't even know why he was laughing so hard. It was a stupid reference. And this stranger was clearly out of it.

There was something about him... Solomon just couldn't put his finger to it.

"S-so haha you're a man of culture as well~", Solomon calmed down, "What's your name?"

" Of course~ (y/N)." The stranger responded smiling, wiping away a tear. "Yours?"

"Solomon.", he answered reciprocating the smile.

"Solomon the wise?"

"Yes." He shot him a knowing glance. "So you do know me~"

"Oh yes~" (y/N)'s fingers slid over Solomon's coat. "You dress like a wizard, you look like a wizard aaaaand your named after King Solomon the wise. Great literature surrounds you: like Ars Goëtia and the lesser keys of, well, you", their gaze turned to look into the sorcerer's grey eyes.

With that, Solomon understood.

This person didn't know him . He knew of his tales, the legends, basically fairy tales.

He was like most humans... Unaware of the magical world he lived in. The realisation stung a bit, but the sorcerer decided to play along anyways as he felt himself sobering up.

"Well, I can't disappoint a fan like yourself now, can I?" Solomon smirked.

"Ohh~ So are you going to show me any tricks?" (y/N) laughed, standing up challengingly. "Come at me with your best shot, wizard boy~"

Solomon didn't know why, but he felt the urge to impress the young man.

"Hmm", he stood up, although a bit wobbly. "Alright. But I'll need an assistant~"

"Oh my oh myyy" (y/N) excitedly clapped their hands together. "I'll sacrifice myself for the greater good then."

Solomon chuckled, shooting him a provocative glance through his lashes at which he thought he saw (y/N) blushing.

"So, (y/N), are you ready?"

"I'm was born ready"

Solomon offered him his hand. "Take my hand, my cute assistant~"

"Oh my, and he has a way with words", (y/N) overdramatically took his hand, "The ladies will die if you do that, you know?"

"Oh will they now?", Solomon pulled him towards himself, "What effect do you think Hecate's power will have on you?"

"I like your funny words, magic man", (y/N) smirked playfully. "Tell me more~"

Solomon scoffed. This guy is a walking reference book.

"Have you ever danced with a sorcerer in the pale moonlight?", he asked, putting another hand on (y/N)'s waist, said man's breath hitching.

"W-well, I'm pretty sure the proverb goes different, Solomon", he put a hand on his counterpart's shoulder as he let Solomon take the lead, "I thought you were going to show me a trick though~"

"Patience is a virtue", he simply said teasingly.

"-and a pain", (y/N) retorted, while taking the first step back.

"So you know how to waltz?", Solomon began to lead.

"School taught me many things", he imitated a rough old man voice, "You youngsters would never understand"

Solomon tried to contain his need to laugh.

"Aha~ Funny, enlighten me?"

"Well, I don't know what they teach in wizard boy-school", they turned, " But back in my day, they tried to teach me calculus"

Solomon quirked a brow. "Tried?" Then he spun (y/N) around.

"Well, I was busy drawing into my notes", his cold hand slipped to Solomon's neck, making the sorcerer tense up.

"And what kind of Mona Lisa-worth drawings were you working on? I bet only of the highest quality~", sarcasm dripped from his voice as he shot (y/N) a teasing smile.

"Oh you can't even imagine~", (y/N) rolled his eyes in an exaggerated manner before shooting him a deadpan look, "Penises mostly"

A laugh escaped Solomon. "How refined"

"I am nothing but refined, sir~"

Solomon spun him around again, matching no pace in particular, as he pulled him closer to his chest this time. A small gasp left (y/N)'s mouth.

"H-hey now, be careful there. Or do you want me to fall?"

Solomon's lips pursed up in amusement, but quickly froze as he looked into the man's face.

(y/N)'s expression was contorted in utter joy, like he couldn't contain their grin. He looked stupidly adorable...

Solomon felt his heart clench at the sight. But he quickly snapped out of it as he shot (y/N) another charming smile.

"So, about 'the ladies dying' at my charm.."

"You're still on about that?" (y/N) chuckled amused, "Give it a rest wizard boy. We get it, you're handsome-"

"What about you?" his cheeks burned as he felt himself getting... Nervous? That's new.

Solomon hoped the darkness wouldn't give him away, "How do you feel about my 'charm'?"

For a second everything stood still and they both came to a stop. Their eyes locked and silence engulfed them. Tension began to claw at both man's braveness, as realisation struck them. This encounter had progressively turned into something more. Not some random thing.

It felt like..

(y/N) averted his gaze, face flushing a bright red as he chuckled nervously. "It... It takes a bit more for me to die, Sol.."

Fate.

"Is that so?", Solomon's fingers interlaced with his as he slowly inched closer.

"I mean.. you could find out..." (y/N)'s eyes slowly closed when-

Strings of colourful magic sparked around them.

"Huh?!" His eyes shot wide open, grip tightening on Solomon's hands, "What-"

(y/N) looked around stunned and extremely surprised.

"So? How was that for a 'magic trick'?"

(y/N)'s gaze returned to face him. "Y-you.. How?"

The sorcerer just hummed. "Who knows?"

"This... Must be a dream then..", he sighed disappointed, a tinge of sadness in his voice, "That's a bummer.. I really like you."

Now it was Solomon's turn to blush.

"I- I understand the confusion, but- mph?!"

With that his lips pressed onto Solomon's.

The sorcerer froze, while (y/N)'s mouth opened a little, slipping his tongue through Solomon's mouth. He tasted like sweet liquor, further entrancing the sorcerer in a passionate kiss.

Solomon got over his shock quickly as his hands found the other's waist, pulling him towards himself. When (y/N) sighed into the kiss, hands burying into his white locks, excitement shot through his spine.

Solomon pressed him against a nearby tree. He grew hot as (y/N)'s soft, wet lips brushed against his, the passion growing with each passing second.

"Mnh hah", (y/N) parted for a second, a string of saliva connecting them, lips barely brushing against his, "This.. feels too real though.."

"Because it is- ", Solomon panted against his mouth, connecting their lips again with more of his own vigor this time. His tongue eagerly brushing over the other's.

God, what was he doing?

What was he doing??

But fuck it felt so good.

He couldn't resist the desire to touch (y/N) more and more. He wanted him closer and it showed.

As if on cue, (y/N)'s hand slid over Solomon's pants, suddenly palming his half hard erection and making him moan into the other's mouth longingly.

"Mnn- (y/N) wait.."

"Mnh? Oh sorry-!", he stopped abruptly.

"N-no I mean... Let's.. let's go to my place-"

"Oh~" (y/N) smiled and kissed him again, teeth pulling at his bottom lip as he parted panting.

"Alright then. Show me the way, wizard-boy~"

[dessarious]

The Angel of Death Pt45

Inspired by this Story Starter by @someone-ev

AO3   Prologue   Beginning  Previous   Next

This was going to be a disaster. That was the only thought Tris could manage as she waited for Gina on the warehouse roof. She’d been trying to figure out a way to keep her from finding out about Talia. The Blakes she could count on not to say anything, the others… even though she hadn’t named Talia she gave them enough clues that their idle gossip would tip the woman off. There was no way she could keep it under wraps. She had to tell her.

“My fairy, I’d hoped it was you.” She’d landed silently. If Tris hadn’t been able to see the string Gina would have snuck up on her. At some point she was going to have to ask where her skills had come from.

“I’m sorry, I did not want to bring you back into my fight. But now the other’s are in danger and I need your help.” The words felt like they were being pulled from her. She didn’t ask for help, it was a sign of weakness. Gina put a hand under her chin and forced her to meet her gaze. She didn’t know what that look meant.

“No, I’m sorry. I treated you like the child I remembered rather than the skilled warrior you’ve become. I shouldn’t have tried to insert myself without asking you.” Tris just blinked at her in surprise for a moment. An apology was the last thing she’d expected. “I just want to help you in whatever way you’ll let me.”

"I need you to train the others to fight. My efforts so far have been less than successful and there’s no time to figure out a better strategy.” The words came out in a rush, almost as if she were afraid they wouldn’t come out at all if she stopped.

“What is the threat?” And there was the question she really didn’t want to answer. Given her views on Talia she might go after the woman herself. Unfortunately, there really wasn’t a way to keep it from her at this point.

“Talia is on her way to Paris, but I’m almost certain she’s going after Damian. I have no reason to believe she actually knows I’m here. I just want the other’s prepared in case the worst happens.” She got it all out in a rush and practically held her breath waiting for a response.

“I thought you said Damian was dead.” There was a hard edge to her voice and Tris had a feeling the woman knew all about the Lazarus Pits. Well, one less thing to explain.

“He was. I didn’t get all the details but I’m fairly confident Talia at least ordered his death. I’m not certain who revived him or how, though I have my theories.” Gina was searching her face for something, but she had no idea what.

“You’ve seen him?” Tris just nodded. “And what about your string?” Oh, that explained the concerned expression.

“The string isn’t red and shows no sign of returning to it.”

“And how do you feel about that?” Tris just blinked at her in confusion.

“It’s for the best and means fewer complications. Damian said it was the universe correcting a mistake, and I can’t say I disagree. Given our history, any further contact is likely to just create strife.” Gina let out a sigh.

“Perhaps you should keep an open mind about that. Strings exist for a reason. In time things may change. You deserve to be happy and I don’t want to see you cut off any possible avenues, no matter how unlikely they seem at the moment.” Tris nodded. There was nothing she could say or do to change the woman’s mind, and the last thing she wanted was to get into an argument instead of focusing on getting the others trained. Gina sighed again. “Of course I’ll help train your friends and keep them safe. Do you know when Talia will get here?”

“Not exactly, but given her current pace and movements within the week most likely.” From what she could tell, Talia was stopping at various safe houses, probably to pick up people or supplies. The first was more of an issue than the second in her opinion. Being overwhelmed in numbers was a far bigger risk than any tricks she could come up with.

“That doesn’t give us much time. Have they had any combat training before?”

“No, but hopefully with the Miraculous they’ll be able to stay alive. Right now I just need you to keep them from being a liability to themselves and each other. Hopefully they won’t be a part of this at all but I don’t want them killed because I was wrong. I shouldn’t have stayed here and put them in danger in the first place.” She should never have let Fu and the Kwami convince her to stay here. She should have left as soon as Chloe recognized her. She shouldn’t have gone after Damian and outed herself. She was slipping, and that was a death sentence in her world. Gina cupped her face and made her look up at her.

“This is not your fault.” Tris just shot the woman a flat look. “It’s not. You can’t be held responsible for the nut job Talia is. And Isolating yourself from the world does nothing but cause you pain. You may not remember much from before you were taken but you were always happiest around other people. You can’t honestly tell me you aren’t enjoying being with your friends, even if you hate school.” She wanted to argue but stopped herself to really think about it. Yes, she hated school and the training sessions were a nightmare but when they were all together in their dorm or she was out with some of them it was nice. She certainly enjoyed teaching Kagami about reading people.

“Perhaps but it’s selfish to put them in danger for something so fleeting. Being around me is dangerous and no one deserves to have a target on their back just because I don’t want to be alone.” Until she said it Tris didn’t really believe it, but the thought of going back to the way things were… it hurt. But what else could she do?

“Marinette.” she flinched back but her Nonna kept hold of her face and forced eye contact. “Marinette, I'm not going to let that woman keep destroying your life. Regardless of who her target is by the time this is over you will be safe and I will not leave you alone. I promise.” She forced back tears and tried to figure out what the strange feeling in her chest was. She had to think back to right after she was taken. Those first few weeks when she’d told herself that someone would come for her, or Damian would stop his mother from torturing her. She’d quickly had all the hope beaten out of her. It was pointless, dangerous even. The fact that she was feeling it again… she wasn’t certain that was a good thing.

AO3   Prologue   Beginning  Previous    Next

Ko-Fi

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[nincompoopydoo]

PAIRING, BAGELS, REPEAT

— I’VE SEEN FIRE, I’VE SEEN RAIN ; PART 2 / ?

PAIRING: Bruce Wayne x reader

WORD COUNT: 1909

SUMMARY: Being laid off isn’t very fun but Bruce tends to find himself even more entangled in your life, including his alter ego—Batman.

A/N: I’m loving this series and if you are, feedback is appreciated. Thank you for reading my crappy stuff aka my daydreams <3

WARNINGS: Guns! Death threats! Crying! A mental breakdown!

MASTERLIST ; MASTERPOST

James Taylor’s Fire and Rain plays like a funeral hymn on the record player, echoing through your studio apartment. You’re sitting on the ground, back against the ratty couch with a pizza box on your lap. You take a bite of a BBQ Chicken pizza slice, furiously wiping your tears away as you replayed the events from six hours ago. From being called to the principal's office to only be told that you’re one of the non-tenured teachers to be laid off due to cutbacks. Gotham High was...a tough school. The students were mean to you because well, you're young and always gave them the benefit of the doubt. Plus, you taught English Literature and frankly, your students didn’t exactly enjoy the subject as much as you wanted them to. Nevertheless, you’re devastated. Teaching was a dream of yours, and it’s being taken away from you. You cried all the way back home, tried to call your mother but it kept going to voicemail. You must have called someone else, but you don’t remember and couldn’t care less to check your phone—the whole day went by like a blur.

Then, there’s a sound. An insistent buzz, it’s the doorbell. You furrow your brows, not recalling ordering anything else other than the large pizza from Domino’s. Yet, it doesn’t cease, and you’re forced to bring yourself to stand on your feet, instinctively flattening your tousled hair to make yourself seem somewhat presentable. Like, you’re doing fine and you have everything completely under control. Maybe, you did call your mother, and she’s at the door. You’re hoping she is although she’s going to kill you for the mess.

Another buzz and you’re toddling across the wooden flooring and towards the doorway. It’s starting to become infuriating by the second, like a house fly don’t won’t stop bugging you. Considering the mood you’re in, it doesn’t take much to tick you off. Swinging the door open, you expected to see the radiant face of your mother but to your surprise, it’s not.

It’s Bruce.

Shit.

You haven’t seen him in two weeks.

You nearly choke at the sight of him in a slightly crumpled oxford blue dress shirt, sleeves rolled up, hair as much of a mess as yours and tired eyes staring down at you with concern. You note how Bruce is very charming, no matter how disarrayed he is. Meanwhile, you’re realizing the current state must be a little startling. Your eyes are probably bloodshot, hair still in a tangled mess and glaring tomato stains everywhere on your GCU t-shirt. This is such a low point for you.

“Bruce,” you say, voice raising an octave with wide eyes as you stare at him like he’s grown another head, “What are you doing here?” His frown is immediate, seemingly confused by your question. “You called me.” He gestures to his phone within his grasp. “It sounded bad even though I couldn’t make out what you were saying half of the time,” He chuckles and holds up a familiar looking paper bag “So, I got you bagels. Three of them. Thought you could use some of these.”

It takes a second or two for you to finally process what he just told you before your emotionally wrecked brain decides to do the most irrational thing ever—You just start sobbing. You’re crying so hard that it terrifies Bruce. He blinks, thoughts racing. The sight of you in complete misery strikes him like a punch to his gut and for the first time, he doesn’t know what to do. Not immediately. Yet, through glassy eyes, you manage to notice the way his face dropped and morphed into pure horror. Justification is key, you don’t want to weird him out and think you’re crazy. You wave your hand in the air dismissively, rubbing your eyes as you spoke between strangled sobs. “I’m sorry, it’s been a tough day and that’s the nicest thing anyone has ever done for me all week.”

Oh.

Your words are a tug to the heartstrings, and it sends his head reeling but relief was all that overwhelmed him. Bruce would never wish to see you hurt, especially when it’s caused by him. Actions of affection were primarily reserved for those closest to him, but he never experienced the urge to be intimate and care so much for a person ever since his parents died. Yet, out of everyone, you’re the one that brings out the most in him. Moving closer to you, he reaches and pulls you in a hesitant embrace. You stiffened at the mere touch of his arms around you, unsure of what to do with yourself.

Sure, you had a fair share of intimate moments with the man but this, this was different. You couldn’t shake the thought of how something so warm felt so right, smelt right. Despite the fact you had been trying to suppress your feelings for Bruce, and this was doing the exact opposite of that, you can’t help but feel this was what you needed at the moment. So, you let your body sag, muscles becoming loose and you let yourself truly cry for the first time.

You end up inviting him in later, when your tears are dry. You eat two of the bagels, sharing the last one with him. You called a peace offering, a gift of appreciation, for the whole emotional massacre you unexpectedly shoved at him. He simply laughs, eyes crinkling with fondness. He thinks you’re beautiful, especially when your hair is wild, laughing like you don’t have a care in the world. It’s what keeps him grounded, to know you’re raw and very real. The next thing you know, you end up shuffling cards of UNO until the wee hours of the morning—exchanging knowing smiles and Bruce trying to pick a Wild Draw card from the deck to get you to lose. But, he lets you win anyway.

He slept on your couch that night, still in his dress shirt. You must've peeked a glance at his sleeping form, squeezed onto the couch that’s clearly too small for him. Cute. You snap a picture before heading to bed. For blackmail purposes, of course.

-

You end up working a night shift at a burger joint called Big Belly Burger somewhere in midtown. Your first week comes and goes, and you’re starting to hate how your uniform itches and how the restaurant can get really filthy by the end of the day. Yet, it’s the kids from Cameron Kane High that come after school that keeps you going because it makes you miss being a teacher even though they tend to leave a mess after a meal.

Thursday comes and you’re exhausted. Even so, you’re thankful it’s a slow night. You’ve done all your cleaning duties earlier on and Lucie, the manager went out to buy a pack of cigarettes from the convenience store around the corner. Hence, it’s just you, slumped against the counter, devouring a Triple Belly Burger.

You’re half way through the burger when you hear the door swing open. Expecting to see Lucie, you turned around to see two men brandishing handguns your way. “Everything from the register, now!” The taller masked man shouted, gun gesturing to the cash register. Your eyes are wide, and you can feel your chest heaving. There was no way you’ll be able to fight them. Not two of them with guns pointed at you.

The burger drops from your hand and so does your heart. With trembling hands, you slide the drawer of the cash register open and begin pulling out dollar notes. From the corner of your eye, you spot your phone on the counter, close enough for you to make an emergency call. Your eyes scan the two men wearily and with every ounce of courage you had left, you managed to unlock your phone, pulled up the messaging app and texted the first name on the list: Bruce Wayne.

help, was all you managed to say.

To say your luck ran out was an understatement; you were never lucky anyway. One of the robbers must have caught on to what you were doing and just as the call goes through, he snatches your phone away, throws it onto the ground and shoots it.

So close, yet so far.

You don't know if the message got through.

The muzzle is now inches away from your forehead, and you hear the cock of the gun. “Don’t you dare pull somethin’ funny like or I’ll blow your brains out. Give us the money, now.” It was in that moment, your tears give way and your life flashes before your eyes. You pray for a miracle, a savior.

Then, you see him.

A looming figure appears by the doorway and your breath hitches. It’s Batman, looking like a Goddamn angel. The robbers seem to realize this too, guns quickly directed towards the vigilante. He launches batarangs to the pair of men and immediately disarms them. In a flash, he knocks them out, unconscious bodies dropping to the ground like dead flies.

You stare at him in awe although he’s very frightening and intimidating but Batman...just saved you. Now, this is a story you’re going to be telling everybody until the day you die. He approaches you with caution, and you instinctively take a step back. Then, he calls you by your name like it’s second nature. You stare at him with blank amazement, brows raised.

“You know my name?” Your voice dwindled; It’s so soft and timid you hardly hear yourself. Despite the mask, the vigilante looks like his brain just short-circuited for a moment. He clears his throat.

“...Bruce has mentioned you.”

You ignore how his synthetic voice makes every hair on the back of your neck stand and the familiarity that struck for a split second when he said your name because you’re too wrapped up with the fact that Bruce has discussed about you to his other ‘best friend’ as one might call it. Brooding over this lump of a thought, the corner of your mouth twitches. “He did?” you say with a hint of affection. It’s hard to read the man under the mask, whoever he was but you’re certain he looked taken aback by your response. Maybe, it was the way you delivered it—the longing in the very core of the expression. You may have outed your feelings for Bruce to...Batman.

This doesn’t get any stranger than that.

“Yes,” he replies curtly, and you hear the police sirens afar. “Are you hurt?” Like the true caretaker of Gotham, he wants to be sure you haven’t been injured. You shake your head, lips pressed together. The whaling of the police sirens grow louder, lights of red and blue flashing before your eyes. He appears like a shadow against the glaring lights from the police cruisers and before you can blink, he flees with a muttered ‘Goodnight’ and disappears before the police come flooding in and does Lucie. The poor woman looked at with frantic eyes as soon as she glimpsed the two men on the ground, groaning in pain.

The glint of the batarang on the floor captures your attention, you smile at this.

You may or may not have taken it back to your apartment that currently sits proudly on the bookshelf in your living room.

You’re so telling Bruce.

TAGLIST:

@raineeace

[wdwmarveldisney]

could you write one with a modern au where the reader is a dancer and doesn’t have the typical dancer body like everyone else and is really insecure but race is there to comfort them?

Love?

Racetrack Higgins x chubby!reader

Summary: Three girls make your escape a little less freeing but a confession from Race brings back a little confidence and let’s a small dream come true.

Masterlist

A/N: So as a chubby girl who does musical theatre classes, this was a good outlet. Thank you so much for requesting, it honestly makes my day.

GIF isn’t mine

It had always been your thing. Something you had relied on since before you could walk. The amount of videos of you dancing was unreal. As soon as you were old enough, there you were in classes and on stage, light on your little toes. And slowly as you got older, you joined more classes and spent more of your spare time perfecting form and practicing every minute you could. It was an escape, one you had become so dependant on that it killed you when you missed a class. But things happen when you get older, you start to notice how judgemental people are and how pressuring they can be too. You may dance every day but you didn't have a typical perfect dancer body. You were slightly chubby and people noticed. And they weren't exactly quiet about it.

There was this group of girls in your dance class, the three were your basic bullies. They all found it hilarious when you danced, giggling and whispering behind their hands. It pissed you off. How could they deem you worthy of that treatment just because you were slightly bigger? You'd seen them whisper to others, point out little things and you tried your hardest not to let it get to you. But of course it did. And you had tried everything you could to lose weight but nothing ever worked and you had learned to just try to deal with it. You couldn't but every class, you tried. It had caused you to hate your dance clothes, to lose your confidence, to watch everyone as you hugged yourself to make sure they weren't looking. You were scared of people, everyone judging you.

Today, you were performing on stage in front of this massive crowd. you'd already done the tap number and the jazz and next you had your ballet solo. You were already uncomfortable enough over your leotard and your hair looked a little messy but you only had a minute until you were on so there was no time to fix it. As you slipped on your ballet shoes, there was a knock at the door. Glancing over, you saw Race there in his all his glory. Bright blue eyes, blonde curls and cheeky grin. You had known Race for a while now, being in similar classes at school and getting paired together sometimes in dance. You hadn't actually talked to him, like full conversation talk to him, until a year or so ago. You had both been paired in history and had to do a project over a two week period and you two became quick friends. Of course you had a small crush on him but so did like half the school. And he flirted with plenty of girls so you were just fine to keep the status quo. You were sure he had what those girls had said anyway, probably wouldn't ever go for you and maybe even agreed with them.

He grinned as he leant against the frame of the door with his arms crossed over his chest. "Just came by to wish ya luck. Break a leg," you smiled back, eyes drifting back to your feet as you tugged the shoe on. You knew he was still there so you sent another smile over your shoulder, "Thanks Racer, means a lot," you replied as you got up and jumped to make sure they were on properly. You heard him laugh and felt your stomach drop, arms coming up cross over your stomach. "Gotta go," you muttered to him as you made your way past and to the left wing of the stage. Shaking out your hands, you bounced on your heels as a smile took its rightful place on your face. It soon faded however when you remembered he laughed. He laughed. You knew it, he agreed with them. He agreed that you shouldn't be dancing, that you looked ridiculous out on stage and that you might as well give up. He agreed that you were pathetic for ever thinking that you looked good dancing, that you would ever make it.

You heard the song they were currently performing to end and watched them rush off to the right wing. You slowly headed to your mark and when the music started to play, all thoughts dissipating as you danced. The dance was one you had been practicing for months, you could do it with your eyes closed and  you could had it perfectly timed even with you did it no music. It was practically engraved into your muscle memory and didn't need much thought to what you did next. You were glad the lights were so bright, always happy with the way the audience's faces were blocked out. As you turned, you caught gazes with a certain blue pair that reminded you of what you didn't what to think right of at that moment. Trying to suppress the thoughts, you carried on with the leap. As you went, you could feel everything you were doing wrong and immediately went to point your toes more but that seemed to throw you off as you landed. You twisted your ankle as your foot touched the ground and you tumbled. The music faded as they realised what had happened and the lights dimmed for them to get you off without much without much hassle. You could to see the faces, people whispering one another and you felt the tears begin to well as you immediately got up and tried to walk off stage but it hurt too bad. You fell forward again but this time you grabbed ahold of two arms that happened to belong to a certain blonde beauty.

Oh great, not only did all those people see but also the boy you had a massive crush and was also one of your closet friends had had a front row seat. You looked to eyes, expecting amusement and maybe disgust but the only thing you saw was concern. You would've been confused if you hadn't been in so much pain. You barely registered him lifting your arm over his head and placing it over his shoulders as your dance teacher helped him help you off stage. They sat you down in the dressing room and you saw the three girls leave, giggling to themselves as they went. The tears seemed to get worse as your teacher left to get a first aid kit and an ice pack. Race stayed right by your side, holding your hand as he checked your ankle and completely oblivious to the tears that fell down your cheeks. Sniffling a bit, you caught his attention and quickly you wiped away the tears as you spoke, "I'm fine, you can go," the look he gave you was priceless, the complete disbelief enough to make you laugh a little even with how you were. Race shook his head as he stood and grabbed a seat and putting a cushion there for you to rest your ankle on. "You'se know when I said 'break a leg', I'se didn't mean it literally, right?" You giggled again, making him smile at you all goofily but the worry never went away.

He watched you shift and fiddled his thumbs before finally asking the question on the tip of his tongue, "What happened?" You stared at him, baffled by the words and you shifted again as you winced but still managed to say, "I got hurt," he gave you a look that clearly showed his frustration with the answer before he shook his head and rephrased. He met your eyes as he spoke, a sincerity in his voice that unsettled you, "I mean, I'se seen you do that dance a hundred times and you'se never done that before, what happened?" You scoffed and sunk into your seat as you stared at your swelling ankle. Like he cared. Why would he care about you? He liked dancers, people who were actually good looking dancers and everyone knew that wasn’t you. “I tripped, it happens,” you excused and this time he scoffed whilst moving to grab your hand again. He frowned and his eyes twinkled in the light and you felt your heart stop for just a second. “Not to you. You’se perfect at dancing,”

“Yeah right,”

“What’s that mean?” You avoided eye contact and began to pick at your leotard as you stayed in silence. Knowing he was waiting, you gave a small shrug and bit your lip, teeth digging in as hard as they could and you were worried you may bleed. Race moved his head slightly so he was in your eye sight and you huffed like a sulking child, “Just some stuff. I- There’s these girls-” Race sighed and you looked up at him, brows drawing together in confusion. He changed how he held your hand, grabbing it tightly in both of his and you placed your other hand on his in worry. Why was he looking at you all sad puppy like? “I’se heard what they was saying. It’s not true, you’se gotta know that! You are perfect, ya work hard, ya do anythink ya want, ya funny and sweet and kind and I loves you’se just the way ya are. Who cares ‘bout a little chub, I’se think it’s beautiful and cute,” you heard him laugh as your eyes went wide and your jaw dropped as you registered what he said. He meant as friends, right?

“Love? You, um, you said love? Did you know you said love?” He chuckled at that, moving slightly closer and reaching to wipe away any remainder of your tears whilst still holding your hand tightly. “Yeah, I‘se know. I loves ya,” you watch the smile falter as he glanced down and his shoulders tensed, “Would I, Uh, could I kiss you’se?” You grinned at how nervous he seemed, you made the Racer nervous. You couldn’t believe it. Deciding to mess with him a little, you shrug and pretend to think about it whilst pretending to not notice the growing smile and blush on his face. “Yeah, I think that’d be okay,” his grin matched yours quicker than you could process, loving and goofy. He shifted slightly and reached up to hold your cheeks before he leant in most of the way. You scoffed at the cheeky grin on his lips and he breathed out a laugh at that. “Just kiss me you idiot,” he chuckled, shaking his head as he stroked his thumb across your cheek. You could see the mischief swirling amongst the blue and you rolled your eyes.

“Oh confident now, are we?” With that, you pressed your lips to his and you couldn’t help but laugh into the kiss when you heard the surprised noise from him. Slowly he melted into the kiss, one hand moving to your neck as yours went to his hair, fingers twirling the curls. After a little while, you pulled back from Race and you couldn’t help but giggle at the way he chased your lips. You were both so caught up in each other, you didn’t notice your teacher walk through the door.

“Oh, I’m sorry- Wait, are you two-? Finally!”

[astarryon]

Another Lifetime: Shouldn’t Have Gotten Shot

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Description of war and battle injuries, mentions of blood, gunshots, language, etc.

Summary: Bucky doesn’t like talking about her, but Dr. Raynor isn’t an easy person to argue with. And now that it’s summer –– now that he’s living through the months they’d shared together all over again, only without her by his side –– fighting the memories becomes all the more difficult.

A/N: Listen, I really don’t know what’s gotten into me but ever since tfatws started I have been INSPIRED! Hoping to update this fic sem regularly, but we’ll see where the new school term takes us. As always, I hope you enjoy, and feel free to let me know what you think!

Bucky Barnes has never been overly fond of the summer.

One aspect was the fact that he could remember what it was like to be a miserable kid living in a cramped Brooklyn apartment with no air conditioning and three baby sisters who never stopped whining about the heat. Of all the jumbled, foggy memories bouncing around the confines of his skull, that one is clearer than most. And though he still finds it difficult to picture the faces of his little sisters –– can’t hardly remember arcs of their noses, much less the colors of each of their eyes –– a nostalgic, brotherly feeling washes over him all the same.

There’s also the little detail that he’d received his draft notice in the summer months. That Bucky remembers perfectly, one of the few memories strong enough to remain unmuddied by all those years of shitbag scientists rooting around his head and picking his brain apart. The heat that year had been sweltering, and once his mother found him in her kitchen with that damned letter clutched between his fingers, he felt it burn right through the strings of his heart. 

The first week of July delivered the news. The last saw him shipping out to bootcamp. 

He guessed he didn’t mind the sunshine. That part had always been nice, and it helped to calm him on occasion these days, to remember that the golden rays licking comforting heat up his skin were the same ones which had shone down on him back in the 40s, before and during the war.

Before Hydra had condemned him to seventy long years of dark and cold.

To that end, logic said the season he really should hate was winter, but he’d never felt any ill will toward the colder months, and found now, in the present, that he’d only grown fonder of them. When the rain came down from the sky in sheets, or when snow fell so thick it resembled white, puffy clouds blanketing the ground, he took walks. Partly because no other soul would be idiotic enough to trudge through a borderline natural disaster at three in the morning, meaning he wouldn’t have to put up with prying eyes and conspicuously pointing fingers, and partly because experiencing said natural disasters in solitude did wonders for the soul.

Steve thought it was strange. Hated that Bucky did it, kept insisting that he at least take a goddamn jacket, there isn’t any actual proof he can’t get pneumonia. But Bucky always shook his head and declined, rolling his eyes and muttering beneath his breath about how apparently the tables have fucking turned.

But, no. The winter, the rain, the cold –– none of that could ever draw half as much ire from him as did the gentle beginnings of June, the scorching heat of July, the fading light of August. Because those weren’t the things which served as reminders from before.

Reminders of her.

“James. Did you hear me?”

Bucky blinks hard, freeing his gaze from the wall calendar tacked up and viewable just over his doctor’s shoulder. Glancing down, he sees the familiar green of the velvet armchair –– one of three options for patients to choose from in her office, and Bucky’s personal favorite on account of the way its textures did something to sooth him as he gripped its arm anxiously with his flesh hand –– and the worn, fraying knees of his black jeans against it. He doesn’t bother meeting his therapist’s gaze. He already knows which of her expressions he’ll find her leveling at him, if he does.

“Sorry,” Bucky mutters, sucking his teeth. He hopes his voice isn’t quite as strained as it sounds –– though, judging by the way Dr. Raynor clucks her tongue as her fingers twitch toward her pen, it definitely is. “Guess I’m a little scattered today.”

The sardonic hum Raynor gives in response as she knowingly tilts her head nearly makes him open his mouth to finish the silent argument she’d started, but Bucky knows better than that. The moment he starts up, she’ll feign innocence and inquire as to why he feels the need to defend himself when no verbal accusation has been made. God damn, it would be just his luck to end up with the one government assigned therapist actually capable at her job.

“That’s what you said yesterday,” Dr. Raynor offers. “And the two days before, if memory serves me right.”

Bucky shakes his head and tsks, tapping a metal finger against his temple. “Not a funny joke, doc. Remember the audience you’re dealing with here.”

“‘Deflecting.’”

The word drops from Raynor’s mouth with a simpleness that puzzles him.

“‘Scuse me?” he prompts when she only goes on to stare at him owlishly.

“Oh, that’s what I’d be writing in my notebook,” she explains simply, folding her hands together in her lap and leaning back in her chair. “If we were using it right now, that is.”

Again, Bucky rolls his eyes, and has to make an active attempt not to cross his arms like a forlorn child. The threat in her words is easily recognizable, not that she’d really bothered trying to conceal it. She knows that damn notebook irritates him more than any other aspect of their current arrangement, and he knows she’s not bluffing. If he doesn’t start talking, Raynor starts writing –– and if Raynor starts writing, he gets tailed by government watchdogs to ensure there are no imminent incidents lurking in the near future.

He sighs dejectedly and meets her gaze. “What was it you asked me?”

“What it is about the month of June that makes you so uncomfortable.”

Bucky blinks, red alarm bells shrieking in his head. Fuck, he can’t help but think. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Caught red handed.

“June’s fine,” he tries, but even to his own ears the assurance sounds weak. To think, he’d once been the most prolific tool of espionage around –– now he can hardly deliver a lie with a straight face. “Don’t have any feelings toward it one way or the other.”

“Strike two,” Raynor quips, glancing one again toward her pen.

Fuck!

Exhaling sharply through his nose, Bucky sits a little straighter in his seat, searching for any semblance of comfort to be found while already knowing he was bound to come up short. Damn it all. She wasn’t going to let him out of this one.

“Alright, hold your horses,” he sighs, waving a halting hand. Raynor’s expression doesn’t shift. She simply continues peering at him with her dark eyes, waiting patiently for his next few words to come. “Why do you assume I’ve got a problem with June?”

“Because you didn’t start staring at that calendar until it switched over from May,” Raynor supplies. “Like I mentioned, today isn’t the only day you’ve been scattered. Seems like something we should consider talking about.”

“No,” Bucky answers quickly. Too quickly. Shit. If she thought he’d been deflecting before, he didn’t even want to know the words running through her mind in regards to his behavior now. “I mean–– well, no. I don’t think it’s that important.”

Raynor arches a brow. “Funny,” she tells him, “the way your eyes keep drifting back to the word ‘June’ tells me otherwise.”

He sighs, worrying the inside of his cheek with his teeth. Caught between a rock and an even bigger, weightier rock. The universe really wasn’t one to take his side often.

Bucky knows there really isn’t any choice here. Either he does what Raynor asks and elaborates on his suspicious behavior, or he risks facing the repercussions of those notes she’ll be jotting down in her notebook. Which of the two evils is more definitively the lesser, he can’t rightly say, but he knows which of the consequences he’d prefer to suffer through. And they’re certainly not the ones which see him robbed of the ability to walk freely down the street without a detail of armed babysitters.

So he figures that, maybe for once, being honest can’t be the worst decision to make.

“A few years ago, back before the blip,” Bucky tries, “I spent a summer in Wakanda.”

“Housed by the royal family,” Raynor nods, tone soft. “We’ve spoken about that before. You said you found it peaceful there. That you liked it.”

He did, and still does. On the nights when his mind isn’t quiet enough to let him find sleep but his heart feels light enough to forego the slideshow of horrors he’d been made to suffer throughout the years, Bucky’s thoughts often return to the bliss which life in Wakanda had offered him. He’d remember the farm he kept there, the little children who would come to sing and play and dance in trees to keep him company in the afternoons. He’d remember Princess Shuri –– Just Shuri, James, come now –– and the kindness she’d displayed in deactivating the deeper, most concerning parts of his programming. The day she’d told him it was done, turned off, that he’d never be forced to revert back to the Soldier against his will again, he’d rushed her and caught her up in a bearhug so relieved and forceful that her Dora Milaje detail had actually pointed their spears at him. He’d remember the tranquility of it all, the simpleness.

The peace.

There’s no hope of him being able to return to that place any time soon, much as he’d like to, but the memories sit resolutely concrete in his mind. The first of a new set which he’d never have to worry about being stolen away from him by the currents of an electric shock.

“It’s a nice place,” Bucky affirms, sighing wistfully at the thoughts swirling up in his head. “I bring it up because back then, that summer… I started remembering a few things. From before.”

Raynor keeps her face smooth and composed, but Bucky notices the twitch in her cheek that says she’s got a question. “When you say before,” she asks, voice gentle, “do you mean your time as the Winter Soldier?”

He shakes his head, swallowing thickly. Ironically, things would be easier, were that the case. He might not be so miserable in the present, seeing the month of June start all over again. The melancholy might not be so strong. “No, not then. I mean from before. From the 40s, during the war. I don’t know if it was Wakanda’s heat that did it, or that my programming was officially deactivated. But one night I went to sleep in my hut like normal, and then the next morning I woke up, and… and I remembered.”

Raynor clasps her hand together in her lap, the pen, the notebook, the hesitation all forgotten. Bucky sees it in her expression, the shock at the fact that he’s speaking, that she’s actually making progress in getting him to talk about things so painful he often wonders if they aren’t better left in the past. He’s still trying to figure that one out. Miserable as he’s been for the first four days of June, he figures nothing good or relieving or positive can come from retelling this particular tale. It’s all behind him now, and there isn’t anything to be done to change the ending in any significant way.

But… but he figures he owes it to her. As painful as the memories are, they can’t be anything in comparison to what she must have gone through in the aftermath of it all.

Slowly, Raynor crosses one ankle over the other. “What was it that you remembered, James?”

Bucky sighs, closing his eyes and inhaling as deep a breath as he can pull. He lets it loose after counting to six, then opens his eyes again and crosses his arms over his chest. “It started back in June of 1944. I got shot.”

––

June 1st, 1944

It was damn lucky you weren’t sleeping much these days.

A funny thought, really. One which brings a sarcastic, bitter smile to your lips as you bend your neck to get a closer look at your handiwork. Wasn’t it just two nights ago that you’d been laying in your cot, staring up at the moon through the flap of your tent and counting all the reasons it wasn't fair that the bliss of unconsciousness evaded you? Wasn’t it three that you’d considered sneaking into the med tent and downing a few of the sleeping pills meant for the soldiers? You hadn’t, of course –– god only knew the sort of trouble you’d get in if it came to pass that you were caught –– but the consideration had been there all the same.

“Fuckin’ shit!”

The foul language, mixed with the rough jerk of the body beneath your dexterous hands, was enough to steal your attention back from your jaded inner monologue. Nearly two years back, when you’d first signed on to work as a field nurse, the pained outburst would have sent you flinching. Now, the swearing isn’t anything new, and thankfully for the soldier whose leg you were currently stitching up, it was no longer anywhere near enough to give you pause.

“You better hold still unless you want this to scar even worse than it's already going to,” you tell him matter of factly, gently tugging the thread the rest of the way through your current stitch.

The soldier –– Matthews? Moore? You can hardly remember the name he’d gasped at you in pain, but you’re sure it started with an ‘M’ –– rakes his dirty hands over his even dirtier face, brown eyes squeezing themselves shut as his fingers quake with agony. “Sorry,” he rasps, skin paling. “Just… Jesus, shit hurts so bad!”

You cluck your tongue, guilt racking your heart as you push the needle through his skin once more. “Shouldn’t have gotten shot then, genius,” you murmur, shaking your head disapprovingly.

It works. For a moment the soldier’s face twists in disbelief, and in the next, a shuddering, wheezing gasp of laughter expels itself from his throat. The sight is bleak, but it’s enough to twist your heart with warmth as you once again pull the thread through the stitch. You’d learned in the first few months of working as a nurse on the frontlines that the last thing these men wanted or needed was to be coddled along over their injuries, especially by a woman. Vulnerability was more averse to them now than ever before.

Personally, you don’t much understand it –– but your work isn’t, and has never been, about yourself. 

“Look, why don’t you tell me something,” you start, glancing up to… Morrison’s…? face in apology before sticking him with the needle yet again. He jerks, but not quite so violently this time. Another one down. Only about a thousand more to go tonight. “How’d all this happen? I thought you boys weren’t meant to scope the new territory until tomorrow afternoon. Y’know, in the daylight? When you can actually see whether or not someone in the distance is pointing a gun at you?”

“Unit leader was gettin’ jumpy,” the soldier coughs out, groaning against the pain. Guilt stabs your heart like a knife. You’d have given him something for the pain if you had it, something to numb the wound. But shipments of med supplies were behind, and it would be at least a week before you got your hands on anything like that again. “Said going at night would be better, that we could get the drop on them before they even knew we were coming.”

“Yeah,” you scoff, rolling your eyes. “Never mind the fact that their soldiers know the land better than ours do.”

So, the unit leader had jumped the gun. You’d figured as much, when two of your nurses had run into your tent with messy hair and sleep addled expressions, panicking about the oncoming slew of injured soldiers who needed immediate medical attention. That had been two hours, six patients, and about one hundred and ninety seven stitches ago.

Again. It was lucky you weren’t sleeping much these days.

The soldier whose leg you were currently stitching up opened his mouth to speak –– whether to snark along with you at the poor choice made by the unit’s leadership or to blindly defend his superior’s decision, you couldn’t be altogether sure –– but before he could even fix his mouth to properly shape the words, a sudden roar of someone else’s agony effectively cut him off.

Steadying your hands, you carefully turn to peer over your shoulder, searching for the source of the commotion. All night, you’d been surrounded by a cacophony of screaming soldiers, but that yell of pain is one you’re certain hasn’t yet met your ears. And, as you watch the flap of the med tent swing back before admitting entry to three people –– one of your nurses and two soldiers, one leaning bodily against the other –– you discover that your assumption is correct.

“We got a bad one,” the nurse –– Sally, curly haired, nearing twenty four and a bit more capable than the other girls when met with the sight of blood –– shouts. Her eyes scan the tent, searching and searching until her gaze finally lands on you. She pauses only a moment to turn and direct the uninjured soldier to drag the one he’s supporting over to an empty cot before barrelling in your direction. “Gunshot wound to the abdomen. I haven’t really had the chance to get a good look at it, but he’s–– well, to be frank, that man has lost a shit ton of blood.”

A gutshot. Poor guy would either go through a sickening amount of pain just to die, or he’d survive, and end up having to endure even more pain. Either way, in light of your depleted supply of painkillers, ‘excruciating’ didn’t even begin to describe it.

Oh, damn it all.

“Take over here for me,” you command, gesturing with your chin to the needle perched between your fingers. Sally’s already moving to pluck it from your hand before you’ve even finished speaking. “He’s got about fifteen to go before we even think about sending him back to his tent. Don’t let him convince you otherwise.”

“You don’t think I know better?” Sally remarks drily, but you don’t have the time to come up with a witty comeback. You’re already on your feet and rushing toward the soldier writhing in pain across the tent, reflexively grabbing a collection of gauze, thread, tweezers, and rubbing alcohol along the way.

This isn’t going to be much fun for either of you.

The first thing you do is excuse the uninjured soldier, the one who’d carried him in. For one, there isn’t any need to keep him witness, and for another, you work better when an addition of unnecessary eyes aren’t tracking your every move. Besides. You doubt the poor soul laying on your med cot is at all interested in one of his peers –– one not sick or out of his mind due to his own pain, that is –– see him in this state. So, you simply thank the young man for his assistance and shoo him back in the direction from which he’d come, waiting until he’s passed the tent’s entrance before turning your full, undivided attention to your newest patient.

He’s got his eyes screwed shut tight in pain. You can hardly blame him. Of all the wounds to suffer through, a gutshot has the potential to win least desirable. It’s easy enough to see why, as the young man’s handsome features carve themselves into an expression of despair. A slick sheen of sweat coats his pale forehead, dampening his dark hair and sticking it to his skin. He’s biting down so hard on his bottom lip in effort to swallow his screams that you’re genuinely shocked he hasn’t drawn blood.

Though, part of you wonders if there’s even enough blood left in his body for his lip to bleed. Deep scarlet blooms stain his green shirt, so thoroughly soaked through that the fabric has turned almost black. Swathes of red cover his torso, his pants, the pale skin of his arms. It’s everywhere, already leaking onto the white sheets of the cot.

Sally wasn’t kidding. He really has lost a shit ton of blood.

“Hey there, soldier,” you start up, setting your collection of medical supplies down before taking a closer look at his torso. Shirt sticking to his skin the way it is, you aren’t going to be able to get much done until it’s out of the way. And, given that this man is certainly in no state to shrug it off himself, you’ve got no choice but to cut it. Lucky that you’d thought to grab a pair of scissors too, you suppose. “Don’t suppose you might be able to help a girl out by telling her what year it is?”

His jaw works for a few moments, teeth grinding together so forcefully the sound is audible. You think he might be gearing up to let loose another scream before he shakes his head a single time. “I got–– got shot,” he wheezes, whole body shaking, “not concussed. Don’t–– ah, don’t really… get how the year’s relevant.”

You exhale a bemused scoff through your nose, considering your response as your scissors work their way through the bloody fabric concealing his wound. You’re working as gently as you can, and so far it seems to be doing the trick. The soldier hasn’t flinched once since you started, though it’s hard to tell if that’s more due to the fact that he hadn’t noticed any difference one way or the other, or if it’s because he’s dedicating what strength he has left to keeping his head screwed onto his shoulders.

“Fair point,” you reply, still carefully cutting through his shirt. “How about a name, then? Little more relevant to the conversation, I’d say.”

It takes a few moments of silence for him to respond –– almost as if he’s trying to remember that he’s got a name –– but eventually, it comes.

“James,” he tells you, the single syllable leaving his mouth in a pained grunt.

You nod, cutting away the last of the fabric. “Nice to meet you, James,” you tell him, carefully peeling the tatters of his ruined shirt from his abdomen. “You just hold tight a little longer for me, alright? We’ll fix you up good as new.”

It isn’t a pretty sight, what you find beneath. Under all that red is a nasty wound, jagged and swollen at the edges, punched into the flesh just beneath the southmost edge of his ribcage. Thankfully, no bones have been hit –– a shattered rib would be immediately evident, both in the pitch of his screams and the deformed shape of his chest –– but the wound is more than a little inflated. There’s a puffiness to it that you can’t comprehend, a stiffness to its perimeter that doesn’t click in your mind, until––

Until you see the small, dark center, and suddenly it does.

You swear beneath your breath, a filthy, ugly word that you’d picked up a few weeks back from one of your patients. You don’t even know what it means, not really, but speaking it feels cathartic enough that you don’t altogether care.

Oh, sweet, holy hell.

James cracks an eye open, muttering, “Darlin’, you rea–– you really gotta work on your bedside manner.”

“Alright, listen to me, James,” you tell him, forgoing a witty response. You don’t have the time, not considering what you’re now dealing with, and you figure James will appreciate your working hands more than he’ll appreciate your shitty attempts at banter. “There’s… there’s something I need to do for you, before I can start patching you up. Now, normally I could give you something for the pain, but we’re out of the anesthetic I need. So this isn’t gonna… it’s not gonna feel very good.”

James looses a labored sigh, oddly calm for the clear anguish marring his face. “Shit, well good news,” he mutters, swallowing thickly, “it already doesn’t.”

His lashes flutter in a telltale manner, one which lets you know he’s getting closer to the brink and you’re running short on time. It’s easy enough, not to give in to the panic this incites in your chest. You’ve been doing this job a long time now, know that what James needs is your calm, your level-headedness. Those things have a higher chance of keeping him alive, of seeing to it that he comes out of this on the other side. Scarred up, maybe, and without the ability to breathe as deep as he once could, but still alive.

You shake your head, grabbing the tweezers from where you’d set them down before planting your forearm against an uninjured section of James’ bare chest for leverage. “Alright, big breaths, James. You scream as loud as you want or need to, but just… try and stay as still as you can, okay? I won’t be able to stop until it’s done.”

The only answer he gives in response is a shaky nod, the thick black fringe of his lashes brushing his cheekbones as his lips begin to move at a speed with which your eyes can hardly track. A prayer, you figure, or a plea for a quick end. Whichever it is, it helps him to relax just the tiniest bit more, slightly smooths out the lines of pain and suffering etched into his face.

Until you start digging with the tweezers, that is.

Then it’s all white hot screams of pain.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper beneath his cries, words drowned out by the sheer volume of the howls ripping out of his throat. But you don’t stop working, don’t withdraw the tweezers from his bloody wound. You hadn’t been joking when you told him starting meant you couldn’t stop until you finished. Abandoning the task now meant leaving James to bleed out in a matter of seconds. “I know it hurts, I’m sorry. You’re doing good, though, alright? You’re doing amazing. I’m sorry.”

It takes a moment for the tweezers’ edges to find the metal bullet lodged in his skin. At first, all you can feel is a mess of flesh and muscle, shredded and frayed from the impact of the gunshot. For a few short seconds, you wonder if your eyes hadn’t been playing tricks on you, if it would have been more wise to search for an exit wound on his back than to simply jump straight in without taking the time to stop and think.

But your worries are unfounded –– proven two seconds later when your tweezers make contact with the tiny, foreign object threatening James’ life. Carefully, you maneuver the tweezers into the correct position to properly take hold of the bullet. Then, with one last whispered apology, you slowly and carefully begin to pull.

James’ legs buck hard against the cot, arms straining at his sides where he’s got both his hands fisted into the sheets in an attempt to hold on for dear life. His teeth chatter against each other, knocking and clacking as he tries to get ahold of the screams pouring freely from him, and that thin sheen of sweat coating his skin has turned into a full on tidal wave.

But his torso doesn’t move –– not a single inch.

“We’re almost done,” you assure him, keeping your hand steady as you continue gently easing the bullet up, and up, and up. You can just make out the silver edges of it now, slick with blood and dented. It won’t be long now, before it’s out and you can start working on staunching the blood leaking from his body. Maybe you can lift his spirits with a joke or two then, a witty comment to ease some of the pain. Maybe––

The bullet slips from the tweezers, catching you off guard and jerking your hand to the left. It’s only by a centimeter, not a huge distance, but given that you’ve got edges of metal inserted into this man’s wound, to him, it makes all the difference in the world.

James throws his head back and screams, loud enough that you can instantly hear his vocal cords go raw beneath the strain of the volume. A single word leaves his lips; it sounds like Ma, only it’s warped, strangled. Much as you detest the fact, you know the sound well. A soldier crying out for his mother while under the thrall of delirium and pain isn’t exactly a rarity around these parts.

Guilt twists your heart with the razor sharpness of a cruel knife.

“Stop,” he gasps, voice hoarse. “P-please–– please stop!”

“I can’t,” you tell him, already repositioning your tweezers and going back in. Luckily, the bullet is much closer to the surface of his wound now. It only takes a second before you find another grip on it, instantly deciding to forego gentleness in favor of speed. “But the good news is––” With a slight bend of your wrist and a soft, wet pop, the bullet comes loose from his wound. “––we’re done with the shitty part.”

James’ eyes, glassy with pain and pupils blown wide, fall first to the bullet you hold up for his perusal, set against a backdrop of lowlight and your blood covered hand, before wandering their way up to your face. It’s then that you notice his irises are water blue and clear as crystal. You’re not sure why, but their color fascinates you.

“I wanna keep that,” he mutters weakly.

Then, his lashes flutter rapidly and his head lolls to the side, his lungs expelling a great, big breath before shuddering to a halt.

Your heart lurches at the sight. For one, awful moment, you think you’ve just put the poor man through all of that pain and agony only to end up somehow killing him in the process –– never mind the fact that this isn’t the first time you’ve extracted a bullet from a soldier’s abdomen, and certainly isn’t likely to be the last. But then his chest starts up moving again, at a much less worrisome pace. It’s slow, and his breaths are shallow, but they’re still breaths.

Unconscious –– not dead.

The realization is enough to make you send a mental note of thanks to whichever being was kind enough to have shown James mercy.

You allow yourself the shortest of moments to bask in the relief –– that you’d successfully extracted the bullet, that James hadn’t died during or after your attempts to do so, that you aren’t now left to set in motion the process of another condolence letter being shipped across seas to his family.

And once it passes, once you’ve inhaled and exhaled and wiped your hands on a cloth, you grab a cloth and press it to James’ wound, setting to work on stopping his bleeding –– but not before wrapping the bullet you’d just dislodged from his body in a pad of gauze and tucking it into the breast pocket of your uniform.

––

Chapter Two: Someone Good

[sloppyplanetary]

Holding On to Fate, Chapter One

rating: mature (smut later), pairing: rick sanchez/morty smith, tags: memory loss, angst, summer knows, intergalactic road trip, content warnings: drinking, puking implied,

Morty groaned, face contorting into a grimace as he slowly woke up to a pounding headache. Sleep dragged at his eyelids, protesting the morning light shining through his bedroom window. He really didn't want to wake up- he was having such a good dream. The dream was already fading from his memory, but the warmth of a body, the feeling of security, and lingering rough fingers drawing patterns on his back remained, a much better alternative to Morty's current dry mouth and throbbing head.

But, all good things must come to an end. His mom opened his door and softly called his name.

"Morty? You awake?"

He rubbed his face and cracked open his eyes begrudgingly. "Barely." 

Beth's brow was pinched, face displaying a rare level of concern. She opened the door wider, and spoke quietly. "Hey, if you want to take today off from school, you can." She paused, seeming to debate her next words. "You don't have to talk about it. But remember, I know how it feels." 

Morty held in a snort as she left the room. He doesn't remember much of anything that happened last night, but his hangover made it obvious. Of course she knows how it feels, with all the wine she drinks. 

Morty felt a wave of bitterness. It was nice of her to not bug him about school, but she didn't even question why her sixteen year old son got drunk last night. Wait- why did he get drunk? He tried to remember what happened yesterday, but was hit with a fresh wave of nausea, barely jerking out of his bed and into his bathroom on time. 

Fifteen minutes later, he padded downstairs with a freshly brushed mouth in search of advil. The family was seated at the kitchen table, and their conversation abruptly stopped as soon as he rounded the corner. They all looked up at him, Summer off of her phone. 

"W-what?" Morty demanded, his patience wearing thin from dealing with his pounding head.

Summer raised her eyebrows. "Surprised you're still here."

"Where else would I- would I be? Mom gave me the day off of school." He took a seat across from Summer, noticing for the first time how big the kitchen table was. Surely they didn't need that many chairs- it was only the four of them, after all.

She opened her mouth to reply, but was cut off by Beth hissing her name. Summer shot her a glare, and Jerry, sensing the rising tension, spoke up. 

"Well I, for one, am glad you're okay, you’re doing okay. Have some pancakes,” he said, gesturing to the stack on the table.

Morty glanced between Beth and Summer, who were still having an argument through facial expressions only, but he was too tired to deal with this. He grabbed a few pancakes and started eating them, tuning out the room. His mind wandered back to yesterday, trying to grab onto the last thing he remembered, but his head still hurt too much. Suddenly, the chair next to him being empty made him uneasy. He really just wanted to go lay back down and nap. Sighing, he pushed his half-eaten plate away and stood up.

“Wait,” Beth said. She went to the kitchen and returned with a blue gatorade and two small pills, holding it out to him. “Take these and drink this, it’ll help.”

Morty stared at it, a pit in his stomach telling him not to drink it, the color making his head swim worse. “Do we have any other flavors?”

Beth retracted her hand in surprise. “This is your favorite type. It has been for years.”

“Sometimes thing just- they just change,” Morty replied with a shrug.

Beth nodded and switched it out for a purple one. This time, Morty accepted it, and chugged half of it in one go. “Thanks, Mom. I’m going back to bed.” He slowly made his way back up the stairs, pulled his curtains shut, and fell into bed, only to land on something hard. He shook his blanket out to discover a strange small metal flask, the sight of which triggered another throb of his head. The empty flask got tossed across the room into the dirty clothes pile, and Morty finally laid down, sleep quickly reclaiming him.

*****

Morty still couldn’t remember what happened that day, and it made him a bit uneasy, but he wrote it off as getting black-out drunk. His headache faded, and he was back at school, going through the classes on rote. His nights were spent playing video games and watching t.v., but the feeling that something was missing from his routine lingered each night as he tried to sleep. Sleep was hard to come by, and his dreams kept repeating, fading as soon as he woke up but leaving those same feelings of comfort.

Summer was back to normal, Jerry was Jerry (albeit seeming happier for some reason), but Beth seemed like she was constantly tip-toeing around Morty. Her bottles of wine still made appearances at night, and occasionally, Morty would be the cause of an abrupt conversation end just by showing up in the room. It was frustrating, but he tried to ignore it.

One night, Beth cornered him, already a few glasses of wine in. "Listen, I know you don't want to talk about Rick leaving, but it hurt me too. At least he told you to your face, instead of leaving a note."

"What? W-who?" Morty asked, suddenly lightheaded.

Beth just laughed, an airy laugh that felt out of place. "Right. 'Just don't think about it'." She patted his head and walked off, still giggling.

Morty shook his head and retreated to his room. Beth's confusing behavior was worrying him a bit, and he had no clue who she was talking about, but his recurring minor headaches were worrying him more at the moment. It seems like they randomly come and go, without any obvious reason, and he was sick of it.

As he sat on his bed, his eyes landed across the room on the strange silver flask he found in his bed. His headache worsened, but this time he was angry, and stomped across the room the grab the stupid thing. He jerked it up and a splash sounded- it wasn't completely empty like he thought it was.

Curiously, he screwed open and sniffed it. It didn't smell like any alcohol he's ever smelled before, or anything familiar at all, really. It smelled like a thousand things that he's smelled before but couldn't identify now, even though he knew he hadn't. His head throbbed, but he didn't care. He had to taste it

Morty pressed his tongue to the opening and tilted it up, just looking for a drop. He quickly moved his tongue and chugged the rest of the flask when liquid practically melted on his tongue, tasting sweet and warm and comforting and almost immediately making his head stop pounding. He smiled, feeling at ease for the first time in two weeks, and laid on his pillow, empty flask in hand.

*****

Last night after the flask incident he actually got a full amount of sleep, and was staying after school in the library today, when Jessica approached him.

“Hey, Morty,” she said, smiling.

“Oh, J-Jessica! Hi.” Morty shut his book and stood up, waving at her. Maybe it was just a part of getting older, but recently, he hadn’t been getting the same waves of butterflies in his stomach that he used to get any time she came near. “What’s up?”

“Well, I’m free tomorrow, and that new science fiction movie is coming out, and I know you're like, into that stuff."

Morty nodded, confused, not remembering when he'd given her that assumption but rolling with it.

"So anyway, me and a bunch of friends are going to it, and we wanted to invite you."

A weird feeling spread through his body. It wasn't the same giddy anticipation he would've gotten a year ago, and the change threw him off. Did his crush just… go away?

"Earth to Morty," Jessica prompted.

"Haha, sorry, was trying to- to remember if I had something planned for-for tomorrow or not," Morty lied. "But I don't, so, sounds good!"

"Alright, cool! Well, I have your number, so I'll text you the deets later."

"You do?" Morty asked.

Jessica looked at him strangely. "Yeah, don't you remember that whole Healthy Morty situation?"

He didn't, but didn't want to make Jessica think he was dumb, so he nodded and laughed. "Oh yeah, that's good then! Yeah, just call- just text me whenever. Bye!" 

She waved and left the library. Morty's smile faded as she disappeared out of sight. Healthy Morty? Sci-fi enthusiast? Beth avoiding him, her saying something about someone named Rick, the strange flask, whatever Summer was going to say on that first day before she got cut off- his growing feeling of unease over the past two weeks peaked, leaving only one conclusion.

Something was wrong. Something was missing from his memories, and Beth knew what it was. Probably Summer, too. Jerry was debatable, but Morty figured his best bet was to ask Summer first. 

He grabbed his bag and nearly ran out of the library, eager to get answers.

[whentommymetalfie]

Home to you -chapter 4

-Held under-

Prologue//1//2//3

Pairing: Tommy/Alfie

Summary: Alfie reaches out for help. Tommy reaches a breaking point. 

Warnings: disordered eating, mental instability, hallucinations, self harm

Wordcount: 4,4

“Well, I can only know so much without examining him, but I believe this bout of sickness was mostly due to eating more than he’s currently used to. So I wouldn’t worry too much about that in itself. Even if the issue of his appetite and weight is of course concerning.”

Hearing doctor Adelman’s familiar voice on the other end of the line anchors Alfie to reality where he sits by the phone in his study, tapping his fingers against the wooden surface of the desk. This is good. He’s doing something. Taking some goddamn control of the situation.

He felt somewhat foolish when trying to explain the state of affairs (after scaring the doctor’s poor secretary half to death with his threats when she tried to explain the doctor was busy) But doctor Adelman is a wise man and asked just the right questions until he was satisfyingly up to date with Tommy’s condition, up until the very moment Alfie left him in the bathroom downstairs.

“From what you’ve told me, it sounds like he’s improving in many ways,” Adelman continues. “Perhaps you’re just expecting too much of him? There are bound to be set-backs. I believe this to be one of those. And his issues surrounding food are no doubt very deeply rooted.”

“It’s not just that-“ Alfie begins to protest, but It feels too difficult, saying it out loud. That Tommy recoiled from his touch. That he didn’t want him close, didn’t want to be held. Tommy always wants that. If the things he’s done so far to help stop working, then what is he supposed to do?  “He’s… He needs help. From a doctor. Someone who knows what the fuck they’re doing.”

The line is silent as Adelman thinks this over before slowly answering, “As we discussed before, I think he could benefit from seeing someone whose expertise lies within this field. I’d be happy to refer you-“

“No. No fucking way. Don’t want some stranger poking around in that precious head of his. And we don’t have time for the vetting process any new prospect would have to go through. I want you to do it.”

“As I’m sure you know, while I do have some knowledge on the subject I’m far from the expert he needs.”

“Better than fucking no-one, isn’t it? I’ll pay you three- four times your usual rate-”

“Money isn’t the issue here,” Adelman says with that rare but biting sharpness in his tone. It makes Alfie feel like a fucking school boy.

“I couldn’t trust anyone else with this,” he admits. “And Tommy is- he just needs someone.”

The desperation must be clear in his voice because can almost see the doctor’s features soften as he silently considers this.

“Well, I suppose one initial meeting wouldn’t hurt-”

“Brilliant. Tomorrow?” Alfie cuts him off, unable to summon any of the usual curtesy a man of Adelman’s stature arguably deserves. Thankfully Adelman lets out a good natured chuckle.

“I believe you should speak to Thomas himself first and agree on a day.”

Now it’s Alfie’s turn to be silent. Adelman lets him squirm (figuratively of course, Alfie doesn’t fucking squirm) for a moment before speaking up, “If I may ask, have you told him you’re calling me?”

Suddenly his perceptiveness feels like a fucking nuisance. But all the same, it’s what makes the doctor draw the right conclusions from only his continued silence.

“I understand your worry, Solomons. But if this is going to be at all beneficial Thomas has to agree himself to see me. I really have to insist you speak to him and let him weigh in on the matter.”

“He’ll never fucking agree to it. Absolutely terrified of doctors, isn’t he? You saw him last you were here-“

But the thing is when he says it out loud he realises how fucking dumb it sounds. What exactly was the plan? It’s honestly all a bit blurry now, his thought process. Mostly he remembers the desperate feeling of having to reach out, do something, anything to help Tommy, get someone who knows what they’re fucking doing to help because he sure as fuck isn’t enough-

Adelman’s voice breaks him out of his increasingly erratic thoughts as he calmly states,

“You can’t force someone to undergo treatments like this. Quite the opposite really. It can cause great distress. And enough harm has been done to him already. If he agrees I’d be happy to help in any way I can but-“

“Fine. I’ll have a word with him.”

And just like that, Alfie hangs up. And he’ll be paying for that later but right now he can’t be bothered to care.  

….

He goes for a walk to clear his head. It’s a blustery day with bright sunlight that seems to pierce his eyes like needles. The seagulls screech and the wind howls and it does little to untangle the web of conflicting thoughts and feelings. Stop, stop touching me. He hears the words in his head, over and over. The feeling of helplessness that threatened to drown him. Once again he feels it: he’s in over his head.

When he returns home, not a bit wiser, Esther meets him in the hallway.

“Tommy is resting in the living room,” she tells him. “I made him some mint tea to settle his stomach, but he’s rather weak and tired after what happened.”

He nods slowly as he hangs his coat up and takes time to straighten the collar just to have something to do with his hands. Then he just stands there, fingers still wound into the fabric and eyes caught on a piece of lint on the shoulder.

“You should go to him,” Esther adds.  

“Not sure he wants me there.”

“He does.”

She says it with such utter certainty and Alfie wants to believe her.

His fingers clench tightly into the fabric.

“God I don’t know if I can fucking do this,” he tells the coat.

Esther comes over, bats his hands away gently, and straightens the shoulders over the hanger. He eyes her suspiciously and waits for a response.  

“Isn’t this where you say I don’t have a choice?” he grunts when none comes. “That I’ve put myself in this situation. Something of the sort.”

Esther smiles gently. “I don’t think that’s what you need to hear right now, Sir.”

Somehow the softly spoken words make his throat cease up. But fuck it’s been a rather demanding fucking day, hasn’t it?

“I called the doctor,” he says to move them away from the strange moment. “He agreed he’d come by. Have a little chat. If Tommy’s up for it”

Esther nods sagely and studies him closely, apparently not entirely pleased with what she finds. “You could sleep for a bit, if you’d like. I’ll look after him.”

The offer is tempting, but he knows for an absolute fact that sleeping without knowing that Tommy is perfectly safe and preferably within arm’s reach isn’t an option.

He’s pretty fucking far gone, isn’t he?

“No, no ‘s fine. Doesn’t take much energy sitting in an armchair and waiting for him to perk up. Which is what I’ll be doing for the rest of the afternoon, I assume.”

“He wants you there,” Esther nods towards the living room. “I know he does. But you should only go to him if you think you can behave yourself.” She wags her finger at that last part, eyes glinting, and the lighthearted gesture actually drags a dry laugh from his mouth. Loosens something in his chest, if only a tiny bit.

…

Esther has tucked Tommy in under several blankets on the sofa, where he lies curled up as tightly as possible, face half obscured by said blankets. His eyes dart briefly towards Alfie when he enters before turning back to stare listlessly at the teacup on the table.

Alfie seats himself in the armchair opposite him and spends an inordinate amount of time preparing and lighting his pipe as he tries to come up with a good opening line to start untangling this mess, but Tommy surprisingly speaks first.

“I’m sorry,” he says quietly. I’m sorry. Fucking hell.

“The fuck are you sorry for, eh?” Alfie scoffs and knows that was the wrong thing to say the second the words leave his mouth. He adds quickly, tone softened, “Nothing to be sorry for, alright, treacle. Nothing at all.”

Tommy shifts a little underneath the blankets, drawing his knees tighter against his chest.

The distance between them feels like an ocean. Frozen over. Impossible to tell how thick the ice is. He needs to cross it somehow. Well aware that it could give way at any moment.

“I called the doctor.”

One step out on the ice and it already creaks underneath his feet.

Tommy sits up and the fear is clear on his face.

“I’m sorry,” he repeats. “It won’t happen again. I don’t need- I- ”

Alfie goes to sit on the sofa. Several steps. Fine cracks like a spider’s web underneath his feet. Doesn’t touch him.

“I called because I’m worried. Alright?” He navigates the cracks as well as he can with words that are soft but firm in equal parts. “And all he’d do is come here and have a little chat with you. See if there’s something he can do to help.”

Tommy wrings his hands into the blanket and his chest rises and falls in quick breaths. He looks over Alfie’s shoulder towards the corner of the room. Shakes his head to someone and mouths something imperceptible.

And what does crossing that fucking ice safely mean if Tommy is already underneath?

Alfie takes Tommy’s hand when it flies up to the side of his head to scratch at the scar. This time, Tommy lets him. Squeezes his hand back. Takes it in both of his and holds it tightly. Presses forehead against the knuckles and curls inwards until its resting on the back of the sofa. There, he stays, clinging to Alfie’s hand like a lifeline.

“I’m getting better,” he whispers.  

Alfie cradles the nape of his neck and rubs gently. Tremors run through him like tiny ripples.

“Yeah, you are, love. Know it’s… fucking difficult, alright, but there’s no rush- You’re getting better. Some things just take time and help. That’s all he wants to do, ‘s help. We can pick a day, any day, and he’ll come here. Just for a short chat. Alright?”  

Tommy nods. Curls up a little closer to him, inch by inch until he’s tucked himself into a tightly wound ball of limbs right by Alfie’s side. Alfie keeps the hand firmly on the back of his neck until he feels the tremors slowly subside.

….

Thank fucking God it wakes him up, the sound of glass shattering, smattering onto hard tile. Alfie bolts upright in bed, heart hammering violently and eyes darting around the dark bedroom. Certain for a moment that the noise was just in his restless dreams.

But then he sees the faint light coming from under the bathroom door. Sees that Tommy is missing from the bed. And he’s absolutely wide awake, then, unsteadily climbing out of bed and cursing when his stiff back halts his step.

“Tommy?” he calls out, softly not to frighten him- he might’ve just dropped a glass of water or something in there. Except he feels with every fiber of his being that something is wrong.

And when there’s no answer-

He doesn’t have to pick the lock this time, thankfully.

Alfie’s walked in on and caused many a violent scene in his day. Maimed, shot, crushed skulls, severed various body parts. Seen it all, hasn’t he? So it really shouldn’t fucking faze him. It’s just blood on white tile. But the sight of that blood, the smell of it, coppery and thick, brings up a sudden sickness in the back of his throat, fear that tastes like sour bile.

Tommy is on the floor, kneeling in the midst of a thousand mirror shards that reflect pale flesh and crimson stains and white porcelain, curled in on himself and clutching at his head, fingers like talons in the dark locks. He’s making a noise, quiet and pained in the back of his throat as he rocks back and forth. There’s so much fucking blood. Seeping in stark trails down his frail wrists. Dripping onto the tiles and the remnants of the mirror that hung over the sink.

“Fuckin’ell, Tommy-“

Alfie rips several towels down from a rack, throws them haphazardly on the floor over the shards, he’ll be no fucking use to Tommy if he cuts his feet to shreds, logic states, instinct, that practical thing that kicks in despite the scene before him.

Moving with the frenzy of a terrified animal, Tommy scrambles away over the glass when he comes closer, whining and shaking, smearing blood on the floor. Eyes wide and frightened, looking in Alfie’s direction but failing to see him. Darting around the room, catching on one of his ghosts presumably.

Alfie wishes he could turn around and bash the skull in on that ghost.

“Tommy,” he says instead. Stays where he is, hands outstretched in a placating gesture. “Tommy, look at me.”  

But Tommy won’t look at him, sits there bleeding all over the tiles and where is all that fucking blood coming from?  

Alfie realizes, finally, that he’s holding a shard of the mirror clutched in his right hand. It’s about then he stops trying to keep his distance. In two strides he’s across the floor and kneeling in front of Tommy. He grabs his wrist in one hand -whole, thank God, both of them, it’s fine, the blood isn’t coming from there, he hasn’t, fuck- takes hold of his fingers with the other.

“Tommy, let go of that,” he says. “You don’t need it for nothing.”

Finally Tommy heaves a sharp breath and his gaze snaps into focus, turning to Alfie. Alfie breathes too. Calmly. Has to at least seem calm. He begins to carefully unfurl Tommy’s fingers from the sharp edges of the glass.

“There you go, I’ll take care of it. No need to hold on so tight.”

Tommy’s fingers clench around the glass once again and Alfie winces at the fucking sight but Tommy doesn’t seem to feel a thing. He holds on harder to his fingers trying to minimize the damage.

“Tommy, let go,” he repeats, a firm command this time. And Tommy does, blinking dazedly at him as Alfie tosses the cursed piece of glass to the opposite corner of the room. It’s done some damage, but he’s bleeding too much for him to properly assess it.  

Alfie does the only thing he can think of and picks him up. Tommy doesn’t struggle as he navigates through the glass and out of the room, wanting to take him as far away from anything sharp as possible.  

He carries him through the house, into the guest room, towards a bathroom without shattered glass all over, where he can get a good look at him. But Tommy’s eyes snap up when Alfie tries to bring him inside and he instantly begins fighting weakly against his grip.

“God, will you just cooperate for one fucking second!” Alfie growls and holds him tighter, which only increases Tommy’s struggle. He catches a glimpse of them both in the mirror. What a sight they make for: him oddly pale and with sharp lines of worry all over his face, Tommy hollow eyed and shaking, covered in blood.

He can’t understand what the hell Tommy wants, but he’s not calming down and it’s going to be fucking impossible to look after him in this state.

“Right, bathroom’s a problem now for some reason? Eh? Fine, fine, we’ll go to the kitchen. How about that?”  

The promise seems to do the trick, Tommy settles down and allows Alfie to carry him to the kitchen where he sits him down on a chair, letting go only when he’s made sure he’s not in immediate danger of collapsing. He’s gone somewhere else entirely by then, eyes glassy and distant, but Alfie has to focus on the more pressing issue of all the cuts.

He sets about cleaning the wounds in his palm first, and finds two deep ones where corners of the glass has dug deep into the flesh. Had there been a doctor within three hours that he trusts he might’ve called one to put some stitches there, now Tommy will have to do with surgical tape.

Then he begins picking the glass out, the worst of the panic settling with every cut he takes care of. The rest of them aren’t deep, thank God, thank fucking God they aren’t deep. Could’ve been worse, could’ve been a lot fucking worse, could’ve found him in a pool of his own blood already too far gone to save and fuck what if he hadn’t found him until the morning-

“Yeah, this could’ve been- could’ve been worse, eh? Seen much, much worse, I have,” he mutters, mostly to himself. Tommy says nothing.  

“Need to take a look at your feet too,” Alfie says once he’s finished bandaging both hands. Tommy doesn’t react when he grabs and pulls one of them into his lap. It ignites a strange sense of déjà vu, from a different night that seems so long ago.  

Everything is different and yet exactly the fucking same

He finds a few small cuts that he takes care of before he can finally give Tommy a onceover and state that he’s all patched up. Least on the surface. He slumps back in his chair and rubs his hands over his face. Takes the first truly deep breath since he found Tommy there in the bathroom.

Now on to deal with the truly big issue.

But what is he supposed to say? What is he supposed to ask? He barely knows what he’s feeling -the anger that usually comes with the panic is nowhere to be found. In its place is nothing but a bone deep weariness. And worry, the goddamn worry that’s become a solid fixture in his life. Always there. Flaring up and settling again with every shift in Tommy. Now it’s wrapped so tightly around his chest it might crush his fucking ribs.

“What the fuck was that about, eh?” he finally asks.

Tommy picks at the bandages around his right hand and stares at his lap.

“Right. I promise I won’t get angry, but I’m gonna need you to be honest with me here. Were you trying- were you going to hurt yourself? More than you already had.”

Tommy cradles his hands against his stomach and says, “I don’t know.”

There might be more questions he should ask. But right then, they all seem useless. All he can think, all he can feel, is an overwhelming urge to take Tommy back to the bedroom, tie him to the bed and never let him out of his sight again. Anything, fucking anything to keep this from happening-

But his little bird isn’t the kind that can live in a cage.

Reaching out, he cradles Tommy’s face, as careful as if holding a Fabergé egg, and Tommy closes his eyes tightly but doesn’t recoil. They sit there in the dimly lit kitchen and he runs his thumb over his freckles. Allows the space between them fill with nothing but the faint buzzing of the lightbulb and the sound of their breaths -Tommy’s, unsteady and shallow and his own, calm and slow. As if it’ll help soothe him. Animals can sense things like that, when you’re nervous they are too. Humans aren’t too different, he reckons.

Finally Tommy swallows tightly and looks at him with so much pain in his eyes it seems to knock the wind out of him. “How can you- how can you stand it?” he asks and it takes him a while to gather enough air to answer with a dumb, “What?”

“Touching me.” Tommy swallows thickly. “Look at me. I’m-“ He turns away again, blinking rapidly. Biting at the inside of his cheek to choke down a sob. Alfie takes his face between his hands.

“I am looking,” he says. “Don’t know if you’ve noticed but I do that a lot. Look at you. I am after all a man who knows to appreciate beauty.”

“Don’t,” Tommy grits out, grabs his wrists but Alfie doesn’t let go. “Don’t fucking say things like that.”

“I’ll say whatever I fucking please, I’ll have you know.”

“I know what I look like,” Tommy snaps.  “I know that’s why- that’s why you don’t want to-“

He’s trying to turn away, tense underneath Alfie’s hands.

“Don’t want what?”

Tommy lets out a bitter laugh and shakes his head.

Alfie does the only thing that seems to make sense right then and kisses him. For just a second of bliss Tommy relents and seems to long to give in fully, but it only lasts a moment. Then he’s ripping himself away from Alfie. Stumbles from the chair and stares at him, eyes wild and desperate.

“I don’t want your fucking pity,” he cries. “You don’t have to pretend that- you don’t have to pretend to want me when I- when I look like this. When I so-”

His voice breaks and he blinks up at the ceiling, eyes welling with tears. Wraps his arms around himself the way he does when he wants to disappear.

It sinks in slowly, his words, the raw pain in his voice.

The thought that Tommy doesn’t realise, that he’s failed so completely to show him-

“Tommy, sweetheart, I thought I made it abundantly clear that I-“ he scrambles to find the right words. “That you’re the most beautiful creature God has placed in this little fucked up world of ours. And of course, fuck, I couldn’t want you more. Have you any idea how many times I’ve imagined taking you right here against one of these counters?”

“Why don’t you, then?” Tommy challenges between the tears, words dripping with spite and quiet desperation. Well, if that’s how it’s going to be…

Alfie can move quickly when he wants to. In one swift movement he’s grabbed Tommy and lifted him up onto the counter behind him. Fingers wrapping around his neck to feel the pulse underneath his skin, holding his waist tightly, he kisses him like he fucking means it. When Tommy doesn’t open his mouth for him he squeezes tighter until he does, biting at his lips before licking against the roof of his mouth. Deep and sloppy and with a possessiveness that he so often tries to control. Forcing Tommy to give in, let go.

He doesn’t pull back until his head is swimming.  

Tommy stares at him, eyes wide and lips parted to take in quick, shallow breaths. His heart thrums rapidly underneath Alfie’s fingers.

“Like that, eh? Is this how you want it?” he growls “See, I could take you right here. Make you feel things no one has ever made you feel before. I could fuck all those stupid ideas right out of you. Make you absolutely come apart-“  

“Maybe I want you to,” Tommy whispers. But there’s something frightened and broken that seeps out of the cracks in the words. Alfie squeezes his neck and tugs him closer. Allows himself for a moment to imagine giving in. Fucking hell the things he could do. And yet-

With a sigh, he loosens the grip around Tommy’s neck and strokes his cheek instead. “Oh sweetheart, I think we both know that’s not true.”

And with a sob, Tommy collapses against him. Buries his face in his shirt and cries. Alfie hugs him tightly and rocks him back and forth. “Shh, shh, love. It’s not what you need. Not right now, eh? See I think what you need is to be properly taken care of. In a bed with soft sheets and far too many pillows. Where I can take my time with you. Treat you the way you deserve.”  

He holds and hushes and strokes his back, the nape of his neck, his hair. Slow and rhythmical over and over as he cries.

“I wish you’d see yourself the way I do,” he whispers. “Suppose I’ll have to do a better job of showing it. Because I know you well enough to understand you won’t take my fucking word for it.”

Tommy’s broken voice comes from within his shirt, “You don’t have-“

Alfie wrings his fingers into his hair and tugs lightly until he comes out from his hiding place  

“None of that,” he says. “Not a single fucking word implying that I’m doing some noble thing here. There’s nothing noble about what I’m going to do to you. Because I want to. Wanted to for so long. And if that should happen to coincide with what you want, well, that makes me a very lucky man, doesn’t it? But we’re not in a rush. And there’s quite a bit of territory between living in chastity and fucking against a kitchen counter. Which we could absolutely explore further, if you think you’re up for it.”  

Finally, Tommy looks at him with something besides the despair which has been lodged in his gaze. Alfie wipes the remnants of tears from his cheek.

“But tonight, all we’re going to do is sleep,” he tells Tommy. And himself. “Because I think we both need it. You especially, after this little incident. So I’m taking you to bed. Where we’re going to sleep. There are plenty of other nights to fill with all kinds of lovely activities.”  

Tommy responds by falling back against his chest, loose limbed and pliant and finally completely relaxed. Alfie smiles. “Yeah? Sounds like a plan doesn’t it?”

He he lifts him off the counter to carry him back towards his bedroom and Tommy clings to him, laying his head on his shoulder and burrowing into the crook of his neck. Alfie kisses his forehead, the tenderness, a possessive almost feral need to protect and care for him aches in his chest at the happy little sound he lets out.

This, this makes it worth it, the worry the fear and the frustration- this small moment.

Before he even crosses the threshold to the bedroom, Tommy is sound asleep.

[slipping-through-my-fingertips]

Guess I Misunderstood

Part 2 of Not the One series. 

Summary: Kurt's trying a find a way to end things with Adam and Blaine Anderson is one of the reasons why. 

Notes:  Open for more prompts in this 'verse but I only intended it to be 2 parts of a two-sided story. I hope you enjoy.

Read Part 1 here

AO3

The first time Kurt saw Blaine Anderson, he was spying on the bulletin boards. He, like every other Apple, was worried about how many freshmen they could pull this semester. With a majority of the current Adam’s Apples being seniors, they needed to fill those spots with freshmen. Better to round them up this year so they’ll already have a year of acapella under their belts.

He's just standing there reading all the flyers. Kurt’s trying to look busy with his phone to not draw attention. But he can’t help but access this man. 

Firstly, Kurt doesn't recognize him so he assumes this is a freshman, exactly the demographic their flyers are trying to bring in. The second thing that makes this man stand out among the others Kurt’s observed thus far is how nicely dressed he is. It is the first day of school so one would think a little effort would be put in but some boys their age won’t even put on a stain-free shirt to come to school. Luckily, most NYADA students care about their appearances, this freshman is no exception. 

He’s wearing tightly fitted, dark green, capri pants and a crisp, white, collared polo. 

Then his hand is reaching up to the green flyer Kurt designed. 

He takes it. 

YES!

Kurt tries to collect himself when he walks over to the boards. Don’t scare him away is his new mantra.

“The Apples?” He asks. 

The freshman was shy at first probably because he didn’t expect to be approached. Before he answers Kurt, he does manage to meet his eyes. 

Well, Kurt thought, if he sings as well as he looks the Apples could make Nationals. 

In the past, Kurt would’ve berated himself for checking out guys while being in a relationship but he’s becoming less sure about Adam lately. His boyfriend is becoming a bit pushy about things like this. But Kurt isn’t about to stop doing it. If Adam really trusted him, he could see all of this was harmless. 

The guy was gorgeous, no one should really blame Kurt for staring. His bowtie added a dash of adorableness, which would only draw Kurt in closer if he was single. Which he is decidedly not. 

“I love to sing.” 

Kurt could certainly relate. That’s how he got involved with glee clubs in the first place. Hell, that’s what got him to New York. 

“Me too,” he said, “I’ll see you at auditions, break a leg.” 

Only while he was walking away did Kurt curse himself for not catching the man’s name. 

Before he knew it, they reached the point in the school year—day two—where Rachel was would start harassing him about “getting his name out there” and listing off all the auditions she had lined up. The only way Kurt could hear another word of this was over coffee so he dragged Rachel there before his class. This meant she had exactly 35 minutes to talk at him about it until he inevitably came home for the night and had to share the loft with her. Halfway through the conversation, he notices a finely dressed young man in line.

 He’s not ashamed to admit the man’s best asset drew his attention. Though it wasn’t a difficult feat considering Power-Hungry Rachel was his other option. 

Thankfully, her time was running out, “Rach, I’ll see you at home, I have Tibideaux.” 

With one last look at the man, Kurt rushes off to class. 

When Adam’s Apples auditions are up and running, Kurt is fuming. His boyfriend thought the perfect time to discuss their future as a couple was directly before they had to sit on their asses for 3 hours listening to a bunch of freshmen sing their hearts out. 

Of course, they fought over it. Kurt was pissed about the timing, Adam thought he was being careless about their future plans because he refused to talk about it. 

“I’m refusing to do it publicly when we have obligations!” Kurt had told him. 

He had stormed into the empty auditorium at that point, casting aside Adam’s idea to move away after graduation for the moment, and sat in the third row. Unable to take a hint, Adam sat beside him. 

Kurt was barely able to pay attention to the singers until Blaine. Once again, the man was pleasantly dressed. This time in bright yellow capris and a lovely yellow and blue bowtie. Kurt wondered if he had an affinity for them. 

Adam coughed next to him, Kurt reverted his eyes. For the rest of the song, he was trying not to stare because Adam didn’t need another reason to blame Kurt for their relationship problems. When Blaine was finished, they clapped, Adam leaned in, “I’m sorry, you’re right.” In reply, Kurt kissed his cheek. 

Knowing a simple kiss could smooth things over for now. They obviously had a lot to discuss. 

As school picked up, Kurt mostly forgot about his little soft spot for Blaine until he was pulling a tipsy Adam off of the Lion’s Den dance floor Saturday night. 

They knew their potential new recruits would be at Callbacks, Kurt wanted none of that. If they were going to celebrate the first week of classes as a couple, he wasn’t about to be interrupted by a drunk NYADA student begging to know how their glee audition went. So he was here and apparently so was Blaine. 

He almost turned right around wanting to ignore the man. This is the exact situation he was trying to avoid. But Adam pulled him forward, slurring “bar’s this way.” 

Kurt tried to catch his eye from across the bar but instead watched as Blaine slung his drink back and paid his tab. By the time Adam was finished ordering, Blaine was gone. 

The fourth time Kurt thought he’d see Blaine never came. 

Kurt had posted the Adam’s Apples list of new recruits himself. Blaine Anderson was at the top. Alphabetically speaking. Yet, he never showed up to their first rehearsal. Everyone else had come. It was difficult to listen to Adam’s introductory speech when he kept waiting for Blaine to walk through the auditorium doors. 

He never did. Did Tuesdays at 7 not work for his schedule? 

They sat in a circle on stage playing ice breakers, learning each other’s names and special interests in regards to their studies at NYADA. 

When rehearsal ends, Adam tapped his shoulder, “you seem distracted, what’s up?” 

Kurt remembers what Drunk Adam told him on Saturday and lies, “nothing, I’m fine. Just something Rachel said.” 

“Well,” Adam helped him up, “don’t worry too much about her. Before you know it, you and I will be taking on the West End.” 

He smiles until Adam turns away. 

When Adam had first said they should move, Kurt thought he meant out of the heart of the city. Which was something he could understand. If Kurt’s dreams of starting a family someday were to be met, he saw the appeal of a move. It never crossed his mind that Adam meant to move across the ocean. 

When they first started talking, Kurt loved the allure of an older man. Being a freshman at the time, Kurt had been desperate to fit in in ways he never could at McKinley. So when Adam took him under his wing, showed him the ropes of NYADA and New York, it was only a matter of time before Kurt had a crush on him. Initially, Adam was too busy for a relationship, he had told Kurt as much so Kurt keep the crush to himself...and Rachel. 

When NYADA’s spring formal rolled around, Kurt was already planning on going with his roommate. Rachel had been trying him to match in a terrible shade of pink. It didn’t go well with either of their complexions. The text came in mid-argument about their outfits.

Adam: wanna go to formal?

Kurt dropped his phone. Luckily, he was sitting on the couch and it fell onto the cushion. Rachel, of course, knew something was wrong because Kurt paused in the middle of yelling at her about the tackiness of matching when they could complement each other instead. 

“What’s up?” she asked, leaning in to glance at his phone, “it’s not your dad, right?” 

“No, no, no,” Kurt assured her, tilting his screen so she could read the message. 

“OH!” she squealed, jumping up. “Tell him yes!” 

“He probably isn’t asking me, just wants to know if I’ll be there.”

Rachel rolled her eyes, “don’t stupid, Kurt.” 

Ignoring her, Kurt texted back and slumped down. 

Kurt: Rachel and I are going to go together, yes

Instantly, another text came in. 

Adam: Would Rachel be upset if I took you instead?

Rachel was biting her lip excitedly. Practically dancing as she sat on the couch next to him. 

Kurt: I think she’d be delighted. As would I.

The two of them did some jumping up and down together before Kurt settled back onto the couch, holding his phone to his chest. 

 “Guess that means I can wear pink if I want to,” Rachel said before disappearing into her bedroom. 

But that was then. It had been a long time since Kurt felt butterflies in his stomach when he thought about Adam. He never thought they’d completely disappear but these last few months he felt stagnant. When he expressed these concerns to his boyfriend, Adam’s solution was, once again, to move across the pond. 

Like that would solve their issues. 

That wasn’t what Kurt had meant by stagnant but Adam kept going on and on about how New York may be the city that never sleeps but he couldn’t wait to get back to the excitement of London. 

Kurt could never see himself moving so far away from his dad or his friends. New York had become his home these last three years. Maybe Adam always dreamed of going back to the UK but he had never told Kurt that explicitly until the start of this semester. Dating for 2 years and it never came up. 

By the time they were having their fifth fight about this, Kurt knew they were going to have to break up. It was just a matter of when. 

The actual fourth time Kurt saw Blaine Anderson was two weeks before Thanksgiving break. 

He was sitting in a corner of the library. Sheets of music spread across his lap. Titling his head so a single black curl dangled in his face. Blaine keeps blowing the curl away to no avail. It took everything in Kurt to not laugh. 

Adorable. 

Kurt wasn’t really here to study. He finished up his assignments for the weekend. There was a major test next week for one of Rachel’s classes. She was in a study group and forgot her yellow notebook so Kurt offered to bring it to her. 

Wasn’t it just his luck that Blaine Anderson was here? Right in his line of sight. The universe must be having fun with him tonight. He was about to go home to an empty apartment and write a breakup speech for Adam. 

Kurt had plans to talk with his day over Thanksgiving break—Burt insisted on planning for his flight. He just needed someone, not Rachel, to tell him it was the right choice. For so long, Adam, being his first boyfriend, made Kurt feel like he owed it to Adam to continue this. Kurt had just reached the end of his rope. 

He did end up talking to his dad about everything other than the impending breakup. In fact, Kurt couldn’t seem to get Blaine’s name out of his mouth. 

“We had this really talented singer come in for auditions, dad,” Kurt said. “Blaine Anderson, he’s a freshman.” 

“Oh yeah?” 

This was the second time Kurt had brought this up. 

“He’s going to do big things someday.” 

By the fourth time, Blaine’s name was mentioned, which was a lot of times for a man Kurt had only spoken to once, Burt had something to say about it. 

“You gonna ask him out, bud, or just keep talking to me?”

Kurt paused, blushed, and stumbled out a “no.” 

“No what? You won’t ask him or he won’t go out with you.” 

“Dad,” Kurt said, “both of those imply, I do ask him out.” 

“Well, you should.” Burt shrugged. “You clearly like him.” 

His dad did always know how to read him. This wasn’t the time to remind Burt of his boyfriend. Of whom, Burt was indifferent. Dating for years and Adam couldn’t seem to break down Burt’s overprotective walls. 

Now that Kurt was alone in their apartment thinking of those conversations. All of them. Every single time he had asked Burt about Adam or called his dad after a ridiculous fight. How many of those conversations contain happy stories? 

Kurt and Adam had loads of good times but none that he ever shared with his dad, no memories that become inside jokes, nothing like that. 

It was the Monday after Thanksgiving, Rachel was in class, Adam’s professor had let them out earlier, and Kurt had an empty apartment. 

Kurt: let’s get coffee

Adam: Be there in ten

When Kurt came back, he was a single man in New York once again. 

The fifth time, Kurt saw Blaine Anderson was on purpose. He meant to run into him in the NYADA auditorium. Kurt had asked around and found out Blaine had joined a different glee club. Amy said they rehearsed on Wednesdays and Blaine was always there a half-hour earlier to warm-up alone. 

Sure enough, Blaine was center stage pacing in a circle doing one of Rachel’s favorite scales. Kurt is creeping in from one of the back entrances. Slowly, he makes his way up to the stage unsure if he wants Blaine to notice him or not. 

Eventually, he reaches a moment when he has to say something. About fifteen feet from the stage, Kurt speaks up, “you’re very talented, you know?” 

Blaine looks down at him, a quick smile, and blushes, “thanks.” 

“We were sad to not see you at rehearsals but The Singsations benefit greatly.” 

“Yeah, I felt bad about it…” he said, rubbing the back of his neck, “but it just wasn’t going to work.” 

“Well,” Kurt replied, “acapella isn’t for everyone.” 

“Funny enough, it wasn’t the acapella part.” 

At that, Kurt’s not sure what to say. He wants to ask what the problem was then.

“Sorry, did you just come here to ask why I didn’t join the Apples?” Blaine asked. 

“Um no, Amy said you warm up here before rehearsals.” Which was Kurt’s way of stalling. “I…”

This is exactly why Kurt hadn’t had a boyfriend before Adam: he was too nervous to make the first move. 

Blaine is sitting on the edge of the stage now so they’re almost level. Kurt could just push his legs apart, stand between them, and kiss him. That’s all he wants to do. 

“I’ve seen you around campus a lot.” Four times.

“Me too,” Blaine said, which has Kurt smirking slightly. So he did notice him too. Then Blaine continues and knocks that smirk right off his face, “how’s your boyfriend?” 

Well, Kurt should’ve expected that blow. His and Adam’s relationship was pretty well-known. In just two weeks since the breakup, Kurt’s surprised more people aren’t gossiping about it. 

Honesty is the best policy, right? 

“We broke up.”

“Oh,” Blaine replied, “I’m sorry to hear that.” 

“Are you?” Kurt asked, “because I’m not sorry at all. I should’ve done it sooner. We weren’t meant to be together as long as we were.” 

“You broke up with him?” Blaine asked, confused. “But you seemed so in love.” 

“A year ago, I would’ve agreed with you but one too many problems later it was never going to work,” Kurt told him, “but that’s not why I’m here either.” 

“So, why are you here? I was pretty sure you didn’t know I existed.” 

“I definitely do,” Kurt said, “and now it’s my turn to ask if you’re single.” 

Blaine blushed again, “Not sure that’s what I meant earlier.” 

“It’s what I meant.” 

“I’m not seeing anyone right now, I’ve been pining after this upperclassman who was with someone.” 

“Oh yeah?” Kurt asked. 

“Yeah.” 

Kurt took a step closer and placed his palms on Blaine’s knees. 

“Well, I think he likes you too.” 

Then, he pushes his legs open with no resistance from Blaine. It isn’t Kurt who leans in first though. 

[glitxhwayventeen]

Lonely Together

Jihoon: Chapter 2 (Dark Side)

Characters: Jihoon x female reader

Genre/Warnings: multi-member au (different scenarios), werewolf au, fantasy, angst, fluff, potential blood mentions, genocide, runaways, health issue mentions, weapon mentions, panic attack description? (Though honestly it’s more of an anxiety attack), death mentions, child abandonment mentions. Any others will be put as warnings when future chapters are thought up/written.

Author’s Note: I recommend listening to Dark Side by R5. I thought the actual lyrics to the song gave off a solid vibe that I wanted to transfer to the start of this particular chapter.

Please remember that all of these chapters and the content within them are a work of fiction! They’re just for fun/entertainment!

Bold= Dialogue Italics= Thoughts

🥀 & ☁️

Lonely Together Master List

Chapter 2: Dark Side

When you woke up this morning, you had the sweet scent of Vanilla and honey hit your nose. It was warm and inviting and made you feel safe. You were glad, normally you’d never feel safe in the wild. The pack helped a lot with that issue. But when you woke up today, you noticed that you had woken up to a quiet house. Which was… strange to say the least. There was always some sort of ruckus going on downstairs in the early hours. So you figured you’d go investigate cautiously, in case something had happened. You grabbed your thigh garter belt with your knives attached before you quietly made your way down the stairs. You saw and heard no one. Nothing was wrong or out of place. Everyone was just… gone. But why?

“Boy, you come prepared don’t you?” A male voice said from the stairs, causing you to jolt back in surprise, automatically drawing your knife from its holster on sheer instinct, ready to release it at any given moment.

You relaxed and placed it back to your thigh as you realized it was just Jihoon, one of the less spoken wolves of the pack.

He was only a few inches taller than you, but you were still incredibly intimidated by him. You weren’t sure why all the others were terrified to piss him off, even the alphas, but you were never worried he’d get mad at you. Which was weird, you were always skeptical of everyone, it was just in your nature as a rogue wolf.

However, with him, it wasn’t horror that overtook your veins, it was nervousness. Like you had some sort of school girl crush on him and you were worried you’d mess something up in front of him and die from the embarrassment of it. But why? Why would you care what some rando wolf would think of you when you’d probably be leaving in a bit when your wounds were healed better?

“Jesus Jihoon! You know I could’ve killed you right? Didn’t your parents ever tell you not to fuck with a bitch with knives?” You huffed out in annoyance while slapping you hands over your face, praying that he hadn’t seen your cherry red cheeks yet.

Of course he had though. He never took his eyes off of you whenever you were in a room. You were just too zoned off to notice

“Uh no… Not really. Never had them so they didn’t teach me shit. Not that any of that matters. We both know you’d never hurt anyone if you could help it.” He shrugged, nudging past you to make his way to the fridge for a bite to eat with a small smile pasted on his glorious lips. God he annoyed you.

“You don’t know that. I always come prepared, I could be a serial killer for all any of you know” you cooly threw his way as you let your guard down slightly, for some reason trusting him enough to have a semi civilized conversation alone.

“Yeah yeah you’re a little vicious killer. Whatever you say kid” He laughed out, trying to keep his amusement in check at your quick replies.

You gritted your teeth, “Hey I am not a kid! I’m centuries old! MUCH older than you.” You smugly responded to his bitch ass nickname for you.

Jihoon looked you up and down for a second, making you a bit self conscious and spreading a heat down to your lower belly, “You don’t look older than me. Matter of fact, you look like the youngest one here. So I’m gonna keep calling you kid, kid.” He leaned in close to you and whispered seductively in your ear.

“Where- where is everyone?” You stuttered out, trying your best not to focus on the minimal contact Jihoon had made with your shoulder while brushing past you moments ago. Curse your dumb instincts. Why did you have to find him attractive? Couldn’t your wolf side ever just stay in check?

“The market? No, to Taeyong’s? Maybe it was to the river? I dont know by the time they left it didn’t seem like they even knew where they were going so I stopped listening.” He answered while taking a bit of an apple he had snagged from the fruit basket on the counter.

“W-why didn’t you go with them?” You questioned him as you tried your best to avoid his piercing gaze.

“Didn’t feel like third wheeling a bunch of mated coupled wolves.” He shrugged once more while sitting himself on the kitchen table you were next to, “Plus, someone needed to stay here and keep an eye on the house.”

“I would’ve been here.” You chimed in, as if he would’ve ever seriously left you alone.

Whether you were a Werewolf or not, he was NOT gonna leave you without some sort of safety net if he could help it. If he had it his way, you wouldn’t even go down to the market with the other mates when supplies were needed. He knew you could handle yourself as a fellow wolf, and he knew you were the best to go because you weren’t marked yet, but he was worried for you.

You definitely had people looking at you because of your different appearance. You were drop dead gorgeous to anyone with eyes, and that greatly concerned him every-time you went out shopping. He may have been more of a lone wolf, but he wanted to protect you at all cost, even if you didn’t realize that’s what he was doing yet.

“Doesn’t count. You’re a FANCY werewolf, remember?” He emphasized the word fancy in a condescending way that irked your nerves all the way to your core.

“We don’t know what you can do yet. Besides, you act like I’d actually want to go watch them make goo goo eyes at each other all day long. Seeing them cuddle and dry hump the whole time we’re doing something isn’t my idea of fun. I’d rather be here and enjoy the peace and quiet while I can.” He said as he tossed the remains of his apple in the garbage can in one swift motion.

“I can do everything you guys can and more!” You defended yourself, getting a bit frustrated at the younger wolf for doubting your abilities.

“Then prove it. Do something… super wolfy” he chuckled out, half jokingly and half seriously in what a normal person would recognize as a flirty manner.

He hadn’t had too many girlfriends. His experience with girls was limited compared to his brothers. So sticking to his sarcastic edgy tone was the only way he knew how to engage with you.

He was curious as to what your powers entailed anyways. They all were, none of them had met a wolf like you before. All the wolves they knew were modern, and the only seriously powerful wolf they knew was from a Chinese pack that had fled to their area who could communicate with heaven, hell, and the nether realms. They had heard stories that had been passed down for some generations about what wolves were like long ago, but none of it was confirmed because nearly all had been killed or died off. So they wanted to see if you could actually do all the things from the legends they heard about your people. For all they knew, you could fly.

You hesitated for a moment, trying your best to think of something, anything that you could do that would shut him up and prove your point. But everything you thought of required you to be much stronger than you currently were. None of the visible powers you had were working right now due to the small amount of silver still running through your system. Even if you were working at full strength and weren’t hurt, you had never been able to use your powers to their full extent do to something having been wrong with you since birth.

“… I- I cant.” You sighed in defeat while bringing your head down to look at your hands.

“Why not?” He wondered aloud, not even really meaning to tease you, he just let the innocent question slip from his lips without thinking.

“Because I got hurt and I have no way to get better! My entire pack is dead! Everyone I love is dead! I don’t have a mate! I need some sort of connection to the people around me to heal faster and I don’t have one anymore! I need one or the other to have my powers come back this quickly after such a traumatic incident and I have neither! I’m fucked up and I’ve been fucked up for a long time okay!” You snapped, your eyes now bleeding and turning emerald green from anger as you yelled at him.

Once you saw his confused and remorseful expression, you quickly closed your eyes and turned around to try and calm down. You didn’t mean to go after him like that, but you were already very worried about your own health not coming back and the taunting tone in his voice just made you break. You could feel the hurt in his heart. It made you want to cry, you didn’t mean to yell at him. You were just a very touchy person who had been asked about a very touchy subject.

“I- I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to get upset. I just- I’m concerned for myself and this conversation… well it made the concerns I already had skyrocket. But that’s not your fault. You would’ve had no way of knowing that. I apologize for getting mad at you over something so childish.” You earnestly said, trying your best to look him in the eyes without blushing from embarrassment.

He quickly moved his head down to look at his lap. He understood your pain. He could feel it everyday. You were his mate, he already did have a connection to you. He knew when you were sad or hurt or worried. He knew that you weren’t just in physical pain, but emotional pain as well. He wished he could take it all away from you so you never felt a negative feeling again. But he just couldn’t. Though, he was upset at himself for making it worse for you. Why did he always have to try and stir the pot? Couldn’t he just leave well enough alone? Couldn’t he just be cool around you and know when to stop?

“It’s okay. I… I understand what it’s like. To not have anyone I mean. I didn’t realize that you actually had to have those things in order to heal better though. With wolves now, we don’t necessarily have to have those things. I mean having them helps, but we get better eventually anyways as long as we get the wound cleaned properly. I didn’t know it was different for you...” He bit his lip as he continued, “But you know, our pack can be your pack, if you want anyway. There’s an opening for another ticking time bomb now that Chan’s found a mate. You’d be perfect for the job” he joked, though you could tell he was serious at the offer for you to join the pack.

“Yeah… how much does it pay an hour?” You played along, trying to lighten the mood from the tension you had made appear due to your little anger outburst.

You hurriedly propped yourself up on the table next to Jihoon, who gave you a small smile in return. It gave you goosebumps all over your skin. So you were thankful you had grabbed a large sweater the pack had given you before you went downstairs this morning.

You were given a bunch of them. They made you feel safe, and you loved the way they smelt. So when the other mates apologized and said they didn’t have many ‘girly clothing items’ to give you as getting clothing was sparse at the moment, you didn’t complain. You were perfectly content with your bigger clothing.

When you sat up on the table, you smelt the same scent of vanilla and honeysuckle that you nostrils had been absorbing from the clothing given to you…

“Not a lot.” Jihoon confessed, “we only offer housing, protection, and being around people who would do anything for you. But honestly, you could do a lot worse in terms of a career.” He bit his lip once more, the action drawing a small pur from your chest, which you tried to cover with a small cough. Of course he still caught the sound though. You weren’t even sure why looking at him made you that happy. The sound made Jihoon swoon, he loved that he already had such an impact on you.

“Of course there’s also some downside like with all jobs… like having to constantly break up fights, having a complete jackass for a mate, and well… you know… sharing bathrooms…” he trailed on, rubbing his neck while he attempted to make it seem like the middle part was casual.

“Wait! A complete WHAT for a WHO and WHERE was I???” You all but yell out in shock, making Jihoon wince.

He couldn’t tell if you were upset that he’d just burst it out like that. He honestly couldn’t even tell if you knew you were his mate or not. He didn’t know if you WANTED a mate or not. From what he knew of you, you usually stayed away from people unless you had to be around them. You told the others that staying alone is how you’d survived all these centuries. But Would you make an exception to your rules for survival to stay with him?

“Uh… yeah. A mate. That would- that would be me. I’m your mate…” He whispered, attempting as best as he could to regain control of his heartbeat that was now almost pounding out of his chest.

That’s when it all clicked in your head. Why they let you eat first with the mates, with the OTHER mates. You were one of them. It’s why they found you when you needed help, he must’ve felt you were in danger. It’s why you didn’t die that day even though your wounds would’ve been normally fatal even to you, because he was near you and never left your side. It’s why you weren’t scared of him like everyone else, you knew he’d never hurt you because he loved you. It’s why the pack always giggled anytime you and Jihoon would get near each other. It’s why the smell on your sweaters and his smell were so familiar, he gave them to you because you were his. You two were mates. It all made sense.

“We’re- we’re mates?” You reaffirmed out loud, but you started to feel dizzy. You weren’t sure what was happening.

Everything was going too fast, it felt like you were moving in slow motion but the entire world was spinning as fast as it could around you. The edges of your vision started becoming fuzzy and dark. You started to feel like you were going to pass out, but before you could fall flat on your face to the floor, Jihoon caught your fragile body in his arms.

“Yes. We are. I’m so sorry I didn’t tell you earlier, but I wanted to give you some time to adjust to being around normal people before I told you.” He assured you as he started moving towards the stairs, bringing you to his room and setting you down on his bed. He was incredibly worried for you, he could hear your heart rate slowing by the second.

“You might need to lay down. You don’t look well” he spoke softly as he held the back of one of his larger hands to your clammy forehead.

“Yeah… okay… rest… that makes sense… I’m sorry I- I just wasn’t expecting-” You tried to say as you start to give into the panicking darkness, not wanting to fight the urge to black out anymore.

“It’s okay. It’s a lot to take in. Just try and sleep okay?” He shushed you as he moved his blankets over your petite form, hesitant to touch you as he didn’t want to make matters worse. But his inner wolf was screaming at him to hold you and rock you to help you.

Everything you had heard about Jihoon told you he wasn’t someone who could have a relationship. All the others always talked about him wanting no one around him ever. They called him a grumpy old rogue wolf who miraculously got stuck in their pack. They said that He did things his own way. He did things alone. So did you.

“Jihoon, how the hell are we supposed to be together when we’re both lone wolves?” You whimpered out to him before everything went dark.

Another Author’s Note: alright so you guys know the drill. I wrote this close to midnight and I’m too tired to care about revising rn. So i shall look at it and fix any mistakes tomorrow when I get the time. Tomorrow I don’t think I’ll be praying more than once. Sorry, I’m working a doubt shift. But Wednesday I’m hoping to post three times! Here’s to hoping!

(Updated 9/6)

[sleepysunasimp]

6 - Drawing Lots

A/N: Hi, so sorry for the lack of updates so here's one earlier! I will be exploring a lot with other schools too so look forward to it ^^

Kiyoko had left you in charge of tomorrow’s itinerary since she was busy helping the other managers at the dining hall but there were enough hands, thus that was why you were alone in the managers’ room. You were having a little struggle with the work given since you had never done it before so Daichis’s text felt like a huge relief to you to step away from your current work.

Grabbing a jacket from your futon, you hurried out of the door. You struggled with your sneakers as you held onto the door that you didn’t notice someone passing by, causing you to lose your grip on the door knob.

“Woah!” Someone caught you right before you plummeted to the ground. You could feel your heart froze at that moment because you obviously, nearly fell on your face. “Are you okay?” The same voice spoke again, breaking you out of your daze.

You glanced up to find a concerned looking boy staring back at you. You quickly scrambled out of his arms in shock and fell onto the ground. “H-hi… Akaashi is it?” You tried to remember the name of the boy from the list of boys in the training camp.

“Woah there, I’m not going to bite,” he smiled slightly as he held his hand out, waiting for you to grab it so that he could pull you up. “I was actually heading towards hall one to draw lots and I thought I should come over to guide you to the room… since you are kind of unfamiliar of this place… am I right?”

“You might be right about that,” you replied with a small smile as you grabbed his hand, letting him pull you up as if you weighted nothing. “I had been busy with helping the managers that I didn’t have time to explore or familiarise myself with this place or even had time to train with the boys.”

“You… train with the boys?” Akaashi raised his eyebrows at your comments as the two of you started walking together.

“Yeah, long story short it is a way to get some exercise into my routine. I know no managers do that but I do,” you grinned. “Now since you’ve asked me a question, it’s my turn: how did you know I was supposed to go draw lots as well?”

You swear you could see Akaashi blush slightly but he turned his head too fast for you to verify it. Nonetheless, you averted your attention from him, focusing on the path in front of you as he took his time to answer.

“I… I might have overheard Daichi-san complaining… about a certain manager after looking up from his phone,” he explained. “And since your two other managers are helping at the dining hall, the only other available manager is you.”

“That’s very observant of you,” you grinned. “Thank you.”

He gave you a slight nod before pointing at one of the doors in front of you, with a signboard that said ‘Hall 1’. He pushed the door open and you stepped in, noticing a couple more people who had arrived before you.

You recognised most of the people there such as the tall Russian boy and the shorter third year libero from Nekoma arguing away to be Yaku and Lev. However, there were two other people who you had never seen before during practice… but they looked so familiar with their teal jerseys.

“Aren’t those guys from Aoba Johsai?” You halted, nudging Akaashi. “Wait, I recognise the both of them!” You started nudging harder at the Fukorodani setter. “It’s angry but kind boy and his feral overgrown child!”

“Excuse me, what did you just call us?” The Nekoma libero overheard you.

“Not you, Yaku!” Lev said. “You can’t be overgrown if you’re still short.”

“The overgrown child is you, Lev! We’re supposed to be practicing receives but you decided to come here instead” Yaku argued back.

“No, I’m not talking about you two!” You hushed them immediately and pointed at the two teal boys. “Them. I haven’t seen them at practice at all today”

“And which one am I supposed to be?” The light brown hair scoffed, turning his attention towards you as he crossed his arms. “If you need to know, I am neither as I am the most perfect setter and captain-“

“Shittykawa can you please shut up for a second and think about it? Obviously you’re the overgrown feral child,” his friend smacked him on the back to shut him up. “Even though it’s kind of hurtful to call me angry but I’ll take kind-“

“OBJECTION! When are you ever kind, Iwa-chan?” Oikawa jumped in.

“Shush it!” Iwaizumi said, giving Oikawa another punch on the back.

“To answer your question, Y/N,” Akaashi intercepted before things got even messier. “They could only come after their activities today thus why they just arrived. We took this opportunity to learn from Aoba Johsai as well.”

“Now that that’s done, can we draw lots now for the test of courage? Lev, this ungrateful giant, needs to practice his receives,” Yaku asked.

“How would we be doing it?” Akaashi asked.

“I know! What about rock, paper, scissors?” Lev offered.

“That’s a great idea! But I have a better one!” You joined in. “Why don’t I pick first and you guys argue it amongst yourself?”

“I didn’t know you were such a ruthless person, Y/N,” Lev pouted.

“Now you know,” you winked at him as you reached your hand into the box that was sitting in the middle of everyone and pulled out a piece of paper. Slowly, everyone else took their turns and opened their papers together.

You glanced at the paper in your hand and it made you freeze. The neat handwriting on the paper had the name of Aoba Johsai on it. And oh god… you knew how bad Karasuno’s relationship was with them and yet, they were the ones who you have gotten.

You glanced at Akaashi who was looking at your expression and gave him the widest grin you could ever offer, trying to cover the distraught look that was written a mere second ago. He opened his mouth to say something but you waved him off. “It’s nothing if you’re wondering. T-This is great! I can’t… I can’t… I can’t wait,” you tried to say those words out but it turned out to be harder than you could even say.

You turned away almost immediately and headed towards the doors to leave. You were panicking mentally but you had to pull a confident back since the boys were still staring at you.

Since Aoba Johsai was the school that Karasuno had gotten to scare, you were determined, let it be the best scare Aoba Johsai was going to get. However, how were you going to execute your plan when you had pissed them off even before knowing them? You gave a big sigh as you closed the door behind you and you decided to trust yourself. You were going to do it. You were going to terrorise Aoba Johsai in the best way possible. But before you could plan out how you were going to scare them, you sent a text to your team:

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