#reposting this without the preamble

[rayofdawnworld]

Too Late

MINOURS DO NOT INTERACT!

Well after some time away from this place, I come not with an update to all my other fics, no. Nor do I come with a master list. No, no. I come to you with a new piece. My very first Reader insert fic.

This all started earlier when @darkficsyouneveraskedfor who is feeling unwell, made a mood bored. A mood board that I had requested, about an Obsessed Sherlock and a Smart reader. https://www.tumblr.com/darkficsyouneveraskedfor/746232236070895616/i-have-one-obsessed-sherlocksmart-reader?source=share

Well, it inspired me. So here I am. I hope you like it. I dedicate this fic to @darkficsyouneveraskedfor and @thezombieprostitute (who has also had a hand inspiring with all her lovely fics) please go to their pages and read their work if you don't know them. And without further preamble,

This is a Dark fic. There will be dark themes spread throughout it.

I do not consent to sharing or posting this fic in any other platform that isn't mine. I do not consent to the Selling of this fic. EVER. You are responsible for your own media experience. Warnings will be tagged accordingly. Don't like it, DON'T READ IT.

I humbly ask that if you do enjoy this fic, please do me the kindness of liking, reposting and commenting.

Constructive criticism is always welcome.

Obsessive!Sherlock/Smart!Reader

Too Late

Part 2 Part 3

You stood quietly in the corner of the room, careful to keep your eyes down. The Holmes brothers were in attendance; why they came was a mystery to you. They were infamous for not keeping their disdain for such events as this one a secret. Their brilliance was unmatched, and that could ruin all your plans. 

“There you are (Y/N). Try not to fade into the background tonight. I expect you to be at your best. If all else fails, you’re the one who has to fix it.” Your aunt's obnoxious voice rang in your ears as you quietly curtsied and moved to a more visible place while still trying to remain out of the way. You still managed to hear her quip about how useless you were. Ironic, all things considered. It was her daughter who had been stupid enough to believe the baron's son's pathetic advances and commit an indiscretion that left her now with child. Not to mention her aunt's loose tongue, carrying on about how close the two had become, which meant that any disappearance on Anna's part would fuel the rumour mill. Fuel more than it already was, that is. To be fair, that was your doing. Having found out about what had happened, and how your aunt would throw a ball, this ball, to try and make the Baron force his son to marry Anne, and if that failed in avoiding what would become a scandal, she would pawn you off to the first rich heir she could as to secure Anne's future. You "distractedly" muttered about it all, while one of their more nosey maids with parchment for gossip was within earshot. None of them ever knew just how word got out. As of right now, you have two potential suitors, both quite nauseatingly boring, stupid, and quite frankly unattractive. Very unattractive. You suspected incest. One could not be that obtuse without there being some sort of medical reason. Although your aunt did everything in her power to make you believe that you were horrendous, you knew better. You looked just like your grandmother. And your grandmother was beautiful. You only wished you had her hair, but alas, you inherited your father's colouring.

You shifted ever so slightly toward the shadows again looking toward the ball in full swing not really paying much attention to what was in front of you. You lost yourself in memories of your mother quietly reading medical journals and other science books in the corner of the estate's library, while your father taught you how to play chess and the wonder of mathematics, engineering and philosophy. How once a week without fail they would play Treasure Hunt with riddles and enigmas and equations to solve to see who could win and find the prize first. Or how your father taught you how to shoot and ride a horse and your mother taught you everything she learned from the housekeeper her family had when she lived in Macau when she was little. “There are plenty of ways a woman can defend herself Pussycat,” told you laughing when you two would sit in your underthings in a room on the top floor. Reserved for such activities. Or how they both allowed you to run the grounds just all the boys delighted that their Pussycat could outrun any boy they knew and that was in a dress. But then they were gone. They had gone to the opera one night and never came back. There had been a fire. There were no survivors. The kingdom was in mourning. They were all very sorry for your loss. The following week your Aunt and uncle arrived with Anna in tow. He was your father's brother. The brother who spent his half of the inheritance with drinking and gambling and whores. There were no more lessons after that. Women must know their place no more nonsense such as reading. What can a pathetic woman hope to accomplish by reading such texts? No more treasure hunts. Wasting one's time with such drivel. My brother never knew how to handle himself. You even lost your room and all your things. Such a plain girl doesn’t need pretty things. After all, you’re only ever going to be the children's Au Pair. And that only if you're good to Anna. You were thirteen then. You said nothing. You just looked down and smiled secretly. Your father was no fool. He knew that if anything were to happen to him, certain precautions would have to be taken in order to protect you. You still remember the screams of fury coming from the study when your aunt and uncle were informed that they would have a monthly allowance until you came of age where you too would receive an allowance until you married who you wished or if you were to be were married before coming of age the fortune your father had amassed would then be given as a dowry to your husband. Either way, they only had a roof and an allowance until you married. You were eighteen now. You hadn’t been presented to court because they had been so fixated on Anna. Darling, pretty, silly Anna. So now they didn’t even have until next season to salvage the situation. And they weren’t going to salvage it tonight either. Not if you had your way.

You came back to yourself when the clock struck eight. Henrich the butler would announce the time for dinner soon. 

It was almost time. You took a deep breath centering your nerves. You just hoped you had enough time to move. You hadn’t expected the Holmes. They were going to be a problem. Even if the Yard did come later rather than sooner those two especially the younger one would interfere. You could only hope that the pride and arrogance of whoever the yard sent the political designs the older one had and the fact that thanks to your Aunts’ vitriol no one was the wiser about exactly what you were capable of,  would be enough to slow Sherlock Holms’s brilliant mind down. 

You looked at the watch and then looked at your only family counting the seconds.

Heinrich appeared, to announce that dinner was about to be served. 

One final breath. 

All hell broke loose as you fled into the night, in a maid's dress with your mother's jewels your father's letter of reference and a prayer to God that you could survive what was yet to come. 

You did not notice a pair of vibrant blue eyes accessing you clinically, remembering how your father gushed about your intellect, finding it hard to find any trace of brilliance, before being completely surprised by an explosion. 

You sat quietly in a corner while you ate your humble meal. Working as a surrey maid at the university was as far from your social circle as you could go and still hold on to your virtue. The fact that it was in a university, in full view of everyone, tickled you daily. No one ever looks at the scurry maids. They’re just there to clean. Thats all. It was honest living with the added bonus that no one paid you any mind. No one noticed you hiding in the shadows, paying attention to the scholars. No one noticed the books disappearing or reappearing. No one noticed you. You finished your food, smiled minutely, and went back to work. Just two more weeks. Two more weeks, and you will be twenty-one. Then you would march up to your father's old friend, your godfather's legal practice, and go back home. 

You did not notice a pair of vibrant blue eyes staring at you incredulously. You did not notice how those eyes shone in a savage victory and smiled darkly.

[leviathans-watching]

i'm unsure as to whether you've done this before but what about the "kissing the prettiest person in the room" prompt but mc kisses their own hand?

"kiss the prettiest person in the room" BONUS

includes: solomon & gn!reader (no pronouns mentioned)

wc: .3k | rated g | m.list |  pt 1 | pt 2 | pt 3 | pt 4

a/n: this was fun to write too! thanks for requesting it!! my inbox is open to chat, req, or leave feedback, so come say hello <33

reblog pls :00

diavolo is holding another sleepover, and you’re all crammed into one of his living rooms, sitting in a rough circle, with some on the couches, some in chairs, and some on the floor

you’re on one of the smaller couches, sharing it with solomon and when the sorcerer gets this glint in his eyes you know he had something up his sleeve

“let’s play truth or dare,” he suggests, and though you suspect the game will devolve into chaos, many of the brothers are quickly on board

the game goes a few rounds before solomon calls on you. “mc, truth or dare?”

you balk; the dare will no doubt be something intense and possibly humiliating, but choosing truth would probably be much worse. “dare,” you say, as confidently as you can

solomon grins wickedly. “kiss the prettiest person in this room.”

you gape at him even as various protests are raised around the room.

“no, mc does it or gets punished for chickening out,” solomon insists, and you recall the punishment, which is to buy a dinner next time you’re all out, something your poor wallet really can’t handle.

“i’ll do it,” you say, and a hush falls over the room as they all wait for you to pick.

you grin, making a show of considering everyone in the room, keeping them on their toes. they’re all waiting to see who’ll you’ll pick, poorly hidden anticipation clear on their faces, and you know what ou hate to do.

“anyone in the room?” you confirm, and solomon nods.

“thinking about backing out? i mean, barbeque does sound good…”

that bastard. but his answer has given you what you need. without preamble, you kiss the back of your hand with a loud smack. “there,” you say confidently, “dare over.”

“what?!” solomon sputters. “that doesn’t count!”

“you said anyone,” you retort. “and i’m part of that. and i’m the prettiest person in the room anyway, so what’s it matter?”

solomon glares at you. “i’ll get you back for that, cheater.”

“have fun with that,” you reply. “but i’ll get my revenge first. after all, it’s my turn. so solomon, truth or dare?”

leviathans-watching's work - please do not copy, repost, or claim as your own

[autumnalwalker]

Solarpunk Witch Masterpost

Note: This is mostly just a repost of a prior post of mine, but with a more indicative title regarding its content and thus more suited to future linking and editing should I ever get around to revisiting the project and adding more.

So anyway, back when I was working on @thearchivistsjournal, I made the ambitious-but-perhaps-ill-advised attempt to simultaneously write a second ongoing journal-style story on a fixed chapter schedule. This became what I've referred to from time to time on this blog as the "Untitled Solarpunk Witch Story." It was my first attempt at writing dialogue and proper prose (as opposed to all epistolary journal format) so it came out pretty rough and I put the project on hold indefinitely. It's something I'd like to revisit one day once I feel I can better do the idea justice, but I'm fond enough of the concept that I thought it might be fun to share the couple of chapters that I wrote for that rough draft.

Also, I wrote it as a part of playing the solo journaling game "Village Witch" by Eliot Silvarian. The idea was that each week I'd do a tarot card draw and use the corresponding prompt from that game as my prompt for that week. And, similar to The Archivist's Journal, the time passing IRL would correspond to the time passing in the story, albeit broken up into bigger chunks.

So, anyway, without much further preamble, here are the links to those rough chapters:

Prologue: Setting Out

Vernal Equinox, Five of Pentacles

Spring, Week 1, Seven of Cups

Spring, Week 2, Three of Swords

Spring, Week 3, Ten of Swords

Spring, Week 4, The High Priestess

Spring, Week 5, Five of Swords

See also: The Witches' Testaments, a series of interviews serving as a prequel of sorts regarding how the world made the transition from cyberpunk dystopia to what's seen here.

Also, a bit of worldbuilding trivia as to why the familiars take the form of robotic animals: Link

[noahhfense]

the five-year plan. one

when you were twenty you had sat down and made your five-year plan, you would get married, get your dream house, have your dream career and then at the end of those five years you'd have a kid. everything was going almost perfectly to plan, well that was until your husband came home with divorce papers. now you're somehow trying to stay on track, maybe you could convince your best friend to have a baby with you.

chapter one : the one where you want a baby and jungkook is very confused.

pairing: best friend! jungkook x reader genre: fluff, idiots (friends) to lovers, slow burn, porn with plot. rating: explicit, minors do not interact!! general tags: non-idol!au, ex-husband!jimin, slow burn, unprotected sex, idiots in love, idiot plot, miscommunication, etc...

originally posted : september 18th, 2023

word count: 1.8k

a/n: hi yes this series is abandoned, however i am reposting all of what was completed for those who enjoyed the story !! 🤍

spotify playlist | series masterlist | next chapter >

Being sold the concept of a happily ever after was possibly the worst thing that a mother could do to a daughter. She would think she's filling her daughter's head up with expectations and excitement about what was in store for her. The daughter would live a life being spoon fed stories on silver platters of knights in shining armors and love stories that would triumph all of lives trials and tribulations. But one day she'd have to learn the hard way that love stories were just that, stories.

Because here you are now — 25 and recently divorced from your happily ever after and now you're having to relearn where your place in life is after the end credits roll, being held down by the constant weight of time, because while you're young you still had plans, expectations.

It's a bad habit really, ever since you were a teenager you would sit and say to yourself “Where do I want to be in 5 years?” It likely stems from your fathers main philosophy in life — if you're not working towards living a better life, living the life you dream of? What's the point of living? Sometimes you wonder if he's still unsatisfied even now? Is that the future you have to look forward to? Never being satisfied, maybe that's why he cheated on mom.

The plan had always started fairly simple, when you were 13 it was to graduate from school, get into your dream college. Then you met him, and then that dream college changed to wherever he was going. Then you got a little more in tune with reality about what a valuable degree would be and what you would spend your time working towards. Then it was to get your dream job, get a nice house, get married. And all of those things happened, not necessarily in that order, but they happened.

And then year by year another goal stayed on that list that you never quite reached — have a baby. From the time you were 20 you knew you wanted to have a child at 25, and then the second at 27 so they weren't too far apart in age. You'd be settled in your dream career by then, and J-he would be completely done with his degree, he'd be a practicing physician and it would be the perfect time.

It's too bad that love stories are just stories, and a few weeks after your 24th birthday you learnt that lesson the hard way.

So here you are now, 25, no husband, no more dream house, and still no baby.

One of these things you could change, quite easily actually. It's just basic biology, it doesn't take that much effort to make a baby.

“Have sex with me.”  The words leave your mouth without any preamble. You say it casually, like you've said this exact phrase to him countless times.

“Pardon?” You hadn't actually said those particular words to him before and your entirely sure Jeon Jungkook's brain just short circuited.

He doesn't look like he's just been propositioned but rather like you told him that you killed your boss and need help hiding the body. His face holds a vague look of being slightly terrified but potentially willing to help. Like he just needs a little bit of an explanation and then maybe he could be persuaded.

You give him a pointed look saying ’I said exactly what you think I said’ with your eyes, hoping he gets the message. Yours and you best friends ability to speak with your eyes had been a skill you'd honed in over the year. But even then he still doesn't respond, just continues staring at you like you're gonna laugh and say gotcha I just wanted to see your reaction.

You take a bite of your ice cream, and lean back into the love seat with a sigh like this conversation is troubling you — nevermind that you're the one that started it.

“I know you heard me the first time, Jeon.” You say tone bored, you've never been a fan of repeating yourself. Even during potentially life changing conversations.

“Yeah. No. Yeah, yeah, I definitely heard you.” Jungkook responds sounding just slightly hysterical, looking like he's not sure whether he wants to laugh or completely flee the scene, “I just thought maybe you would give me a little more context."

You scoff, pulling the spoon from your lips with a dramatic pop, you can't help the roll of your eyes, “When have you ever needed context to go along with any of my plans?”

At his expectant gaze you put the ice cream carton in his waiting hands. Jungkook makes an angry face and you're not sure if it's from how good the ice cream tastes or because of the argument that you're probably starting.

“When your plans involve me having sex with you context is required,” He says then pauses, and speaks again like he thought better of it, “Actually, any plan that involves sex, at all, requires context.”

You sigh and turn so you're fully facing him, taking the opportunity to stretch out and put your legs in his lap, your toes touching the other end of the love seat. You can't help but miss your old couch, the one you'd comfortably stretch out on and you could lay down at one end and not reach the other. You miss laying down on it with Ji–him, curled up like you had nowhere to be. You miss resting your feet in Jungkook's lap, your head resting in J–his, a movie playing on screen that the three of you are barely watching too caught up in your conversation to care.

But now you're left in this new apartment all alone trying to navigate where the fuck you're going from here.

Jungkook is still staring at you while angrily munching away on your shared ice cream. He's just waiting for you to provide him with much needed context.

“I want a baby." You say tone serious and he just continues to stare at you tiredly, desperately waiting for you to say more.

"And…?" His voice trails off, and then when you continue to offer him absolutely nothing, he speaks again, "What does that have to do with me?"

"Well, I don't know if you noticed Jungkook, but I just got divorced.” Your words are intentionally condescending, he had been there for you during the whole divorce process, “So it's not like I can just call up Jimin and be like 'Hey I know we just settled the divorced and you basically said never talk to me again, but hmm, what about some break up sex?' Because according to my five-year plan I need to get pregnant by,” you pause to dramatically look at an imaginary watch on your bare wrist, “hmmm, yesterday."

“He didn’t say never talk to me again.” Jungkook ignores the rest of your spiel, giving you a pitying look that makes you feel a little sick.

You hate that look. It's all you've been seeing these days — from your friends, from your family, even from the reoccurring strangers in your life. The waitress at your favorite cafe had given you that look after she had asked if he was in the bathroom and if you wanted his usual, you watched the cogs turn in her head when you gave her a bitter smile and said “it's just me today, thanks.”

Your hurt must be clear on your face because Jungkook chooses to continue speaking and does what he does best, put his entire foot in his mouth, “And I mean, why do you still need to have a baby? The divorce wasn’t a part of the five-year plan either but hey-"

You cut him off by throwing one of your throw pillows directly at his face.

“Right, okay, I deserved that one. That was insensitive.” He says with a sheepish smile.

He offers you a spoonful of your ice cream in consolation, and you happily accept savoring the taste on your tongue.

It's silent for a moment while you debate just moving on, pretending that you hadn't said what you had said. You'd both carry on like it never happened and you would just let the thought linger in the back of your head for awhile.

No, you decide firmly. It's too late to backdown now and you wouldn't get what you wanted if you didn't actually ask.

“I just, I need something to be right.” You say slowly, searching for the words to properly express your thoughts. “This isn’t how my life was supposed to turn out. Like I was supposed to be Mrs. Park Jimin, we were gonna have a house, a dog, and a kid. And well, I've got literally none of that going for me anymore.”

You can't help the bitter laugh that leaves your mouth. Jungkook looks like he wants to say something but you bulldoze through the block in your mind and let the words flow freely.

“Alright, 'cause like right think about it, okay? I'm literally 25 now and it took me and Jimin three years of being friends before we even got together. And then it was four years before we got married. Then we wanted to take our time to explore being a married couple, and then we wanted to get comfortable in our new house, and then we wanted to get settled in our new careers, and then he wanted to finish his residency first, it was just never a good time to have kids. I don't have time to go through all of that again, say I meet someone now, and I go through that whole 10 year process again, I'll be what, 35? You know they literally call those geriatric pregnancies? Geriatric, how fucking condescending. But I digress, you're considered high risk at that point, and if I'm being honest I don't want to do that. I don't want a new relationship, I don't want to go on dates and get to know someone. I don't want to decide if someone is good enough to plan out my whole future with. I just want to skip to the good part.”

“I guess I could go to the clinic and get a sperm donor or something but I’d rather just have my kids' parent be someone I know. Cause I don't want my future kids to have to wonder where they came from. And I really can’t think of anyone else I’d trust more for this.”

You finish off your long winded speech with an expectant gaze at Jungkook.

“That's nice bubs,” He says tone soft and a sweet smile tugging at the corners of his lips, it immediately drops as he takes another bite of your ice cream, his angry eating face back in place, “This is so good. I'm still not having sex with you.”

“Jungkooooooook.” You whine, turning wide pleading eyes on him. A pout firmly on your lips, your face inches from his. “Have sex with me.” 

“No, you freak.” His voice is full of mirth as he pushes your face away. 

[sloanerisette]

Digiweek 2022 Day Two: Start of a Relationship

So like before, this is a repost of an old piece, this time the last piece from Jyoumi Challenge 2020! I was a really big fan of this one and though I had a few ones I could pick from/wanted to pick from, this one wins in the end because it’s based on a moment from Digimon The Movie (bless that absolute bizarre incredible mess) that spawned a brainworm that has lasted all these years.

No shock to people who have seen my writing or interacted with me that I absolutely ADORE Jyoumi, both as friends and as a ship, because I absolutely LOVE their dynamic and chemistry, they play off each other so well and in so many fun ways, and their time together in Digimon Adventure is just, really fantastic. Even coming back to rewatch Digimon Adventure back in 2020, it was so great to see how well they play off each other and how two people who would be so unlikely to interact can be so close (honestly it’s just probably my favorite play on the beauty & the dork trope, given joe’s general super caring, worrywart, always wanting to help nature and mimi’s just pure goodness and kindness despite what one could easily assume from her being a rich stereotypical girly girl type. I just, I love them y’all). The Dark Masters arc in particular has a lot of great character moments and development for the two of them, and I just absolutely love what it does for their characters.

Anyways sorry for this super long preamble, but I just couldn’t resist going into WHAT makes joe and mimi probably my favorite human duo in Digimon (both platonically and romantically) before posting this. This is from the same collection as before, so feel free to check it out on ao3 and without further ado, here we go!

---

“Sooooooooraaaaaaaaaaaaaa! I can’t believe it took you so long to call me!”

“Mimi, when did you get back from Hawaii?”

“Today! We just got back a few hours ago!”

Mimi’s voice was bright as could be, still staring at the big, pink heart that sat on her vanity next to the mirror, unable to stop herself from feeling both nerves and butterflies deep in the pit of her stomach.

“Shouldn’t you be asleep? Isn’t Hawaii like a day behind us?”

“I can’t sleep, Sora! I’ve been waiting to tell you something ever since I got home and it took you forever to call me back!” she said, ignoring Sora’s sigh on the other end of the line.

“Sorry, I was playing soccer with Tai. He wanted to get some practice in before school started so he’d be ready for tryouts.”

Of course, that was no surprise, coming from Tai. Mimi lightly shook her head, smiling at the thought.

“So what’s up? What’s so important that you couldn’t even take a nap before you told me about it? Did something happen in Hawaii?”

Mimi shook her head again, despite Sora not being able to see, “No! Something happened when I got home!”

“Wait, what happened? Is everything ok?”

“Everything is great! I can’t stop smiling, Sora! I mean, I am freaking out a little bit, but not in a bad way! More just anxious? I’m not really sure!”

“Maybe you should start with what happened and we’ll work from there?”

Sora’s reminder made it all click for Mimi, and she nodded to herself, taking a moment to reach out and gently touch the valentine that was sitting there, smiling to herself. Her fingers traced along the words, Mimi letting herself zone out for a moment as she continued to stare.

“Mimi?”

“What was that?” Mimi asked, finally clicking back to reality.

“You were going to tell me what happened?”

“Oh, right!” Mimi said with a snap of her fingers, “So, when we got back, there was a giant valentine for me hanging on our mailbox!”

“Whoa, wait, really? But it’s not even Valentine’s Day? Or White Day?”

“I know! But the surprising thing is who it gave it to me!”

“Who?”

“Joe!”

There was a pause, nothing but the occasional static over the phone line, and Mimi was still smiling wide. Finally, Sora spoke up.

“Kido?”

“Yes!”

“Joe Kido.”

“Yes, Sora!”

“Our Joe Ki—”

“Yes! It says ‘To Mimi, from Joe’,” she told her friend, “He gave me a valentine, Sora! Isn’t that the sweetest?”

“It is! Six months late, sure, but it is really sweet. Have you talked to him since you got back?”

“No, you’re the first person who knows. I mean, besides mama and papa, at least,” she explained.

Her dad hadn’t seemed entirely too enthused by the idea of some guy sending his precious Mimi a valentine, but her mom thought it was sweet— not that it was hard to get her mama on her side.

“Well, thanks, that means a lot, Mimi. What do you think about it, though? You sound really excited.”

“Oh, I am! It’s my two favorite shades of pink, and it’s just so cute, and huge! I just want to hang it up on my wall so I can always look at it!” she said, letting out a happy sigh as she looked at the valentine.

“Well, I guess that too, yeah. But also, what do you think about the valentine? And the fact that Joe sent it to you?”

The question rang in Mimi’s mind for a few moments, and she frowned to herself.

“It is a really nice valentine,” she said, and Sora sighed.

“Mimi, I think you missed my point…”

“No, I didn’t, Sora, I just…” she sighed, staying quiet for a few moments, “I guess I don’t know what to think about it. It’s just a lot, you know?”

“I guess I can’t entirely relate.”

Mimi was tempted to ask Sora how she could relate, and wondered just who it might have related to, given the remaining guys in their group, and knew that soon enough she’d poke her friend more about that.

“Joe and I were so close back in the Digital World. I mean, he was so brave and strong! But now we’re back home and…” she trailed off.

“And you’re afraid it won’t be the same?”

“Mm… mhm…”

That was the greatest fear, wasn’t it? That maybe what she started to feel during their time fighting to protect the Digital World only happened because they were in that situation in the first place. Mimi knew there was a point where she started to feel butterflies swirl in her stomach when she looked at him, when he protected her and others. Now they were all back home, back to their normal lives, and the last time she was able to even see Joe was a week before she left for Hawaii…

“But Joe still feels the same about you, clearly, even with how long its been? That’s good, right?”

Sora’s voice was hopeful, which was both helpful and not for Mimi in those moments, the girl deep in thought again, before she finally spoke after a few moments.

“It is, yeah. But at the same time, I guess I’m worried that Joe might get hurt…” she frowned, which was clear in her words.

“Get hurt?”

“Yeah. But I mean, if this I just have some little crush I don’t want to mess everything up. Our friendship, the group… it just feels like there’s a lot at risk if it doesn’t work.”

“Wow, Mimi, you’ve been thinking about this a lot, haven’t you?”

“A little bit, yeah. I mean, you did take a while to call me back,” she teased, finally laughing for the first time since the mood darkened over their conversation, “It wouldn’t be fair to Joe. He would never deserve to be hurt like that.”

“Mimi… I don’t think you would mess anything up with the group, and I’m sure Joe would get over it eventually.”

Mimi let out a huff, “It still wouldn’t be nice and I still think he deserves better than that! After everything he’s done for everyone, and after everything we’ve been through… I couldn’t do that to him,” she sighed.

“It almost sounds like you know what you want to do…”

“You think?” she asked, pausing for a moment, “I mean, maybe… Maybe I should talk to him…”

“I think that’s a good idea, but maybe get some rest first? I think it’d only stress out Joe more if you fell asleep when you went to talk to him.”

The two girls started to laugh, “Yeah, and that boy is already stressed enough!”

“Whatever you do, though, you know I’ll support you, right?”

Mimi stayed quiet, sucking in a silent breath, unable to stop herself from tearing up a bit.

“Thanks, Sora,” she said, blinking away the tears before they could get out of control. “I think I’m going to lie in bed and think about this for a while before I sleep. I am starting to feel a bit tired now…”

Sora laughed on the other end of the line.

“That’s probably a good plan. Honestly, I wouldn’t be surprised if you slept for a whole day!”

“Oh, that sounds lovely right now. I’m going to sleep for a nice, long time, have something delicious to eat, and then go see Joe!”

“I hope it all goes well, Mimi. Let me know how it goes?”

“You’ll be the first to know!” Mimi chirped happily, “I’ll talk to you later, Sora.”

“Later, Mimi, have a good nap!”

Once Mimi hung up the phone, she moved over towards her bed, crawling onto it and letting her head rest on the small mountain of fluffy pillows, her eyes falling back towards the valentine. A soft smile came to her lips, Mimi unable to help it, and even if nerves were pooling in her gut, there was just as many butterflies there, and as she started to drift off to sleep, all she could think about was seeing her friend and what she would say.

***

Sweltering summer heat drove the guys to the Izumi home, two fans blasting on high in Izzy’s room, as the group of them sat in tank tops and shorts with a box of popsicles in the middle of the floor. All except for TK, who hadn’t been able to get all the way out to Odaiba, they were all there enjoying their last days of summer vacation as best they could.

Somehow, they had even managed to convince Joe not to bring along any books or practice exams, though that didn’t stop the frantic energy radiating from him in the slightest.

“I swear, man, you’re the only kid who gets stressed out during summer vacation,” Tai said, pointing his popsicle over at Joe.

“To be fair, Tai, you and I were pretty stressed out a few days ago when it came to fighting Diaboromon. Matt was too,” Izzy shot back, to which Matt scrunched up his mouth, looking away.

“You know what I mean! That’s different!” Tai said quickly, popping the popsicle back in his mouth.

“I still can’t believe an evil Digimon nearly destroyed Japan with a missile…” Joe said, feeling nauseous just thinking about it again, setting the popsicle stick from his first, now finished popsicle onto a nearby plate, before falling back onto the floor, staring up at the ceiling.

“No kidding. I’m just glad that barber shop had a computer. Even if it barely worked,” Matt said, unable to help but smirk in hopes of seeming cool and collected about it.

“I just can’t believe my last moments could’ve been trying to finish a test,” Joe said, letting out a long, loud sigh, “Not to mention Mimi would’ve never seen what I gave her.”

Silence blanketed the room, Izzy, Tai, and Matt all instantly confused, looking between each other quickly. Finally, they all looked to Joe, who was still lying down.

“What did you give Mimi?” Tai finally asked, to which Joe’s eyes went wide, quickly turning red.

“What? Nothing!” he shouted as he shot up, hands gripping onto his knees, slowly starting to white knuckle, “Why would I give Mimi something? I mean, what would I have to give her?” he asked, quickly waving his hands to try and dismiss it, though the panic in his voice left that unconvincing.

“Why don’t you wanna tell us? Was it embarrassing?” Tai asked, starting to laugh, at which Matt quickly shot a glare at his best friend.

“Lay off, Tai,” he snapped, which quieted Tai quick.

Joe looked over to Matt, still grimacing, but the look in his eyes was incredibly appreciative of what was just done.

Izzy, who had been quiet for a short while now, finally cleared his throat, “So what did you give Mimi, Joe?” he asked, tilting his head curiously.

Joe let out a sigh, his head hanging and shoulders slumping, “You’re all gonna laugh…”

“We won’t laugh, honest,” Matt said in hopes of reassuring the boy. Joe let out another sigh.

“I gave her a giant Valentine…” he finally said after a few moments.

Silence once again, and Joe clenched his eyes shut, afraid of his friends bursting into laughter at the very idea. Him? Sending a Valentine to Mimi? The only reason he had even done it was the fact that he knew Mimi was on vacation. Even after everything that had happened in the Digital World, he knew that doing this was a complete and utter risk, what with how awkward he was and how completely extroverted and incredible she was.

“…You do realize that White Day was nearly half a year ago, right?” Izzy asked.

“I mean, I was too nervous to give it to her then! What was I supposed to do, just head to your guys’ school after I was done and give her a big pink heart?” he asked, Tai scoffing near immediately after.

“Well, yeah? That seems kind of obvious. Better than giving it to her in August!” Tai said, feeling this was the most obvious thing in the world. Joe understood where he was coming from, but…

“Giving it to her in public, in front of you guys and everyone? She would look at me weird and laugh at me! And then everyone else would laugh!”

“C’mon, Joe, Mimi wouldn’t do that…” Matt tried to reason with him. The boy sighed, shoulders slumping.

“I know she wouldn’t, I’m just… I feel so stupid about it.”

“Why?” Izzy asked, the other two boys pointing towards him in agreement with the question he had lobbied towards the Kido boy.

“How could I not!?” he asked, though all of his friends looked at him, all dumbfounded.

“…Am I missing something? I think I’m missing something…” Tai said.

Matt reached over to the box, grabbing a few to pass to Tai, Izzy, and then one for himself, as they all waited to listen to him.

Well she’s just so cool… and I’m so…” he gestured to himself, “Bumbling.”

Matt scoffed, “Man, you spent more time with her than the rest of us, I’d hope you’d be the first to realize she wouldn’t think about something like that.”

Another sigh fell from Joe’s lips, “I know! She’s super nice! She’s perfect!” he said, “I just… am afraid.”

“Afraid of her saying she doesn’t feel the same?” Izzy asked, and Joe slowly nodded.

They all hated to see their friend feeling so low, and Joe hated looking like this in front of his friends.

“But… you already gave her the valentine? As soon as she gets home she’ll know how you feel?” Tai asked, at which Joe paused.

A moment later, Joe let out a loud groan, falling back onto the floor.

Tai got up and walked over to Joe, pushing him up and clapping him on the shoulders.

“Bud,” Tai started, and Joe’s head dropped again.

“Here he goes,” Matt mumbled to Izzy, who had to stifle back a laugh.

“Mimi is gonna know as soon as she’s home, so you gotta just go with it! Next time you see Mimi, you gotta walk up to her as confidently as possible and tell her how you feel!” he told his friend, who slowly looked up at him with an unamused look.

“Tai?”

“Yeah?”

“What I wouldn’t give to understand just how your mind works,” he deadpanned.

Tai rolled his eyes and playfully pushed him back over, causing Joe to let out a yelp as Tai plopped back down where he was before.

“So you’re really not going to talk to Mimi?” Izzy asked, Joe sighing.

“That would probably be the best option,” Joe droned out, sounding defeated.

“Until we all meet up and then you two are in the same room again,” Matt brought up.

“…Oh, yeah,” Joe said after a moment.

“I still think my plan works pretty good,” Tai shrugged.

“Well, we could just never invite me to the same things as Mimi and vice-versa…” Joe mused.

Matt looked unamused at the idea, “No way. You’ll have to talk to her about it someday, Joe. It might as well be sooner than later.”

“Agreed,” Izzy chimed in.

Slowly, Joe pushed himself up, looking across at his friends weakly.

“You guys really think it’ll go well?”

“Of course, man! We wouldn’t tell you over and over and over if we didn’t think that,” Tai said, giving him a thumbs up. Matt and Izzy followed suit.

It was enough to get the edge of Joe’s mouth to turn upwards into a partial smile, “Thanks,” he said, before checking his watch, jaw dropping, “Oh, geez, I didn’t realize it was this late, I gotta get going! Sorry! I’ll talk to you guys later!” Joe said, scrambling up and out of the room in a flash.

Of course, such a situation wasn’t exactly new to the three, and they all looked at each other, Izzy the first to speak up.

“…So what do we do if Joe doesn’t actually go and talk to Mimi?”

Tai and Matt looked at each other, already on the same wavelength, both grinning.

“We just shove him in the same room as her and lock the door until he actually talks to her,” Matt said.

“It’ll probably be easier to get done than getting Joe to see her at all,” Tai laughed.

***

Cram school was going to be the end of him.

Even if his middle school entrance exams went well, Joe knew he couldn’t take it easy and relax. He was doing this for his future, so he could end up getting into a good school and have success as a doctor, and make his family proud.

Being so frayed and worried and continuing cram school also meant that he didn’t have to worry about the Valentine or Mimi’s reaction. Out of sight, out of mind wasn’t normally a phrase that Joe followed, but he definitely would follow that bit of advice now if only to avoid worrying about it.

With a heavy sigh, he unlocked the door to his home, trudging in with exhaustion clear in his body and his steps, looking up to see Jim standing by the door.

“Long day at cram school?” he asked, and Joe nodded weakly.

“Don’t get me wrong, I know how important it is, but I’m definitely thinking about resting for a few hours before dinner,” he said, and Jim smiled softly.

“You might want to put a rain check on that nap,” he said, Joe tilting his head in confusion.

“You got a call from Mimi.”

Joe’s jaw dropped and his eyes went wide, “What!?” he shouted out, and Jim nodded.

“Yeah, about an hour ago, actually. She wanted to meet you at Burger Jack. It’s very important,” he said, now grinning, “Looks like somebody’s going to get himself a girlfriend,” he teased, to which Joe turned bright red.

“If anything she’s going to let me down kindly over burgers,” he sighed.

“You gotta have a little confidence. You saved the world! You saved two worlds, little bro! Chicks dig both world saving and confidence. Besides, I doubt she’d ‘let you down kindly’ over a late lunch. She’d probably tell me to tell you how she felt about it,” he explained.

Maybe it was one of the rare times Joe wanted to be positive, but he chose to believe his brother, quickly nodding.

“Yeah, yeah! It’s gotta be good! Ok! I’m gonna go right now! Thanks Jim!” Joe said, before pausing for a moment, “Oh, and uh, if mom and dad get home before me, can you tell them I stayed at cram school longer today?” he asked sheepishly. Jim laughed and nodded.

“Sure thing. Knock her dead, Joe.”

The words rang in Joe’s mind as he held on tight to his bag, starting to run as fast as he could to the burger place in question, remembering how so long ago now that was their first meal back after being in the Digital World.

…Well, not for him and Izzy.

The trip took longer than he wanted to, given the rush hour on the subway, and as he continued to run towards the place in question, he quietly hoped Mimi hadn’t left in a huff yet. By the time he reached the stairs to head up, he was taking two at a time, just about tripping as he pushed the door open. He hung onto the handle, eyes wide, as he looked around, seeing Mimi looking out the window, the Valentine on the table. Joe gulped hard, before walking in, slow, quiet steps as he approached the table. As he stopped in front of it, he offered her a quiet, awkward wave, before sitting across from her.

“Uh, hey Mimi…” he said, eyes falling towards the Valentine for a moment before looking at her, noticing that she had done the same. The boy swallowed hard, only feeling his chest tighten with nerves even more as she offered him one of her trademark smiles.

“Hi, Joe, it’s been so long!” she chirped, “Did you get my postcard? Oh! Do you like my tan?” she asked, holding out her arm. Joe’s cheeks started to tinge a light pink and he nodded.

“Y-yeah, it was— it was nice, thanks. A-and so is your tan!” he told her, unable to stop his stuttering and stammering, eyes once again focused on the Valentine.

“So… you got it…”

Mimi nodded, excitement on her face, though Joe couldn’t place whether it was excitement over the valentine or if this was just the usual, excitable Mimi Tachikawa.

“Yeah! Oh, I love the colors!” she cooed sweetly, her gaze falling to it for a moment, the girl looking even happier when she did.

“O-Oh… I’m glad…” he said slowly, absolutely confused and terrified. He felt like he had just jumped into the deep end and was barely treading the water that was all of the stress he was feeling at the moment.

When she looked back up at him, he went red, forcing a nervous smile as he looked at her, sucking in a breath.

“I didn’t know you felt that way,” she said, and Joe slowly nodded, adjusting his glasses to give his hands something to do with all the nervous energy that was just about spilling out of him.

“Well… yeah…” he said, turning his head to look out of the window, scratching the back of his head, “How could I not?”

Mimi’s eyes went wide with surprise, unsure of what to say.

“You’re really great, and with all the time we spent together I just… liked you. It mostly happened once we went back to fight the Dark Masters and it was just you and me. I know we talked about how we’ve both really grown up while we were there, but it really showed me the type of person you are…” he said, pausing for a moment before quietly adding, “…And I like that person.”

The air was pushed from Mimi’s lungs, his words so sudden, so direct, and so unlike Joe Kido— even considering the valentine he had given her.

“Oh, Joe…”

His frown was so sudden as he stared at the table, at the valentine in particular, his body language showing how clearly down he was.

“I’m sorry. I mean, I know this was a lot to drop on you right as you came back from Hawaii, but I didn’t know when else to do it, because I was too afraid to do it in person.”

“I don’t mind that you did, Joe,” she assured him, though it didn’t seem to assuage his nerves in the slightest.

“I’m glad, but I figure it isn’t exactly something you… wanted to have… and I really don’t want to make things awkward between us and the group, like making anyone feel like they have to choose a side or something! I just want us all to be friends but… I just wanted to tell you, too,” he sighed.

“Joe, I’m really not upset,” she said, her own cheeks starting to match the color of her dress, and her words confusing the boy across from her.

“You’re… not?” he asked, blinking a few times, absolutely confused.

“No! I mean, it was surprising, yes, but… it was nice…” she told him, now much shier than before. They were both blushing and both awkward, which for Joe was something he would have never expected from his crush.

“O-Oh.”

“It made me think about all of our times in the Digital World together… and it made me think about how much I enjoyed being around you. And just…” her fingers went to lightly graze across the valentine again, “…Realize how much you mean to me…”

“You mean a lot to me, too.”

The two of them were quiet, in their own little world amongst the busy fast food restaurant, focused only on each other.

Joe couldn’t believe what he was hearing, and for a second he was tempted to pinch himself just to make sure he wasn’t dreaming this all.

“I like you a lot, Joe,” she said, finally breaking the silence that grew around them. Joe started blushing, something that Mimi thought more than ever was incredibly adorable.

“I-I like you, too… but I’m sure you already know that,” he laughed awkwardly, Mimi giggling after.

She brushed some loose strands of hair back behind her ear, unable to stop the smile on her face, “I’d love to be your valentine, if it isn’t too late,” she teased sweetly. Joe nodded quickly, and Mimi reached her hand for his, feeling happy.

“Of course!” he said, still bright red, but looking like he was on cloud nine.

“And… maybe I could be your girlfriend?” she suggested, Joe suddenly deadly quiet, with a look of shock on his face Mimi hadn’t seen before even during the most stressful of situations, “…And you could be my boyfriend?”

She waited a bit, realizing that she probably threw just as much his way that he was worried about throwing her way.

“If you want, of course,” she added quickly, and Joe nodded quickly.

“O-Of course! Yeah! I’d love that,” he said.

Mimi’s smile turned soft, squeezing his hand gently for a moment, “I’d love that, too.”

[archipelagolago]

There’s a World Between Earth and Sky

Tonight, the breeze is a light shudder over Steve’s bare arms.

He’s sitting on the floor in front of his sliding back door.

The door is open to about the width of his shoulders; wide enough to breathe the outside air, narrow enough to be closed quickly.

The sunset is gorgeous. Truly dreamlike in its beauty. Soft pinks and vibrant oranges fading to quiet purples and deep blues in one direction, to bright, blinding, yellow in the other.

It’s not red tonight. Steve couldn’t be here, looking, if it was red tonight. Couldn’t see it without facing flashes of bloody nails, dark-veined blue eyes, doomsday skies.

So, it’s not red tonight.

But the shadows are there. On the edge of the tree line. Cast over chlorinated water by a diving board.

Even so, Steve can be here. Because the gap left by the open door is narrow enough to be slammed shut in less than a second. And Steve’s bat is resting against the wall, easy to reach. And, most importantly, Billy is in the house.

Billy’s sleeping on the living room couch. Protected by two fluffy blankets. Living. Breathing. In this dimension.

He sleeps a lot, these days. Is usually curled up on that couch when Steve gets home from work. Billy hasn’t been medically cleared to start working again yet. So, he mostly sleeps during the day, isn’t quite able to shut his eyes to the night.

Steve wishes it wasn’t like that. Hopes the night feels less like dying, for Billy, soon. Although, admittedly, Steve takes comfort in knowing someone’s keeping watch on him as he sleeps.

The sunset is getting less yellow now, more pink and purple. Soon it will all fade to vast, dominating, blues.

A dog barks off in the distance. Steve watches a squirrel twitch its tail, run away up a tree.

Steve likes these sounds, dogs barking, squirrels scurrying. They’re safe, but, nothing compared to his current favorite sound, the rustle of blankets and squeak of the couch as Billy shifts into consciousness.

Steve’s lips rise in a soft smile, soft like the pink of the sunset. He hears Billy grunt before the couch squeaks again and his feet can be heard finding the floorboards. The wood groans as Billy shifts his full weight onto it, standing. The scuffing of socks brushing over the floor makes way over to Steve.

The footsteps stop in the doorway.

“Good morning, baby,” Steve calls, keeping his eyes on the sunset.

Billy yawns, shuffles over to sit next to Steve. He shakes out his arms before shifting onto his side and laying his head onto Steve’s crossed legs.

He’s brought one of the blankets with him, has it draped over his shoulders and covering him down to his feet.

Steve sets his right hand over Billy’s heart, feels his own fill with a molten kind of love when Billy’s hand moves up to cover Steve’s.

Steve’s left hand travels to Billy’s hair, stroking the tangled curls in his lap.

This means safety. Means comfort unmatched. Is the first time, all day, Steve can honestly say the sense of impending doom is silenced.

“Sunset’s good today?” Billy asks in a whisper.

Steve senses the soft pink between his ribs grow crawling up to his armpits. He feels some of the tension in his shoulders melt as the color starts to glow.

“The sunset’s amazing today,” Steve responds, with a pleased sigh.

Billy gifts a kiss to Steve’s ankle.

“Tell me 'bout work,” he instructs.

In the back of Steve’s throat, something joins the sunset pink.

“Was pretty average. Nothing special. Except, actually, El and Will came in today. Robin convinced them to rent, uh, the… 'Rocket Horror Movie’? I think?”

The texture of Billy’s hair is a quiet purple beneath Steve’s fingers.

Billy rolls onto his back, frowns up at Steve, “Huh?”

“Uh, or maybe it was, 'The Rocking Horror Show’? Something like that. Don’t think it’s a new release,” Steve tries to explain.

Billy’s eyes light up, a grin spreads over his face, “The Rocky Horror Picture Show?”

Steve’s left pointer finger tap-tap-taps against a floorboard, “Yeah! That’s the one,” he exclaims, relieved to have it remembered.

Billy’s eyebrows raise, grin deepens, “Really? No way?”

“Rob said it wouldn’t be too scary for the kids,” Steve says, starting, now, to doubt her claim.

Billy frees up a laugh at that. His amusement has him vibrating against Steve’s thighs; Steve thinks, this must be what it’s like to feel at home.

“So you’ve never seen Rocky Horror?” Billy asks after settling down.

“No,” Steve answers, “s'it bad?”

Billy huffs out a quiet chuckle, shakes his head. He’s looking at Steve so tenderly, like Steve is the force that keeps his heart beating.

“What’s so funny about it then?” Steve demands, tone shifting to a whine.

Billy’s lips twitch in the way they do when he’s trying to hide a smile.

“We’ll rent it once your kids return it. You’ll just have to wait and see.”

Steve groans, “Biilllyy, you know I hate waiting!”

“Yup,” Billy says, popping the 'p’ and rolling his eyes.

He reaches up and brings Steve’s head down, traps him in a vibrant orange kiss.

Steve might cry, he would if he still remembered how to. He’s safe. This is home. This is home.

Billy pulls back. His eyes are watering. He’s happy. Steve can tell by the way he scrunches his nose, squeezes Steve’s hand.

“Whenever I sit here with you, looking out at the sunset, I think, it’s the day kissing the night awake,” Billy says.

Steve smiles down at Billy in gentle purple. He moves the hand that isn’t clutching Billy’s own, back to his lover’s hair. Let’s his fingers glide over it.

“Reminds me of you,” Billy clarifies, closing his eyes.

Steve hums in question.

Billy continues, “You do the same. Kiss me awake at night,” he rubs his head up and down over Steve’s thigh, wraps an arm around his waist, “You’re my sunset.”

And Steve’s glowing now. Taken over by all the colors of the sunset.

Steve’s not good at crying. Hasn’t felt tears on his face in… he doesn’t know how long. Billy, though, is good at crying. He tears up practically any time he’s struck by emotion.

Sometimes, like now, Steve wishes he knew how to release the suffocating hold he’s had choking his emotions since he first realized his parents didn’t love him back. He wishes he could let go of control, drop the façade, even for just a few seconds.

Because he’s safe, here, with Billy, in this dimension. He knows nothing bad would come of displaying his emotions. He’s safe. He’s loved. He’s home.

But, years of suppressing his emotions. Burying his feelings. Hiding behind a mask. They don’t just disappear. He can’t just reset.

So it’s still hard for him. To express his own emotions outside of responding to those of others. Because, he can be angry in response to someone else’s rage, can be sad in response to someone else’s despair, can be affectionate in response to someone else’s care. But, he can’t quite seem to feel like a human on his own. Can’t seem to say anything serious with his eyes open, or kiss Billy first, couldn’t respond to Nancy’s grief while simultaneously burying his own terror, guilt, confusion.

It’s okay, though. Because Billy knows. Billy knows how to love him and how to listen to him and how to see him. Because he’s made a point of learning to understand Steve. Because he cares. Because he loves Steve back.

So, when all Steve can do is close his eyes and whisper, “I love you,” Billy knows he means it. Even though, right now, Steve can just tell and not entirely show.

So, when Billy twists, kisses Steve’s stomach, presses his face up against him, Steve knows he means, 'I love you too.“ Even though, right now, he can’t entirely tell, just show.

And when Steve keeps stroking Billy’s hair, not only in response to Billy setting his head on Steve’s lap, it’s progress.

The sun is fully set by now. Soft pinks and quiet purples overtaken by vast blues. And it’s okay. It’s still beautiful. The stars are glowing brighter now. If you look closely, maybe squint, you’ll see the clouds building abstract patterns in the shifting blue.

Steve looks down at Billy, now. Squeezes his hand and says, "I should get started on dinner.”

Before Billy can groan he adds, “And. I uh, I know that you’re nauseous, and it hurts. But. Can you try today? At least have some smoothie, for me?”

Billy sighs, narrows his eyes at Steve, “That’s not fair, you know. Making it 'for you’. Can’t do that when you know I’d do anything for ya.”

Steve isn’t sure how to reply to that. It’s true. But. Things are complicated for both of them right now. Nothing feels, just, simple.

“Seriously, sunset,” Billy emphasizes.

Steve takes a deep breath, “Ok. You’re right. It’s unfair to guilt you like that. I just don’t know what to do sometimes. I just want to keep you safe. For always.”

Billy groans, shakes his head, but smiles too, “Can’t always be here ta keep me safe from everything, Stevie. Sometimes, some things, are just always going to be bad. But. I’ll try to try your smoothie. S'long as it’s blueberry.”

Billy’s right. Again. Sometimes bad things stay bad. But, they live among good things, too. And sometimes, good things are just good– no catch. Reality is complex. Multifaceted. Too jumbled up to be just good/bad. Too chaotic to read within the lines. Meaning, the universe holds its breath. Meaning, the universe exhales in time.

And, so. When Steve helps Billy up from the floor, closes the door. When Billy walks behind Steve with his arms wrapped around his lover’s waist, whispering, “we’ll take it slow, sunset.” When the two walk into the kitchen swaying, dancing (slow). The sky meets the Earth, and the view is neither one, nor the other. The Earth meets the sky, and the view is, maybe, both. 🌇

[ramp-it-up]

Playlist: Bucky Runs

Summary: Bucky runs CapTech. Bucky runs into you. What else can Bucky run?

Pairing: CEO! Bucky Barnes x Journalist! Reader

Word count: 2.9k

Warnings: As always, 18+ ONLY, Minors DNI. Running for pleasure, meet cute, pining, anxious Bucky, possible darkish Bucky. Masturbation in a bathtub, sex toy, flirting and fantasizing.

A/N: I reallly tried to make this a one shot, but I stressed myself out, so here it is, part one.🫣 I really owe everything to @ysmmsy and @blackwidownat2814 who created the Bucky Runs playlist. Thanks you, loves! 🥰

I no longer have a taglist. Please follow @rampitupandread and turn on notifications to learn when I post! 😘

I Do NOT Consent to my work being reposted, translated or presented on any other blog or site other than by myself.

You looked down at your watch to make sure you were on pace. You needed to decrease your time so that you could finish the 5K in under 30 minutes. Your first race was coming up in another month and you wanted to be in good enough shape, but it was hard.

“Ooof!”

“Hey!”

All of a sudden, you collided with a brick wall and then someone grabbed you. You were dazed for a moment and then looked up into the most gorgeous blue eyes you’d ever seen.

“Oh!”

You were in the embrace of a tall, dark haired man, who was very warm and who smelled very good. A mixture of sweat, musk, and sandalwood. You were dazed for a minute and put your arms around him.

You held on for a moment, then you remembered yourself and pulled away, wiping the sweat from your brow, shaken. You were sure you looked horrible and that he was horrified.

“Are you okay?” Those ocean blues searched yours. “I’m sorry that I nearly knocked you down, I was checking my time.”

That voice. That smile.

“Oh no. It was my fault. I was looking at my watch too. I should have been more aware.”

Bucky was very aware of you at this moment. Your body in your jogging shorts and tank top was just his type. Your face was glowing and beautiful and he felt the crazy urge to kiss you in order to apologize. He licked his lips. He was glad that he chose different scenery for this evening’s run. DUMBO was nice, but tonight it was gorgeous.

You looked down at your watch again.

“Shit!”

You cursed under your breath and started moving again.

“Off pace. I have to keep going. I hope you’re okay!”

You waved at him when you jogged away.

Bucky should have said something, but he just stood there and watched you leave, his heart beating erratically. What a sight to behold. Then, he started running again, trying to forget the feel of you in his arms.

“Let me just… lick the sweat off your pussy.”

You giggled as the he reached for your running shorts and you swatted his hands away.

“Ew. No.”

You were refusing, but biting your lip and your eyes were twinkling. He knew what you wanted. Him to beg.

“Please.”

That voice got you ready for the onslaught you knew was about to happen.

“Pretty please with a cherry on top?”

He licked his bottom lip, hot tongue on that mouth.

You wrinkled your nose at him, looking into at his beautiful blue eyes.

“You really wanna…”

“Yes. Feel how hard I am for you.”

You reached out your hand and felt his rock hard erection. It was your turn to lick your lips. He saw your reaction and leaned in to whisper in your ear.

“Let me tear that cherry out.”

He grabbed your shorts again and pulled them down.

“I’m going to suck this clit so good, you won’t remember your own name. Or mine.”

“Promise?”

He grinned as he parted your thighs and without preamble began to suck your clit like a machine. You came in no time, and loudly, your cries echoing off the bathroom walls. Your toes curled and your back arched, sloshing water on the tile floor.

You slowly opened your eyes and put your clit sucker toy on the edge of the bath, sighing to yourself.

If only you had gotten Running Man’s name, maybe… Nah. He’d never be attracted to you. You would have to settle for the feel of his body against yours for those few seconds. It was enough to help get you off. Still, it would be nice if you weren’t alone.

You toweled off and got into bed naked, enjoying the feel of the new sheets you bought yourself, surrendering to dreams of a mystery Running Man.

“…Don’t you think?”

It took Bucky a minute to realize that he hadn’t answered your question. He’d been too busy reeling from the realization that the journalist that was interviewing him this morning was you. He’d spent last night with thoughts of you, thinking he’d never see you again.

When you walked into his office and looked up at him, both of you froze as if you had collided again.

Your pretty now lipsticked mouth dropped open, forming a perfect ‘o’. He had to look away before he did something stupid, so he scanned down your body and saw that you were wearing a blazer over a free flowing dress. Bucky gulped. You were making things hard for him. He needed to see what was underneath.

“… You’re not… Mr… Wilson?”

You were confused, dismayed, and a little thrilled. How was this your life?

Bucky flushed and moved forward, extending his hand and trying to be professional. His heart was beating a mile a minute.

“No, Sam is sick.”

He smiled as he reached you and you stared at his hand like it was a fish.

“I’m his business partner, James Barnes.”

Bucky extended his hand a little further.

Oh shit, he thought. You hated him.

You finally noticed his hand and took it, shaking it firmly.

“I’m Y/N L/N. Glad to meet you.”

You smiled back at him, not acknowledging the previous evening.

“Mr. Barnes can speak to you over here, the windows will make for a good backdrop.”

You looked over at a red headed woman in a suit. You hadn’t even noticed anyone else was in the room.

“I’m Natasha Romanoff, we spoke over the phone.”

You shook her hand, noticing that she was gorgeous.

“Yes, thank you for arranging this interview.”

As you set up your camera, everything clicked into place. James Bucky Barnes was the most reclusive of the three founders of CapTech, the billion dollar tech firm. Usually Sam Wilson or Steve Rogers did the press. Barnes hadn’t done an interview in over five years.

The last images of Bucky to be found included a lot more hair, yet this short haircut on him looked good. Really good. You told yourself to calm your thirst.

This was a lucky coincidence in more ways than one. The enigmatic co-creator of one of the most used apps in the world had long been an elusive interview catch. You had no idea that when you booked this interview that you’d luck up on Barnes.

This was a journalistic feat.

Bucky was beginning to be glad that he consented to this interview. Sam was in bed and Steve was putting out fires in London. They either had to cancel or Bucky had to do the interview, but after his run last night, He felt good today. After all, what could happen?

Nat told him that the journalist was new on the scene and would not likely go for the jugular. He could handle it. But the instant you walked in the room, Bucky’s heart went erratic.

“Yeah.. I …. Uhhhh.. I don’t think… I mean I do think that’s… that’s true.”

Damn, you had him fumbling his words trying to answer the questions about the impact of the latest CapTech project. He managed to get something out and you smiled again, which had him grinning like an idiot. You were stunning.

You blushed as James Buchanan Barnes smiled at you again. He was nice and down to earth, and his smile was everything. He was so handsome, his voice was a dream, and he was so kind. The fact that he kept licking his lips, his tongue darting out and around his mouth was making you feel some kind of way. And his eyes. They were a light blue so vivid that you wanted to skydive right into them.

But you tried to remain professional.

You questioned him about their latest app, company history, charitable endeavors, and then you went in.

“This is a tough time in the world. Mental heath is in the forefront these days and I know that for all appearances,you seem to be the handsome, brilliant, elusive creator living a life that everyone dreams of, but I know you work hard. What do you do to take care of yourself, to decompress?”

Bucky looked at you carefully. You seemed earnest and he could feel the sincerity emanating from you. But he was stuck on the fact that you thought he was handsome. And he was analyzing your last question. He had to be careful.

“Thank you for the compliments, but I wouldn’t say, my. My life is not….”

Bucky looked down at his pants and picked an imaginary piece of lint off of them. Your eyes were drawn to his thighs. Damn. But you wouldn’t be deterred. He looked back up at you and you had to catch your breath.

“And I’m not elusive.” He smiled weakly.

“C’mon. Your last interview was what? 2017?”

Bucky sighed, the anxiety shifting and then resettling in his stomach.

“I’ve been through… a lot and I am a private person. But, I hang out with my business partners and close circle of friends.”

Bucky’s circle was Steve, Sam, and Natasha. And of course, Alpine. With them he felt safe, protected. He’d not let anyone else in since… well, since before.

You heard the wistfulness in his voice and felt a pang of regret at your phrasing of the question. Bucky gazed at you and smiled. You responded in kind. He shifted in his seat, getting comfortable again when he saw the smile on your face and continued.

“To relax, I read, listen to good music, and try to get physical at least once a day.”

Your ears perked up at the apparent mention of a significant other that you couldn’t let pass. Your pulse quickened and you dared to ask the question.

“Who is the lucky person who gets physical time with you daily?”

Bucky was non-plussed.

“Usually it’s Steve, but our friends Sam and Nat get a taste as well. They all go down.”

He stared at your raised eyebrow when he realized the implication of his answer. You looked over at Romanoff who shook her head and smirked.

“Oh shit! NO! I meant physical as in exercise! Not… not that! No no no!”

He was keyed now, very animated. It was sort of cute and funny and you started laughing.

He laughed along nervously and ran his hand through his hair and over his mouth, which settled you down.

“I meant… We run nearly every day...we’re competitive…Shit.”

Bucky covered his face with his hand, beyond embarrassed.

“Do you always run with others?”

You were low key questioning last night. Bucky gave you a side smile.

“Most times, but like I said, Sam is sick and Steve is handling business in London.”

He glanced over at Romanoff.

“Nat had a… an engagement, so I ran alone last night. But you never know who you might run into when you’re out for a run.”

You cleared your throat and shifted in your seat, redirecting the conversation.

“So I take it you always win, and that’s what you meant by they ‘go down?’”

Bucky was staring at your lips as you repeated his phrase. He had to shift in his seat and clear his throat.

“Yes. That’s what I meant.”

His voice was more gravelly now, and your nipples got hard. What was happening?

Bucky was wondering the same thing. Blood was leaving his brain. He crossed his legs, licking his lips.

“Off the record? Please?”

Bucky begging had you moist.

“Yes?”

The way you said it made his pants tighter.

“Don’t put that in the interview.”

Looking like a lost little boy and biting his lip would get Bucky anything he wanted from you.

You sighed, and straightened in your chair while Bucky’s cheeks got more heated.

“Okay, I’ll edit that part out.”

You two smiled at each other again.

“Answer the question again for me.”

That low, husky voice. Bucky would do anything for you.

He cleared his throat, paused, and reset.

“I stay balanced through reading, music and exercise. I try to run every day.”

You nodded, appearing as if you heard the information for the first time.

“I bet everyone would want to know your taste in books and music. And running is aggressive. I swear it’s underrated how hard running is.”

You two shared a look. Bucky thought back to the night before. You hadn’t been wearing AirPods.

“It can be, you just need a good playlist.”

His smile widened. This was the most game he’d had in a while. It seemed to come back to him naturally with you.

You thought about it for a second, forgetting that you were at work.

“You’re right. That can change everything. I only recently started running, and although it is hard, I’m becoming addicted to the endorphins. It’s really helping with stress management.”

Bucky was becoming addicted to you. He smiled again and then frowned at the thought of you being stressed.

You wondered what he was thinking. The expressions on his face were so hard to read. He seemed not pleased at the moment.

You remembered what you were here for, recovered and continued, each of you more at ease with the conversation at this point. By the time the interview was over, you’d spoken for almost an hour.

You stood up to pack up your camera.

“Thank you Mr. Barnes..”

“Call me Bucky!”

You smiled at him.

“It’s short for Buchanan. My friends call me that.”

He smiled at you hopefully.

“Okay, Bucky.”

“I have more than enough footage. It is a shame that it is just for a 5 minute segment. I will let Ms. Romanoff know when it will air.”

Bucky had forgotten all about Nat being in the room. He pulled out his phone.

“Let’s exchange contact info and you can contact me directly. Maybe we can work together on something more extensive later on…”

And then he licked his lips. You grew warm again.

Bucky could hear his heart thud in his ears as he waited for you to respond. You smiled slyly at him.

“Maybe so.”

Bucky stepped closer to you and you felt a pull toward him. You opened your mouth slightly to breathe as he leaned near you to exchange phones. Musk and sandalwood again. You were only missing the sweat.

You tried to hide your arousal as you stepped back.

“I’ll be in touch, Bucky.”

You walked slowly out of the door and to the elevator, not wanting to trip over your own feet. You were in a daze as you traveled down 89 stories.

Natasha was staring at Bucky, who was grinning at the closed door to his office.

“Wow. I haven’t seen you open up like that since 2007, Buck.”

Bucky glanced over at Nat, annoyed. His smile vanished.

“It’s nothing. She was a really good interviewer. A good journalist.”

Natasha rolled her eyes.

“She’s decent, but you two talked about who you might be fucking and flirted over running playists. If she was good, she would have gone in for the kill on the mental health angle. What with the scandal…”

Natasha trailed off when Bucky stood up and walked toward the floor to ceiling wall of windows and looked out, impossibly trying to find you on the street.

“Do some research on her and compile a file. I’ve been thinking of writing a memoir.”

“A memoir?”

Natasha didn’t bother to hide her incredulity. Bucky didn’t ever reveal himself to anyone outside the circle.

“Natasha.”

Bucky turned and looked at Nat, sending an icy blue glare her way. She knew better than to argue when he was like this.

She sighed.

“Yes, Boss. I’m on it.”

Bucky watched her leave and then pulled out his phone and started composing a text. To you.

Here’s my running playlist. I hope it helps calm your aggressive endeavors.

When he pressed send, Bucky felt better than he had in a long time. Suddenly, everything felt easy.

You were waiting for your ride when your phone buzzed. Your mouth dropped open and you looked back up at the building, as if you could see Bucky.

You started smiling as you put your earpods in and clicked on the link, silently tripping that he texted you and so soon.

You bit your lip and took a deep breath as you responded.

Thank you. I will use it this evening.

You saw that he was responding right away. This man was playing no games.

Speaking of this evening, I want to make last night’s run-in up to you. Are you free for dinner tonight after your run? Celestine in DUMBO at 8?

You saw your ride arrived, verified the driver and got in, thinking how you should respond. Your interview wasn’t even edited, much less aired. This wasn’t professional.

I don’t think that is a good idea. But thank you for the playlist.

Bucky was more than disappointed, but he had an idea.

No worries. Let me know how you like it.

You left him on read and then put your phone in your bag, trying to calm the butterflies in your stomach.

Running would be a good distraction tonight. It would put James Buchanan Barnes out of your head.

Bucky had other plans for you tonight. You wouldn’t run away that easily.

Let me know what you think. Really. Truly.

[demonsofparadis]

*reposting without the image because it got flagged*

🖤😈🖤

she can tell the minute he’s awake. he was hard against her back but now his breath catches as he becomes aware of her consciously pressing into him. silently, smoothly, mikasa slides down her knickers. his breath hitches in her ear, half a laugh. she’s wet for him already, slick against his hand. “you little minx,” he rasps.

there’s no preamble, no hesitation, and she greets him eagerly as he slides his cock home. she likes this angle, this lazy speed. his hands wander and roam. he takes his time, mouth on her neck, fingers at her clit. then he pauses, abrupt, withdrawing slow to the tip only to work back halfway, repeats, never giving her what she needs. she moans, long and guttural, trying to sink back, sighing his name, “levi.”

[gagmebucky]

[steve. breeding kink. baby.]

“Wanna know what makes it worse?” Steve leans in and trails his nose along the inviting curve of your shoulder and neck until his lips are adjacent with your ear. “My sense of smell, it tells me when your body is just ripe for the taking. It’s like you’re fucking calling me every single month—begging me to put your little pussy out of your misery. . . fuck and fuck until you’re milkin’ my kid right outta me.”

in which you’re playing with a baby and steve can’t resist himself. (includes steve’s pov, avenger!steve rogers x girlfriend!reader, breeding kink, dirty talk, praise kink, mild daddy kink, unprotected sex.) 

do not repost.

—

Procedure requires debriefing at the end of every mission. In this hours-long process, an agent must recap the objectives and the means used to achieve them; deviations to the original plan and why; as well as whether success was gained, and any other pertinent intel possibly acquired.

This routine is mandatory for all those working for and with an organization like S.H.I.E.L.D.; not even the Avengers are exempt from this. Except in this particular case where the titular first of the super-powered team has forgone the professional necessity, and instead, is in search of you. 

Normally, America’s golden boy can handle the dangers that occur in such a violent but imperative field. He understands the risks and pressures inherent to his line of duty, and he’s always accepted it, dealt with it because the overall outcome dwarfs the bad.

On this particular assignment, however, the stakes were higher than usual and although the quick snap-quick decisions he made ultimately paid off, it didn’t soften the blow of the sacrifices made. Times like this, he has to wonder if it’s worth it.

The tension weighs on his shoulders and crackles underneath his skin; his synapses are frayed with the memory of each fallen agent, the orders he doled out preambling every one, and the electricity curls his fists and locks his jaw. It’s corrupting that logical part of his brain, and that craving for vengeance can’t be sated with  his knuckles breaking a few punching bags. 

In rare moments like these, when the serum is pumping through his veins like rabies, there’s one thing to straighten the edges and bring him back from the trenches. That solace is you; your alluring smile and twinkling eyes, the musical carry of your laugh, your seemingly innate ability to figure out what’s wrong and quell the turmoil cycloning inside of him. 

So he doesn’t report to Fury like he’s supposed to, doesn’t go over the myriad of errors that only worsened as the mission progressed—no one stops him either. 

When employees spot him marching down the corridors, stealth suit still on and rippling across his hulking mass, his strides colliding deafeningly with the floor, handsome and affable features tightened intensely, their only recourse is moved out of the way. Thankfully, they get the hint because if someone hadn’t, he knows he’d snap and do something he might regret. 

His senses, formerly haywire in his manic state, have lasered into tunnel focus; his eardrums hone in on the specific sound wave of your crooning voice, and the olfactory nerves in his nostrils guide him in a trail to the source of your intoxicating essence.

Steve slams the door open and storms into the upper, restricted level of the headquarters. His hastened pace slows upon your increased dose, lulling his awareness and distance waning significantly. As his search nears its end, he recognizes where he’s at: the luxurious space designed by and created for Tony Stark. 

The doors are open so he doesn’t waste time knocking (not that he possesses the patience to abide by his hundred year old manners). Upon entry, he’s taken the tranquility occupying the atmosphere and the sight of you bathed in the sun’s glow; bright rays beam through the impenetrable windowed wall of the tower while you gently rock the three month old baby perched on your shoulder, probably basking in the dual warmth of you and the star.    

From afar, behind you, the brown-eyed girl’s mother stands. With her head tilted and soft gratefulness slanted into her lips, the strawberry blonde’s hip rests against the office’s wet bar and watches fondly as you effortlessly soothe her child’s fussiness into a thumb-sucking slumber. 

“Aren’t they cute?” Pepper Potts remarks as he steps beside her. Her gaze maintains on his girlfriend and her daughter. “Morgan would not stop crying for the past few hours, and I did everything to calm her down. I was frazzled and at my wit’s end then I handed her off to her aunt, and now she’s as quiet as a mouse.” She pauses and spares a glance over to his adoration-fixed stare, a slyness twisting into her smile. “I don't know what stage you two are at but she’d make a great mom.” 

Steve knows you occasionally babysit for the Starks, but he’s never seen you like this. You’re in your element, swaying back and forth while you hum inaudibly into the infamous delicate baby’s ear. Her small hands are curled around your neck and her face nuzzled into the crease of your shoulder, with the opposing thumb slid between her lips as her big chocolate eyes flutter into a peaceful rest. 

Suddenly breathless—but it’s not from the exertion—he has to agree, nodding his head. “Y - yeah,” he answers to both statements because it’s fucking adorable, and while there’s never been a doubt about your caring nature, this cements the fact that you would be an amazing mother. The sensation boils in his gut, and his fingers twitch at his sides. “Has she always been this good with her?”

“Oh, yeah,” Pepper tells him matter-of-factly. “With her, other kids, too. She came with us to the park, and this one kid was screaming his head off and she just went over and poof! He was happy.” Her eyes are back on your slow pacing silhouette. “I would swear she was made for this. I bet she was a nanny in another life.” 

His knuckles clench as her words ignite the simmering inferno of his being. Made for this, made for this, echoes in his head and he has to remind himself that he’s in public. But the primal image of you, radiating like an angel with a little piece of him growing inside you, has already carved itself in the forefront of his psyche.

Steve has never been into traditional gender roles, not even when he was in his time and it was the norm (he’s always been a very progressive thinker). But, God, he can’t deny the appeal now that he has you. There’s something so primally satisfying about having you at home, free of any worries that aren’t about your family, potentially—preferably—knocked up.

The carnal urge grips him more intensely than before. Usually, he can suppress that visceral desire to bury himself bare inside you and spill his virility until he further claims you as his. However, receiving a glimpse of you in this maternal state, it has every instinct screaming that you’re irrefutably perfect and primed. 

As if on cue, you turn around with the effectively lullabied infant clinging around your neck. After a flicker of surprise, pleasant then concerned, you pad on over to carefully hand over Morgan to her thankful mother. Your attention rivets back to him with a knitted brow gaze. 

“Babe, hey,” you greet in a gentle voice. Worry ebbs into your gaze amongst the usual stare of attraction upon dragging across the navy blue material that still clings to his muscular torso. You offer your hand, which he immediately takes, and you guide him out of the office into the hallway. The door shuts behind you, and the sectioned off level is empty, but your voice is still quiet when asking, “What happened?”  

You stand barely a breath away, and the proximity pacifies his senses. His stance loosens while a smile upturns a corner of his mouth. “Nothing,” he answers then clarifies, “Nothing that matters anymore, anyway.” 

The amendment dwindles your concerned curiosity because it’s honest—he doesn’t need to dwell when you’re standing here—and you can hear it; another lovingly scrutinizing up-and-down glance confirms that his earlier disquietude has settled significantly.

“D’you have fun back there?” he goes onto wonder, eyes flickering over to the closed door.   Your earlier titillatingly visage snaps into his brain, and he subconsciously bites down on his bottom lip. “You looked like you were.” 

You accept his subject-change with a nonchalant shrug. “Babies like me, and I like them,” you tell him, smiling at the admission. “What can I say?”

“I don’t know. Maybe that you want me to knock you up.” The words fumble out of his mouth before he thinks about it, and while he hadn’t intended on letting it slip, if he did, it would’ve been without the serious fluctuation he blurted it out with. 

In a lame attempt to correct his slip of the tongue regarding a topic you both rarely discussed, he quickly adds, “I’m joking.” A surprised expression had crossed your features upon processing his former response, transitioning into something he can’t yet pinpoint if he likes. As if to test the waters—or dig himself into a deeper hole—he says, matter-of-factly, borderline suggestive, “But you know, back in my day, you’d probably already have a few popped out by now.”

“Mr. Rogers!” you gasp in an almost-shocked tone, but your cheeks split with a devious grin. “Are you telling me you want to be a daddy?” 

Disheveled by his mission, then upended by your placating presence, he’s more awkward than the day he met you. “Fuck. Look, I’d never pressure you, okay?” For the millionth time, the previous scene plays mentally; he exhales heavily. “It’s just you with her, and I. . . never mind.” He shakes his head, deciding he’s still on the edge from both events today, and dismisses his animalistic inkling. “Act like I didn’t say anything.” 

You fold your arms and nod.

“Uh-huh, daddy,” you drawl, scintillating in mischievousness that simultaneously has his heart skipping a beat and his cock jumping. Your smirk widens before disappearing beneath a cascade of feigned innocence. “We can just act like you don’t want me to have your kid.”

 His lips part at your teasing twist of his words. “That’s - that’s not what I said.” 

“Isn’t it?” You lift a brow. “It is. So, maybe I should find a guy who does. I think any other man would take immense pleasure in going condomless inside of me.” One hand wiggles into your jacket pocket while you peddle away from his orbit; a rectangular plastic ruffles as his reflexes instinctively catch it. “You know, I think Bucky would really appreciate me. I bet he’d have the manners to really wife me up and make me—“

He knows you’re poking fun of him; playfulness alight within your gaze that he usually enjoys. In actuality, he understands there’s zero truth in your jesting and he’d be more amused than jealous. However, currently, the circumstances have corrupted his sensibilities. 

“That’s not funny.”

Your laugh echoes musically. “It’s not ‘cause it isn’t a joke,” you say between your giggles, your amusement pardoning your spacial awareness. “I mean—Steve!” Your yelp is louder and even more musical when he surges forth and reigns you in. 

Air expels from your chest as his body cages yours against the wall. Using one hand to brace himself above you, his opposing appendage tilts your dazed blinking up. “Now do you really think I don’t want you to carry my kid?” he rumbles. “Because if it were up to me, I would’ve taken claim to your womb the second I saw you.” 

Your breathing hitches, and you try to remain unaffected but he’s too keen on your reactions to be fooled. “O - oh?” 

“Yeah.” His tongue swipes across his bottom lip. “Wanna know what makes it worse?” He leans in and trails his nose along the inviting curve of your shoulder and neck until his lips are adjacent to your ear. “My sense of smell, it tells me when your body is just ripe for the taking. It’s like you’re fucking calling me every single month—begging me to put your little pussy out of your misery. . . fuck and fuck until you’re milkin’ my kid right outta me.” 

A sound, hybrid between a moan and a gasp, escapes your throat; humor eviscerated, desire exudes from you and submerges his senses in a provoking intoxication. The rush sinks into his brain and triggers that visceral frenzy within him but he has no interest in suppressing it anymore. 

He releases a guttural groan and grabs your hips. His big hands splay on either side, thumb slightly kneading back and forth, and he draws you in closer. “I can smell you right now, too. Not only how wet you’re gettin’ but that it’s that time for you, isn’t it?” he purrs and nips at your lobe. “You’re mine for the taking.” His teeth catch your pulse, sucking a mark onto the vulnerable skin. “Hm, baby?”

“Y - yes!” you moan wantonly loud as your weight sags into his embrace. “Always.”

“Good—” His hands cinch on your flanks and abruptly hoist you up: prompting you to wrap your legs around his waist and your arms to encircle around his neck. “—cause holding back with you is gonna be impossible.”

With your body clutched  around his abdomen, he heads for the closest empty room, scoped out via his enhanced hearing. Unceremoniously, he turns a handle and breaks the lock of the unused office space; two doors down from the main room, it’s smaller but it has a sturdy-looking desk in the center.

He kicks the door shut and sets you down as your lips find his. Although you’re sat down, legs dangling over the wooden edge, you keep your elbows hooked around the nape of his neck and coax a ragged groan out of his chest with the deft stroke of your tongue. 

“Shit, baby,” he breathes and parts from you in order to yank your jacket down your shoulders. Tossing it off the side, he reveals a braless tank top and your nipples he can see have pebbled underneath. His imagination takes off once more, envisioning what the already perfect twins will look like in the wake of his seed taking root inside you.

His blood pumps viciously, flowing downward and flooding his cock to strain beneath the oppressive stealth-suit fabric. Like you’re reading his mind, you unhook the utility belt and similarly shove it off somewhere on the side.

Something rustles, and it’s the condom you’d thrown at him. Absentmindedly tucked under the cinch of the belt previously, it falls into your undressing hands. Your eyes rivet up to him, lashes fluttering big, as you hold it between two fingers: halfway offering. “What are you gonna do, daddy?” 

At that particular moment, it occurs to him that you’re doubting his seriousness. While abundantly clear you want this, you’re dubious on whether he’s going through it. Which is preposterous, but he figures that the look on your face when he spills inside you bareback will only further his orgasm, consequently heightening the odds of his end-goal. 

He plucks the packaging from of your grip, holds it up as your gazes clash and makes a show out of discarding it out of reach. Then he seizes your knees and slides your ass to the edge so your center is flushed against him, rocking into his hardened imprint.

“You,” he answers your query, tone a growl, as he peels your jeans off. He continues on just to shred your panties. “I’m doing you. With nothing to separate me from you, nothing to keep you from your rightful destiny: knocked up with our baby.”

“Please,” is all you utter, but the room’s thick with sensory evidence of your essence. 

Spreading your thighs as far as possible, he glances down to spit lewdly on your glistening mound; a long dribble of saliva coating your eager button and slit. He uses his thumb to smear it all over, mixing with the puddle you’re creating, dipping into your sticky folds with his middle finger. 

The whole time, you’re choking with these hungry and appreciative little noises. Likewise, you’re watching as he prepares you thoroughly and roughly to wring the cum out of him. “S - Steve,” you mewl coherently and buck into his messy caress. Your fingers are tugging pleading on the lower half of his uniform. “I need you. Please!” 

It is about damn time. 

His control has been witting away since the first time you called him daddy. He swiftly wrenches the suit down and exposes his leaking, throbbing cock to your tunnel of relief. His size always dwarfs your kempt triangle; an initial observation one might come to is the improbability he won’t fit. But he does, every single time, and in this special instance, he’s going to ensure all of his formidable length is buried in your fertile heat.         

He rasps his tip over your clit, plastering his translucent white pre-cum over the engorged nub, then traces down the crease of your slit. As he prods in, his hands span your thighs and  help open up your elastic entrance for his  ravenous cock. He stretches your tightness slow but unyieldingly while you both watch with labored breathing, transfixed by the sight of your dripping core enveloping his veined and tanned angry stalk until he’s nudging your cervix.

“Good girl,” he grits out, strangled by the electricity prickling his nerves.  He slips support underneath your ass, intertwining from the inner to the outer so when he hauls you up, your knees are bent over his elbows. “You ready to make me a daddy, baby?”

“Yes!” You nod quickly with a moan. “Shit, you’re big—and deep. Really fucking deep.”

He chuckles huskily because if you think that now, he can’t wait to see you once he’s truly plundered new depths. “Now, you just hold on tight and let me do all the work. I only want you to focus on givin’ me a baby, okay?”

In the middle of an abandoned office room—possibly a storage area—he heaves you up and drops you back down. Your arms curl around his neck, hands twisting into his suit, while he alters between gravity and his hips jutting forth to drill inside you.   

Without any mind to those around you—just you and him—he fucks you with every ounce of strength coiled into his super-charged build. Ignoring the fact that door is unlocked, broken more specifically, and the possibility that there’s likely high quality surveillance cameras watching, your shared sounds of carnality fills the room in between the harsh collision of skin. 

Each propelling thrust seems to jostle further than further, carving himself into your inner walls. Like he said before, he handles all the work, effortlessly bouncing your sporadically clenching channel with his inhuman strength and stamina; leaving you to accept and bask in the stimulation his cock is providing and the gift he’ll be depositing inside of you any time now. 

Your lips are breathless in his ear, gasping, “Daddy, please,” that has him climbing the rope faster. The beg pours gasoline on an already roaring fire, igniting wildly to burn up his legs then his stomach and on its way to take him under.

“Y’gonna make me a daddy, baby? You’re gonna be a pretty lil’ mommy and take care of us? Is that what you want?” he croons, identifying the way you tighten as your steadily approaching orgasm. “Y’gonna have your pretty pussy squeeze me until I’m shooting my load and knocking you up?” 

He’s pretty sure your nails have punctured the suit’s resilient material. “S - Steve, fuck! Please. Yes! Cum inside me—cum inside me—“ you cry out with genuine desperation that his limbs tingling numbly. “I want it. I want you. Please. I wanna feel you!” 

His jaw locks and works you somehow even harder. The room is completely engulfed with you, your arousal, the potency of your ovulation, and your future with him; once he releases, it’ll only seal the fact that you’re his and belong to him (as well as vice versa). 

“Who’s gonna be a daddy, baby? Who are you making a daddy, baby?” His words are practically slurred while fever coalesces across his entirety. “Who owns your pretty little pussy and your womb?” 

“You—Steve—daddy,” you sob as your orgasm  seizes up around his cock, giving him no other choice other than to: “Cum inside me, daddy—!” 

Something beastly rips out of his chest, and without protest, he gifts you exactly what you want. He burrows into the absolute hilt and fires inside you for what feels like forever. Spurts of ooze finally wane, nudging your fruitful cervix, but even then, he doesn’t dare retreat from your heavenly depths. 

The aftershocks force him to set you back down on the desk, still buried and keeping you stuffed. His face nuzzles the junction between your neck and shoulder languorously,  and you lazily run your fingers through his hair, walls periodically pulsating. 

When he regains the energy, he straightens and pulls out of you until his bulbous head is blocking your entrance; he stops there because he realizes something. “It’s gonna leak, and as hot as that is, I need to keep you full, baby.” Abruptly, he hauls you up and shuffles the position so that he’s sitting on the desk, and you’re sitting on his cock.

Your sensitivity flares around him, and you squeal. “F - fuck!” But you adjust to comfortability, blinking at him. “For how long?” 

A smile curls into his lips, and he strokes your cheek while his other hand lays on your belly. “For as long as it takes.”

[masterlist / feedback]

[dumbdotcomm]

how to fall in love with your best friends

(a/n) i had this queued up in my old blog and totally didn’t repost it here so! here’s the commission i did for @fanfic-inator795‘s wonderful ocs!

Now if Mikey got to thinking about it hard he guess it all really started off like this: a nice beautiful morning- sun shining birds singing over the bustling clamor and the sweet caress of the wafting scent of oil and gasoline making him feel like everything was just right. It ought to have been- he’ll be with his friends soon, and they’ll all be extently laxed, a simultaneous, collective easygoingness to them that's undeniably the best part of working down at Hueso’s in the first place.

And sure things would get messy and, sure, it may not have been ideal for the back, a little hard on the muscles lugging trays out and garbage out and dealing with less than cooperative customers but it paid nice.

Yeah, Mikey thinks it all started there, really, if he got to thinking about it. At that little pizza joint and a water gun fight. 

And as he stood, ready to punch out of work and collect his red metal lunchbox from the side in the little cubby,  Michi pops up just in time, an eager grin creating little lines on her face. It catches Mikey a little off guard, though he should be used to her sneaking up on him by now. 

“Sorry! ” she says, slapping him hard on the shoulder (oh, and in the process she nearly knocks the life out of him and the little pointless badge with his name so nicely inscribed on that customers never actually read when they’d ask “um so what’s your name again, kid?” only to call him ‘waiter’ in five minutes). 

“You’re a ninja, shoulda- like- felt me coming in the wind or whatever it is you guys do,” Michi snorts, tugging Mikey along out the back door to Hueso’s. 

And Mikey doesn’t even stick around to see if someone had already stolen his lunch from inside his box- Frankie liked to do stupid stuff like that- and, with something a little less than dignity- because he totally should’ve sensed her coming, Mikey saunters out behind Michi as she excitedly pounds down the sidewalk and up the avenues.

“We do not ‘feel people sneakin’ up on us in the wind’,” he says around a chuckle, and lumbers up the creaky wooden steps to Junior’s apartment, kicking the compiling stack of mail to the side of the hall and smiles as they both round the corner to see Junior helping his neighbor into her apartment, lugging her bags in.

She’s blind and still thinks she can go grocery shopping; and she pinches Junior’s sweatshirt and calls his face hard when she tries to pinch his cheek.

“I’ll be right out guys,” Junior calls, before disappearing inside the apartment for just a couple minutes, “Just head inside, I’ll be there in a sec!”

It, of course, takes a bit longer than a second, which Mikey and Michi don’t complain about, but as the few minutes turn into close to twenty they almost wonder if they should go rescue their friend from his untimely demise of listening to ‘elderly stories’, Junior texts them.

Psst look out the window

And there he is, tossing a tiny rock up at his living room window from the street two stories below, with a floaty around his waist and swimming trunks and no shirt with a dopey grin flippers on his feet and oh my….this has to be some kind of joke. 

Michi barely suppresses what might just be a pure blend of a giggle, a snort and a groan- but it's funny nonetheless, and theatrical. Mikey stands at the window, grinning wildly down at his friend. 

“Okay, I’ll bite. What’re you doing man?”

“Oh Mikey…” Junior calls from the doorway, raising his arms high above his head in some glorious exaltation, “I’m embracing my adventurous side. You guys aren’t the only ones with crazy ideas.”

“Where are we even gonna go swimming.…” Michi shouts, folding her arms around a pillow as she goes into Junior’s kitchen to grab a bag of chips, “Plus, I don't own a bathing suit. My last one fit like when we were like fourteen.” 

And she turns around on her heels, sauntering casually back to the window, smirking slyly as she hears Junior scamper up to the front door of the apartment building, shouting her name in a breathless laugh. 

“Michi! Mich, c’mon guys! Jus’...just go with me, aight? I found a cool spot, I promise it’s legit.” 

And she didn't mean to make him desperate, really...but Michi could not understand why Junior had wanted to spend so much of his free time with her; it perplexed her almost as much as it amused her. Almost five years of friendship didn’t really change her self doubts. 

And somehow he's already bursting into the apartment, and Mikey’s doubled over laughing. Junior’s always been so ridiculously hopeful for her, his arms raised like a plea and a desperate smile, breathless and begging. 

“So…? What’cha guys think?”

Michi isn't all about doing things right, or the right thing at all. Sometimes she can be dumb and make bad calls. 

This, she figures, looking down at her toes that curl around the loose fringes of that rug, that this is no different. 

_____________________________________

They don’t know where they’re headed; there’s about a thousand ways to go now and Junior, feeling suddenly so spontaneous, didn’t think any of it through. 

And, somehow that’s more comforting than the thought of knowing as they race down 135 and 95, letting the breeze whip into the open windows, sending Michi’s hair into a whirl and Mikey sighs in tranquility. 

They finally come to a stop, the light up ahead transitioning from yellow to red.

Mikey looks over Junior’s way, eyes flickering between his softly closed eyes and the open road ahead of them. And it was something so kindred and so delicate- gazing at his gentle quiescence like that. It makes something like a reckless stillness, a certain way his heart flutters under the white cotton of his t-shirt and it makes Mikey want to do more- for Junior, for Michi. And he’s afraid to tell them, they deserve a whole lot more than what he can give.

The words won’t work, anyway, though. The moment passes, the light turns green and Junior makes a left on the ramp. 

The highway roars with the careless rumbles of motorcycles and endangerment like that; still, in spite of the anxiousness he feels,  it makes Mikey crack a smile, leaning back against his leather-torn seat, glancing over at Michi in the rearview mirror as she lifts her head from the window, staring a hole in him or something with her overbright eyes, turning them back, again, out to the highway.

“They really shouldn’t go so fast….” she says with a breathlike whisper that Mikey almost misses with all the noise; and she pops a sunflower seed into her mouth.

They stopped at a gas station somewhere along the lines between New York and Jersey, stashed the back seat with packs of sunflower seeds, coca cola, and hit the road again. Humans are kinda oblivious, or they’re just too desensitized that the surprise of a Kappa, a mutant turtle and a bone-skeleton guy undisguised is pretty much nonexistent. 

And it’s almost like they could just keep going if they wanted- and never stop.

“But…” Mikey stops and chuckles, resting his forehead on the back of Junior’s seat, and Michi who now takes up the passenger’s seat looks back at Mikey, with a cocky grin that’s always insightful like she’s pulling words out of him without a preamble to.

“But....” he stops again in thought, looking out into the highway, “I couldn’t leave my family…”

Michi thinks about it, her eyes never entirely leaving Mikey’s, and he catches her stare, clearing his throat in the most obnoxious cough. “And I...well, I don’t know if you guys knew this, but um...I’m actually makin’ a motorcycle’a my own!” he brags, voice strained in an awkward way that almost reminded him of Donnie. 

“Really…?” Junior queries with the corners of his lips curling up in slight disbelieving and taunting superiority, his brows rutting where they stay risen, “...you’re making...a motorcycle.” 

Mikey sputters, nodding profusely to that, “Psh..yeah. I am...an’ ya’ll really shouldn’t be actin’ all smug like that ‘cause ya know what?” he nudges Michi.

“What.” her face, unamused, tilts. 

“If I finish it….when I finish it-” he takes a happy breath, a deep sigh that dreams just about a thousand things- too much for his friends to ever know, he thinks, “-I’m gonna take you guys ‘cross the world with it.” It’s a vow that seems intended to be kept and unbroken by all odds. 

Even if Mikey knows it’s probably impossible. He’s got responsibilities here. A city both above and below ground to protect. A...destiny or something, to fulfill. 

And Michi doesn’t know to laugh or just sigh like she’s inclined to when things and concepts and promises and people don’t make sense at all; because why...why would he go...wasting time like that- on her.

“Motorcycles can’t go across the ocean, Orange Spice,” she says instead-

-and laughs raw and raspy, her laughs intertwining with her best friends.

_____________________________________

Cape May, New Jersey

Michi feels she’s spent a lifetime in Junior’s truck, all hot and sweaty and smelling like pickles. 

(“No...guys, look- look, look, see? Ya ain’t gotta eat the pickles- just smear ‘em right on the sandwich- there ya go-!” Junior tossed his head back as Mikey dropped the pickle, slipping right out of his hands as he rubbed it over his sandwich with a frustrated growl. It was completely pointless and pickles were absolutely gross by taste and texture-

-but it wound up being, he won’t ever admit, the best sandwich he ever made.)

And they pulled up on a beach- a beach they didn’t know. In the middle of the night.

They threw a blanket and sat.

Just sat. 

Junior watches, though, as Michi looks out into the ocean, the bright moon- bright and golden yellow- it's light engulfing her almost, it seems. And she keeps watching the waves’ recessions and their ebbing, with a hollowness again. 

Still, there was something mesmerizing about her empty stare, a far off glance into a distant unknown and he wanted- Junior just wants to get any piece of that...understanding. 

“It's beautiful…” Michi says, her voice as broken and shattered as glass left to reflect the grand luminescent rays of something magnificent. She always sounds so joyful, but Junior’s known her long enough to know there’s a hurt buried deep in there. 

It catches him, and a particular ineptitude of speech gets a hold of him, too; he can only blink a few times, ogle a little at her face, too awkward still to say anything.  

Mikey’s unloading the truck, juggling fifty things and making Junior laugh softly at it. 

Still, Michi watches the water. “The waves- it’s they're...in a prison. It’s like every time they come in closer, they get pulled back further, a-and...and then, well’um…” in an instant her voice trails and her eyes glaze over to somewhere else. 

Junior just watches them go. He knows her attachment to water. They’ll stay here as long as she needs. 

And they just sit for a moment. So unique in this quietude that he almost feels half of himself. Smaller and more shy. 

He's about to...to pull her up and drag her into the water and forget this because he wants to give her so much more than hurt and watching her sit and think of the water, and probably, with that, her parents- both Junior and Mikey know it’s her own kind of hurt. 

But Michi’s breath hitches and the eyes fall back to here, back down to something less painful in so many odd ways. 

And Michi releases herself, in the most apportioned way that she gives, her eyes flickering for a moment to Junior, and back down to the cool sand, the quilted blanket, and beach toys with the loose, fringed strings of it.

_____________________________________

“I...hate to be a bother….” Mikey says in a posh, pretentious accent, tottering on the rocks and shells, the shirt he wears drying in the blowing breeze.

Out here, they've found a grove, or a cave far off and secluded, dark and damp and glistening with a thing with a semblance of enigmas. 

She slips back and catches herself, finding footing below and, also, finding his quizzically amused stare. 

“Junior, how are we...when are we getting back?” he asks, eyes lost on the walls of the cave, his fingers lightly grazing them.

Michi snaps her head over to him when there's no noise- none of his muttered curses under his breath or the dumb laugh- Junior just sits, studying the array of seashells they've found and the compiled piles of sand, pressing his knuckles to his lips. 

“Uh, never.” he quips back without lifting his pondering stare at the assortment. 

Michi scoffs, her shoulders dropping, “Skull-cap...” 

I’m thinking of...somethin’...somethin’, somethin’ somethin’,” he starts a melody, mostly in his head probably; Michi doesn’t think it fits to a tune just right, but Mikey joins in on it too, and she just starts laughing.

_____________________________________

It’s the worst best idea ever to be thought of and maybe, perhaps- it makes them all forget their worries for a little bit.

They learn to surf. Try to surf. Fail at surfing. 

Mikey winds up falling over and pulling a joint. 

“Oh...man- I’m definitely not gettin’ up for weeks after all this,” he exclaims through a pained laugh, as they walk side by side, gas station, cotton candy between them. Junior and Michi supporting most of his weight.

They have enough seashells to fill three bags, and six stuffed animals Michi nabbed from a boardwalk game.

_____________________________________

The rising sun cascades as reddish hue over the sand, making them shine in a dull kind of light that they lay on, looking up at the flying kites and the puffing clouds with pleasant simpers- the kind that mean, yeah, okay, I’m happy with this and even now, after all of it (after making sandwiches and sandcastles and surfing and getting lost in a cave looking for exotic shells and the longest drive and everything) they still can’t make sense of it, of the feeling. 

And Mikey tells Michi, with just how open they are now, he figures it is as good as any time to- that she should leave it, leave her hurt here and forget it. 

Forget and start...somewhere else. 

“With us!” he petitions, turning his head in the sand over to her, the grains stuck in her hair, long out of the bun she twisted into place earlier. “You...you could come and...an’ stay or...or, Michi I dunno but’cha gotta get out sometime soon…”

His words break like the desperation his face carries; the silence falls over them again and Michi watches one of those pointless blimps fly overhead, ready for another day at the beach, her eyes empty shimmer in the rising sun. 

“I know….” she starts in a deep breath, “Mikey, I know you...you and your brothers- they...you guys do so much. And you save, you’re...you saved a whole ton of people but…” she turns her eyes into his, and he sees every nightmare through hers, through her eyes, “You can’t save everyone. I think...I think you know that.” she says.

So why do you keep trying with me? she doesn’t. 

But Mikey grabs her hand and she can tell when his heart flutters and his face flushes without at all having to spare him her eyes. And, now, she gets it.

“‘S ‘cause...well, I dunno…” he smiles sheepishly. 

“Yes...you do,” Michi offers one back, wishing Junior would wake up already and tell them it’s time to go, “But you shouldn’t.”

And they drop the mystery for now and all the unconventionally odd and terribly obscure feelings that went in tow, Michi breaking off a chunk of Junior’s unfinished and kinda stale cotton candy she snagged, sliding it into her mouth while they look up at the blimps and clouds and setting sun.

“Ya gonna pay for that?” Junior asks, standing over his two friends, his smile brighter and just as beautiful as the sun. 

“Nah, I’m good, Bone-boy,” she says, staring still at the morning sky, spawning a laugh, genuine and, all the very same, brittle. 

_____________________________________

In about ten days she gets a bill of two dollars in her mailbox and a seashell necklace, her best friend’s initials carved into a shell. 

[tenderbrain]

okay I’m reposting this without the preamble because tumblr decided to hide the damn thing and the psychonauts tag needs to know that Sasha Has Eyes In Psychonauts 2

[sunlightdances]

Feel it When My Heart Beats

Title: Feel it When My Heart Beats Author: Katie @sunlightdances​ Pairing/characters: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader, feat. Peter Parker, Steve Rogers, and Sam Wilson. Rating: PG mostly, but there are a few curse words. Words: 3,091. I got a little carried away. This is pretty dialogue-heavy, even for me. Summary: One instance of Bucky helping Peter with his history homework turns into a tiny bit of hero worship. Bucky acts put off, but really he relishes in his visits to Queens, because they mean getting a glimpse of you, Peter’s charming (and pretty) neighbor. Inspired by this post I keep seeing going around! (I just really need Peter and Bucky to interact more, okay) Disclaimer: I don’t own Marvel, or any of its characters. The plot belongs to me! Please don’t repost my work on any other sites without my permission. Reblogs are okay, appreciated, and encouraged!

Let’s get one thing straight, right off the bat.

It’s not like Bucky doesn’t like Peter Parker. He does, really.

Doesn’t even mind taking him under his wing, sort of.

He only acts put off when Steve basically assigns Peter to Bucky’s charge, insisting that it would be good for Bucky to get to know the kid, and good for the kid to have someone to look up to.

(Bucky still isn’t sure that he’s the best person for anyone to look up to, but that’s a conversation for another day)

So, yes. It’s not like Bucky doesn’t like Peter Parker.

It’s just-- he never planned for you. Peter’s down-the-hall neighbor, the one who is entirely too smart for your own good and subsequently very suspicious of all the comings-and-goings into a fifteen-year-old’s apartment in the early hours of the morning.

You’re also very pretty.

You make Bucky nervous. He stutters over his words, he blushes something fierce… you knock him off center, and you’ve only ever had a small handful of conversations.

Bucky ran into you on the elevator tonight, in fact, and could barely think of anything to say. He’s pretty sure you recognized him. He’s trying his best to come during non-busy hours, after most people come home from work, before they go out for the evening, in hopes that Peter will be able to keep his anonymity for a while longer. He’s just a kid, after all.

Bucky rolls his eyes at himself when he finally knocks on Peter’s door, his ears tuned to where you’re unlocking your own door a few feet away.

The door in front of him opens. Bucky pushes past him into the small apartment.

“Thank god you’re here,” Peter says, dramatic as ever. “I’m going to fail AP History.”

Bucky rolls his eyes. “No, you’re not.” He sits down on the couch, arm thrown across the back as he glances at all the papers and books spread out on the coffee table. Bucky reaches into his pocket and tosses a comms device on the table. “Put this on for a second.”

“What?”

“Comms. Put it on.”

Peter looks fairly betrayed, pointing accusingly, “You can’t do this to me again. I gotta study, if I don’t pass I’m--”

“Captain’s orders,” Bucky says seriously, trying not to laugh as Peter straightens up.

“Cap? Captain America?”

“Do you know another one?” Bucky sighs. “Look. What’s the problem? We’ve been studying for weeks. You know this backwards and forwards. Honestly, you should trust your books more than me anyway,” he points at his head. “Memories aren’t what they used to be.”

“I can’t keep all the names straight. The German ones.”

“Just write down that they were all dicks and call it a day.” Bucky says, laughing when Peter glares. “Really, though. Comms. Cap’s got a mission for you.”

Peter does as he’s told, but grumbles something about ulterior motives under his breath. Bucky presses his finger to his left ear. “We’re here,”

“Peter, it’s Steve.”

Peter almost gulps. “Hi-- hi, Steve. Cap. Captain America--”

“What have you got for us?” Bucky interrupts, watching as Peter shakes his head at himself. “Kid really does need to study, at least for a bit.”

“It’s recon. That’s all. No involvement,” Steve says, “Plus I wanted to make sure you’re not filling the kid with lies about me.”

Bucky snorts. “All he has to do is go to a museum and he can see you in all your star-spangled glory, pal.”

“Do I need my suit?” Peter asks.

Bucky shrugs. “Couldn’t hurt. You can climb up higher than I can with that, anyway.”

“Buck…” Steve trails off, exasperated.

“Right, right. Recon. We got it. And back in time for dinner.”

Peter rolls his eyes again.

.

.

.

It’s part of Peter’s training, to do small recon missions, small skill stuff, and get used to the comms devices plus working with other members of the team. Tony and Steve’s idea, per Fury’s request.

Bucky doesn’t mind the training. It gives him something to focus on, a goal to achieve. Plus, he hopes the people who he trains end up with a better mental image of him as Bucky Barnes afterwards than they ever did of the Winter Soldier.

Now, perched on a rooftop, Peter on the opposite side of the street, he’s beginning to regret this particular assignment.

Peter’s whispering the names of German generals to himself.

“Parker,” Bucky barks, “You gotta press the button again if you don’t want everyone to hear what you’re saying.”

“Sorry,” Peter mumbles. “I guess I should learn this stuff so when I fail AP History I have something to fall back on, huh?”

“Focus, guys.” Steve chides. Bucky can hear the laughter in his voice.

“There,” Peter says suddenly, “Two guys in the alley. They’re making a deal, but I can’t see what either of them have.”

“Our intel says they’re planning something bigger, so this might just be the initial meetup.”

Bucky looks through his scope. “Average build, caucasian, one’s got a tattoo on his left arm.”

“Parker, can you zoom in, see if you can see anything that might give us an idea of when this is going to go down?”

Watching, Bucky gets the feeling on the back of his neck that tells him there’s eyes on him. He’s laying as low as he can get, the sun is going down… he whirls around just in time for the door to the roof to slam shut.

“Shit.” He curses.

“Buck?” His comms crackle to life.

“Nothing,” he says to Steve, staring at you, watching him with narrowed eyes, your hair fluttering slightly in the breeze. “All good.” He presses the button to switch off the mic on his comms.

“I knew it.” You say, no preamble.

You take a few tentative steps forward.

“You’re an Avenger.”

He smirks. “The arm give it away?”

A small laugh. “Never noticed it until now, to be honest. Where’s Peter?”

“Peter?”

You sigh. “You were literally just in his apartment.”

“Um--”

“Sergeant Barnes! I’m supposed to tell you to-- oh.” Peter actually swings on to the rooftop. “Oops.”

“Yeah, oops.” Bucky says, watching your face closely for your reaction. You actually look surprised.

“He’s Spiderman? You’re Spiderman?!”

Bucky groans, “Really? I was so easy to figure out but you couldn’t tell that this kid who is always sneaking out of his apartment is Spiderman?”

“I thought he’d be older,” you say, shrugging.

“Man…” Peter mutters. “So… what do we do now?”

A half hour later, and the three of you are in Peter’s apartment, an uncomfortable silence settling over you. Peter’s thumbing through notecards for his exam idly, and you’re tapping your fingers against your jean-clad legs.

“Does it really matter that I know? I mean-- you’re all famous anyway.” You say suddenly, laughing lightly. It reminds Bucky of a windchime in the breeze, and-- shit. He really shouldn’t be thinking like that.

Peter looks at Bucky, who sighs.

“I guess not? I don’t know. You’re the one who wanted to keep it a secret,” Bucky says, gesturing towards Peter.

“I want to be a teenager, okay. For a little while longer. If everyone knows who I am, that’s it.”

Bucky knows what he means. He can’t go anywhere without someone asking for a picture, or shying away from him entirely because they’re wary of him. He doesn’t know which is worse. He doesn’t mind it, really. But the kid’s right. Privacy goes out the window once you’re officially an Avenger.

“You don’t need to, like, wipe my memory or something?” You wonder aloud, and Bucky snorts.

“This isn’t the Men in Black.”

“Well.” You stand up. “Your secret is safe with me, Peter Parker.” A glance towards Bucky. “Sergeant Barnes,” you say, letting yourself out the front door.

“She’s something else, isn’t she?” Bucky asks, and flinches when Peter throws a pillow at him, catching him on the jaw.

“Gross! She’s my neighbor.”

“Concentrate on the cards, kids, or I’m going to find that MJ girl, and--”

“Okay, okay.”

.

.

.

It’s weeks before Bucky sees you again. He’s picking up Peter for a training session back at the compound, and is pretty much loitering in the lobby when you come in, looking flustered.

“Oh, hi.” You say, your gaze landing on him and rooting him to the spot. He never noticed what a unique color your eyes were before.

“Everything okay?” Bucky asks.

“At ease, Sarge,” you say, and Bucky wants to kiss that smirk right off your mouth. “Just went for a run.”

Bucky smiles, looking down at his feet. “Didn’t decide to become a vigilante after realizing your neighbor’s secret identity?”

You grin. “Thought I’d leave that to the professionals.”

From somewhere deep inside him, Bucky gathers his courage. “Do you-- I mean, would you want to--”

“Sorry!” Peter barrels down the stairs, “Sorry, I’m late, I-- Oh.” He stops when he sees you, and looks suspiciously between you and Bucky.

“You’ve got amazing timing, Parker.” Bucky mutters, sneaking a glance at you. You’re looking at him, a pretty blush on your cheeks, and a smile on your lips.

“What were you saying?” Peter asks.

“Nothing. We’re late…” Bucky says, trailing off. Leaving right now is the last thing he wants to do, but the moment is lost.

“Next time.” You say, quietly, only for Bucky to hear. “Ask me again next time.”

Bucky feels the Earth come to a standstill underneath his feet. A slow grin grows on his face, and it takes everything in him to say goodbye to you and leave with Peter.

“Can’t wait to tell Cap we’re late because you were flirting,” Peter says as he climbs into the passenger side of Bucky’s car.

“Watch it, punk.”

Peter really does remind Bucky of Steve sometimes.

When they get to the compound, Peter heads down to the lab to hang with Tony while he makes some modifications to his suit, before he’ll head back to the training area to spar with Bucky, Steve, and Sam.

Bucky heads to the training area to meet with them, finding them already halfway through a simulation. He watches from the sidelines until they finish and steels himself when he sees Sam nudge Steve and the two of them share a laugh.

“Don’t start,” he warns as they get close enough to hear him.

“You brought Parker today, right?” Sam asks, “Finally make a move on the neighbor?”

“You’re literally the worst.”

“Leave him alone,” Steve says, but he’s clearly trying not to laugh.

“If you must know--” Bucky starts, ready to just spill the beans, because it’ll be easier than the shit he’ll get for it if they find out on their own, but Peter runs in, reinforcing what Bucky already knows - he really has the worst timing.

“Sergeant Barnes!” He skids to a stop, phone in his hand, “Oh, sorry. Cap, Mr. Wilson--”

“Steve.”

“Sam.”

“Right. Sorry, I just-- I got an email, I passed my exam!” He says, his excitement contagious.

“Right on, kid.” Sam says, high fiving the younger man.

“Told you so,” Bucky says, grinning. “Great job.”

“Good work, Parker.” Steve says, and Peter practically lights up at the praise.

“You can totally ask my neighbor out now,” Peter says, off-hand, despite Bucky’s sharp look, “Now that you don’t have to come over to study all the time.”

Steve and Sam have the most unbearable, shit-eating grins on their faces as they look back at Bucky, eyebrows raised, smug. Bucky feels the plates in his arm whir as he struggles to maintain his composure. He can feel his face burning, but suddenly doesn’t understand what the hell he’s so embarrassed about.

He does want to ask you out. He wants to know more about you than just your name and where you live. He wants to know what makes you happy, what makes you tick, and what makes you laugh. He wants to make you laugh.

“You know, I was halfway there this morning before you interrupted,” he tells Peter, who looks properly chastised until Bucky elbows him. “Go suit up.”

Peter waves goodbye to the others sheepishly, and heads off.

“You dog,” Sam says, ducking out of the way of Bucky’s punch.

“Good for you, Buck.” Steve says, clapping him on the shoulder. “By the way, Parker’s been improving.” He was already strong and agile on his own, but he needed some discipline. God knows he had the heart, too. “I think I might partner the two of you for a small mission if Tony signs off on it. Just to see how he does.”

“He gets in enough trouble on his own,” Bucky grumbles, “Just wait for him to get into something and you won’t need a mission as an excuse.”

Steve rolls his eyes. “You know what? Take the afternoon off. I’ll handle it for now. Maybe you should go back to Queens… bump into a pretty girl…”

“God. Shut up.”

Steve and Sam leave him alone, but Bucky finds himself unable to get you off his mind the entire day.

Suddenly, finding an excuse to get back to Queens is at the top of his priorities.

.

.

.

Bucky does not get back to Queens out of his own free will.

He’s undercover, technically. He and the rest of the Avengers, spread out across the street at several different cafes, watching and ready for an illegal arms deal to go down.

Of course, this is when you spot him.

You’ve been shopping, and you sit down at the table next to him without so much as a hello, and Bucky’s eyes widen, like he can’t even believe what he’s seeing.

Timing.

“Uh, Bucky…?” Steve’s voice is in his ear.

“I know,” he says through grit teeth, keeping his voice soft and level.

You glance at him out of the corner of your eye, eyes narrowed. “Bad time?”

He smiles, but it’s exasperated. “I’m beginning to think this is never going to happen the way I want it to.”

“Bucky, get her out of here.” Steve’s voice sounds again, tense.

“Not a great time for flirting, Tin Man.” Sam.

He smiles tightly at you, “Please, shut up.” Then, quickly, “Not you. Look, this is-- not a great time. In fact, you didn’t hear it from me, but I think you should get at least ten city blocks away from here.”

Your eyes widen a little, but to your credit, you don’t run away, you don’t shy away. “Big operation going down?” Your voice is quiet, conspiratorial.

“Just trying to catch some idiots. With some idiots.”

“That’s rude,” Wanda’s voice says in his ear.

Bucky curses every god he can think of and a few he’s pretty sure he made up, because he wants nothing more than to sit here with you and talk for hours. He wants to hold your hand and he wants to learn about you… he’s beginning to think he’s cursed.

“I’m gonna go,” you say, and he flinches, his hand reaching for yours before he can stop it. When his fingers close around yours, it’s like a zap of electricity runs up his entire arm.

Your eyes meet his, liquid and warm, and he feels like he’s drowning.

“Tomorrow. Lunch time. Meet me here?” You ask, and he’s nodding before you can even finish your sentence.

“You got it.”

Your smile is etched into his memory for the rest of the day, even as he’s throwing punches and getting the absolute crap punched out of him back.

.

.

.

It’s lunch time and he’s late.

You look around nervously, your feet tapping a rhythm. You look at your watch, wondering if maybe this just wasn’t meant to be.

Quick footsteps draw your attention, and you turn to see him practically jogging down the block, his imposing figure unbearably attractive in a leather jacket, white t-shirt, and jeans that fit him just right.

His eyes light up when they land on you, and you melt.

“Sorry, the train was late, and--”

“It’s okay. You’re here.”

“Finally,” he agrees, and you’re relieved to see he’s as happy as you are to finally be doing this.

When you first saw him coming and going from Peter Parker’s apartment, you were suspicious. You figured maybe May was seeing someone, but there was a familiarity about him, and you couldn’t place it.

One night when he was leaving, you were taking out the trash, and when he offered to take it down for you, you saw a glimpse of silver between his sleeve and the glove on his left hand.

You felt like an idiot for not recognizing him sooner. It all started to fall into place after that, and between the lingering glances and awkward flirting in the elevator, getting time alone with an actual Avenger proved to be difficult.

“Can I say something to you before we get interrupted again?” He asks, still sort of out of breath as he sits down, closer to you than you expect him to be.

You nod, nerves settling in.

“I think you’re beautiful. And funny, and smart, and I don’t even--” He shakes his head, “I don’t even really know you, aside from your name. But I want to. I want to know you.” He sighs. “My job… it makes it hard. But I don’t want you to get the wrong impression. I like you and I want you to like me too.”

It all comes out in a rush, and he looks almost sick as he finishes. Something in you softens seeing how nervous he is.

“I like you too,” you say quietly. Throwing caution to the wind, you grab his hand. Belatedly, you realize it’s the left one, but you don’t care. “I like you too and I want to know you too.”

He lets out a breath, leaning back in his chair. “Yeah?”

You smile. “Yeah.”

You have lunch together, but the food gets cold as you spend more time talking than eating. After, he walks you to your door. He’s shy and a little flustered, but also so, so charming.

You have a brief, wild thought that it would be so easy to fall in love with this man. You feel it, deep inside, deep in your bones, and with every beat of your heart. You know it’s crazy, you know you need to remind yourself not to go too fast or get too ahead of yourself, but you firmly believe that you met Bucky Barnes for a reason.

[choiceswreckedme]

Epithymia - Chapter 3

**This is a repost of the original chapter that was deleted thanks to Tumblr’s new guidelines. Tagging will recommence with new chapter posts!

Tag Warning: This chapter contains sexual situations and coarse language, not meant for readers under 18. By continuing, you confirm that you are over 18 and read at your own discretion.

"How would an open marriage work?"

Liam's gaze slid to Drake, who was leaning on the bed poster nearest me.

"Drake, can you give my wife and I privacy?"

Drake straightened and nodded. "Of course, Your Majesties. Please come find me when you'd like to continue our . . . discussion." His eyes burned into mine before he turned to leave the room, reigniting the flame in my belly from earlier. The memory of his kisses and caresses couldn't be forgotten, even as I stood on the precipice of a life-altering decision regarding my marriage. As the door closed softly behind him, Liam sat next to me on the bed and grasped my hand.

"Charlotte, before we discuss the specifics of an . . . arrangement . . . such as this, you need to be certain this is what you want."

His blue eyes held my gaze and he rubbed his thumb in circles over the back of my hand. I stared back, letting the events of the last couple of hours wash over me: dancing with Liam, feeling the heat of Drake's desire from across the room; standing on the balcony, as my husband voiced desires I couldn't find the words for; Drake's lips on mine, his hands on my face and my body; and, now, realizing everything I wanted was within my grasp. I took a deep breath and let my insecurities fall away.

"I want this, Liam. More than you realize."

At my words, Liam bent and kissed me deeply, his tongue finding mine without preamble. His hands came up to wrap in my hair, pulling on the strands just the way I liked, and I moaned in appreciation. Lips traveling down to my neck, Liam nipped and sucked, careful not to leave a sign of our love on my skin.

"My love, you deserve everything, everyone, you desire," he said, breaking away to meet my eyes again. "But there are rules we both must follow."

I nodded eagerly, waiting for him to go on.

"First of all," he began, "everything begins with trust and open communication. At all times, we must tell each other how we feel about our arrangement. No matter who you decide to play with--"

"Play?"

A slow smile slid across Liam's face. "Yes, play. When we enjoy the pleasure of another's company, we call it 'playing.'" He brushed a thumb across my lower lip. "Do you understand?"

I slipped my tongue out to taste his skin, enjoying the way his eyes darkened as he watched me. This entire conversation had my body nearly trembling in anticipation, and I was eager to explore our new dynamic, starting with my husband, who clearly had some experience in this arena. Luckily, I knew exactly what he liked.

"I understand, Your Majesty."

Groaning, Liam stood and moved a few paces away. "God, you don't know what you do to me, Charlotte." He paused to regain his composure, then turned to face me.

"As I was saying, no matter who you decide to play with, I would like us to discuss the situation to ensure there are no surprises, no hurt feelings. Every person in this arrangement must know exactly what the rules are."

A realization struck me. "You'll be . . . playing, too?"

His sky-blue eyes met mine.

"Yes."

Instead of the flare of jealousy I expected to feel, I was strangely . . . aroused. The thought of Liam's hands all over a woman, watching him work her the way he did me, was thrilling. I had never been with a woman, but I certainly appreciated the female body, and to say that I was curious would be an understatement. I stood and walked to an armchair in our sitting area and gestured for my husband to sit opposite me.

"Honestly, Liam, that doesn't bother me. I thought it would, but it actually turns me on."

"You say that now, Charlotte, but in practice, you may feel differently."

I nodded thoughtfully. "So, if I do, then what happens?"

Liam stretched his long legs out in front of him, crossing his ankles and leaning back in the chair. "If you decide, at any point in time, that you are no longer comfortable with an open relationship," he shrugged, "it ceases."

My eyebrows raised. "Just like that?"

He nodded. "Just like that. You are my wife, Charlotte, and I love you. Your comfort and safety is paramount, and I will do everything to ensure that." His words brought a smile to my lips; I would never know what god I'd pleased to find such a wonderful man. "I love you too, Liam," I replied.

"So," I continued, "I can play, and you can play, as long as we're both open and talk to each other about what we want." I paused, biting my lip, suddenly bashful about my next question. "Can we . . . play . . . together?"

Liam chuckled and slid off the chair to kneel in front of me, his big hands cupping my knees. The heat from his palms warmed my skin and he grinned.

"Are you asking if we can play with the same person, at the same time?"

I knew a blush stained my cheeks as I looked him in the eyes and nodded. Liam's pupils blew to a deep black at the thought of what I suggested; I knew mine reflected the same. He cleared his throat.

"Then, as long as everyone involved is comfortable with it, yes."

I let out a breath, feeling any residual shame fading away. This was truly what I wanted, what we wanted, and I had a feeling it would make our marriage even stronger. However, I watched Liam's expression grow serious and felt my stomach drop; had something upset him?

"There is one additional rule, Charlotte, one we must be very careful not to break." The somber tone of his voice reinforced his words; whatever he was going to say was non-negotiable. I fixed my eyes on his as he continued.

"I am King, and you my Queen, Charlotte. We must present ourselves to the public as a unified couple, with a strong marriage and Cordonia's best interests at heart. We can never forget who we are. We may have a much more flexible notion of marriage and monogamy than other countries, but our subjects would not approve of a monarch in an overtly open sexual relationship, particularly as it would cause concern for the legitimacy of an heir. Do you understand what I'm saying?"

I nodded. "This has to be our secret." Liam squeezed my knee in acknowledgement and nodded. "Even more than that, Charlotte, we must be careful to limit our arrangement to those we can trust."

My brows furrowed. This court was rife with intrigue; how could we know that anyone, aside from Drake, could be trusted with something this important?

"Liam, who would that even be? Everyone here is ruthless." I thought back on my years in Cordonia, of all the plots and lies I'd been subjected to. I didn't trust the majority of these people at all. Liam stood up and walked to the bar cart, pouring himself a glass of scotch. He turned to me and stared at me thoughtfully while he took a sip.

"I have a small circle of confidantes, Charlotte. People who I trust, who I care about, who I have known many years. In the past, I have shared relationships similar to this with some of them, although marriage wasn't involved, of course." He brought his glass up to take another sip of the amber liquid and smiled to himself. "One summer, Drake, Maxwell, and I shared the affections of a young countess from France."

The thought of rotating through three men, especially those three men, sent a rush of fire through my core. I had never entertained the thought of Maxwell as a sexual partner, despite his obvious attractiveness, but now . . . well, things had changed. I smirked at my husband from my perch. "What a lucky woman."

Liam grinned wolfishly and took another swig of his drink. "It was a memorable summer, yes." He crossed back and stood before me, offering me his hand, and I rose, our bodies now so close I could feel the heat between us. This conversation, the possibilities . . . my body thrummed in anticipation. His eyes focused on me intently. "Is there anything else in regard to our new arrangement that you would like to discuss?"

Reviewing our discussion in my head, I could think of no other questions, at least not at the moment. I was excited, nervous, and extremely turned on. Lifting up on my toes I gently kissed Liam, sucking his lower lip in between mine and causing a groan to escape him. I pulled away and smiled, running my hand through his dark blonde hair before responding.

"I think I'm good, Liam. If anything comes up, I swear I'll talk to you about it. You're obviously more experienced here than I am, and I honestly trust you completely. I love you, so much, and I think this will be good for us."

His eyes twinkled as he looked down at me. "I love you too, Charlotte. More than you could ever know." He then grabbed me, roughly pulling me against him and taking my mouth in a dominant kiss, hands wandering down to grip my ass and press me against his already-hard cock. I gasped in delight as I felt his excitement, and he moved his mouth to my neck, teeth nipping at my pulse point. Lips traveling up to my ear, his tongue poked out to lick the soft shell, and I felt his warm breath against me as he whispered.

"When would you like to start?"

[exalok]

Prince!Daud AU, part 13 (repost)

The Prince's sudden interest in sparring had waned the last couple of days, but it was only now that he was busy with the transport of the supplies he'd promised Dunwall that Corvo had the time to look into the graves behind the mausoleum.

It was mostly curiosity that pulled him into the shadow of the royal vault. What information he had gleaned on the disappearances had led him nowhere except down into more mystery; he hardly knew what to ask anymore, or who, and that line of gravestones was exactly the distraction he needed from that morning, the bath, the thought of the Prince's ink-stained hands– He shook the image away again. As soon as he had been out and dry, he'd thrown on the clothes left in a pile and made a beeline to the gardens behind the palace. Not by the rooftops, this time, since he needed to cool down rather than– Well. Anyway. Stairs and hallways would do.

The head gardener was trimming the thick bushes lining the gallery; Corvo waved hello as he passed, his eye as always attracted to the massive shape of the gallery itself. He had had a look inside once, on a day where Daud was stuck in an hours-long meeting with an envoy from Tyvia. It hadn't been all that interesting: old artefacts, useless or broken heirlooms, models of battlefields the past Princes and Princesses of Serkonos had fought on – but entire sections of the walls had been replaced with stained glass windows, and the scenes fair glowed with sunlight in the day, the colors sharp and radiant. At night, if the lamps inside were lit and you were standing in the garden, they seemed a ghost-blue apparition in the dark. A glimpse of the Void.

The old Prince looked down at him from the leftmost window, blue-black eyes and aquiline nose. His expression had probably been meant to be serene, but – the mouth was too stiff, the eyes too narrow. Corvo kept walking.

The headstones stood in a neat line, as close as they could get to the western-facing wall of the vault, the cut of the limestone precise. It wasn't marble, but someone must have paid handsomely for these. (The Prince. Corvo thought of him kneeling here, of skin touching the smooth polish of the stones– He put the thought away.) Were they a part of the royal family? If so, why hadn't they simply been interred in the vault? Corvo crouched for a closer look at the names in the stones and, as he put his hand down to steady himself, realized:

There was something different about the three on the end.

The dirt wasn't day-before fresh, of course – these were the graves the Prince had stopped at two weeks ago now, long enough for the disturbed earth to settle some despite the lack of rain – but certainly much more recent than the rest: they were all cared-for, free of weeds and the grass growing on them trimmed low, yet on those three the grass was much sparser, only truly covering the borders of the mounds; and the earth was piled higher, like it hadn't had the time to flatten entirely. As for the stones themselves, the ones to the left had softened in the ocean wind, fading to a yellowish gray – a few years old, probably. The last three were still dark and sharply detailed.

He didn't recognize the names, which was unsurprising, and they had apparently been born within a few years of each other, but what really caught his eye was the date of death: 21st of Harvest, 1827. Not quite three months ago. The same day for all three graves.

Corvo's mind raced. Three months – Lydia hadn't been precise when she had said the disappearances had happened months ago, but could the end of that have coincided with this date? Were these people's deaths related to it at all? It seemed too much of a coincidence: the coinciding time frames, the Prince's lingering contemplation... But then the other guardsmen had disappeared, not died, and if these were graves it implied bodies had been found –

He leapt to his feet anyway, brushing aside the doubts, and strode back to where he'd seen the head gardener.

“The graves next to the vault,” he said without preamble and the gardener jumped, nearly dropping his shears. Corvo raised an apologetic hand. “Sorry.”

“That's fine, milord,” said the gardener, quickly regaining his composure; he looked young, hardly twenty, but under his wispy black hair his face was serious and attentive. “You wanted to know about the graves?”

“Do you know whose they are?”

“Servants of the palace,” the gardener answered with confidence. “I oversee the digging of the graves. Prince Daud decided to honor them by burying them close to his family's vault.”

(Daud's hand on a bodyguard's shoulder, comfortable, the ease of his face when they spoke– No.)

“What about the three on the end?” Corvo pressed.

“The three–?” The gardener faltered, his wide face crinkling in confusion.

“The recent ones. No more than three months.”

His eyes widened in recognition. “– Oh,” he said, and before the next words were out of his mouth Corvo knew, from the man's honest dismay, that it was a lost cause. “I'm sorry, milord, I don't know. One morning they were simply there. I asked the Prince and he told me only to keep them tidy/to leave them.”

Corvo sighed. Not quite a dead end, but close. Sometimes it felt like every lead had been deliberately snipped by an expert hand, and all Corvo would ever grasp were the dangling tails of a dozen possibilities. “Thanks anyway.”

As the gardener went back to his work, Corvo headed for the palace. A graveyard for servants – the fresh mounds probably were as well, then. Still driven by a needling sense of curiosity, Corvo headed for the kitchens at a brisk pace. He knew exactly who to ask about servants in the palace, and it was nearing noon. He'd certainly find her there.

Lydia didn't look surprised to see him, though there was a strained quality to her smile – understandable, since she was elbow-deep in a fish as long as she was tall and preparations for the midday meal were in full swing, as he had expected. She wiped off most of the blood and black viscera from her arms as Corvo approached, and leaned a hand against her work table, waiting for his question with a patient but hurrying look.

“I'll be quick,” Corvo said.

Lydia gestured for him to get on with it, too busy for more than the barest deference. “Of course milord.”

“You know the graves by the mausoleum?”

Lydia's brow wrinkled, and her eyes flicked to the side, arms crossing in thought. The look she flashed Corvo was more than a little cross. Jessamine had given him the same dark-eyed twist to her mouth on several occasions, the words clear in her face: Could this really not have waited, Corvo. (Daud would answer his questions with a wry, amused equanimity: his mouth still but for a deepening of the lines at the corner, laughter not in his throat but in his eyes– No. Stop.) Corvo's head tilted, incremental. Lydia's eyes narrowed. “Yes. They're servants who worked for the palace. A guard or two as well, I think. Close to the Prince.”

Like his four (five, counting Rulfio) bodyguards, then? That was good to know, though he'd think on what to make of it later – first, the most pressing question: “Leonid Arra, Jordan Culvert, Sean Grean – died three months ago. Was it when the rest were disappearing?” The names stuck out vivid in his memory, carved into soft limestone. Though the gardener had told him nothing new, a strange bubble of urgency was slowly rising in him, filmy and thick; he clasped his hands behind his back to stop them lingering at the handle of his sword.

Lydia blinked, frowned – smeared blood across her forehead as she tucked back her hair. “I'm sorry, who?”

That gave him pause.

“You don't– You don't know them?”

“They certainly weren't servants under my instructions,” she said. “Are you certain about those names?”

“Yes,” he said, and while he sounded weighed with disappointment even to his own ear, that mounting pressure in his chest kept building, dissonant. “Not even guards?” he tried, swallowing down the nervous buzz of his ribs. (The muscled outline of Daud's arms as they sparred, his curved shoulders, the angle of a shoulder blade– Void.)

“Not with those names.”

“I– All right.” He huffed, and felt cleaved in two: the part of him with another tail of string in its hand, and the part reaching in the dark, half searching, half running from itself. “I'll get out of your hair.”

So no one, supposedly, knew who they were. Corvo trudged out of the kitchens, carefully avoiding bumping into any of the darting kitchen staff; the feeling of urgency chased him into the hall. Who had dug the graves? Who had put the bodies in the ground? Who even knew why they were there?

The palace halls were strangely quiet. It wasn't a very busy week; most of the guests had gone back to their cities and homes, the man Daud was meeting with being the only one left. Corvo wandered, his steps soundless on the hardwood floors and gleaming tile, brushing the broad waxy leaves of potted plants as he passed.

(The shape of his body under the sheets as he slept. His breathing, in those first wandering hours of the night. Corvo paused in the lee of an ornamental pillar and had to take back control of his lungs.)

The names of the strangers in the Prince's servant graveyard ran in circles around the back of his head. The date of their deaths – the same one, copied across three headstones. What had happened to them? Trying to piece any of it together was like tying a knot with a handful of rats' tails.

And the gardener – he'd said he had asked the Prince about the graves when they appeared, that he'd been told to leave them be. Daud must know, of course he would; who they were, at least. Maybe even why they died. There was something here – he could feel it, like a thread, wound tight around his fingertip, cutting into the skin and pulling him along and that reaching part of him knew, was certain, that there was something underneath, the great abyssal shape –

His heels clacked loud and echoing against the floor; he took the stairs two steps at a time, soles thumping on the third floor hallway carpet, and the feeling of wrong was there, overwhelming, alcaline bitter in the back of his throat, an almost audible jangle underneath the agitation. He didn't know why he hurried. Instinct carried him along, gnawing apart what calm he had gleaned from the morning. The Prince might not even be done with his interview; but the office door was ajar, no sound of voices trickling through, and Corvo went straight for it and pushed it open –

Daud stood in front of his desk, the line of his neck tipped forward. The other man was gone; back to Karnaca, most probably. Lee was gone as well. He should still have been there. The Prince wasn't supposed to remain unattended for any length of time.

There was a letter in Daud's gloved hands.

He looked up when Corvo stepped inside. Nothing about him had changed, physically: his clothes were the same, strong colors and fine detail, and his hair was still impeccably styled, and he was only a little paler, like he might feel cold, in the white-warm flooding of sunlight.

He looked up and his eyes were the gray of a corpse.

He said, “I'm sorry.” He swallowed. The knob of his throat bobbed like a knot in a rope. “Corvo. J– Your–” He stopped like he'd run out of breath. His eyes fled; landed on the richly woven carpet. “– I'm sorry. The Empress is dead.”

“What?” said Corvo, and his own voice sounded to him like it was reaching down a long and terrible corridor.

Daud's eyes were wide, his mouth hollow. On anyone else it might have looked pleading. “The Empress is dead.”

Sunlight streamed through the window; the smell of food was starting to waft up through the palace; and somewhere on the other side of the ocean, Jessamine was no longer going to write him any letters.

[stepphase]

Google Nest Hub 2nd generation test: cheaper and even more complete

Google is returning to the connected screens market with a new version of its Nest Hub. No design change but new features, including sleep tracking using a radar chip, and a significantly lower price. The Nest Hub does more for less, and that's the good news.

Two years after the first Nest Hub, Google is launching a new version of its connected screen. The main innovation highlighted: sleep monitoring, thanks to Soli radar technology which manages to detect body movements without using a camera. The aim is to provide a detailed account of our nights and assess their impact on our well-being. A service that will become chargeable from next year but which can be completely deactivated. In other words, an optional option that will initially appeal to e-health enthusiasts who do not want to wear a watch or a connected bracelet at night. Suddenly, it is in the other services offered by the Nest Hub that you have to find the reasons to choose it. And they are not lacking. Moreover, the novelty that ultimately seems the most important to us is the price reduction: 99.99 euros against 129 euros for the first Nest Hub. It is these 30 euros difference that makes this 2021 vintage one of the most recommendable connected screens.

We take the same one and we start over

The first thing to note about the new Nest Hub is that it's perfectly similar to its predecessor, with one tiny detail: the 7-inch touchscreen no longer has that plastic edge of the first model. It. An evolution all in all rather anecdotal and which brings nothing to use. We are still on a finish combining plastic and fabric, but Google specifies that the Nest Hub 2 is made of 54% recycled plastic. The speaker integrated into the base of the screen is supposed to deliver 50% more bass compared to the previous model which did not shine with its audio quality. The new Nest Hub is indeed a little more enjoyable for listening to music or watching a video, but it still doesn't match the performance of classic connected speakers like Nest Audio or Amazon Echo. We find the discreet style and the small footprint that we appreciated on the first Nest Hub, which makes it an easy device to integrate into an interior and to move from one room to another.

The design of the Nest Hub 2th generation has hardly changed compared to the first model. 

A versatile connected screen

As for the design, Google has retained all the features that made the success of the first Nest Hub: the more complete Google Assistant thanks to visual support, a multimedia hub for listening to music or watching streaming videos, an excellent framework digital photo connected to the Google Photos service, a control center for connected household equipment (lighting, thermostat, surveillance camera, etc.). Google has added the ability to stream Netflix on the Nest Hub without passing the Cast function integrated into the app and to other streaming platforms including YouTube , MyCanal, Spotify, Apple Music and YouTube Music.

Whether it's following a cooking recipe on YouTube, listening to the radio , listening to music, checking the weather forecast , your calendar at a glance or watching a streaming series, the Nest Hub proves to be a practical and versatile companion. To date, it offers the best integration between the Google Assistantand a screen. And on this new model, we can add the gesture to the word by using the motion detection of the Soli radar chip to control the play / pause of multimedia content, the repetition of an alarm or a timer. with a wave of his hand in front of the screen. In use, the system works quite well, although there are rare circumstances where it may be really needed (dirty or wet hands, for example).

The Nest Hub 2021 also offers an alarm clock function with a dawn simulator. 

Sleep tracking

This is the big news: the Nest Hub sits at your bedside and watches you sleep. Well, not quite since there is no camera. This is already reassuring a little more when placing the connected screen not far from his bed. The system called  Motion Sense uses the Soli radar chip to detect the electromagnetic field near the screen. This is why the Nest Hub should be installed about two feet from the bed and at the sleeper's height, pointing towards their chest. Three microphones and another sensor complete the device. When you slip under the sheets, the screen activates sleep monitoring (a small iconappears in the upper right corner of the screen) and detects when you fall asleep. From there, he will follow our journey in the arms of Morpheus by monitoring the phases of effective sleep , restless periods, snoring , coughing, breathing rate as well as variations in brightness and temperature.

You can ask the Google Assistant for the night you just spent or view the report on the Nest Hub screen.

When you wake up, you can consult a report on the duration and quality of your night, all accompanied by comments and suggestions. Statistics enthusiasts will be able to go even further in detail by associating the screen with the Google Fit application, which delivers an in-depth and disaggregated overview over the week or month. As we indicated in the preamble, the sleep tracking function will become payable from next year, but Google has not given more information on this subject. Another important note is that cough and snoring data is processed locally by the Nest Hub and is not transmitted. It is even possible to turn off this function. And Google assures us that “ your sleep data is not used for ad personalization purposes, and you can view and delete it whenever you want  ”.

After a good fortnight of using sleep tracking , our overall impression is quite positive. The system is easy to configure, is perfectly reliable, precise and discreet. And we must admit that he was able to make us aware of certain habits that could affect the quality of our sleep. Not being inclined to wear a watch or a smart bracelet to sleep, this function suits us better. But from there to paying to benefit from it, that's another story ...

Data on sleep quality comes with tips and suggestions.

Futura's review

For us, the real novelty of the Nest Hub is that it does more for less. It retains the strengths that have made the success of the first version as a screen connected versatile with Google Assistant, adding some welcome improvements such as the dissemination of Netflix and gesture control. The sleep tracking feature is undoubtedly well thought out and useful. Google has taken care to avoid any anxiety-provoking aspect by dispensing with a camera and making this service optional and deactivatable. It's worth a try, if only out of curiosity. However, for us, it is not in the bedroom that the Nest Hub can provide the most service on a daily basis. It will be much more useful in a living room such as a living room, an office or a kitchen. If you're an Android user and you're tempted by a connected screen, the Nest Hub 2021 is the best option right now.

The Nest Hub 2021 syncs with Google Photos and becomes a great digital frame. 

WE love

The falling price

Ease of use

Well thought-out sleep monitoring which remains optional

Enriched functionalities

We don't like

Sleep tracking will pay off

Also if you like this article or having any suggestions feel free to tell us.

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One exhibition that I regret not visiting is The Value of Sanctuary: Building a House Without Walls at NYC's Cathedral of St. John the Divine. This is a photo of a panel from the exhibition that makes clear what needs to happen now! I happened to come across this March 7 post by @rrael on the same day I read a story revealing that 900 +migrant children have been separated from their families over the past year. The story is available at https://www.nytimes.com/2019/07/30/us/migrant-family-separations.html. #enoughisenough!! #reunitefamiliesnow !!!! An excerpt from the original post: . "The Preamble to the Constitution of the Cathedral of St. John the Divine, chartered in 1873 as the church of the Episcopal Diocese of New York, describes the Cathedral as a "house of prayer for the use of all people.". In the almost 150 years since the signing of that charter, notions of community, of inclusion, of sanctuary have persisted as frequent topics of discussion and dissent. The current political discourse about national borders and identity, about human rights and their application in an often unpredictable world, has only made these discussions more urgent. The Value of Sanctuary reaches back to the Cathedral's founding and forward into the most pressing issues of the 21st century. The works in the exhibition and their placement within the Cathedral context raise many questions on the path to encompassing many definitions: What does it mean to be a house of welcome and of refuge, to offer sanctuary to those in need? What are the threads connecting us as individuals and as communities? And where do we draw the line? #forfreedoms" #repost from @rrael #reposta #reposta_app @reposta_app https://www.instagram.com/p/B0kHP8lD6TC/?igshid=hj5b6kqbi4ah