#send help my mind is fucked up and i can blame pitch perfect for like. 11% of the problem

[sketchywave]

Bechloe broke our brains and we grateful for it

Well......

Sure would be nice to get compensation for it though..

[ghostdrew22]

i am such a fucking sucker for the “hold my jaw with your hand and tilt my face upwards so that our eyes meet because i’m shorter and you’re taller and we can both feel the tension as you look down at my lips and then back up again quickly before the moment’s lost” cliches so can u maybe write something like that for Draco and Slytherin reader please

Five || Draco Malfoy

I REACHED 100 FOLLOWERS THE OTHER DAY (AND I FUCKING MISSED IT LIKE A DUMBASS BITCH BUT I’LL DO SOMETHING IF I GET TO 200) THANK YOU SO MUCH!!! <3

I did get a bit carried away with the banter but it’s only because I seriously love this trope and the build-up is the best part, anyway I hope you like it and  I hope the ending made you happy! <3

Thank you for this request, I honestly had so much fun writing it, it’s adorable!

Requested: Yes Pairing: Draco Malfoy x Slytherin!fem!reader Warnings: swearing and major cockblocking, I feel like it’s quite fluffy but if there’s anything you think I should add let me know <3 Summary: Y/N and Draco have been desperately trying to relieve the tension between them both but someone always has to get in the way.

WORDS : 1955

Fred Weasley is your best friend.

Fred Weasley is, also, a massive piece of shit.

Not that you don’t love him because of course you do, he is your best friend after all.  

Buuuut, that doesn’t mean he’s without his flaws. For example, he’s got a disgusting habit of getting in the way of your romantic endeavors, especially when they involve Draco Malfoy. And it’s not even because Fred’s into you, because he’s definitely not, but it gives him an odd sense of pleasure to watch your jaw clench when he interrupts one of you and Draco’s ‘moments’, as he likes to call them. It’s his hobby.

“Y/N…” Fred whines as he tugs on your right arm.

“No.”

“Please?” He pouts and you roll your eyes as you pry his hand off of your arm.

“No, I told you that I hate watching your practices.”

He gasps dramatically and places a hand on his heart. “Because you don’t love me?”

“Because it’s so bloody cold that I almost freeze my toes off every time.”

“You can wear my jumper.”

You narrow your eyes at him.

“And the Slytherins are practicing with us today.”

“I know, I am one dumbass.”

“So you’ll come?”

“No Fred, let it go for fucks sake.”

By now you ought to know that you can never win an argument with Fred Weasley, but it’s nice to pretend. After a further 5 minutes of arguing he’d somehow gotten you in his jumper, pulled you down toward the Quidditch pitch and left you sitting by the bleachers while he walked down to the field to join practice.

“Bloody hell.” You mutter to yourself as you watch the ginger skip down to join his teammates. You hear a chuckle erupt from your left and turn to find Draco approaching you.

“So we’re wearing Weasley’s clothes now?” Draco raises his eyebrows at you as he stops to stand right in front of you.

You laugh and shove his chest playfully. “We’re not doing anything but I’m relishing in the warmth of Fred’s jumper. Nothing warmer on planet earth.”

“My arms beg to differ.”

You laugh and shake your head. “You’re such a nonce, go practice.”

“I think I’d much rather stand here with you if I’m being honest.”

“I don’t blame you.” You shrug, “I can’t imagine anyone who’d prefer the company of a sweaty Quidditch team compared to me.”

“Cocky.”

“But with reason, no?” You raise your eyebrows with a playful smirk.

He doesn’t respond but instead clenches his jaw to wipe away the smile that was begging to surface.

When his eyes finally turn back to meet yours there’s an atmosphere of tension that envelopes you both once again. You can’t tell how long the two of you stand there staring into each other’s eyes, it could be seconds, minutes, hours. But it all fades away into nothing when his blue hues travel down to capture the sight of your lips, and you have to swallow hard to reconnect with planet earth again.

His fingers grace the space beneath your chin softly, pulling your face up so that he can stare directly down into your eyes because Merlin, he’s so tall. And you think that this is it, he’s going to kiss you, because why wouldn’t he when his lips are so close that you can practically feel the air expelling from his lungs coming into contact with your face.

His lips barely brush over your own when,

Fred fucking Weasley happens.

“Oi, Malfoy! We’re all waiting down here for you so that we can get started.”

You groan in frustration as Draco lets his hand fall and a heavy sigh escapes him.

“I’m coming.” He responds curtly, frustration clearly lacing his voice, and Fred resists the urge to smirk from behind you both - he fails.

“Hurry up then!” Fred responds and you send Draco an apologetic look.

“I hate him, I want you to know that I actually hate him.” Draco says simply.

You laugh and shake your head, “Go on.”

“Weasley:1 and Malfoy:0.” Fred says to Draco when he finally reaches the bottom of the stands.

“You’ve got a load more than 1 at this point.”

“I know but I like to refresh the score every week so that you feel the weight of my power, you know?”

Draco doesn’t respond.

But Fred does get a nice taste of grass when his face comes in contact with the ground because Draco tripped him.

“You git!” Fred exclaims as he jumps off the ground and starts to chase after Draco - who’s running off with a mischievous laugh and a glint in his eyes.

~~~

Blaise Zabini is Draco’s best friend.

Blaise Zabini, like Fred Weasley, is also a massive piece of shit.

“Y/N, please pass me that.” Draco mumbles as he stirs the cauldron. You oblige and grab what he was gesturing to before passing it to him. Your fingers run over each other for just a moment and you can’t help that small smile that finds its way onto your lips.

“We studying together after school today?”

Draco turns to you with an apologetic look and you sigh, “I’m so sorry Y/N, I’ve got detention.”

“What did you do to get detention this time?” You ask with a roll of your eyes and he gives you a sheepish smile.

“Promise you won’t be mad.”

“I’m already mad.”

“Y/N…” He whines and you roll your eyes again but sigh in agreement.

“Fine, I won’t get mad.”

“You know the flag pole out front?” He raises his eyebrows at you as he finishes up with the potion and sits comfortably in his seat beside you.

You nod hesitantly, “Yes…” 


“So, Blaise dared me to-“

“I thought we agreed that you wouldn’t take anymore of Blaise’s dares?” You raise your eyebrows.

“Okay, yes, but this one was too hard to resist. He looked at me like I wouldn’t do it!”

“You’re a pussy.”

“I guess I am what I eat.” He says with a smile and you feel the air leave your lungs.

You look up at him with the intention of clapping back with something smart. But how can you possibly say anything when he’s looking down at you like that.

Merlin, if this boy doesn’t kiss you-

“Sorry, don’t mind me, just passing through.” Blaise says as he steps in between you and Draco to grab your notebook off the table. You’d told him earlier that if he needed help then he could borrow your notes, but you hadn’t meant that he could borrow them right as you were about to get a kiss from the Slytherin Prince.

You peer your eyes at him and notice a faint smirk on his lips. oh. He was not just passing through, he was cockblocking and he was cockblocking you hard.

He turns to leave with your notes and, without even thinking, you and Draco both spread your legs out. Blaise, fixed intently on the writing in front of him, doesn’t notice what’s happening until he’s already halfway toward the ground.

In retrospect he had it coming. He’s been working with Fred for weeks now to keep you and Draco from finally locking lips. Was it objectively deserved? No. Did it feel good? Hell fucking yes.

But Snape seemed to think that it was out of order, and that was how you got yourself a front row seat in detention, next to Draco.

“I’m surprised Fred wasn’t in detention.” Draco mumbles as the two of you finally leave the detention classroom.

“He reserves Thursdays for detention.” You respond and Draco laughs. “To be honest, I was half-expecting Blaise.”

“Oh no way.” He shakes his head as the two of you walk down the hallway. “His mom will kill him, and me for that matter, if he gets another detention this year.” Draco adds with grimace.

“Why you?”

“I’m usually the one who ropes him into stupid shit.”

You giggle, “No surprise there.”

“Uncalled for!”

“Considering your track record it was 100% called for!” You exclaim as laughter continues to shake you about. You don’t even notice how far ahead of Draco you are, until he wraps his fingers around your wrist and pulls you back toward him.

Your face almost collides with his chest and you let out a yelp at the sudden movement. When you move your head up to look at him and ask him what he’s doing, you find that words escape you completely.

“Y/N.” Draco whispers as he brings his face down to yours.

“Draco.” You whisper back with an inquisitive smile.

“We’re alone.”

You turn your head a bit and observe that the hallway is, in fact, completely abandoned. “Holy shit, it seems like you’re right.”

He smiles down at you, “I’m tired of dancing around this, I want to kiss you.”

“Then do it.”

His lips are inches, inches, away from your own when some random first year stumbles into the hallway, whistling about like he’s auditioning to be fucking Mickey Mouse. You’re so frustrated that you don’t even know what you’re saying until the words have already left your mouth.

“If you do not leave right fucking now I will hex you so badly that your unborn grandchildren will feel it.”

The student’s eyes widen and they immediately turn back the way they came from.

“Well that was-“ Draco starts but you cut him off as you grasp the back of his neck and pull him down to kiss you.

Maybe all the tension was worth it, because wow.

Draco sighs happily against your lips as his hands find home on your waist. It’s almost too perfect, like the two of you are doing a dance that you’ve rehearsed over and over again. The kiss goes on for so long that you completely lose track of time, almost forgetting that you need oxygen to live.

But then, once again, Fred fucking Weasley happens.

Except for once, he’s too late.

“Oh for fucks sake, no!” Fred groans as he steps into the hallway and you grin as you pull apart from Draco to face him.

“Suck on that, Fred!” You exclaim as you stick your tongue out at him.

“Weasley:3. Malfoy:1.” Draco adds.

“Actually…” You start as you stare into Fred’s eyes and use your hand to bring Draco’s lips down to yours. “Malfoy:2.”

“3.” Draco adds as he pecks your lips again.

“4.” You smile widely.

“If you don’t stop I will dye both of your heads red.” Fred says with a playful glare.

“I say do it just for the hell of it.” Blaise shrugs as he joins the conversation from out of nowhere.

“That includes you Zabini.”

“What the fuck, why?” Blaise asks in disbelief and you and Draco struggle to hold in your laughs.

“You didn’t do your part in preventing this!”

“Excuse me but last time I checked this was a two man job!?”

“Well, thanks to this one man’s failure,” Fred starts as he pushes an accusatory finger into Blaise’s chest, “We all have to suffer the wrath of Draco and Y/N’s sappiness!”

“How was it my failure when it was your turn to watch them?”

Draco chuckles and your eyes immediately leave the two arguing boys to find Draco��s. He smiles goofily down at you and you smile back. “We should’ve picked nicer friends.”

“As if anyone else would put up with us.” You respond with a smirk and he nods.

“Fair.”

That familiar tension from before is back, except now with a hint of something else- assurance perhaps? The two of you stare into each other’s eyes for a while before those blue iris’s find the curvature of your lips again and you swallow hard with the growing anticipation.

“5?” He asks breathily and you merely grab the back of his neck to capture him in a kiss.

When you finally pull away all you whisper back is, “5.”

<~>

Everyday I wake up and wonder, why am I a dumbass bitch? University of Kent just offered me conditional acceptance but I don’t think they’re going to accept me because I have NOT met the conditions, and it’s literally just because I have one braincell that can’t do math.

Anway, if you have any feedback on whether I should do a fluff or angst sequel for ‘Falling Out Of Love With Astoria Greengrass’ then please let me know <3

love you all,

your favourite shitshow, jean <3

[soulmate-game]

This is an alternate ending for my Bio!dad Joker / Bio!mom Harley AU. Or really, the timeline itself will be entirely different starting from the moment that Marinette’s plane lands in Gotham. If you haven’t read the original, you can do so here.

—*—*—*—*—*

“He’s going to find out, Mom.”

“No he won’t, don’t be silly! I’ve been very careful about hiding you from him, Nettie-pie.”

“Mom… I just have a bad feeling. I don’t think we can hide who I am from him. If he sees me, I think he’ll know.”

The phone went silent.

“If he hurts you, I’ll kill him. If I was crazy about him, Sugar, then I’m head over heels for you. Not even he can stop me from caving his skull in if he tries his usual tricks with you.”

“... My plane leaves soon, I’ll talk to you when I land. And mom?”

“Yeah, honeycake?”

“I love you.”

—*—*—*—*—*

Marinette often hated how accurate her intuition tended to be. She had barely even stepped out of the airport before she had felt the prick of a needle in her neck and the sensation of being shoved into a small, dark space before her vision cut out.

Looks like her mom wasn’t able to hide her existence away as well as they thought.

And unfortunately for Marinette, her darling asshole of a father had apparently had ample time to plan his first meeting with her. If he had just used the much easier to acquire Chloroform on her, then Marinette likely would have woken up early enough to come up with a plan. Chloroform was unreliable and wore off fairly easily. But no, he had actually had the time to steal hospital grade anesthetic.

Which meant that Marinette woke up with her wrists zip-tied to heavy links of chain above her head, and her ankles connected to the chain below her with what felt like ten layers of duct tape.

Lovely.

“Ah, there she is! Good morning, sleepyhead!” Those were the high-pitched, dramatic words she heard when she came back to consciousness. She didn’t even need to open her eyes to know who the speaker was— she had watched enough videos online and not-so-legally obtained Asylum and Prison footage to immediately recognize the speech patterns and tone that was echoing around her.

Apparently keeping her eyes closed was not allowed, because it was only a few seconds later that Marinette felt a harsh slap sting her cheek and whip her face to the side. Oh, that would become a bruise without a doubt. Her teeth betrayed her, cutting into the inside of her mouth with the force of the hit. So, when Marinette opened her eyes to glare at the sperm donor responsible for half of her DNA, she aimed her bloody spit right at him. It landed on his shoe, which only a few seconds later slammed into her gut.

Marinette gasped for air even as the chain she was on swung violently, making her dizzy and upsetting her stomach. Too bad she didn’t have anything in there to throw up on him, she thought angrily. The chain links rattled loudly, ringing in her head alongside the electric pain of both of her newly forming bruises.

“Honestly, is that any way to treat your dear ol’ Daddy?” Joker cooed with false offense, one hand over his heart. Marinette glared at him as best as she could as she continued to sway in the open air, the chain she was tied to being the only thing keeping her from plunging straight down into a vat of sickly green, bubbling liquid.

Marinette didn’t need to be told what that liquid was. And joker knew that, the moment he saw her look down at that vat and saw the realization almost immediately cross her face. So instead of explaining, he laughed. Loud, high, and deranged.

“Good, good! That idiot Harley kept you educated, at least,” he said between psychotic chuckles. “Ah yes, and she somehow managed to choose the perfect name,” he glided over to her, as if he was some ethereal demon of chaos instead of a human. His paper-white hand reached out, grabbing her chin in a crushing grip and turning her face this way and that. Inspecting her as if she was a piece of china and not a living being. “So easy to adjust. Right now, you’re Marinette. Just like how, all those years ago, your mother stood here as Harleen. But just as she was dunked into acid and became my harlequin,” he stepped back and grabbed Marinette’s shoulders. He spun her like a top, making the metal chain creak and clink as it wound into a few weak coils and then released back out, trying to go straight again. It sent Marinette twirling through the air in a horrid half-spin, one-eighty degrees one way before sharply spinning to the other side. Joker laughed.

“Just like that, you’re gonna go from boring old Marinette,” he stuck out his tongue like a child, as if the mere taste of her name was bitter. “And you’ll be reborn as my new little Marionette. Aren’t you excited?!”

“Fuck you,” Marinette spat, even as she tried to blink and return her vision to normal. She was far too disoriented to even come up with a plan— but she was still coherent enough to register that the sky was dark outside the high windows of the factory she was apparently in. She had been missing for a few hours then, which meant that her mom and Momma Ivy would have called for help a long time ago. Maybe if she just stalled long enough, it would get there in time. “I’m not a puppet. Not for you, not for anybody!” She snarled.

Joker rolled his eyes, but his smile still widened. “Oh, that’s what they all say. In fact, your mother put up a good resistance there for a while, but her inner chaos couldn’t resist me. You’ll bend even easier, I have no doubt,” her ran his hand along her cheek in a motion that was so gentle that it felt foreign, wrong, to her coming from him. She knew what he was doing. He was trying to whiplash her, take all her hope away before dangling the option he wanted her to choose in front of her like a carrot on a stick.

Too bad he didn’t know her at all. She cringed away from his gentle touch, revolted by the mere feel of his skin on her’s.

“And your accent is a nice touch,” he cooed as if her reaction didn’t bother him at all. It probably didn’t. “Exotic. Just the thing I need to freshen up my usual act a bit, the Boston twang my old Harlequins had is just… stale by now, don’t you agree?”

Marinette clenched her jaw at the reminder that he had tried to pass off a cheap look-alike as her mom when she disappeared, back when she was pregnant with Marinette, to hide her baby from Joker. How he had discarded that woman like trash when Harley went back to him, only to replace her again when her mom left him for good.

No matter how badly Joker spoke of her mom, Marinette knew that Harley had been the only Harlequin of his to actually last. The only one he kept around, and there was a reason for that. Now, he was looking for another replacement. One that was more than a cheap knockoff, and he was hoping that a teenager with not only Harley’s genetics, but also his own, would be the exact kind of right-hand prop he wanted. An obedient little puppet of chaos, just for him.

But Marinette was nobody's toy. She had been used and taken advantage of enough back in Paris, she had spent her whole life struggling to escape the side effects of her parentage. To deal with the things she inherited.

The obsessiveness, the way she was so quick to get attached. She knew she inherited that from her mom. But there was also the rage, the anger that Marinette constantly had to stuff down. Hide below the surface before it hurt someone. Keep under a tight reign and hide away in the back of her mind, her own dirty little secret.

The constant reminder of just who her biological father was. Because that anger, that viciousness, could only have come from him.

She had spent her whole life trying to carve herself her own identity, to create beauty with the chaotic elements she got from her blood. And she couldn’t blame her mother, not really. Her mother at least did her best to help, and always leant an empathetic ear when Marinette needed it. But Joker?

Oh, she could, and would, blame him even long after he was dead and gone. Because he was the one who hurt her mother, he was the one who twisted her and drove her to feel unfit to be a parent. And sometimes, Marinette thought it would be better if Joker never existed. Sure, that meant she never would have been born. But wouldn’t that have been easier, too? To not ever have to experience the struggle that came with being his daughter, a title she never consented to?

But she couldn’t change the past. She was alive, and she would use her life to spite everything that the Joker stood for. That would be her revenge. He wanted a toy?

Joker had been monologuing, but Marinette drowned it all out as she kept her periphery vision on the windows above her. Shadows moved out there, with familiar bright yellows and shadowy blacks. The bats were there. She just needed to stall.

She opened her mouth. Joker pulled a lever.

Marinette dropped.

Wire whizzed through the air, knocking the breath out of Marinette as it wound around her torso. She was barely able to piece together what was happening; one of the bats shot a human-safe grapple to try and pull her away from the acid.

But the chain and her restraints were stronger, heavier, and just dragged the grapple down with her body.

The impact sent a large wave of sickly green liquid surging over the side of the vat, and Marinette was dragged from view underneath the surface.

It burned.

She distantly felt the tape around her ankles peel itself away from her skin, the combination of acid and wetness rendering it useless. She felt the chemicals burning at her, sending painful tingles across every last inch of her skin. It got in her mouth, she didn’t have any breath in her to hold and ended up swallowing some. It seared her throat and created a river of lava inside her. It hurt.

It hurt so bad, she just wanted out. Out. Out. Out!

Someone pull her out now!

The zip tie around her wrist loosened enough for her to pull herself free, right as something heavy slammed into the heavy metal bowl. The entire container sloshed, slamming to fall onto its side. Marinette’s body was pulled alongside the rush of liquid as it flowed out, and she was able to breathe air again. Sweet, cooling air.

And then she hacked up acid, spitting and spewing it in an attempt to purge every last drop she had accidentally ingested. Like a cat choking on a hairball, she coughed and hacked and her chest convulsed and contracted to try and help her. Her ribs ached, she figured that the grapple that had tried to save her had ended up fracturing or breaking a rib or two. But all she cared about was breathing and getting rid of the chemicals she had inhaled. She needed it out. All of it. Out. Out. Out of her!

“Try to take a deep breath,” a gruff voice commanded, soft but solid. Something stable for her to cling to. So she did as it asked, forcing herself to stop hacking and instead focus on inhaling. As slowly as she could. It was difficult, the first few breaths cut themselves off with more involuntary coughing, but the owner of the gruff voice stayed nearby. Repeated it’s request. “Deep breath. Steady, now. In. Out. Good.”

Marinette was just starting to calm down, just starting to claw herself out of the haze of panic and adrenaline, when that wretched laugh cut through the air again.

“There you are! Heheheheh! My cute little Marionette!”

Marinette froze. She could barely think, barely understand her own emotions. But she knew she was different now. She knew there was no way back, he had taken it from her. He had taken her normality, he had taken all of her years of hard work and burned them right in front of her.

He had won. The bats hadn’t been fast enough. But, if her foggy mind was correct, Batman was the one trying to bring her back to lucidity. Batman was the one trying to help her get air back in her lungs.

Not her so-called father.

If he wanted a toy, she’d be a haunted doll. She’d harass him, haunt him, until he wanted nothing to do with her. She’d come back, like a possessed porcelain doll refusing to be thrown away. She would make him regret ever awakening the monster that she had spent so long forcing down. Because she was her father’s daughter, yes. But she was also her mother’s daughter.

And most importantly, she was Marinette Quinzel-Isley. Her own damned person. The Chosen wielder of the Creation miraculous. And she would never bow down and be used by anyone, ever again.

Tikki’s words from so long ago echoed in her mind. Resounded even louder than Joker’s laughter;

“That’s all order really is, Marinette. The decision to take all the chaos and madness around us, and make it make sense. Make it do something good.”

And wasn’t that everything Marinette had ever done? It was a part of her now. Like a tattoo she had inked into her very soul.

She took the chaos she was given, and turned it into something beautiful. And right now? Right now, the most beautiful thing she could think of was Joker’s face when she slammed her fist into it.

“Easy,” Batman repeated, but for a different reason now. Marinette’s lungs still stuttered a little, but her breathing was mostly under control. Now, he was saying it because Marinette was forcing herself to her feet. Her legs trembled under her, threatening to lay her out on the floor again. But she was every bit as stubborn as Joker, which made for a terrifying combination with her all-consuming fury. The acid had broken the mental chains Marinette had been using to hold it back, and now it burned fierce and bright in her eyes.

So Marinette kept herself up right, cognizant of Batman’s hand on her shoulder but ignoring it. She grit her teeth against the burning light of the room, everything suddenly too bright and colorful. Too vibrant. But it did little to distract her. She realized that one of her hands still gripped the heavy chain that had sent her drowning in the acid, and sent a snarl at her darling, jackass of a father as she whipped it out right towards him.

“Marinette!” Batman yelled, his grip tightening on her shoulder. But he didn’t pull her back, which spoke louder than any words he could have said to her right then. He wouldn’t save Joker from his daughter, he knew the man deserved at least this much pain. And sure enough, the metal links slammed right into Joker’s side, winding around him like a crushing whip.

But that was all Marinette had the strength to do. As soon as she saw Joker’s body hit the floor, writhing in agony and painfully loud cackles, her hand let go of the chain and her body tumbled down. Batman caught her.

“Red Hood, Nightwing, get Joker back to Arkham,” Batman’s order faded in and out of focus. Now that her most pressing desire was taken care of, the effects of the acid reared their ugly heads with renewed ferocity. Everything was too bright, too loud, and her thoughts echoed in her head like voices wrestling for supremacy. “Robin, Black Bat, stay on alert. Harley said that she’s incredibly trained,” he warned his partners. Marinette didn’t begrudge him, the only other two people who had survived being dunked into those chemicals hadn’t exactly treated him with kindness and pacifism. But she could barely focus on them anyway, too distracted by trying to reign in the chaos in her mind.

But Joker would never stay silent, even as he was dragged away in chains.

“Hehehahahahaha! Paper white, paper white!” He jeered cheerfully. “That’s my girl! Violent just like Papa!” Red hood knocked him out with a harsh punch to the side of his neck before he could say another word. But it was enough— enough for Marinette to gasp in realization.

Her skin. It was paper white, just like his. Not even Harley’s skin had been bleached like the Joker’s after her dip in the acid. That had always been makeup. Her mom had a healthy, peachy complexion like anyone else. A complexion Marinette had shared— until now. Now, she was unhealthily pale. Just like him.

A painful screech tore itself from her already raw throat, and Marinette’s fingernails immediately began to tear at her own skin. Red. Red was better than white— she didn’t want to look like him. She couldn’t. White was bad. Bad. Bad. Bad.

“Marinette! Stop!” Strong hands clamped around her wrists, pulling her hands away from herself even as she wriggled and tried to keep clawing at herself.

“No! No no no!” Marinette howled. “I don’t wanna look like him! I don’t wanna be like him!” She managed to get one hand free and immediately tried to tear away at her face. Batman was able to wrestle her arm away before she could do any damage besides a few angry red lines. “I refuse! I refuse! I refuse!” She shook her head, not feeling as tears flung themselves off her cheeks.

“Okay,” Batman’s voice was solid again, soft and grumbly and stable. She grabbed at it again, drawn to anything that might help bring her stability. She needed his unflappable attitude right then, and he probably didn’t even realize how badly. “That’s good. But you don’t need to rip your skin off to do that, you know that right?”

Marinette hiccuped, finally sinking down to sob as the weight of everything she had lost pressed down over the chaos of deafening light and blinding sound that continued to jumble around inside her head. “He changed me,” she choked out. Batman nodded even though she wasn’t looking at him.

“He did.”

“Th-that f-fucking bastard,” Marinette managed a sad chuckle before devolving right back into sobs. “I wo-worked so h-hard. N-never hurt any-anybody. Never… never yelled. Ne-never hit… Not people who didn’t attack f-first.”

“I know. Your mom told me,” he confirmed calmly. Solid, tethering. Marinette swallowed another gulp of air, trying to calm down. But everything was too much.

“Mom!” She suddenly realized out loud, turning and grabbing at Batman’s chest, clinging to his uniform. She didn’t even care that she almost sliced herself on a batarang, she clung to him desperately with wide, crazed eyes. “G-get Mom and… and Ivy! They… they can help. They know—“ Marinette paused to breathe, then resumed. “Momma Ivy— she gave me—gave me a diluted… th-thingy, years ago, I can’t remember—“ Marinette’s eyebrows furrowed as she tried to get her mind to calm down. To work.

“The serum she gave Harley?” He asked. “The one that made her immune to poisons, and gave her increased physical abilities?”

“That!” Marinette agreed frantically, nodding. “I was too— too little, to give the real thing, so she diluted it,” she swallowed her spit and winced when it burned her throat. “It… I think it’s helping with the—the—the—“

“The chemical’s effects?” Batman suddenly sounded like he was paying much more attention than before, his shoulders a little straighter at her explanation. “You think it’s slowing down or numbing what it did to your mom and Joker?” Marinette couldn’t talk anymore, it hurt too much. Everything hurt too much, so she just nodded. “Good. That’s good, Marinette. Robin! Get Harley and Ivy down here, now!”

That was when the voices started. Sometime during the ten minutes it took to get her Mom and Ivy to her, they had apparently been waiting nearby anxiously incase the Bats had needed backup, the voices had built from ominous whispers to devious shouts, ordering her to do things like slam her elbow into Batman’s throat or see what happened if she splashed Robin with some of the acid that was still on the ground.

Her body didn’t move. She kept herself carefully still, focusing on ignoring her impulse to listen to one of the voices. She was still lucid enough to know that she would regret it if she did any of that. That the Bats were more on her side than any of the voices or the Joker were. But it was growing painful, and Harley and Ivy walked in to Batman trying to keep Marinette from hitting her own head. She had devolved to trying to knock herself out to get the voices to be quiet.

“Shut up,” she hissed, her voice hoarse and gravelly. “Shut up, shut up, shut. Up!” She was clearly talking to herself, her eyes screwed shut as she continued to try and hit her head. Harley gasped, hands flying to her mouth and eyes watering at the sight. This was something she had hoped she would never see.

“Harls,” Ivy spoke softly, putting a gentle arm around her wife’s back in support. It hurt Ivy to see Marinette in so much agony, but she knew it pained Harley even more. And much more personally. “Come on. We can help.”

“Y-you’re right,” Harley agreed shakily, taking a deep breath to try and compose herself before they both approached their daughter. Batman didn’t let go of Marinette, but did lean out of the way to give them access to her.

“Honeycake?” Harley called out softly, a little unsure how the chemicals were affecting her baby’s personality right then. The first few days were going to be the worst, and she knew that. The Dunk never took it easy on it’s victims. Marinette gasped, stopping her muttering and raising her head to look at Harley with wide eyes.

“Momma?”

Harley had to swallow heavily to shove back the sob that wanted to bubble up out of her. She had to be strong for her baby. She couldn’t break yet. But Marinette hadn’t called her Momma since she was little, now she called Pamela ‘Momma Ivy’ and her just ‘Mom’.

“It’s me, sugarplum,” she assured her daughter, kneeling down and cupping one of Marinette’s cheeks in her palm. And that was when she noticed it, and couldn’t help but widen her eyes in shock. But Marinette’s senses were so sensitive that she noticed it right away, and stiffened.

“Wh-what is it?” She grew frantic when Harley didn’t immediately respond, only winced in sympathy. Marinette knew that wasn’t good. “Mom? What is it? What did he do? What else did he do to me?”

“Darling,” Harley started, licking her lips nervously. “My sweet baby girl, your right eye… it’s green now, sugar.”

Marinette’s world froze. She tried to smile, but it came out lopsided and disbelieving. “No,” she somehow managed to breathe. “No, mom, I have your eyes. Your blue eyes. I love your eyes,” Her voice steadily got more and more panicked as she went on, not wanting to accept what her mother was clearly seeing. She watched as Harley’s face broke a little, a few tears escaping before the older woman could stop them. Marinette shook her head again, slipping her tiny wrist out of Batman’s hold and raising it to her eye. “No. It’s one of his tricks. He—he must have slipped a contact in my eye when I was passed out, that’s— that’s— that’s all—“ but her fingertip met her normal eye. No contact to be felt. Marinette’s hand fell into her lap limply. The room was absolutely silent as everyone gave her a few seconds to process just how much she had been changed, entirely against her will. She opened and closed her mouth, not sure whether she wanted to yell or curse or cry. Instead, her voice just came out in a very tiny, broken:

“...fuck.”

—*—*—*—*—*

Marinette had gone mostly mute. She would say a word here or there, but for the most part she was doing a good impression of a vegetable. She stayed silent, as still as possible, and just stared at the ceiling of her hospital room.

She had been like that for the past two weeks they had been monitoring her in the Acid’s aftermath. Her ribs, which had turned out to only be bruised thankfully enough, had healed. Her cheek and torso were healed up too, only the barest hint of sickly yellow to show as a reminder of Joker’s hits on her. Sometimes the cameras would catch her talking to seemingly empty air, only for a nurse to rush in and see that Marinette had gone silent yet again.

Tikki was doing her best to help. She had been separated from Marinette, but Pamela had found Marinette’s purse and returned it— and subsequently Tikki— when they had gotten her to the hospital. She was the only person Marinette regularly spoke to, because Marinette knew Tikki understood. Tikki had been around since the Big Bang, she had seen worse things than a little insanity. Tikki had always been there to help her feel at ease with her mind and body. She shared a piece of Tikki’s soul, even, according to the tiny god.

But talking to anyone else was too hard. Too scary. She still had those damned voices at war in her mind, trying to convince her to do things that made her lock her joints and keep her body absolutely still before she acted on any of the coaxes. Possibilities she had never considered before came startlingly easy to her mind now— like how it would only take two seconds to tear her IV out and stab it into her nurse’s eye. How she could use her blanket to strangle Momma Ivy, or how she could fake jumping out the window and Harley wouldn’t waste a second trying to save her.

They were horrible thoughts. Intrusive, ugly, and far too loud. She didn’t want to act on any of them, but sometimes she found her fingers twitching only a second before she could follow through on one.

She spent a lot of time meditating, because of it. Which is why most people thought she was ignoring them. She didn’t mean to, she just needed to meditate. It was like her brain was a giant room filled with filing cabinets that held her thoughts and emotions. Her whole life, Marinette had carefully kept this room alphabetized, organized, and neat. Every file in its correct drawer. Until Joker had come along, and ripped the entire place apart. Tore certain files in half, broke her cabinets, ruined her filing system. And now she had to put the room back together, one drawer and piece of paper at a time.

That’s what the meditation was doing. She was getting reacquainted with herself. Learning what had changed in her mind and trying to adjust. She couldn’t be the old Marinette anymore, but she’d be damned if she let the Joker turn her into someone ugly like him.

So she needed time.

One day, towards the end of those two weeks, she got a visitor slipping through her window. Considering her room was on the tenth floor, she had it pretty narrowed down as to who it could be. Batman had visited her every night, a silent shadow in the corner, but he had already left for the day so it couldn’t be him. None of the other bats had dropped by after the second day.

She turned her head to see that that was now changed; Red Hood sat on her windowsill with one leg inside the room and the other bent on the sill itself. He looked the very picture of comfort despite being a stiff wind (or quick shove— no, bad brain) away from falling to his death. And then Hood took off his helmet, which was ugly enough to inspire some of the more violent suggestions in her brain and make them seem appealing.

“Ya know. Red Hood used to be what Joker called himself,” were the first words out of the vigilante’s mouth. Marinette’s eyebrows pulled down, and it was clear she was confused (and a little angry) at what he told her. He grinned, his eyes still hidden by the domino mask on his face. “Eh. The bastard killed me, ya know. I was the second Robin, a lifetime ago.”

Marinette’s eyes widened at that, and the violent voices dimmed and seemed to grow muffled. Marinette couldn’t quite understand what they were trying to tell her anymore, which made her figure that she had better pay attention to what Hood had to say. She licked her dry lips, and spoke softly. Her throat was still damaged from the acid, so she couldn’t speak very loudly yet.

“Then how are you… you know, here?”

The man chuckled. “Another group of assholes happens to have a magic pit in their basement. It’s a glowing green lake, ten different types of bad news. But it brings people back to life, and they dunked me in it without even caring for a second if I even wanted to come back.”

Marinette’s shoulders relaxed all on their own. It seemed to sink into her brain all at once, a simple:

Oh. He gets it.

“I guess the water doesn’t take it easy on your brain, either?” She hazarded an educated guess. He laughed, shaking his head.

“Not at all. I went off the deep end for a while, and killed a lotta people. They deserved it at least, but I don’t like how violent I was back then. Before I learned how to cope. Attacked people who were innocent. Red Robin almost died when I attacked him, back then, when he was just Robin.”

“Then why’d you keep calling yourself Red Hood?” She asked, tilting her head. He finally turned his head to look straight at her instead of just staring out the window. His grin widened, but it was lopsided. The grin of someone who was healed from some serious shit, but knew that it would always ache. A bittersweet expression.

“Cuz he doesn’t own that name. I made it into something that stands for at least a little good. Something that scares the assholes who don’t care about killing or abusing innocent people. Hell, some people take comfort in the name Red Hood now. And you know what that means?”

Marinette shook her head, and his grin widened into a shark-like smile.

“It means I stole it from him. The name Red Hood. He’ll never use it again, and now it stands for the opposite of anything he’d agree with. You can do that too, you know. Find something to steal from him, or use something he gave you, and make it your own.”

“Turn the chaos into something good,” Marinette said dreamily, clearly quoting someone. Red Hood nodded.

“Exactly. It’s not gonna be easy, but you got the choice here. You ain’t going back to who you used to be, but you can take the victory away from him.”

“... make him regret ever dunking me in that stupid vat,” she agreed, narrowing her eyes as they filled with determination for the first time since her body hit the acid. “He wants a puppet, an obedient little doll, I’ll give him Annabel.”

“There ya go,” The vigilante slid off the windowsill and approached her bed, holding out his hand for a shake. “I can help you get to that. What do ya say?”

Marinette was silent for a long minute, staring straight into his masked eyes. And then, a slow smile spread over her lips. “I got one question, Red Hood.”

“Shoot.”

“How do you feel about black cats?”

—*—*—*—*—*

This took four hours, holy hell. I’m actually happy with how this turned out. What do you guys think? I even got to max length on Tumblr 😂

[square-blunt]

I love my friends, they make me feel alive again, or at least they remind me that I'm not even dead

I am kicking and screaming i must put this one and another Esmp fic out before tomorrow and I am very Nyoom rn so I'm sorry if this one isn't as good, I really liked the way it turned out so here have some clingyduo fluff bc yeah I can writing things that aren't angst?? What? no one dies and their best friend holds them in their arms this time?? fuckin crazy. /lh

TW- Abandonment anxiety, ptsd WC: 2530 words Ao3: :3

It was Tubbo's birthday today. Tommy had been planning something for weeks- grinding, mining, stealing, going through ax after ax getting wood. He even asked Foolish for some help, and after those weeks, he had finally built a perfect replica of the L'manberg bee house. It wasn't in L'manberg, of course, but Tommy was sure Tubbo wouldn't care.

He didn't fill the basement with wolves, but he did get two or three bees in there- he named them. Beeinnit, Ranbee, and Tubbee. Tubbo and his two best friends, but bee form. Tommy was still Tubbo's best friend, right? He knew that Ranboo was more than a friend to Tubbo, the two were married, Ranboo couldn't technically hold both titles, and Ranboo was too dumb- he needs to stop blaming Ranboo. Sitting in the bee dome, planting a few last flowers- cornflowers, poppies, sunflowers, and white tulips, Tommy realizes that he needs to stop blaming Ranboo. He needs to. Because Ranboo was a good… enderguy. And he was good for Tubbo. He had asked Tubbo if Ranboo made him happy- Tubbo nodded, and that was good enough for him. He needs to stop blaming Ranboo, and start looking at himself. Because if he and Tubbo aren't talking as much, of course, he's gonna find someone else to talk to. And he's learning to not blame himself for everything, he does blame Dream for that, but this isn't Ranboo's fault and it isn't Tubbo's. And Tommy knows that he and Tubbo are still gonna be friends. It's been him and Tubbo since the beginning, that's what he said before fighting Dream. And Tommy knows that he and Tubbo will have each other's back. He's just overthinking this, but he is still gonna try and give Tubbo everything he wants or needs. And try to give him the world that he deserves. He's gonna try and make the world a better place for him. And a bee dome is a nice, easy start. It was more tedious than anything- thank prime for Eret stealing the blueprints before Doomsday. They had the plans for every building ever created- they let Tommy have the one for the bee dome. They even brought over the bee that would become Tubbee. Tommy… wanted to forgive Eret. And he would. Eventually. Tommy kind of did that before going off to fight Dream- Eret was the last person he talked to. And Eret looked so relieved when Tommy said that he thought they were the true king. They had been there for him and Tubbo. That was good enough for him. He did think that Tubbo, Ranboo, and Eret, even, were his best friends. He knew that Puffy was his friend, and her griefing his house was just some friendly pranks, and he enjoyed having something to do. Shit was getting too buddy-buddy around here. Wilbur… he wanted to be Wilbur's friend- brother. He wanted the Wilbur who started L'manberg, he wanted the Wilbur who would sit down and play a song. He knew that Wilbur was still there. Somewhere. He stops to touch the petal of a cornflower next to him. Blue and yellow are on opposite ends of the color wheel, but they mean the same thing to Tommy. He loves, and misses, his best friends. They make him a better person. He doesn't have to be the bad guy.

Tommy shields his face, the sun setting and glaring into his eyes through a window. It's almost night, shit. He had put enough lanterns and shroomlights in the dome that mobs wouldn't spawn, but he wasn't so sure about outside. There was some pathing, courtesy of Foolish, and there was some light around, but he wasn't sure. Because mobs weren't the only thing that darkness hid.

Tubbo whispers to you: I'm here boss man

Tommy smiles. He had asked Tubbo to meet him at the community house, after his birthday party in the mansion- Tommy had left early to put the flowers in and told tubbo to meet him there whenever he was ready.

/msg Tubbo: k I gotta do one last thing

/msg Tubbo: be there in a sec

He's almost happier it's night, it'll look a lot cooler from a distance. He plants one more cornflower next to a hive. He brushes his hands off on his pants, and then brushes his pants off, and checks his reflection in the window. It wasn't too far of a run back to the community house, the dome was just to the side of Eret's castle.

"Tubbzo!" Tommy runs up behind his friend, who, unfortunately, had his back turned.

"Tommy!! You scared the shit out of me, fuck you-" Tubbo said, Tommy laughing.

"You fucking jumped, like, 30 feet in the air," Tommy says, a shit-eating grin on his face.

"Fuck you," Tubbo repeats, lightly hitting Tommy in the arm, beginning to giggle as well.

"Come on, I spent so fucking long on this so you'd better like it," Tommy says, beginning to drag Tubbo out by his forearm.

"Yeah, is Ranboo already there?" Tubbo says, walking at pace with the other.

"What? I haven't seen Ranboo since the party." Tommy says, a pit in his stomach opening up.

"Huh, he said he was going to go help you with my birthday gift. You never saw him at all?" Tubbo says, voice laced with worry.

"No, was he going anywhere before coming to me? And- and I never told him where this was- only Foolish knew. So I don't even know how he'd find me." Tommy says, his grip loosening on Tubbo's forearm so he could pull away if he wanted. Tubbo didn't.

"No, he did that weird thing though, he calls me Tubbo and talks to me like you or Foolish would." Tubbo walks a little closer to Tommy.

"What's off about that?"

"Ranboo usually calls me beloved or snow angel, and he'd talk to me like a husband would, yknow?"

"He calls you 'snow angel?'" Tommy screws up his nose.

"Oh, piss off," Tubbo smiles a little.

"But still, we can look for him on our way? Unless you wanna look for him now, the be-irthday gift can wait."

"A beirthday gift, you say?" Tubbo says, smiling.

"Oh, piss off," Tommy mimics Tubbo, "but seriously, if you wanna look for him we can." Tommy stops and turns to face Tubbo, giving a reassuring squeeze.

"No, no, it's- you made it, whatever it is, I'm sure he's fine, and I'm sure he'd want me to go ahead," Tubbo says, looking up and smiling slightly.

"If you're sure. Because fucking Prime, this shit took so fucking long and I had to practically beg Foolish to help…" Tommy continues to talk to Tubbo, trying to distract him from his currently missing husband. Eventually, the moon high in the clouds, they get to the start of the path.

"There's no way you did this." Tubbo laughs.

"I didn't- Foolish did the path but I built the actual thing," Tommy says, letting go of Tubbo's arm, "I'll race you!" and off he sprints.

"NO FAIR YOU KNOW WHERE IT IS!" Tubbo laughs from behind him.

"BYE-BYE BEE- boy-" Tommy skids to a stop, not long after rounding a corner of trees. He can see flames, high over the tree line, the light eating away and the surrounding stars, in the back of his mind he hears explosions- there aren't any explosions, Tommy, it's just a forest fire, there isn't any TNT, there isn't any TNT-

"Oh, is that… supposed to be on fire-" Tubbo stops next to him, Tubbo's hand on Tommy's forearm this time.

"No- no it-" Tommy straightens up, and he catches a glimpse of someone running away- a figure behind the trees, he blinks, and it's gone-

"Tommy?" Tubbo turns to look where Tommy was looking- where the figure was just moments before.

"N- nothing- Tubbo get- get behind me-" Tubbo's grip tightens on Tommy's arm as he pulls Drista's dagger out of his inventory, holding it in his other hand. Together, they creep up the path, until what's left of the bee house comes into view. It’s engulfed in flames, and all of Tommy’s hard work is being eaten away before his eyes. Tommy curses, puts the dagger away, and pulls out his water bucket.

"You've got-" Tommy motions at the bucket

"Yeah- and c'mere," Tubbo says, pulling on Tommy’s arm, throwing a fire res pot up. Tubbo lets go of Tommy’s arm as the shield washes over them, Tommy's skin feeling tingly. Together, they manage to put out the fire and put out a few trees that had caught before it spread anywhere else. They end in the dome, the roof all but gone, one of five beehives on the top floor remain.

"Oh, Tommy-" Tubbo begins to say, sadness heavy in his voice.

"Yeah, yeah, I spent fucking ages on it. Can't have shit- the gods must hate-" Tommy begins bitterly, collecting the last of the water, and putting it back in his hot bar. At least before his knees buckle under an unanticipated pile of weight. He hears Tubbo laughing from right behind him- he jumped on Tommy’s back, “Fuckin- Get off of me-” Tommy laughs, too. He doesn't mean anything by it, there's no malicious tone to anything he says to Tubbo- and Tubbo's one of the few people who actually understand that.

"I know exactly what this is-" Tubbo says, standing straight, a hand on his hip.

"What it was supposed to be." Tommy, out of habit, mirrors Tubbo. "See, why can't we have nice things? Fuckin, everyone else gets cool buildings and kingdoms and shit why the fuck can't we have a bee dome in the middle of the woods- what, why are you laughing" Tommy gestures vaguely at the rubble before raising a quizzical eyebrow at Tubbo's silent giggles.

"What it was supposed to bee," Tubbo says, cackling, and Tommy groans.

"Augh Tubbo, now is not the time-" Tommy rolls his eyes

"It was never meant to bee-" Tubbo laughs harder, clutching his stomach, leaning on Tommy for support. Tommy finds himself laughing a little bit,

"Ok, yeah, that was a good one- you wanna bee a hero, Tommy?" Tommy mimics Techno in a high-pitched voice- sending Tubbo into hysterics.

"We- We-hehehe- We would rather die than give into you and joi- join your SMBee-" Tubbo says between fits of laughter, making Tommy bark out a wheeze, "That was- was beeasier than I thought-"

"My unfinished symphobee-"

"TOMMY-"

"You can't control who lives who dies who-"

"-tells your storbee?"

"Yeah-hahaha! F- for Tommy to bee exiled-"

"That was so fucking stupid why'd I do that-" Tubbo shakes his head, his laughter subsiding.

"Because that's what you thought was best, you had no way of knowing what he was gonna- what he was gonna do to me-" Tommy says, the tone becoming solemnly serious.

"-If I had known I never would have done it, I would have told Dream to shove it up his ass, you know that right?" Tubbo says, reaching for Tommy's hand.

"Of course. We're best friends, I know you'd never do that to me." Tommy squeezes his hand. Tubbo lets out a breath, and he looks like a massive weight has been lifted off his shoulders. As much as he feels guilty admitting it, Tommy's glad Tubbo's been worrying about that. It means that he cares.

"Should he go in there and see what we can rebuild?" Tubbo says, rocking back and forth on his feet.

"If any, but- the bees!" Tommy breaks into a sprint, tugging Tubbo along with him with a yelp.

"Bees?" Tubbo easily gets his footing as they fly down the stairs, and all of Tommy's breath leaves in a sigh of relief. He can see three balls of yellow and black in a patch of flowers.

"Oh, thank prime," Tommy says.

"Oh, the flowers are L'manburg colors!" Tubbo reaches down to pick a poppy.

"Yeah… I tried to think of as many things as possible because I know how much L'manberg meant to you-" Tommy flails his arms out- Tubbo launching himself at Tommy- into a familiar hug, their laughter bouncing off the walls.

"It's fine, Tommy," Tubbo says, his voice bright- and Tommy becomes coldly aware of a memory- the last time Tubbo had roughly tangled him into a hug.

What am I without you?

Yourself?

"Tommy?" Tubbo's pulled back, a- at this point- very familiar concern on his face.

"I'm alright- just, bad memories. I'll be alright-" Tommy shakes his head, pulling Tubbo back into the hug.

"Are you sure? We can stop for a second- sit and talk?" Tubbo says softly from Tommy's shoulder.

"No- not on your birthday, I promise- I promise I'll be alright, this is nothing I haven't done- we haven't done before," Tommy says back, tucking his head into Tubbo's shoulder, trying to chase the pit in his stomach away.

"You sure?" Tommy can feel Tubbo's hand smooth down his hair. Tommy just hmms in response. "Do you think they- the bee's are asleep?"

"What do you mean?" Tommy looks up, he can't see the bees, but he doesn't want to leave the hug.

"The smoke, you think it put them to sleep?" Tubbo muses.

"Maybe," Tommy mutters. "Fuckin- I spent days on this." it was more of an inconvenience than anything at this point. "Do you wanna rebuild it?"

"Not right now, I'm tired, boss man." Tubbo sighs. Tommy realizes how tired he is, too, the familiar ache in his bones.

"Me too, Tubbzo, me too. Let's go home?" He says, making no move to back out of the hug. Tubbo just hums. And so they stand there, until they figure out they can shuffle together- at least to the stairs. Tommy laughs at the image this must make. Two boys, one half-cow, one half-dead, who would rather tear up the ground and trample flowers than break their hug. By the time they do eventually get to the stairs, they both are laughing. Tommy notices that he laughs a lot more whenever he's with Tubbo. He also notices he gets tired a lot quicker. Puffy would say something about Tommy feeling safe around Tubbo, enough so that he shows emotion and lets his guard down, but Tommy knows that. He yawns, he is actually really tired. Tubbo yawns too, and they help each other up the stairs and out of what's left of glass and wood. About halfway down the path, Tommy stops and looks over his shoulder, at the space between trees, where he saw-

"Whacha lookin at, big man?" Tubbo asks from beside him.

"Nothing- I thought I saw someone running away from the fire when we first got here- I think maybe they were the one that did it, but I didn't catch their face." Tommy says, half lying. It was true, he didn't catch their face, but he'd know those two glowing eyes anywhere. He knew who it was. No way he was gonna tell Tubbo about it.

Because he was almost sure it was Ranboo.

[achliegh]

A Plan

Here is the full thing with some updates as well!

It's spicy sexy time! I was at work just doing my job when this idea came into my little ole noggin. It was amazing trying to think of the different clusters of words used to describe exactly what I want to happen. Not to brag but I’ve got some sexy tricks up my sleeve as a professional, lol. IT’S A LONG ONE PEOPLE!

CW/TW: Explicit smutty smutty sexy time, food, sexy talk, chirping

Characters belong to @lumosinlove

It was a low feeling in his belly he wanted to reach out and touch but for some reason anytime he reached for the beautiful men in front of him he could never quite reach. He started breathing heavy and an embarrassing whimper fell from his lips as he watched the two people he loved kiss with a fire so hot he felt it warm his inside. He was so hard. He wanted to touch himself to get some relief but again, he couldn’t reach. It was frustrating in so many ways.

Logan suddenly woke up. His eyes blinked open and all he felt was that he was alone in bed and extremely hard. Like two tugs and he's a goner. He could hear the shower running and wondered how his boys snuck out when he always woke up at the littlest movement. He took a deep breath and was deciding whether he should go and find his boys to have them take care of him or he could just take care of himself and let his boys fuck him after practice. He then had an amazing and horrendous idea enter his head. What if he let his boys fuck him before practice and then tried to act like he totally wasn’t walking a little funny… it was kinda hot and his dick twitched in agreement.

He decided that was the plan he was gonna go with, he looked at his phone and saw they had late practice today (Probably why he slept until 9 am) so that meant they had plenty of time for naughty shenanigans. He smiles to himself as he felt his whole body flush from the excitement of arousal. He tossed himself out of bed and tiptoed to the bathroom, the door was slightly open and some music was playing but his mind was so gone he couldn’t even tell you what the song was. He walked into the bathroom to find Finn showering, he snorted when he saw him dancing a little in the shower and singing to the music. His toned body flexing with every move and the water covering his body made him glow like an angel. Logan bit his lip and closed the door all the way and leaned against it, sighing happily as he thumped his head back on the door closing his eyes for a second.

When he looked back at where his lovely redheaded lover was he felt a spike of heat run from his groin to his chest when he saw Finn staring at him. His pupils were blown wide like a wild animal and he was now flushed just like Logan. He stopped his roaming eyes on Logan’s hard cock and noticed a delicious twitch from the to hard appendage. Finn opened the shower door and reached his hand out to the shorter boy with a wild smile.

Logan took his hand feeling like he was still dreaming and was pulled under the hot pulsing stream of water. Finn ran his hands from Logan's hands up his forearms, to his shoulders, to the sides of his neck and back down again. He dragged his nails down Logan's sides making the younger boy feel like he was being swallowed by fire. Logan leaned into Finn pressing open panting kisses to his shoulders and chest. Logan reaches his hands to grip The taller boy's hips in a way of silently begging him to take him, use him, and do as he pleases.

“You know we have practice today right?” Finn spoke into Logan's ear and smirked when he felt Logan shiver, his hands finding his way to the brunette's booty kneading it so it makes it hard for Logan to answer him. He moved his head to look Lo in the eyes, He knows he’s long gone into a sex induced haze. So, Finn gives him what he wants he reached between them and gives Logan's cock a sharp tug and watches the boy almost go crossed as all the breath leaves his lungs. He's gripping Finn's hips like a lifeline. “Tell me what you want, honey. I know you can use your words.” He tips Logan chin up with his hand as he keeps pleasuring him with tight short tugs not giving him fully what he wants.

“I want you- I want you inside mE” His voice pitches up as Finn runs a calloused thumb over the tip of Logan's now leaking cock. Logan feels his heart rate increase as he sees Finn reaching for the lube they just casually keep in the shower because this happens more often than not. It saves water. He feels himself being turned to face the wall and places his hands on either side of his chest. He wants to turn his head and look but he also loves not being able to know what is going to happen. It sends electricity through his body. He hears the cap of the lube open and he steps his legs more apart and arches his back so his chest is flush to the shower wall and he presses his forehead into the cool tile.

“This what you want? Hm?” Finn is rubbing his hands up and down the inside of Logan's thigh just watching him fall apart. He hears a whimper and sees a nod and chuckles a little. He squeezes some lube into his fingers and rubs them together to warm the lube and relax it. He runs his thumb over Logan's entrance and catches him off guard by following his thumb with his tongue and feels Lo’s legs start to shake. He can’t see it but he knows a silent moan fell from his lovers mouth as his jaw hangs open and his eyes squeezed shut. He pulls away to slowly slide his middle finger into the smaller boy and finally hears the sounds of pleasure. Logan moans quietly obviously trying to stay quiet so Leo didn’t come in. He was planning something and Finn was gonna help him. He started sliding his slick finger in and out of the tight ring of muscle and smiles when love starts to push back on his finger. He adds another and but the thought of Logan's tight heat around him makes him want to move his fingers faster but loves watching Logan fall apart before they even get to the main event. He also knew that out of the two Finn was much more soft than Leo when it came to just fucking Logan senseless and Logan was in a mood to be ravaged both ways. Finn loved that.

“Oh Fuck!” He is trying to hold himself together as his fingers flex against the tiles, Finn's fingers feel like they are taking him apart little by little. Like a piece of bread you break off small pieces to eat. But the bread was Logan and he was getting fucked instead of ate… even though he would take both if he was being honest. He felt the fingers slide out of him completely knowing he was stretched enough for Finn and Finn would stretch him enough for Leo. He heard the lube bottle let out a fart sound and couldn’t help but laugh like he was twelve. Finn joined him laughing as he lubed himself up and lined up with Logan's slick entrance. He places his hands on his waist and gives a loving squeeze. Logan turned back to give Finn a little smooch before turning back to the wall and wiggling his tush at him. “I’m waiting” He feels a little smug until Finn pushes himself inside nice and steady, feeling the burn of the stretch take his breath away every time his boys enter him. He moans louder than before and his breathing had picked up as a new wave of arousal washed over him. He lost himself in the fireworks exploding all over his body as Finn was pushed in and pulled out whispering endearing filth into his ear while ramming into his walls trying to find a specific spot that would drive Logan over the edge.

Finn left like he was a little deliourus from just how fucking good Logan was he moaned in a way that drove Finn crazy, he wanted anything he could give him. He was tough enough to handle the harsh angry fucking and sweet enough to handle the adoringly slow love making. He was perfect and the feeling of being inside him was indescribable. Finn knew exactly where Logan's prostate was and knew Logan hated that word because it sounded too medical. He was just trying to bring himself closer to the edge before shoving Logan off it. It was an addictive edge that they frequented now that they were allowed too. The view was amazing.

They blamed Leo for being a teenager when really it was mostly them instigating it.

He wrapped one arm around Logan's chest and pulled himself deeper into him. They were flush together as Finn pressed into Logan's prostate and grinding. He was sucking bruises onto Logan's hot neck, he felt hands reaching up over their heads and gripping Finn's hair pulling his head into Logan's neck. He started working on a hickey that would be a bright magenta by the time he was done.

Logan was on another plane of existence, he felt like he was floating but was incredibly grounding by his hands in Finn's hair as he was grinding into his spot. It was so good tears were forming in his eyes as he forgot to breathe for a moment, his entire body seized up as he fell over the edge. He would have let out a positively indecent sound if his voice wasn’t stolen from him from the immense feelings of love, affection, and pure bliss. When he finally came down from his high the water was cold. Finn reached to turn the water off and pulled out Logan holding him up, as he went limp.

“You still alive there?” He poked Logan's cheek a couple times and felt him laugh as Finn turned Logan around to face him and left a leg go around his waist. “I should have guessed, its never one and done with you” He smiles and leans down to kiss the brunette as he gave his thighs a squeeze. Logan jumped a little so Finn could hold him up with his arms firmly holding his ass. He knew what Logan wanted, he slowly slid himself back into the smaller boy and felt his nails dig into his shoulders. Finn groaned at the feeling of being back inside his lover and the nails causing his skin to buzz. He started fucking up into Logan and heard him whine with over stimulation and dragged his nails from his shoulders to his biceps and gripped them tightly. A second thin stream of come started leaking from Logan's cock. Finn could feel how tense he was and it only took two more thrusts before he felt himself releasing into the beautiful tanned boy. He rested his head on Logan's chest as he fucked through his orgasm, he looked up and kissed him with a burning fever. They made out all teeth and tongue for a few minutes. When they pulled away and rested their foreheads together they were smiling. Both were covered in a red flush. Finn pulled out of Logan and slowly set him down to make sure he didn’t slip. Once they were steady he walked into the bedroom and flopped onto the bed.

Usually, Logan got sleepy right after sex, so he was expecting him to come and flop onto of Finn and be demand to be held. Logan instead went and grabbed a pair of loose boxers and put them on with a shy smile on his face.

“Do you want to come out and have sex with Nutty?” Finn blinked at him for a moment.

“Insatiable” he could hear what sounded like a pan sizzling in the kitchen and guessed Leo was back from his run this morning. Boy was he in for a treat. “I think I’ll sit this one out, but be as loud as you want.” He smiles as Logan gives him a little peck before going out to find their sunshine.

Leo had his airpods in and was listening to music, he came back from his run five minutes ago and was still sweating. He didn’t take off his earphones when he came home because he didn’t want to wake up his boys with his music in the kitchen as he made food. He was watching a couple of ham patties in the pan sizzle when he felt wet hair against his back and a warm body press up against him. He smiled as strong arms wrapped around his waist and leaned back into the warm chest behind him. He turned off the stove and took out one of his earphones.

“Good morning!” He smiles and turns around to see Logan looking adorable with a flushed face from what he guessed was the shower but he had a certain glow about him that he memorized a while ago. “Did you get yourself off in the shower?” When Logan shook his head and his blush got darker Leo understood. “Fish got you off in the shower?” Logan bit his lip and nodded resting his chin on Leos chest looking up at him with a slightly dazed look. “Were you polite and returned the favor?” Logan nods and moves his hands to interlock on the back of Leo’s neck. Leo leaned down to kiss him and made a bit of a surprised sound when the kiss was a lot less chaste then he thought it would be. He relaxed into it and backed Logan up to the counter and lifted him up to sit on the counter as he rolled his bottom lip between his teeth.

“Will you fuck me Peanut?” Logan smiles shyly at him and it is adorable. It gives Leo butterflies because he rarely ever sees Logan this shy and this polite.

“Lube is in the bedroom, we need to move there.” He goes to pull Logan off the counter but is instead pulled back into the smaller boys tight clutch. He has his legs around Leos waist and his arms around his chest koala hugging him.

“Trust me we don’t need it” He is still bright red and buries his face into the younger boy's sweaty chest. He could tell Leo was blushing because he felt his chest heat up. He looked up to see Leo had his mouth hanging open a little and his pupils had grown three sizes. He pushed his hands under Leo's shirt and that seemed to have taken him out of his daze.

“Are-Are you sure you don’t want me to grab it just in case? Also, is the counter really the best spot for this? Isn’t it going to make you even more soar? Wait, we have PRACTICE later!” Of course, a million thoughts are going through his head as Logan takes his shirt off and starts leaving a couple of light love bites on his chest. The older boy starts untying the tie on his shorts and pushes them down so he's just in his running leggings. His mind goes blank as he feels a warm hand cup his quickly filling dick through his leggings. His breath leaves his lungs and all's he can think about is fucking Logan into the counter. He looks at Logan through his eyelashes.

“Right here” he whispers to the younger boy and he suddenly has a hand on his chest pushing him to lie flat on the counter. He smiles from anticipation and moves a little to get comfortable. He feels calloused fingers toying with the waistband of his boxers.

“Why did you put underwear back on?” He runs his fingers under the thigh of

Logan's boxers and smirks when he doesn’t answer. Logan is looking away from him and biting his lip with the cutest blush crawling down his neck. “Was someone feeling shy?” He pulls Logan's underwear off and reaches down to feel just how stretched he is. He will admit that he was expecting a little of Finn still in his lover but he wasn’t expecting him to be dripping with him. There was a tug in his belly from the thought of Logan planning to fuck him while being fucked by Finn. He wonders if he should call Finn in here.

“I asked him earlier, he was a loser and said I wore him out.” Logan hums a little, he's always had a knack for knowing what Leo is thinking. He felt Leo slid three fingers into him easily, he pulled his finger out and he felt Leo lean down to lick his nipple. “Leoooooo, stop stalling!” He huffs a little annoyed and yelps in surprise when he feels a pinch on his side.

“Let me enjoy myself!” He laughs a little and tugs his leggings and underwear down his thighs. He grabs himself and slowly pushes the head of his cock into Logan and watches his face open up. He can’t help but lean down and kiss him. Sliding his tongue into Logan's mouth so he is completely stimulated with only Logan. He snaps his hips forward, ripping a groan from both of them. Then, he set a punishing pace. Fucking Logan deep and hard.

The opposite of Finn, the best of both worlds in Logan's opinion.

He grabbed both Logan's wrists and pulled his arms towards him while keeping Lo laying down. Making him take him further and pounding into his prostate. Logan is loud at both his lovers requests. He isn’t screaming but he is pretty sure if someone walked past their apartment door they could hear him. He could feel himself getting closer to the edge again. Leo had a crazy stamina but since Logan had already come twice today he didn’t know if he could handle more than once… but he really wanted Leo to come in him so he’d hold on as long as he could. Leo placed his hands on either of Logan's waist when he let go of his wrists. Logan reaches up and grips Leos shoulders from under his arms. Holding the younger boy closer to him his breath hitches as he feels Leo slow for a moment and grind into him before picking his pace back up.

“I’m cumming!” He feels the words fall out of his mouth before he even realizes what's happening. He arches his back and bites into Leos shoulder as he drags his nails down his back. He really needs to trim his nails. He comes in between them painting both their chests. Feeling Leo fuck him through his orgasm and not stop makes him smile. He's over stimulated and starting to get a little tired but he still feels so electric with the energy Leo is pushing into him. He can tell the younger boy is getting close by the way his brow furrows and his hips stutter every few thrusts. “Cum for me Leo”

After about twelve more thrusts Logan feels the warmth of Leo releasing inside him and he himself feels like he's coming again but dry this time. He has so many endorphins thrumming through his body he doesn’t feel Leo pull out or pick him up.

“We have about two hours until practice, get some sleep. I’ll wake y’all up when i get done with some food and maybe take a shower.” He smiles as Logan nods, still having a silly smile on his face as he cuddles into Finn's side and buries his face into the sleeping boy's chest.

How did he get so lucky?

[outofsstyles]

So much for summer love and saying “us”

a/n: hola! this is my very late fic for @helladirections’s Summer Feeling Challenge!! My prompts were beach + summer rain so yeah! If yall know me you know I could not have miss Taylor release a whole album and not get inspired by it (for this piece particularly it was the song August) so yup this is it. Anyway no more rambling, let me know what you think :)

Word count: 6.8k

Warnings: angsty 🤭

Also this takes part after *this blurb* you don’t have to read it to understand but I do recommend it!!

Salt air, and the warm summer breeze messes with your hair. Your fingers get caught on the knots as you run your hands through it, feeling grains of sand lost in the strands, trying your best to untangle it. Even with your attempt to restrain your locks, some still manage to dance along with the wind, whipping in your face in the process, and taking your attention out of the open book resting on your thighs.

With a huff, you pull up your sunglasses from where it rests on your nose, holding your hair back as you use it in a last attempt to repress it. Looking up, now without the darkened vision due to the lenses, you realize the weather has toned down considerably. You pick your phone from where it rests under your legs, pressing the lock button just to check the time and you realize it’s been almost eight hours since everyone first strolled down from the house and settled on the mild pale sand.

Not long ago, the sun was shining proudly in the clear blue sky. It wasn’t as hot as it had been around lunchtime, when you went up to the house to fetch the sandwiches you and Mary made for everyone, almost burning your feet on the heated cobblestone in the process. Instead, it was like a warm hug, a nice contrast to your cooled skin from when you and the rest of the group went out for a swim.

Now, however, the sky was painted in a grayer tone. The sun hiding behind the clouds, no longer shimmering on your skin, reminding you of the rapid approach of summertime.

No else seems to notice (or care) about the change in the weather, really. Maya still reading her book on her beach towel set next to yours, lying on her belly as she flicks through the pages, humming along to the distant song blasting through the speaker. The boys were playing volleyball not too far from where you two lie -- well, at least the best they could with two people on each side. You look in their direction for the first time in the last hour, letting your urges win as your eyes set on the one person you’d been avoiding for the whole day.

The whole week, actually.

It’s been just about a week since your drunk confession to Harry. When you’d said you loved him with your whole chest right as he was about to press play on Coraline. You still cringe at the memory, especially when you recall his reaction, saying it back in the most calculated voice you’d ever seen him use -- you’ve decided he only said it for your sake, as to not make the moment more embarrassing than you’d already made it. He had promised to talk in the morning, but you feel like you can’t be blamed for running away as soon as your eyes fluttered open, and the events of the night prior hit you like a brick in the face.

You feel a pang of guilt about it, of course, for completely avoiding him like you are. Not like it’s a simple task. You live together after all, but you still managed to do it for a whole week. With your term being over, you fell into a routine of meeting with the girls for breakfast in the mornings and hanging around at their flat until the sun was setting and you had to catch the subway before it got too dark. As soon as you got home you’d lock yourself in your room and fall asleep to an episode of Stranger Things.

It was the easiest way, though. Limiting your interactions to a casual ‘Good morning’ or ‘There are some leftovers in the fridge’. No discussion of feelings. No explanation of your remorseful confession. No putting him in the place of having to reject you. No straining in your friendship.

You just pushed back the pain in your heart that came with having to look at his face twice a day and tried your best to ignore him to the best of your abilities.

That is until you couldn’t anymore.

This summer trip has been planned for months now. Since one of your mutual friends explained he’d have his family’s vacation home to himself all summer at a Christmas dinner and wanted to have everyone over for a week or two. It was exciting, of course, having a two weeks getaway with your group of friends seemed like the perfect idea to start your summer break on the right foot. What you’d never expect was that by the time the trip came along the last you’d want was to be in the same house as Harry without having anywhere else to run to.

Sighing, you gaze back at your forgotten book, your eyes sweeping over the words, not able to fully concentrate on them. And just as you give up, opening your mouth to announce you’re joining Mary in the house, a ball hits the spot just below your feet, making the sand around it jump and a small squeal to leave your lips.

You reach for it, leaning forward to hold it in your hands before looking up at the presence approaching you. It’s hard not to feel the jolt in your heartbeat as you meet his jade eyes, there’s almost a hesitance to his steps as he gets closer. You force a smile to tug on your lips as you hand him the ball, ignoring the electric hush that shoots down your spine when your fingers brush just slightly -- it’s the first time you’ve touched him in a week.

“Thanks.” It comes out rushed and you almost miss it. You think he’ll turn around and join the game again but he lingers for a moment, expecting you to say something.

You simply nod, not sure what to say, and that sends him back to where the rest of the boys are waiting for him. It’s hard not to stare as he walks away, the muscles of his broad back moving with him, skin tanned and a bit reddened around the shoulders. If things were normal, you’d have made him put on sunscreen after going for a swim, knowing how easily he gets sunburnt, and you’d pester him for not listening to you once he asked you to help apply the moisturizer that soothes the pain. You’d smooth your hands on his skin and spread kisses along his neck when he flinches as you rub a sore spot. You’d be mindful not to drag your nails through it once he had you under him, panting his name as his head rests between your thighs.

Looking back down at the cover of The Shining, you shake your head at yourself. Things are not normal, and they probably never will be again.

“I don’t even recognize you two anymore.” Maya’s voice breaks you from your thoughts. She closes her book, setting it down on her towel as she looks up at you from behind her sunglasses.

“What do you mean?” You run your eyes from the stare, choosing to gaze at the ocean instead, noting the way the waves are crashing closer to where you lay than they were in the morning.

“You know what I mean.” She shifts to lie on her back, propping herself up on her elbows. “Ignoring him like this is not the solution you know.”

You sigh, fidgeting with the loose strands at the hem of your towel. “I know.”

“You’re just hurting him.” She presses further, taking her sunglasses off and letting it fall on her stomach.

You look at her, eyes silently begging for her to drop this conversation but you know now that she’s brought it up she won’t let go easily. “Maya--”

“It’s the truth, and you have to hear it.” She sits up fully, turning to face you as she crosses her legs. “How long do you plan to keep going like this? You can’t just avoid him forever.”

“I-- I don’t know.” You say honestly, adjusting your glasses on top of your head nervously as you trow a quick look to his direction, making sure he’s still occupied with the game.

“Talk to him.”

You shake your head. “It’s not that simple.”

“Well, it’s what they say, life is not simple, darling.” She argues, “You’re hurting with this just as much as he is.”

Your shoulders drop, just barely, hating how well she knows you. “But not for the same reasons.”

“Really?” Maya’s voice pitches as she tilts her head. “How so?”

“He doesn’t see me like that.”

“You don’t know that.”

Looking up, you take a deep breath, feeling your throat tightens. “But I do know that, Maya.”

“You don’t.” She says softly, leaning forward to reach for your hand. “He loves you.”

You let out a humorless laugh. “Don’t--”

“It’s true...” She squeezes your hand, shifting closer so she can rest her head on your knee, eyes searching for yours. “You’ve slept with him every single weekend, for... What? The past year?”

“That doesn’t mean anything.” You wipe away a stubborn tear that slides down your cheek. “You don’t love all the men you fuck.”

“Well I don’t live with them, thank god.” She tries to humor, her smile still tender as she rubs her thumb on your hand.  “You two don’t just fuck, you know that, babe.”

You let out an exhale, chewing at your inner cheek as you let the sounds of the waves and the whistle of the wind fill the air between you two. She’s right, even if you hate to admit it, you can’t go like this for much longer. As easy as it is to ignore your feelings, you know they’re still there, and at some point, you’ll have to face them. The longer you wait, the worse it will be. But you can’t help but feel like any chance of fixing it has slipped through your fingers already. Your relationship with Harry - whatever that was - seems so distant now it’s like an image you can see but can’t quite reach. And it’s all your fault.

Maya sighs after a beat too long of silence, squeezing your hand, “Talk to him, please.”

“I--” you start, but you’re interrupted as thin raindrops begin drizzle from the sky.

It’s gentle, a summer rain clearing the warm air that hugs you with cold drops running down your skin. You and Maya jolt up from where you sit, quickly gathering your towels and patting them against your skin to get rid of some of the sand that stuck to it. Thankfully, Mary took the rest of your belongings with her when she went back to the house, so you don’t have to bother with them as you wrap your towel over your head, hugging your book close to your body so it doesn’t get ruined by the droplets of water. You can hear the commotion behind you from the boys as they interrupt the game, but you don’t turn around, only rushing towards the few steps that lead to the house in search of a cover.

The cobblestone is slippery as you jog in the patio barefooted, and you have to mindful as not to slip down and make matters worse to you with a broken back. But you manage to make it to the covered area without any accidents, thankfully, your feet only sliding slightly against the floor. The double glass doors that lead to the living room are slid open, and you can see Mary sitting on the L shaped couch inside, scrolling through her phone.

She peeks up at you when you approach the door, Maya coming not too far behind you. “Leave your dirty towels on the chairs outside, I’ll take care of it tomorrow.”

You do as she says, hanging the towel on one of the rattan chairs arranged in a semi-circle next to you. Mary appears on the doorframe, leaning against it as she crosses her arms under her chest. She’s no longer dressed in her teal bikini set, one you’d complimented as soon as you saw her wearing it. Instead, she’s in some pink pajama shorts, hugging a cream ribbed cardigan close to her body as a rougher strand of wind rips around. Her hair is damp and pushed back behind her ears, you reckon in the short time she was alone in the house she must’ve taken a shower. Which is probably something you should do as well, you think.

Before you can walk inside, though, someone calls you out from behind you. Turning around, you see as the boys approach the house in much less of a hurry you had been in. You find the voice that screamed for you belongs to Declan as he’s leading the rest of them, a taunting smirk painting his face.

“Are you two made of sugar or what?” The words all but stumble out of his mouth and you have to suppress a giggle, he’s probably still drunk from the numerous White Claws they’d consumed throughout the day.

You shake your head. “I’m not trying to get a cold, thank you very much.”

“You’re no fun.” He stops just before entering the covered area, the rain still pouring on his body as he wiggles his hips. “C’mon loosen up a bit.”

You take a step towards him, opening your mouth to bite back but before any word can come out he’s reaching for your arm, drawing you to him. “Declan, no!” You giggle, trying to set yourself free from his grasp but he starts walking backward, pulling you with him. “Stop!”

His other hand that’s not wrapped on your arm is holding the Bluetooth speaker, waving it over his head as he presses his thumb on the volume button, turning it up. Starships starts blasting in the air, blending with the sound of raindrops hitting the ground. You can barely contain your laugh now, wondering how in hell this song even ended up on his playlist. Declan takes the opportunity to fully pull you out in the rain, hugging his arm on your waist and moving his hips along to the beat, bumping it against yours.

He points at Mary who’s still leaning against the door frame, watching the scene with an amused grin.  “I know you love this one.”

“Not a chance Dec.” She calls back from where she stands, earning a loud ‘boo’ from the boy.

His arm doesn’t leave you side as he keeps moving along to the song, his voice slurring the lyrics so loudly next to you it almost swallows the sound coming from the speaker. The drops tickle down your skin, as the rain pours down your body, soaking you as if you’d just dove into the ocean. Your hair is weighing down on your head, and you reach up to push it out of your forehead as you try to follow Declan’s moves but he starts jumping around, making it harder for you.

You watch as Maya decides to join in, skipping to her boyfriend. Looking over your shoulder, you notice the rest of the boys haven’t gone inside and are still standing in the rain, much like Declan. You’re still laughing, almost incredulously, at the scene unfolding in front of you. Seemingly, it’s a clear consequence of the alcohol still very much present in their bloodstreams. But as a sober observer, you can’t help but giggle at the sight of four shirtless men barely keeping their balance as they dance along to Nicki Minaj.

Once the last chorus comes up, Declan unwraps his arm from your waist, reaching for your hand and without much notice spins you around. You stumble on your feet at the sudden move, trying your best to keep yourself from falling down. He doesn’t give you a second to recompose, repeating the move once more, but just as you’re turning around, he lets go of your hand. Without anything to hold on to and keep you steady, your feet slide on the wet stone.

There’s a brief sense of panic that strikes on your body as you feel yourself falling back. But before you can hit the ground, a set of arms catch you, holding on to you a bit awkwardly. You don’t need to look behind you to know who they belong to, the ink hugging his skin being all too familiar to you. Harry’s chest is damp against your back, and his arm is draped around your stomach, the contact of his skin against yours almost burning as you become aware of it.

With his help, you quickly stand back on your feet, untangling yourself from him as soon as you’re on your feet again. Turning around, you don’t miss the way his face is scrunched in a frown, a crease set between his brows and lips tugging downwards. It tugs at your heartstrings, so you give him a small smile. “Thanks.”

“Sure,” he nods.  

For a moment you just look at him, lips parted, feeling as if you should say something else. It’s way too similar to the interaction you had only a few moments ago down at the beach. Or more like all the other interactions you had for the past week, really. His eyes are searching for yours, asking a thousand questions that are left unspoken. Lingering in the air between the two of you. His hand reaches to push back a damp lock of his hair stuck to his forehead, you note how his usually hazelnut strands have taken a darker shade. Much like his tattoos, standing out on his skin, glimmering as the raindrops dance freely down his body.

You know it’s been a beat too long of silence for it to start feel a bit awkward. And can’t help but set a silent prayer for something, anything, to take you out of this situation. You wonder if it would be too bad to just turn around now and pretend nothing happened, pondering if it’s the best decision to run away once again. Thankfully, as if on cue, a thunder roars in the sky, interrupting your thoughts as you squeal, jumping slightly, startled. A chorus of curses follow up from behind you, the rain starting to shower rougher from above.

“Okay that’s enough fun in the rain, everyone back inside now!” Mary screams from her spot, motioning with her hands for everyone to leave the outdoors.

“You must be really fun at parties, sweetheart!” Declan shouts back, you notice he’s managed to go all the way around the pool.

“Unless you’re feeling like getting hit by lightning from dancing next to a pool, I suggest you all come inside now.” She yells with a roll of her eyes, her voice taking a stern tone. “I’m not cleaning up anyone’s body for being stupid.”

He lets out a mischievous laugh, jumping his way around the edge. “Okay, mom.”

The towel scratches on your skin slightly, due to the grains of sand still stuck to it, as you try to dry yourself to the best of your ability. In the background, you can hear whines coming from Maya, complaining about not being able to have a bonfire tonight. You linger long enough to hear someone suggest a movie night instead. But as they begin the discussion of a film choice, you’re soon walking past the double glass door and into the house. Wanting to tuck yourself inside your room as soon as possible.

At this moment you give yourself a mental pat in the back for choosing the only room located downstairs. Regardless of it being the smallest, thus being the easiest one to claim, it was an easy choice for you. Not only you’re the furthest from the other rooms (and being on vacation with a couple, that’s a big pro) but you also have a bathroom all to yourself. Of course, it can barely fit two people inside if it came to it - not that it will - but you don’t mind the narrow space. On top of it all, you’re the closest to the ocean. Meaning that, when you’re drifting to sleep, it’s almost as if the waves are crashing at the end of your bed instead of the cool nightly sand, meters away from where you lay. So soothing you can easily ignore the creak of the wooden steps of the stairs right next to your door every time someone feels like coming down for a midnight snack.

The same creak that you hear as you pace your way on the light oak floor, careful to avoid the rugs that come on your way as to not soak their fabrics. And soon enough, you’re alone in the small space you get to call your own for the week. Away from any potential awkward interactions or silent pleas. The loudest noise filling the air being the raindrops knocking on your windows and your thoughts swallowing you whole.

You don’t rush on your shower. Letting the warm water run through your body in a smooth massage, allowing your muscles to relax as you breathe in the coconut-scented steam surrounding you. It does help to soothe you a little, but the weight in your chest still makes itself present.

Leaving the bathroom hugged in your comfiest set of pajamas, you make your way out of the room. As you enter the living area, you notice Mary sitting alone in the same spot she was on the couch, leaning back on the cushions and scrolling on her phone. Her eyes peak up once you approach her, letting the device fall to her chest when you come to a stop at the end of the couch.

“Everyone still in the shower?” You ask.

“Yup,” she nods, picking her phone back up. “Boys left a wreck for you in the kitchen, good luck with it.”

You huff, already regretting volunteering for the cleaning up duty today. Turning on your heals, you make your way towards the archway leading to the kitchen.

“We’re watching Mamma Mia later, by the way!” You hear Mary call out from behind you. “If you wanna make popcorn, I won’t be opposed.”

Throwing her a look over your shoulder, you shake your head as you look at her face, puppy eyes illuminated by the screen of her phone and lips pursed in a pleading pout. You disappear in the kitchen without giving her an answer -- even though you both know you’re also not opposed to the idea of it.

Analyzing the scene you’re met with, hands coming up to rest on your hips, you realize it’s not as bad as Mary made out to be. It’s messy, sure, but manageable. The cooler lies on top of the counter, a puddle pooling around it, and lid crooked on top as someone probably didn’t bother to close it properly. A couple of dishes from lunch still sit inside the sink, waiting to be washed, but not enough for them to pile on top of each other.

You start with them, humming along to a beat that’s been stuck in your head but you can’t quite put a finger on it as you rinse the plates until they’re shimmering clean, the white porcelain reflecting the ceiling light. It doesn’t take you long to get through all of them, lining them on the rack that sits right next to the sink. As soon as you’re finished, you turn your attention to the cooler, taking the lid off completely so you can check the inside. The ice that filled the box has completely melted, as you expected, pooling at the bottom of it. A couple of empty cans, amongst filled ones, float on top of the water.

Picking them up, you try to fit all of them in your hands as to make a single trip to the bin. When you manage to do it, you give one last check inside to see if you missed any. You look up from it at the same time that Harry steps through the archway into the kitchen space. The sudden appearance makes you stop midstep. He also seems to be taken back by your presence, stopping on his track as he looks at you like a deer caught in headlights. The pang in your heart doesn’t fail to make itself present once again.

He’s fiddling with a water bottle in his hands. Much like you, he’s probably already taken a shower, now dressed in a pair of ash grey sweats and a graphic white tee -- your favorite one, with a blue cartoonish drawing of a smiley bee in the middle and the words “Enjoy health, eat your honey” circling it. Your lips twitch in a smile as you take notice of it. It’s the shirt you love to steal from his closet in hopes of him not missing it, even though he does every time it happens, but still lets you do it cause he says it looks better on you anyway.

He realizes where your gaze has gone, peeking down at his clothes. The smile that takes over his lips, even if small, helps to soothe the knot in your stomach.

Clearing his throat, he breaks the silence this time, voice coming out a bit hesitant. “Hey.”

“Hi.” You nod.

There’s another beat of silence before both of you realize what you’d been doing before being interrupted by the other. And as if on cue, you start walking almost coordinated, crossing your paths as he makes his way to the sink and you reach the bin across the room. You can hear the tap opening and the water filling the inside of his bottle. As you turn to walk back to the counter you watch his broad back facing you, his hair curling at the base of his neck and you can tell he’s looking at the dish rack.

“Did you wash the dishes?” He says, peeking at you from over his shoulder. You meet his gaze, nodding once again as you watch him turn the tap off, turning around as he closes the cap of his bottle. “Shouldn’t have done it all by yourself, you know, could’ve helped you.”

“It was fine.” You reassure with a shrug, placing your hands on the cooler, looking for something to do as you feel him staring.

He stays quiet for a moment, but you can almost hear the wheels in his head turning above the light tapping sound of raindrops outside. You keep your eyes fixed on the cans as you begin taking them out of the cooler, even when you hear him call out your name, only offering a light hum to let him know you’re listening. “Do you, uhm--” He pauses, sighing as you keep yourself focused on the task in hand. “Do you think we can talk?”

You take a sharp inhale, coughing slightly to cover it up as you move the lid to close the container. Chewing on your lip, you keep your eyes trained on your hands as you rest them on the counter, not ready to face what you’ve been so desperately pushing back. Still, you remember what Maya said to you earlier, and you know you can’t keep running away.  “Sure.”

“Love,” his voice comes out pained, tightening a lump that’s forming on your throat. “Can you at least look at me?”

You meet his gaze, blinking away the tears that threaten to spill down your cheeks as you meet his eyes. “Harry--”

He shakes his head slightly, shoulder dropping. “‘S killing me.”

A mesh of voices interrupts your conversation before you can even process what he just told you. You can tell by the sounds of the steps along with the creak of the wooden floor that they’re coming down the stairs. Turning your head, you try to listen closely to foresee if they’re about to enter the kitchen or not. They get louder as they approach, but you can tell they stopped at the living room when Mary’s voice joins the conversation. Harry’s watching you, but the crease settled between his brows tells you he’s also paying attention to the chatter happening outside.

“Maybe we should talk after the movie.” You say after a moment of trying to figure out the loud chatter in the next room.

“Can you meet me in my room?”

“Maybe at mine?” You suggest.  “It’s just more… secluded from the rest, I guess.”

“Okay.” He nods. “After the movie, then.”

The rest of the night blends together as a bit of a blur if you’re honest. And not due to the poorly made strawberry cocktail you have in your hands -- considering you haven’t had more than a sip off of it, and, thankfully, everyone else seems to be too buzzed to notice your untouched cup. No, it’s all thanks to the anxious feeling that has been eating you from the inside out since your brief conversation with Harry. For what seems to be the hundredth time in the past hours you feel your eyes wandering back to him. He’s fiddling with his filled drink, leg bouncing nervously as he leans back on his seat. As if he can feel your eyes set on him, he glances up, meeting your gaze with a raise of his brows.

It’s a simple gesture but you understand the silent question that comes with it, wondering when you’ll be able to sneak out to your room. You had thought that throughout the movie the rest of them would slowly get knocked out, feeling the long day under the sunlight weight on their eyelids, allowing you to settle back in your room without causing any commotion. Surely, Mary was snoring quietly next to you within the first chorus of Honey Honey. But seems like you underestimated everyone else’s capacities of staying awake, for as soon as the end credits were scrolling up on the screen, Declan was up on his feet to suggest a cocktail night.

So here you are, a wink past midnight, watching your friends stumble on their feet at, yet another, Just Dance battle, barely able to understand a single word slurring drunkenly out of their mouths.

You hold Harry’s gaze for a moment, pursing your lips as you ponder how to slip out for the night. Mary’s still sitting next to you, her body relaxed so deep into the cushions it’s like she’s swallowed by it. Her head has fallen back, chest moving along lazily with her breaths, if it wasn’t for the occasional blinks, you would’ve assumed she’d fallen asleep once again. You lean forward, setting your filled glass on the mahogany center table before turning back to her.

“Tired?” You ask.

Her head falls heavy on her shoulder as she looks at you, a small smile tucking on her lips when she nods. “If they decide to take out UNO, I swear to god…”

“I don’t think they ever sleep if I’m honest.” You chuckle just as the last few chords of Sugar come to an end. The sound of the boys’ laughs takes over the brief silence that set in the room, their chatter mixing with the sounds of the wind shaking the glass on the now-closed doors that lead outside. Shifting closer to your friend, you lower your voice just enough for her to hear it, “Feel like now’s the best chance to call it a night.”

“You know,” she sighs. “That was probably the best idea I’ve heard all day.”

You smile, sparing one last look to Harry, only to find him still watching you. Giving him a small nod, as to let him know your intentions, you scoop to the edge of the couch, standing up with a big stretch.”Okay, guys think my bed’s calling me.”

“What?” Maya’s voice yelps on top of the chorus of protests. “But I was about to get my Twister mat!”

“Some of us need to sleep.” Mary’s voice speaks up as she shifts to get up from her cozy spot, her movements much more lethargic than yours. “Shocker, I know.”

You hear echoes of objections and teasing mumbles but don’t really register their words, only sparing a final wave to the group before making your way towards your room. You make a quick stop at the bottom of the staircase, binding Mary a goodnight and watching her for a moment as she ascends the steps, dragging her feet lazily on the groaning wood. Once you finally make it to your door, it takes everything in you not to glance over your shoulder. The back of the chair he’s sitting is facing you, but you wonder if your eyes will meet once again. If he’s searching for yours as desperately as your searching for his.

You don’t look, though. Closing the door behind you as fast as you open it. As if the barrier between you two will somehow help dull the aching in your chest that’s now growing stronger with the realization that you have nowhere to hide from your feelings anymore. Taking deep breaths, you back away until the back of your thighs meet the smooth fabric of the blue comforter hugging your mattress, crossing your legs as you sit back on it.

The room is dark, as you didn’t bother turning on the lights when you first walked in, the only illumination coming from outside, due to your curtains still being pushed open. Thankfully, the rain from earlier is long gone, clearing the night sky so the moon can shine proudly and fully amongst the sea of stars dotted around it. It gives the space a silver glow, giving you an odd sense of calmness as you look out the big window across the bed. The whispers of the wind are still loud against the tree branches, as well as the waves crashing angrily at the shore. Still, the sounds of nature do nothing to quiet down the laughs that come from the other side of the door, even if faint, they’re still loud, and it snaps your attention back to the reason why there’s an anxious twist set in your stomach.

It feels like hours have passed of you sitting alone, chewing at the nail on your thumb, feeling your thoughts drowning you. Every so often your eyes dart to the door, waiting for a creak of steps or a soft knock. But every time you’re met with silence, the door still closed, almost mocking your nervousness. You wonder if he’s given up, you know he hasn’t forgotten about it, there’s no way he would, but maybe he just realized there’s no reason on fighting for whatever’s left between you two. Or maybe he’s just giving you a taste of your own medicine. Letting you sink in the silence and doubt until it floods every cell of your body. Or maybe he’s just trying to find the words to reject y--

The moment you fall back to your cushions, the lump in your throat becoming suffocating at this point, a sound you’ve been waiting for breaks you out of your mind: a quick knock followed by the door opening. The lights of the hallway creep in the room along with Harry, as he pokes his head in.

“Come in.” You clear your throat when your voice comes out in a whisper. Watching as he opens the door wider, just enough to fit the rest of his body, shutting it behind him with a click. You shift a bit, motioning to the spot on the bed in front of you as you try to untie the knot that tightens in your chest.

“Sorry it took me so long,” He sits in front of you. “They really insisted on playing a round of that fucking game.”

“It’s fine.” You give him a weak chuckle. “I was just…” You trail off, shrugging as your eyes set on your lap. “I don’t know, thinking, I guess?”

He nods. “Yeah, I was thinking, too.”

“So…”

“So,” You can feel his eyes searching for yours, so you glance up. There’s a crease set between his brows, his whole body tensed as he chews on his bottom lip. “How do we even start this?”

“I don’t know.” You answer truthfully, trying to find the words to explain everything that’s been flowing in your mind for the last week. But before anything, you know you owe him an apology, so you sigh, the words slipping out of your mouth shakier than you’d intended. “I’m sorry.”

“I don’t want you to apologize.” He says in a blink, shaking his head softly. His voice is low, but tender, “I want to understand what happened.”

“I--” The crack in your voice makes you exhale in frustration, blinking rapidly as you look up at the ceiling, focusing on the pattern of shadows cast due to the moonlight slipping through the tree branches outside. You don’t want to cry.  “I don’t even know, just…” Taking a deep breath you meet his eyes again, knowing there’s no reason to beat around the bushes anymore. “That night, I was so embarrassed.”

“Why?”

“Cause I was drunk and--” You rub your hands over your face, wandering your eyes anywhere but on him. No need to beat around the bushes, you think again, you should just go straight to the point.  “And I had a stupid breakdown after kissing someone else.” “

“It wasn’t stupid, lo--” He cuts himself off, and you’re sure if it wasn’t for the loud thumping of the wind he could hear the crack of your heart from where he sits. “Your feelings aren’t stupid.” You watch as he looks down at his lap, fingers fidgeting with the string of his sweats as he shuts his eyes tight. “But you didn’t have to shut me off.”

The emotion behind his words is so clear, even with the darkness surrounding you, that you can’t help but scoop closer to him, hesitantly reaching your hand to rest on his shoulder. “I know.”

“Do you know how much it killed me to have you not even look at my face?” He looks up again, his waterline glossy, pooling with tears, only twisting the knot that’s settled in your chest. When he speaks again, it’s just above a whisper, “It’s like I lost you.”

You’re not sure why is it that as soon as the words leave his mouth you recoil from him. His declaration feeling nearly unfair to you, only serving as for increasing your frustration at the whole situation in hand. So you can’t help as to increase your voice slightly, a pinch of anger hidden behind it.  “Well I’m not--” You stop yourself as it comes out louder than you’d intended, the annoyance quickly dissolving into pure sadness as you register what you’re about to say. “I wasn’t yours for you to lose, Harry.”

The breath he takes is audible, your words hitting him like a brick. He nods, more to himself than to you, shrugging slightly as he looks dows at the wrinkles on the comforter, the empty space between the two of you. “Maybe I want you to.”

You blink at him, lips parting as it takes you a second to understand what he just said. “What?”

“You didn’t even give me a chance.”

“I’m sorry.” You can’t help but repeat yourself, unable to control the tear that trickles down your cheek. Sniffling, you rub it out, “I was just…”

“Scared?” He finishes as you trail off, now it’s his turn to shift closer to you, hand cupping your cheek as he caresses another tear that trails down your skin.

“Yeah.”

“I’m scared too, baby.” The petname slips off his tongue, sending a spark of electricity down your spine and tugging a smile on your lips. You don’t hold back anymore, wrapping your arms around his shoulders and tucking your head at the base of his neck. Breathing in, the familiar scent of his shampoo mixes with the faint whiff of his cologne, and even a hint of sunscreen. It hits you all at once, how much you missed the closeness to him, the feeling of his arms wrapped around your middle, and the softness of his lips pressed on the side of your head. His voice is muffled by your hair, “Hate that we’re like this.”

“I hate it too.” You nod against his neck, a fresh wave of tears threatening to spill down your cheeks. “I didn’t mean to, H.”

“Shh, I know.” His hand comes up to massage your hair, the action so loving your hands grab at his shirt trying to pull him even closer. “We can fix this, though, okay? Me and you?”

“Yes.”

“No running away anymore.”

“I promise.” You fall silent for a moment, simply enjoying each other’s embrace. When you feel him press another kiss at the side of your head, you pull away, just enough to lock your eyes on his. “Harry?”

“Yes, love?”

“Can you stay tonight?”

“Course.” He brushes a strand of hair out of your face. “Can stay every night you want me to.”

[smuggsy]

Hey, Leti! I saw you wanted some flyboys prompts. I'll give you two so you can pick between them if you want? How about for Words: “I’ll always be here when you need me,” or for Actions: "for one muse to help the other clean blood off of themselves." <3

You really hit the nail with the second one, it's like you're inside my mind asksjsisnsk but really, this idea wouldn't leave me alone today. I said over on discord I wanted conflict...

Collins breaks about sixteen weeks into his service. It's the first time he loses his nerve, regrettably, because he lets his new wingmate buy him one too many drinks. He's just trying to make a good impression, Jack knows, but he doesn't care for it. Not when Tony got shot down only yesterday and he's been grounded on account of it.

So he can mourn.

Fuck that.

He's only thinking about it more, now that he doesn't have to fly and the day seems never-ending. He lets the new cadet take him out for drinks only because Farrier isn't around.

There's a Royal Artillery regiment off duty occupying half the tables, and Collins almost turns on his heels and heads back to base when he sees their soft-brown uniforms all over the place. But Robert goes on, none the wiser, and Collins has no choice but to follow suit being the older, more experienced one and all.

In the end, it's the rookie who keeps his cool against the harsh words and teasing and Collins the one being held back.

"Oi, pretty boy!"

It's late and he's tired and Robert has money to spare and he keeps leaving pints in front him. 

"Yeah, you in blue, why doncha buy us a round?"

"You gotta be joking!" Robert laughs, half-turning on his seat next to Jack at the bar, wearing his pristine new uniform that looks like was unboxed just this afternoon. He's a perfect target for worn-out soldiers temporarily off the line. Collins is already drunk and their presence at his back set his teeth on edge.

"Why? Your lot sit there all day long while we do your bloody job, seems right t'me you'd show a bit of gratitude, right boys?!"

Jack sets another glass softly on the counter and locks eyes with the bartender that looks at him like he's the one stirring up the pot. It's the only reason why he turns his head towards his chatty companion and mutters: "leave it," because the old man is kind enough to accommodate them every time they come round and lets them run a tab.

Robert scans his unfriendly frown and slowly sits back down on the stool, sending Jack a furtive glance.

That would've been the end of it.

"Look at that, not even me mum's got boots as shiny as yours," this voice is closer, and it's a different one.

"Fuck off," Collins mutters under his breath, hand wrapped around his half-empty pint and itching to turn around and bash the idiot's head in.

"What?"

Now he gives him the courtesy of turning around and standing up to say it to his face.

"I said fuck off, I see yer bleedin' deaf as well as thick."

He likes to think it wasn't his words that set it in motion, but the little chuckle Robert couldn't suppress right next to him. 

What's-his-name, with his perfectly gelled-up hair and an unbuttoned khaki shirt, sends the new cadet a killer look and Collins wishes he'd gone for it, right there. He wishes he'd gone for his mate so he would've been able to blame his actions on the undying stupid rivalry between Army and Air Force. But he doesn't make a move towards Robert, and instead gives Jack a once-over and a sneer.

"Why don't you sit back down?" he offers, with a mellowy voice that makes Collins' blood boil, "you look like you're about to fall."

To his credit, Jack is swaying on his feet, except that's also the same reason why the cocky gunner ends up with a bleeding nose just two minutes after.

"That's what you get paid for, after all!" is the last straw, a high-pitched mocking voice coming from the sea of men that Collins can't really pinpoint, "t'keep your sorry ass down on a chair."

What comes next is more missed blows on Collins' part than he'd like to admit and more blood on his face and collar than he'd like to explain. Robert comes out unscathed save for a crinkled uniform when some by-stander had the sense to keep him out of the ruckus, but he doesn't stop babbling all the way back to headquarters.

Collins only hears half of it, mind too foggy by an ache both physical and emotional, and bites his tongue one or two times when he turns to acknowledge the boy's existence and sees the face of his dead wingmate instead.

Farrier finds him two hours later, lying on his upper bunk bed in full uniform except for his jacket, which he briefly had the sense to hang before climbing up. Collins hears him come in, close the door and approach, but doesn't move.

He stares at the wall and breathes slowly through the mind-nulling pain taking over, feeling a sore cheek and a lip cut open and thinking that he deserves it, that it grounds him, that it keeps the thought of Tony's silence through the intercom and the sight of his Spitfire hitting the water with a distant thud away.

Was he dead by then? Did he die in the air, or was he conscious all the way down, unable to do anything to stop it? Collins hopes one of those bullets got to him. He knows that's how he'd rather go down if it came to it. When it comes to it.

"What happened?" 

Collins stays still and pretends he's not there. 

It's not very difficult to imagine, really, because Farrier is never around lately. It's probable that the only thing that brought him up to his room at this hour was Robert's big mouth, surely going on about his new mentor standing up to a room full of soldiers, drunk and out for blood like a fucking lunatic.

Perhaps a little less self-deprecating account of it. More on the heroic side, because Robert's got that naive look about him. Collins hates to think of it: that it is probably a foreshadowing image of what's to happen once he goes up in the air and has a fucking nazi on his tail.

"Collins," Farrier calls again with a quiet voice. Jack feels one of his hands coming to rest behind him on the mattress, like he wants to place it on his waist instead and turn him over but doesn't dare, "you can talk to me."

"There's nothing to talk about."

More silence.

A sigh.

"Don't ya have somewhere else to be, anyway?"

He feels like a dick the moment he says it.

Luckily for him, Farrier isn't so easily swayed. That same hand finally lands on his left shoulder and tugs insistently until he's turning on his back - when he does, Farrier takes a deep breath in, those ones he takes when he wants to lash out at someone but swallows his words instead. 

Collins isn't sure he likes that look of anger directed at him, but he stares back defiantly because the influence of alcohol isn't completely gone and because he hates Farrier being this persistent.

Green eyes survey every inch of his battered face and if they stop for a moment too long on his lips, Collins pretends he doesn't notice. Farrier winces and then runs a hand over his face and looks away, again biting his tongue to prevent himself from talking. 

Jack wants him to talk, wants him to tell him off so he can answer. 

"Come down," Farrier asks, taking a step back from the bed and making a hand-gesture that is a bit too authoritarian for Jack's taste. He half-wants to hop off the bed, stand to attention, make a salute and bark out a yes, sir! only to annoy him, "Collins, don't be a child. Come down and get that shirt off before it's unsalvageable."

His irritation bleeds heavily through the words this time and when Collins looks back at him from the top bunk, he does feel like a little boy being told off. 

He only sits up, yanks his tie off, takes his shirt off above his head without unbuttoning it and knowing full well he's only beating up a hornet's nest, makes it into a ball and throws it at Farrier's face with force.

Only then does he jump off and land in front of him.

"Anything else?" he asks through gritted teeth, as Farrier holds the shirt to his chest and looks at him the same way he looked at that gunner back at the pub.

But he stays silent. Farrier doesn't take a step forward and punches him in the face like he did to that poor sod. The annoyance gives place to something else and Collins doesn't know what to do when Farrier doesn't move, because he'd been counting on him turning around and striding off after that outburst. 

And he needs him to, quick, because there's a lump forming down his throat.

"No?" he asks, shaking his head, confrontational.

Farrier just stares at him, his poker face the antithesis of Jack's. He only sniffs, crosses his arms on his chest and shifts his weight on his feet comfortably, like he's planning on just staying there standing guard.

Collins feels like he walked right into his trap. Can't climb back up now, show him his back and stare at the wall and ignore him until he gives up and leaves.

"Are you done?" Farrier asks when he looks away. 

He doesn't give an answer and sits on his roommate's made-up bed instead because he can't feel the chilly air down there as much. 

He probably should wash that shirt before the crimson red becomes a permanent stain, if only to avoid being told off by his superiors. He really doesn't find it in him to care for a stupid blood-spluttered collar when Tony's dead, he's dead.

Farrier sits next to him and brings a damp cloth to his lip without warning. Jack flinches away before he notices it's only his handkerchief soaked in water and has the decency to turn towards him this time, the will to put up a fight all but gone.

"I'm sorry..." he starts, trying to get the words out but failing.

"It's alright."

"No," he chokes out, "sorry."

Farrier presses the wet cloth softly above the cut on his brow and looks him in the eye with honesty.

"No need to be."

Collins disagrees, but he stays still for a couple of seconds and lets Farrier slowly wipe the dried blood off his skin with the utmost care and tries to think only of this moment.

"That's a nasty bruise," Farrier says, conversationally as if the silence makes him uncomfortable and the close space between them makes him nervous.

Jack doesn't trust himself to open his mouth without bursting out crying in his face, so he doesn't say anything and just avoids his gaze again.

The silence stretches on for another minute.

"All done."

He bolts upright soon as Farrier is off his personal space and makes for the metal wardrobe in the corner to fish for a tank top, because it's that time of day when the sun is completely gone and he may as well have an early night in.

Anything to get Thomas off his hair.

"Thanks," he throws over his shoulder, tugging at his belt hoping that's enough of a dismissal for Farrier, "I'll wash that shirt," he adds, noncommittally.

Farrier stays there for another quarter of a minute.

"Yeah, you do that."

When the door closes behind him Collins braces himself against the wardrobe and holds onto it until his knuckles go white, feeling like he can't take enough air in.

[justwritethatdown]

Bechloe Week 2020 – Day3: Drunk Texts 

We were bound to be together

An au where Beca didn't get together with Jesse and that allowed her relationship with Chloe to grow.

or

The way Pitch Perfect 1 should have gone ;)

Set during Beca’s first two years at Barden; everything goes as it should, nothing angsty happens and everyone is happy. Just a sloppy falling-in-love story between two college girls, told through their drunk texts, kind of...

Rating: T

Words Count: 2.5K

Thanks to @viharistenno for being my beta

Read here or on AO3

She took my arm, I don’t know how it happened

 After Hood Night, Beca was lying on her bed; the weird buzzing in her brain caused by alcohol made it hard for her to fall asleep. She wasn’t used to drinking and partying with strangers until late night, but she had to admit it wasn’t the worst thing she’d done. That Jesse seemed nice after all, a little pushy maybe, but Beca knew she needed a push sometimes, maybe she should give him a chance-

Her phone buzzed on the nightstand

CHLOE BEALE: Im so glad that I met you xx

BECA: Yeah, you kinda mentioned that…

Beca bit her bottom lip and a bright smile formed on her face. There was something about Chloe, that didn’t make Beca want to push her away. On the contrary, it was rather a pull, that made Beca want to get closer to her.

She placed the phone on her stomach, letting out a heavy sigh, smile still present on her lips. Beca couldn’t believe she actually auditioned for an acapella singing group, just because a crazy – naked – girl told her to, after crushing her shower and forcing her to sing with her; it was a situation that normally would have made her run for the hills and yet, she went to the audition – and she got in – and to the following party. Beca didn’t even know how that happened, Chloe had dragged her into this whole new world, and she was kinda okay with that.

It confused Beca; for the first time her instinct didn’t tell her to push this person away, it told her to get to know her better, to become her friend, but most of all Beca wanted Chloe to like her, she wanted to impress her. She checked her phone to see if Chloe had texted her anything else, but there were no new messages, so she let out another sigh – a disappointed one this time – and put the phone away.

Maybe Chloe was still with shower guy, they seemed to be pretty close at the party. Her stomach twisted and Beca huffed again; the way Chloe had grabbed her arms and how close she got to her while talking, gave her some vibes, for a moment she’d thought that the redhead was flirting with her – a thought she wasn’t completely opposed to – but then she saw her with that guy while she was busy talking to Jesse, and kicked herself for being so delusional, she was well aware they were having sex in the sowers, they were obviously together.

Beca shook her head and rolled her eyes to herself, turning to her side to try to sleep.

  I felt it in my chest as she looked at me

  CHLOE: Admit you had fun tonight! :P

Beca was a bit more tipsy than usual – okay, let’s say she was drunk – but it wasn’t her fault; Amy arrived there with the clear internet of getting the brunette drunk that night. She dumbly smiled at her phone and almost gave in, but then she remembered their bet.

“I don’t know why I let you drag me to this stupid party” she spat out when they arrived at the ΣΒΘ frat house.

“Come on, I bet you’re going to have fun” cheered Chloe making Beca roll her eyes.

“I doubt it” stated the brunette.

“We’re here bitches!” screamed Amy going straight for the alcohol table, followed by Stacie.

When her head started to spin, Beca realized that maybe she’d let Amy fix her one drink too much, but she didn’t care, not when Chloe was leaning in so close to whisper things in her ear – shout actually, to be heard over the loud music – and had one arm wrapped around Beca’s shoulders; the weight of Chloe on her felt amazing and the way Chloe looked at her made her heart do funny things in her chest.

Beca definitely blamed it on the alcohol, but deep inside she knew it was the same feeling she had the first time they met at the activities fair; that smile Chloe gave her and those blue eyes, so deep that Beca felt like she was drowning in them, knocked all the air out of her lungs and she felt her heart racing.

Even if she did run away that time, Beca just couldn’t stop thinking about her, until that girl jumped in her shower, making Beca incredibly frustrated and embarrassed. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t help but looking – more than once – at the girl’s naked body and her mind wandered without her permission. Chloe was undeniably beautiful, and her confidence made her even hotter.

Beca should have known then that she was gone, but – always oblivious to her own feelings – it took her several weeks of parties and rehearsals to know that she had, in fact, fallen head over hills for the redhead.

Suddenly Beca felt Chloe stepping away from her and saw the girl launching herself into Tom’s arms. The brunette found herself downing the remains of her drink and accepting a new one from Amy. The rest of the night is still a blur, she vaguely remembered Jesse helping her through her dorm room door and saying good night, at which she believed she grunted before the guy closed the door behind him.

Beca frowned at the memory and looked back at her phone; there was a new message on the screen

CHLOE: you disappeared tho. Stacie said you left w Jesse :(

BEC: yoy wr wit Tom

CHLOE: I told you I was going to say hi and when I came back you were gone >.<

BEC: are u tofether?

CHLOE: No, I’m alone

BEC: no I mwan ar you datingm

BEC: ?

Chloe started typing and deleting and Beca started to freak out; she’d known this girl for less than a year, she saw her with Tom from day one, she had no right whatsoever to be upset about them dating, even if Chloe had been sending her mixed signals from the start and was annoyingly touchy and loving and not-so-unintentionally made Beca’s head spin more than alcohol did

CHLOE: No, he’s not my boyfriend. We used to be fwb but I ended it a while ago because I started to like someone… :)<3

  Just keep your eyes on me

 The following day Beca felt like shit; her head hurt, and she felt nauseous, that’s why she was immensely grateful to Chloe for dragging her to that stupid party the night before their special rehearsal’s session.

“Remind me to kill you when this is over” she lamented when Chloe greeted her with her usual bright smile – the girl clearly didn’t drink as much as Beca did the night before – and a quick hug

“Can’t wait” winked the redhead, making Beca’s blood boil in her veins.

Chloe really looked amazing that morning and was clearly making an effort to be noticed by the brunette; she managed to make even that idiotic hostess choreography look beautiful. It wasn’t just the dancing, Beca found every movement Chloe made incredibly sexy, maybe because of that half confession she had made the night before, or maybe because Beca knew Chloe was doing it on purpose; she knew it because Chloe basically never dropped her eye contact with Beca, almost like she was trying to cast a spell on her, and maybe she did.

“You’re on a mission today huh?” Beca hushed to her during a break

“I don’t know what you’re talking about” answered Chloe wearing a shit eating grin

“Well, better for me then, I’m enjoying the show” she shot back without thinking too much about it and regretting it right away, but the fire it lit in Chloe’s eyes told her she’d said just the right thing.

“What’s with all this eye fucking?” suddenly spat out Amy, making the room giggle. Except for Beca who became bright red, and Aubrey who cleared her throat glaring at Chloe, who innocently smiled biting her lip.

“Did you finally hook up or something?” asked Stacie in amusement

“Can we focus on the damn choreography?” asked Aubrey grinding her teeth.

  Deep in her eyes, I think I see the future

 Beca’s plan was simple: to go to college for one year, convince her dad that she tried and have him send her to Los Angeles the following year to finally start working towards her dream of producing music. However, something along the way went incredibly wrong, or rather incredibly right, and now all she wanted was to stay there with those nerds who somehow became her family.

The look on Chloe’s face when they won the finals made Beca realize that her future wasn’t in LA, her future was right there with those girls, with Chloe. In that moment Beca felt like she belonged there; she saw her next few years at Barden, with the Bellas, and in the hug they shared, Beca felt that Chloe would be part of her life forever.

The girls celebrated in the Bellas’ sorority house and they all, even Aubrey, got incredibly wasted. Most of the girls had already moved there from their dorms and wouldn’t have to go anywhere after their party.

During the night Chloe made sure to let Beca know, more than once, how sad she was that the brunette had decided to really leave for Los Angeles in the end, instead of moving in with her, and she never left her side the whole night. They drank together and laughed and danced, and they almost kissed, but Chloe pulled away last minute confusing Beca. When Beca asked her why, Chloe mumbled with watery eyes “you’re leaving, what’s the point?”, but immediately cleared her throat and dragged Beca to dance with the others. In her inebriated state, the music and Chloe’s body moving rhythmically against hers, were enough to distract Beca from that statement. Only later, walking back to her dorm, it carved its way back into her mind.

BEC ♡: I not gng to LA  

CHLO: ???

BEC ♡: im stang heee

Chloe’s reply was a string of emojis Beca was too drunk to interpret followed by

CHLO: yoy styng w the bellassssss

BEC ♡: im staying fr you

CHLO: were gnna be cocaptnsss!!!

  This woman is my destiny

 Beca’s second year at Barden started out completely differently from her first one; she was living in a sorority house along with eight other girls and was co-captain of the acapella group she led to victory the year before.

Her relationship with Chloe evolved in a strange way; they acted like a married couple now, but they never crossed the line, both too scared of ruining what they had. With Aubrey gone, the Bellas were their responsibility and Beca knew that was what mattered the most to Chloe, so she chose to focus on their acapella group. For Chloe, not because she was scared of fucking things up, obviously.

Their mutual pinning was clear to all their friends; some of them – Amy – teased them  about it, while others desperately tried to help them figure it out.

One night, during one of their let’s-get-drunk-because-why-not nights, they were playing truth or dare

“Beca” started Stacie “truth or dare?” she asked with a wicked smile, making Beca sweat

“Truth…” tentatively answered the brunette

“Do you have more than platonic feelings for anyone in this room?” asked Stacie raising an eyebrow. Chloe held her breath at that and Beca was the only one to miss it, too occupied freaking out

“Dare” blurted out Beca “dare, I meant dare!” Beca’s heart started beating dangerously fast, hoping that Stacie would have let her change her reply, but the girl’s eyes twinkled and Beca knew she’d fallen right into her trap.

“I dare you… to kiss the girl you have the biggest toner in the world for and release us all from this ridiculous sexual tension you two generate” commanded the tall girl rolling her eyes.

Beca felt all the air leave her lungs. Everything was silent around her and all she could hear was the uneven beating of her heart. She swallowed hard looking at Chloe to see what her reaction had been and the girl’s hesitant smile calmed Beca a little.

Beca wasn’t one to back down from a challenge and the alcohol in her system only made her more competitive, but most of all, there was nothing in the world she wanted more than to finally kiss Chloe, so she crossed the circle they were sitting in to reach the redhead on the other side of it. Chloe was biting her bottom lip in anticipation and Beca could see in her eyes that the girl wanted to kiss her just as much as she did.

Beca gently rested her palm on Chloe’s cheek. They didn’t speak, but they didn’t need words to communicate; their eyes were saying all they needed to say. They expressed how much they both wanted to do this, but only if the other was okay with that, and that it was going to be okay. They completely forgot they weren’t alone.

Beca leaned in and kissed her, Chloe wrapped her arms around Beca’s neck and pulled her closer, letting out a sigh that made Beca’s heart flutter. They stayed there, kneeling in the middle of the living room, kissing slowly and deeply, their lips moved together as if they were dancing. Beca wasn’t sure who deepened the kiss, but as soon as their tongues touched, a million fireworks went off in her brain, covering the sound of their friends whooping and clapping and wolf whistling – Amy – and making her forget her own name.

Beca couldn’t have enough of Chloe’s lips. When the kiss ended and Chloe tried to move away, Beca desperately chased her mouth and started kissing her again, gaining a chuckle from the redhead. The two girls were only separated by Amy accidently bathing them in tequila while waving a bottle in the air, shouting that they had to drink to that.

After two – or was it three? – Bhloe drinks, as Amy had named them, Beca was still snuggled up next to Chloe. They shared some quick kisses during the rest of the night and when they decided to go wrap it up, Beca really wasn’t ready to sleep. All she wanted to do was kiss Chloe all night long and the morning after, and for the rest of her life. When Chloe pulled her in for another kiss, she was happy to welcome Chloe’s tongue in her mouth again

“Good night, baby” whispered Chloe against her lips before leaving.

Beca was lying awake in her bed; she could still feel the ghost of Chloe’s lips lingering on hers. She took her phone and started typing.

BEC ♡: I lied at trth o dre I dont have a tner for you

CHLO: Bec…

*CHLO IS TYPING*

BEC ♡: Im crazy abt yoy! youre my destiny

BEC ♡: you’re

CHLO: you jst gve me a heartattack yoi asshole1

BEC ♡: srry xD

CHLO: wnna cme here to sleep w me?

BEC ♡: we r drnk…

CHLO:  I jut wanna slp

BEC ♡: Any wll tease th shit out of us

CHLO: I don’t care

CHLO: I miss u

Beca didn’t really use much her bed in the Bellas’ house.

[shotgun--rider]

Love Your Neighbor - One

A Dean x Reader Series

PART ONE

Y/N just wants her neighbor to find some sense of decency and shut the hell up. Her so-called brilliant plan gets messy, though, when it turns out that Dean Winchester is actually kind of perfect, and maybe taking her friends’ advice wasn’t the best move after all.

Word Count: 2900

Warnings: Allusions to sex, Dean Winchester is a fanboy

Dean Winchester isn’t a bad guy. As far as you can tell, actually, he seems to be a perfectly normal, average, unassuming guy. You’ve shared a few elevators and gotten your mail at the same time, waved politely on your way to take out the trash, and your beater car lives next door to his pristine ‘67 Impala in the underground parking ramp. Considering that the neighbors in your last apartment almost blew up the building making meth, living next to a harmless, pie-eating contractor sounded like heaven when you signed the lease. 

There’s just one little problem. And, strictly speaking, it’s none of your business if Dean Winchester also likes banging everything with legs in a twenty mile radius. More power to him, really. It’s just that the walls are cripplingly thin in this building, and while you’re happy your neighbor has a thriving sex life, you’d rather not be forced to listen to it every single night. 

Laying flat out on your bed, clad in the least amount of clothing you can pull off while still being decent, you grit your teeth. It’s a scorching night in July and the A/C in your unit has given up the ghost, leaving you to sprawl out sweating, hoping in vain for a cool breeze from the fire escape. And somehow, in spite of the fact that moving two feet has you wanting to pant like a dog with heat stroke, Dean Winchester has found the motivation to work up a whole other kind of sweat on the other side of your wall. Loudly. 

The apartment you’re renting is a pretty cheap one, and you knew what you’d signed up for when you signed the lease. It works for your purposes, and it’s not like you have loads of spare cash lying around anyway. The issue with the tiny one-bedroom is that it only accommodates your stuff in one possible layout, and yes, that does in fact mean that your bed is directly on the wall you share with Dean. In fact, you’re pretty sure your apartments are mirror images of one another, which is only an issue when he’s railing Lisa two feet from your head and banging the headboard on your shared wall. 

‘Lisa’ has been around for almost a month now, which as far as you’re aware is a new record for Dean, and she moans like a porn star that’s trying too hard. It can’t possibly be natural, you’ve decided, because sure, sex is good, but nobody in real life is having sex that’s that good. And sure, you’ll concede that Dean is an incredibly attractive guy, from what you’ve seen of him, but you’ve learned the hard way many times that that doesn’t automatically make them good in bed. Which means Lisa is just being obnoxiously dramatic. 

You thump your head in frustration against your pillow, contemplating pulling it over your ears as a new round of moaning starts up. God, how does anyone have sex for that long, anyway? 

“Yes, Dean, harder...right there… oh, fuck, yeah, yes, yes, yes!” She subsides into unintelligible screaming, punctuated with the occasional lower-pitched groan and the shuffle-shuffle-bang of the bed frame against the wall. 

“Oh my god, yeah, I’m gonna come, please make me come,” 

Cursing under your breath, you sit up, adjusting the spaghetti straps of your tank top as they try to slide down your shoulder. “Nobody says that shit,” you grumble aloud, shuffling in defeat off of your bed and out to sit on the fire escape. 

It’s not any cooler out here, and you can still vaguely hear Dean and Lisa getting it on, but at least your bed is no longer vibrating. Leaning forward on the iron railing, you pull out your phone and send a vomiting emoji to your best friend. There’s no context needed; she’s heard you complain enough times to know exactly what’s usually happening between the hours of ten p.m. and midnight in your building. 

Kinda impressed with this dude tbh, Meg replies back instantly. I wish I got off that much. 

You answer her with an eye roll. The point is I don’t want to hear it

Just tell him to shut the fuck up. Or kill him. You know like a bazillion ways

Once, when you’d only been living there for a handful of weeks, you’d thrown a shoe at the wall between you in a fit of ill-handled rage. You’d followed that up with taking off your other shoe and repeatedly thumping the wall with the heel, just in case they thought the original noise had been an accident. 

The resulting blissful silence had only lasted for about a minute, after which it was followed by a bout of laughter, and then more enthusiastic sex. No, Dean Winchester was evidently not the type of person to back down after being told to shut the fuck up, and you’d never quite managed to get the courage to just attack him about his sex life in front of the downstairs mailboxes. 

That doesn’t mean, however, that you haven’t been thinking up subtler ways to deal with the issue.  And now, because living on the fire escape until October doesn't actually sound like a pleasant experience, you might just have the perfect excuse. 

The ‘67 Chevy that lives in the parking space next to yours gets periodically replaced with a slightly rusty old pickup, the words Winchester Contracting emblazoned on the doors. And it’s not like you haven’t seen Dean sporting paint-stained jeans and a bag of tools before. He’s clearly the obvious, convenient choice to ask about the A/C. And if you happen to interrupt his bang-fest while complaining about the heat, well, that’s just two birds with one stone. 

You don’t bother with shoes for the short walk down the thinly-carpeted hall, only realizing once you’re standing in front of his door that you’re not really dressed for this. That could only work in your favor, though, right? Maybe a barely-clothed girl showing up would send Lisa into a jealous rage and she would leave on the spot, rendering Dean mercifully single and silent. And maybe you just need to solve this so you can get some god damned sleep, you thought wryly.

Before you can change your mind, you knock sharply on the door of apartment 914, rocking back on your heels as you wait, straining your ears for any noise from within. For a moment, there’s silence, and then a tell-tale, high pitched squeal. Nope, they’re definitely still shamelessly boinking, as your old roommate Donna would have announced cheerfully. 

At this point, it’s just getting a little ridiculous. Clenching your jaw in anger, you raise your fist to pound on the door again, harder this time. You have a book deadline in two weeks, no A/C, and you just want some fucking peace and quiet. Clearly, the universe has just chosen to laugh at you instead. 

Resisting the urge to hiss aloud in irritation, you pound on the door once more, this time hearing soft voices from inside. There’s shuffling, a muffled yelp, some slightly uneven footsteps, and then the door swings open to reveal Dean Winchester, irritated, half dressed, and making no attempt to hide what he’s been up to. 

“What?” he snaps out, all green eyes and sex hair and bare chest, which somehow manages to short-circuit your very angry brain, leaving you stuttering in his doorway. Seriously, though, knowing you have an attractive neighbor and seeing him in nothing but a pair of sweats are two different things.

“Uh,” you mentally shake yourself. You didn’t come here to drool over him, you’re here to solve a problem. “Listen, I’m really sorry to bother you,” you start. You’re not really all that sorry, but you need the time to try to organize your thoughts. 

“Oh, are you?” Dean returns grumpily, crossing his arms over his chest and Jesus but that’s a lot of tanned skin and biceps right in front of your face. 

“Yeah,” you falter, “I just was wondering if you could maybe help me?” You were laying it on a bit thick now, but who could really blame you? “The A/C quit on me and I know you have that construction business…”

“Dean? Who is it?” That would be Lisa, evidently, coming to the doorway in a bathrobe and, unsurprisingly, looking stunningly beautiful. She blinks at you over his shoulder, pushing dark hair out of her face and giving you an uncertain smile as she looks over your tank top and skimpy sleep shorts.  

“Oh I’m sorry,” you somehow manage to keep the sarcasm out of your voice. “I didn’t mean to interrupt anything,”

“You’re not,” Dean says, and, behind him, Lisa raises affronted eyebrows. Maybe there is trouble in paradise. Filing that information away for later, you shift on your feet, pushing some of your still-slightly-sweaty hair off of your forehead. Dean seems to jolt at the motion, glancing back into his apartment and opening the door wider. “Right, yeah,” he runs a hand through his hair, doing nothing to quiet the wild spikes. “You said A/C? Lemme just…” 

Dean disappears behind the half open door, one bare foot still holding it in place, and you can hear him moving something around, saying something in a low voice to Lisa, who audibly huffs back like she’s annoyed. When the rest of his body reappears, he’s got a black Metallica shirt most of the way on (a shame, really), and he’s carrying a slim black canvas bag of tools. 

“--probably not gonna take long,” he’s saying to Lisa over his shoulder, and it occurs to you suddenly that this plan requires you to bring Dean inside your apartment. Which makes sense, obviously, given that you actually do need the air conditioning fixed, and as long as he’s doing that he’s not banging his girlfriend, but you’re kind of awkward at the best of times and this is probably going to require conversation. Picture everyone naked, Donna would say, but somehow, having seen him shirtless really, really doesn’t help. 

Resigned to your fate, you shuffle back to your own apartment with Dean following, and you wince at the blast of hot air greeting you as soon as you swing open the door. Compared to the hallway, it’s like stepping into a particularly miserable sauna, and Dean huffs a surprised noise behind you. “Damn, you weren’t kidding, were you?”

You show him over to the sad little A/C unit wordlessly, hopping up on your kitchen table and crossing your arms as you watch him squint at it. “Thank you,” falls from your lips belatedly, and you have to remember that for all your irritation with him, Dean Winchester is still, fundamentally, the kind of man who apparently lets his neighbors interrupt sex so he can fix their broken appliances in the middle of the night. “I know it’s really late…”

“S’fine,” Dean shrugs, neatly pulling off the cover to the air conditioning and going after something inside with a tool you couldn’t have named if your life depended on it. “This way you won’t have to sleep on the fire escape.” He smiles at you over his shoulder, those green eyes bright, and your retort about sleeping on the fire escape anyway because of him gets lost somewhere in transit. Not for the first time, you wonder if this is really the brightest idea you’ve had. 

“Still,” you say instead, “you probably don’t want to come home from work and do more work,”

“It’s really not a big deal, Y/N,” Dean glances back at you. “It’s Y/N, right?”

“Yeah,” you confirm with a little shake of your head. “What’d you do, read my mail?”

“No,” Dean says quickly, followed by a slightly sheepish, “Maybe. Look, the mailroom’s tiny,”

He’s not wrong, and since you initially collected his name from the moans through your bedroom wall, you’re not sure you’re in a position to talk. When you look back at him, Dean’s wearing a slightly hesitant, definitely-not-adorable look on his face, and you laugh softly, watching him break out into a relieved smile in return. And damn it, he wasn’t supposed to be funny. It’s far easier to vilify someone who’s only kindness has been holding the elevator doors a few times, because plenty of colossal douchebags still have surface-level manners. 

But now your A/C is humming contentedly, working overtime to compensate for its lapse, and you have your loud-ass neighbor to thank for it. Your funny, smiling, half-dressed-at-midnight neighbor who’s currently giving you a great view of his ass in sweatpants as he bends over to grab his tools. Fuck. 

“Thank you,” you get out when your brain gets back online, and you hope it was a brief enough lapse that he didn’t notice. “I might actually make my deadline now that I’m not dying,”

Dean raises an eyebrow at you, shifting to lean back on the wall. “Deadline for what?”

“I’m a writer,” you explain, shaking your head ruefully. “Which is why I live in a crackerbox apartment with shitty air in the first place,”

Dean’s green eyes perk up in interest, and that was hardly the reaction you were expecting. “Oh yeah? What d’you write?”

You uncross your arms and slide off the kitchen table, crossing the living room to pull a black-and-red hardcover out of your hanging bookshelf. “Murder books,” you deadpan, watching for a reaction as you flash him the cover, featuring a man’s limp hand lying in a pool of blood. There’s kind of a small part of you that’s hoping you’ll scare him out of your apartment, because now you’re not really sure how to get rid of him. 

Surprising you as usual, Dean’s mouth drops open shamelessly instead. He gapes at you like a very handsome fish for a few moments before his tongue darts out to wet his lip and then he’s tripping over himself, talking almost too rapidly for you to follow. “No freakin’ way! I didn’t...I mean, you’re Y/F/I L/N. You never have a picture on the jacket--” Dean trails off, a flush rising in his cheeks as he collects himself, only serving to make the freckles dashed across his face more obvious. It’s kind of, maybe, just a little bit cute. “I’ve read them all,” he blurts out, stuck somewhere between shy and kind of proud. “They’re...this is awesome,”

You can’t help but laugh a little, surprised but pleased with the reaction. Your books do fairly well, garnering a moderate amount of attention and the occasional creepy fan message, but Dean’s enthusiasm is...pure. He’s standing in your living room with wide eyes and an embarrassed blush creeping its way down under the collar of his t-shirt, and damn it you were supposed to be mad at him. 

“I’ll sign copies for you as a thank you for the A/C,” comes out of your traitorous mouth instead. “If you want,” 

Dean lights up like a little kid at Christmas, warmth spreading in your chest at his reaction. “That would be awesome. I mean, yeah. Yes, please. Thanks,” He says roughly. Dean swings the compact tool bag awkwardly, rocking back on his heels for a moment, and then he looks hastily back at your little air conditioner. “Well, that’s done, so…”

“Right,” you return quickly, suddenly painfully aware that it’s past midnight as you turn in the direction of the door. “I really do appreciate it, Dean. Bring me whatever you want me to sign sometime, okay?”

He’s still got that terribly endearing, vaguely-stunned expression on his face when you lock the door behind him. 

The air’s had a chance to start working while you were talking with Dean, and you end up spread like a starfish on your bed after he leaves, reveling in the cooling air and the blessed silence. It’s the best sleep you’ve had in months. 

Of course, because the universe and everything in it hates you with a mad passion, the reprieve only lasts two days. You’re sitting cross legged on your floor, scowling at your laptop and your misbehaving chapter, still cringing at the latest biting deadline reminder from your agent, when a soft whimper catches your attention. 

For a moment, you’re prepared to dismiss it, hoping for the first and only time in your life that your apartment has rats. Kinky rats. “Fuck yeah, oh my god, want your cock so bad!”

You flop on your back on the floor helplessly, pressing the heels of your palms into your eyes like that’s somehow going to make a difference. There’s a large part of you that just wants to shout through the wall that nobody in real life says shit like that when they’re having sex, but it probably wouldn’t do any good. “You have got to be kidding me,” you whisper aloud. 

Then again, you weren’t sure what you were expecting. Getting Dean to fix your air conditioning hadn’t actually involved addressing his stupidly loud sexcapades. Because, of course, the thought of bringing that up to him made you want to crawl in a hole and die of embarrassment. 

Defeated, you grabbed for your phone and pulled up your text conversation with Meg.

I need your help. 

[miruka-cioccolata]

“What if a reader accidentally hits one of the La Squadra boys with her car? Instead of calling for a ambulance, she freaks out and puts them in her car and drives home and attempted to care for them?” - asked by @jashin-priestess

Ohh, this was a fun one to write! I’m sorry for the wait, but I made it extra long this time~ thank you for sending in that request! ^^

(Under the cut for length!)

Risotto Nero:

You still don’t know how exactly you managed to do it, but apparently the shock made you develop superhuman abilities, because somehow you placed the huge 2-meter man you accidently ran over into the back of your car and drove back to your home with him.  

While you were preparing some cooling pads for his broken leg and bruises, you suddenly feel an icy shiver running down your spine. Turning around slowly, you almost drop the ice with a loud shriek: The man you had placed onto the floor just a few minutes ago in order to tend to his wounds is now kneeling in front of you with a knife in his hand that he points straight at your throat. His gaze out of red eyes resting inside pitch black sclerae is piercing right through you.

“Tell me. Where am I?”, the silver-haired man asks calmly and yet the underlying threat in his dark voice is undeniable. You swallow down an anxious cry and gather together all your courage to answer: “I…I brought you home since I kinda, uhm…I hit you with my car and I wanted to help you. I think yo…your leg is broken.”

For a moment the man keeps on staring at you, before his crimson eyes wander down to his wounded leg. Apparently, he didn’t even realize that he was injured until now.

Seeing him lowering his knife, you feel a confidence bubbling up inside you again and you finally allow yourself to take a deep, steady breath.

“Sorry for not taking you to a hospital”, you mumble, “but I sorta freaked out when I saw the blood on the tires, and I couldn’t even think clearly anymore so I brought you back to my place. I hope it’s okay…yeah?”

The man’s strange eyes still scare you, but despite his intimidating appearance, you move closer to him in order to have a better look on his injuries. His muscles visibly tense when you approach him, but he holds back with any movements. Apparently, he has concluded that you are of no danger to him, so he lets you take care of his leg with the cooling pads.

Some time afterwards the man even decides to break the ear-crushing silence between you two by saying: “Why are you helping me?”

“I feel really bad about the accident”, you respond in shame, “so I want to take care of your wounds. Really, it’s the least I can do.”

Risotto stares at you a tad longer in taciturnity before giving you a short nod.

“Thank you.”

 Prosciutto:

“Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god”, you mumble like a mantra under your breath as you try to carry the man you just hit with your car into your living room. Momentarily, you are simply glad that he isn’t that heavy so that it is easy for you to lay him down safely onto your sofa. The blonde groans lowly, eyes shut tight from the pain visibly coursing through his body.

“I am so sorry. I just…I didn’t see you standing there, really, It was so dark and when I noticed you, I hit the brakes too late, and I-“

Your mouth comes to a halt when you receive an angry glare out of blue eyes.

“Why did you bring me to your home then instead of the hospital? Aren’t you afraid of letting a stranger in without even knowing if he is dangerous or not? I could do horrible things to you and you wouldn’t even have the slightest chance to defend yourself! How fucking naïve can you be?”

The man’s words might have been harsh, but there was a concerned undertone in his voice, something akin to the scolding of a teacher. Upon seeing the intimidation present on your face, the blonde lets out a deep sigh.

“Well, it is how it is”, he says with much less vigour than before. “The hospital would have probably been a bad choice anyway. Too risky.”

You look at the stranger, questioningly tilting your head at his remark.

“None of your business.”

He presses his fists into the cushion of the sofa with clenched teeth to get himself into a sitting position, trying to carefully rest his leg onto the pillow you had fetched him earlier from your bedroom. You help him with the whole ordeal the best you possibly can.

During the crushing silence between you two, you finally ask: “So, uhm, your name is…?”

A stern look is thrown your way and you already brace yourself for a chiding retort, but instead he really does answer your question – his name is Prosciutto. How weird.

“Don’t worry, I am going to care for you until you can walk again. It’s the least I can do to make up for the accident”, you say to him while you put some cooling ointment onto his injuries.

Prosciutto opens his mouth to respond, but then closes it again after a moment of overthinking. Surely, he wanted to reprimand you again for your gullibility, however, he decided to let it slide. After all, he really could need some assistance with his wounds for now.

Formaggio:

“Okay so, you are…ouch-!”

“Sorry!”, you say as you dab the cotton drenched in alcohol onto the man’s wound. It would certainly not leave a scar (you think), but nevertheless you need to disinfect it.

“Ngh, never mind, I put up with worse in the past”, the man with the buzzcut says, flashing you a cocky grin, one that quickly melds into a pained grimace when the burning disinfectant meets his bruised skin.

“I gotta say though that I’ve never been the victim of a car accident. There’s a first time for anything, huh?”

You look at him – the man who had introduced himself as Formaggio to you earlier – in shock and you wonder how he is able to laugh at a time like this. Especially since you could have killed him right then and there with your car.

“I am sorry”, you repeat yourself, lowering your head in shame. “I’ll make it up to you, okay? I’ll treat your injuries the best I can, and you can stay here until you feel better. It’s the least I can do.”

Formaggio nods at your words, letting himself fall back into the sofa’s cushion with a yawn.

“Alright then, fine by me! But don’t be too good at your job cuz I could get used to a personal nurse!”, he says with a mischievous smirk on his lips.

Illuso:

You tried to be careful – really! – and yet you still handled his ankle too roughly, making the injured man on your couch cry out in pain.

“Fuck, can you be a little more careful perhaps!?”, he snaps at you.

“S-sorry”, you mumble in response, feeling even worse when you notice the man is grinding his teeth in agony from your treatment. “Can I do anything for you?”

“Yeah, there really is something you could do for me…say, do you have a mirror somewhere?”

You blink, confused about his request.

“Uhm, yes, it’s hanging right there-“

Illuso follows the pointing of your finger with his eyes, looking quite content.

“Ah yes, perfect. I mean…could you get me a glass of water?”

Nodding, you move into the kitchen to fetch the man some water, but once you return to the living room, you draw in a sharp breath.

He…he is gone!

Frantically you look around your living room for the slightest trace of the strange man with the dark pigtails, but there is no trace of him, none at all! It’s as if Illuso had only been a…well, an illusion.

Suddenly, you hear a small noise, something akin to a huff of exertion or pain coming from the mirror that hangs on the wall next to the sofa. Huh, how weird. Maybe you had just imagined that sound, your nerves were still playing tricks on you apparently.

 Pesci:

You watch the man on your couch anxiously as he tries to stretch his leg, only for him to let it drop back onto the cushion of your sofa with a yelp.

“Moving hurts too much”, he groans, trying to fight back tears from the seething pain radiating from his injured limb.

“I am so sorry! I didn’t see you there crossing the street and it was too late for the brakes to work”, you try to explain yourself, the guilt of your careless action making you sick to the stomach.

“Why didn’t you get me to a hospital then?”, the man asks, looking up at you with a pang of fear. “What a-are you gonna do with me now?”

“Well, I just kinda freaked out and then took you back to my place. Don’t worry, really, I’m just trying to help you!”, you add quickly when you notice that the man – Pesci was his name, if you recall correctly – eyed you with apparent fear, his hands slightly trembling.

“I’ll make sure to make you feel alright again! It’s my fault after all that you got involved in a car accident after all.”

Pesci gives you an uncertain look, clearly not too sure how to react to your offer. “That is, uhm, nice. I think. Thank you…” 

Melone:

You could almost cry from relief when the stranger on your couch finally opens his eyes. Well, it’s just one eye if you were exact, because his other eye was covered by a translucent mask and a curtain of lilac hair.

“Where am I?”, he asked, his voice still a bit drowsy. You couldn’t blame him for that, after all he had just woken up from an unpleasant encounter with the bumper of your car.

“You are in my house. I brought you here after I, uhm, after I hit you with my car”, you say, the last few words added very, very quietly. The man blinks two, three times, before he tries to sit up, only to sink back into the cushion when he feels the sizzling pain in his leg.

“Ah, I see”, is his only comment to the whole situation.

The man seems to contemplate about something, the gears in his heads working in pregnant silence, before he finally says: “Melone.”

“Huh?”

You stare at the man in confusion. Melone? Was he hungry or something?

“That´s my name. I think you ought to know now that I am already here in the security of your home.”

The man with the lilac hair looks up to you, his turquois eye throwing an attentive gaze at you.

“I presume you are intending to care for me then? Since you didn’t get me to a hospital for medical treatment?”

Well, he had a point! Panic had overtaken you the moment you decided to take the injured man back to your home instead of getting him proper treatment. So, you simply nod as response to his question.

“Di molto!”

Melone’s mouth curves upwards into a sly smile and suddenly you feel like taking this stranger into your home wasn’t a very good idea.

“You know what, I think I prefer your treatment over the hospital. You are the cutest nurse I have ever had the pleasure to meet!”

Ghiaccio:

“Why didn’t you get me to a fucking hospital? You hit me with your goddamn car!”

The loud voice of the man currently perched on your sofa makes you wince. Apparently, he isn’t all too familiar with the concept of ‘indoor voice’.

“I’m…I’m sorry, everything was just a bit much for me and you ran across the street without looking and I couldn’t stop the car in time and I panicked and then I-“

“Listen, I don’t need you telling me in detail how you fucking RAN ME OVER! It just happened an hour ago and I remember”, the blue haired man tried to sit up, but recoiled in pain when he tried moving his broken foot, “I fucking remember it well…”

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry”, you blurt out again for what feels like the hundredth time. In a fit of panic, you had tried to tend to the stranger’s wounds by yourself – a terrible idea in retrospective.

The snarling man on your sofa had grudgingly introduced himself as Ghiaccio and you truly couldn’t be mad at his foul mood, considering that you were the reason for his current predicament.

However, the prospect of you taking care of him until he could properly walk again was at first met with an iron resistance (and a plethora of excessive cursing), after a while Ghiaccio seemed to accept that he didn’t really have much of a choice anyway.

“Trust me, I will treat you well!”, you assure him.

His response hits you like a frosty blizzard: “I hope for your sake that you fucking will or else you’re gonna regret it.”

[golddaggers]

a lil bit jealous

pairings: thor x reader, peter parker x reader

warnings: hm v nsfw but hey you signed up for it when you followed me hahaha. semi-public sex, thor being possessive. i guess the rest you already know. oh. and unprotected sex. but really, just for fictional value.

a/n: so. i combined these two into one because they kind of fit? well. i hope the both of you like it. 

word count: something like 2,2k+

Thor knew. Oh, but he knew so well that he deserved that, to watch you, his beautiful princess, dance with somebody else. To whisper in his ear and share an affectionate laugh, dirty hands roaming over your body as you smiled, throwing your head back. He also knew you were enjoying teasing him like that. You could feel his gaze burning your skin, careful, restrained, God only knows until when.

It was his idea to keep things between the two of you. To lay low until it was safe to be open about the relationship. Thor never considered, however, that he'd feel bothered by a boy. Peter Parker was certainly way cheekier than he would've had him for. It didn't help that he'd been your boyfriend back in your late teens. A little before the snap. You'd been heartbroken, finding comfort in Thor's beautiful words, no doubt you became such good friends.

When everything was undone, he was so terrified that he'd lose you it brought him to the breaking point and, after two years, he confessed he was in love with you. The soaked clothes, lips. A wet mess. One you'd never untangle yourself from.

"You know, I think your plan is going to end badly for me," Peter mumbles, heat coming to his fair complexion. "Thor is one hundred per cent looking like he's going to smash me with Stormbreaker."

"He won't." You wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him to a hug. "You're my best friend, Pete. And that dumbass needs a little stimulation to come clean."

"Isn't it icky he's so much older than you?"

"I'm 21, not 15." An eye roll makes Peter laugh. "Plus there's not a single thing that's icky about that man."

"Too. Much. Information." Hiding your face on his chest, you muffle a chuckle. "He's coming over our direction, should I pretend I don't know about you two?"

Parker was clever, he'd figured out the two of you the moment he saw how protective Thor was over you during the battle. Sure. At first, you tried to disguise it as a mere friendship, that there wasn't much to it. You wanted to respect the aftertaste of his feelings for you. Though, deep down, you always knew his real thing was with MJ. You had rushed into this dating because being best friends made it seem like that was the right thing to do.

Subtly nodding, you cling to his shirt, feigning ignorance as a hand lands on your hip, softly pulling you away from Peter's arms. You meet a polite Thor, which is not exactly good news. By now, after a year together, even though it was a secret, you knew him well. When he was sad, relax, pissed. Anything and you knew. So did he. That was why he was calling bullshit on your innocent act.

"Sorry, kid, but I'm dancing with her now."

"Um, sure, Mr Thor." Peter is such a fanboy, you think, rolling your eyes at his nervousness. "Be safe."

"Thanks."

Once your friend is gone, Thor swoops an arm around your waist, you chest flush against his. The music was slow, not that it would matter, that man was never shy to do what he pleased. Which was why you could say you had engaged in some very public sex in a particularly hot afternoon at the beach. He pushed to one side the bikini bottoms and fucked the hell out of you while the people were in the water.

A shudder runs down your back when reminiscing on how well he had made you feel. You allow your hands to run down his shoulders, carelessly following the veins that popped on his bicep, your nose buried on his chest. Thor was wearing nothing but a white tee, the thin fabric allowing you to dwell in the scent that emanated from him. It smelt like that first rain after the drought. Like Petrichor.

“May I ask you something?” He’s weary, which makes you look up confused. Thor’s never weary with you. “And you will not be angry at me?”

“What have you done?” It’s a gentle whisper, letting out a little grunt as the rough of his beard prickles your palms, your thumb running along the line that separates the skin from the body hair. He doesn’t answer right away.

“Thor…”

“Do you, um… Care… For, well, Parker?”

The music disguises the laugh you let out, your face hitting his chest as you try to compose yourself. You couldn’t believe that it had actually worked. Thor was normally confident about himself, confident about what you felt about him. The fact he’d gained weight changed his perspective a little bit, just slightly. Sometimes he could get a bit self-conscious. But you’d never get tired of telling him how you found him even sexier. Manly. The sight of him naked dampened your panties like nothing else.

“Yeah, I mean, he's my best friend” You answer calmly, earning a shocked glare. “What is it? You know I do!”

Nostrils flared, his hand closes around your wrist, dragging you away from the dance floor and rushing you inside the first bathroom he could find. You’re taken aback, not knowing exactly what he was going to do. Perhaps you had exaggerated. Your mind comes back when he puts you on the sink with little effort, strength never affected, he still toys you around like a dolly. Then proceeds to pry your legs, fingers not shying from testing the water.

Thor groans when he feels the heat, pulsing. Claiming for his touch.

“You like it, don’t you?” There’s a ripping sound, your knickers destroyed. You clench, chewing your bottom lip while aching to be cared for. “You like when I bend you down and have my way with you.”  

“Y-yes,” Trying to keep balance, you put your hands on his broad shoulders, nodding weakly. “Oh, Thor…”

“So pretty moaning for me” He falls to his knees, yanking your bottom to finally savour your cunt, dripping, bruised-feeling for him. “So wet already, princess. How do you do that?”

“I, um, it’s you. You make me feel like that,” You mumble, miserably, holding back a loud, pornographic moan. “Think I don't notice your friend downstairs, your pants doing barely nothing to hide it? So hard and for me. Can't blame a girl for getting excited."

A groan slips as he takes in the taste of you, rough and demanding, your ass sliding so he could firmly grab your thighs, blue eyes looking at you like he'd eat you alive. The way his tongue swirls, smooth lips sending bolts of pure electricity across your body, you can't help the low moans, little pleasure-filled sounds that ignites Thor to get even hungrier.

Jesus. He's going to wreck you. So fully and completely.

Your fingers thread on his soft hair, tugging at the base whilst throwing your head back, the orgasm coming quicker than ever. If he was betting with himself about how fast he could make you cum, he was certainly winning.

Two thick fingers push inside and there's no way you could've helped the scream that fell. There's a smug grin on his face, which was still close enough for you to feel the feeling of his beard ghosting your entrance.

"That's it, princess." Thor murmurs, his thumb massaging the swollen bundle, bringing you closer and closer. "Don't hold it in. I want everybody to know you're mine and only mine, yeah?"

"Thor, shit. Imma'-" A third finger slams even harder, alongside the other two. It stretches you to a point you're no longer in control, your body rocking against his hand, seeking purchase. "God, so, so good!"

All it takes is the gentle touch of his lips on you again, fingers still buried to your end, pumping greedily. If he wasn't holding you in place, you'd fall, your entire frame shaking from pleasure, feet curling. Disjointed words slipped, you had no strength, nor mind to voice it out anything that made sense.

Back on his feet, you languidly watch him take place between your legs, opening them to a point that you never knew you could open. There was electricity flowing from him, stirring you to welcome all the size of him, swallow everything and become one.

"You're good?" His voice pitches low, pants and underwear pooling at his ankles, his dick in display, poking at your sensitive centre. You nod, hands grasping his forearms. "I need you to speak, princess. Say it."

"P-please, Thor. Fuck me." It's weak and breathlessly, but it's what he needed to enter you with a harsh snap of his hips, your pussy greeting his size with a clench, muscles still adapting to take all of that. "Shit. You feel so good inside me, stretching me, filling me."

"Hmm" Bottoming out, he thrusts back into you at ease, noticing your legs twitch, nails digging into his flesh, restrained little moans escaping. He can’t remember seeing something as beautiful as the mess of you writhing underneath him. “Perfect for me, my little girl takes me so well. So nicely.”

One of his hands sneaks up, bringing one of your breasts into his large hand, kneading, thumb grazing the sensitive skin, noticing the shudders that are crawling your skin, the way your head is thrown back and your eyes are barely open. His brain falters when he notices how good he’s making you feel. He loves knowing he can get you off so easily, that he breaks you apart like that.

The heel of your shoe scrapes his leg as you attempt to bring him closer, trying to sustain yourself enough to grab his shoulders, Thor chuckles, a thick arm wounding around your waist, pulling you up into his embrace. You moan louder than you should have when he slides deeper into you, your legs doing their best to stay wrapped around him, your own arms on his shoulders. This allows you to suck on his neck, tasting the salt slick skin, applying enough suction to leave a purple mark behind on his fair skin, hearing him groan, hands falling to your ass.

“Jesus.” The smooth rub of his lower belly on your nub was sending pleasureful waves through your body, each fuck of his hips into your velvet heat bringing you to cling harder into him. “You’re so good, dammit. Twice in only a few minutes?”

Thor smiles.

“I suppose.” His nose trails up your neck, lips brushing, both of you panting. “But I bet, I mean”

“I can’t believe you’re thinking about-” You are cut off when he speeds it up, your hips jerking to meet his. He puts you down on the sink again, skilful fingers circling the throbbing bundle of nerves and the others were too busy pinching one of your nipples. He was giving you pleasure from so many places you couldn’t even keep track. “Fuck, fuck, fuck”

“Tell me, you care for that boy, but could he make you feel as good as I do?” His words meet you roughly, a set of calloused hands grounding you down on the cold marble. “Could he make you cum like that?”

You shake your head weakly.

“Words, princess.” Blue eyes are staring at you with hunger, his face glistening from the pooling sweat. “Use them.”

“No, Thor. Nobody can make me feel as good as you do.” It’s too loud, too desperate, though he keeps smirking, proud of himself. Cocky. “I, uh, I…”

The sentence loses track as you fall into what feels like a peaceful sea, warming the tips of your toes, contracting all of your muscles then relaxing them all, your cunt swallowing him whole, pulling him to join in this blissful state of mind. You feel him spend himself inside you, you feel fill you up with his release, his breath ragged on your shoulder. It’s amazing, intimate. You could stay there forever, within his arms, feeling the adoration he has for you. The care he treats you.

Princess is way more than a nickname to him, he actually feels like he holds the responsibility to treat you like a princess. Like a queen. His queen.  

“That was-” You begin, still gasping. “Wow.”

“Oh yes. Wow indeed.” He pulls out, chuckling when he hears you groan. You jump down the sink, his cum leaking down your legs, wet and warm. “Should I get a tissue?”

It’s your turn to laugh.

“Yeah, I mean, not that I mind, but people are probably going to give us the stink eye. I mean, pretty sure the whole party heard us.”

“Not my fault you’re loud, princess,” Thor mumbles, falling to his knees so he can clean your legs and raw entrance with a dampen face towel he found. He can’t help but smile to himself, proud that you’re still throbbing from pleasure. “Beautiful. Mine.”

“I should definitely make you jealous more.”

There’s a wrinkle of confusion on his face when he looks up at you, still working the cool cloth along your pussy.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean-” Cupping his cheeks, you dwell on the feeling of his beard scraping your hands. “That I was teasing you so you’d finally admit we’re dating. I didn’t think it’d be like that, but well, it was good nonetheless.”

“You teasing little thing.” Thor grunts. “I suppose it was time for everybody to know.”

“Oi lovebirds” There’s a knock on the door. Tony’s voice sounding very angry. “You’re ruining my bathroom! And my party! Come out already.”

You and Thor exchange one last intimate glare, the both of you smiling joyfully.

“Ready to do this?” With hands intertwined, you give him a gentle squeeze.

“With you? Always.”

tags!

forever 

@sea040561 @momc95

marvel 

@frenfics @mrscutiefandobhaz

thor

@lancsnerd @odinson-barnes @rishlo @desia2 

[suicidalcatz]

DOG DAYS ARE OVER : CHAP 8

Pairing : Jake Kiszka x reader

Genre : College AU

Previous parts : Prologue ; Chap 1 ; Chap 2 ; Chap 3 ; Chap 4 ; Chap 5 ; Chap 6 ; Chap 7

Masterlist : Here

AN : Hi guys! I can’t believe I made it this far ! Last chapter did so poorly I’m having a life crisis, I hope you’ll like this one better, it’s the calm before the storm. I’m wondering if I should update more than once a week so I asked the lovely @brightonfleet and I’ll try to post on Wednesdays and Saturdays now, since the chapters are so smol. Thank you for your love and support, feel free to comment and send me messages, see you on Wednesday ! (Also the title isn’t clickbait this is my gift to you).

Chapitre 8 : Is he naked ?

One thing I never knew was that one day I'll be pissed at « Friday I'm In Love » by The Cure. My head felt heavy as I sat on the bed, eyelids still shut tight, budding headache waiting in the corner of my head for the perfect time to screw me over. I could feel the burning sunlight trying to attack my eyes even behind their curtains, bathing the whole room in their warm rays like they owned the place. It smelled like food, and someone hummed along Robert Smith's singing, so Mandy was already awake. Painfully stretching and rubbing my face, I rolled out of bed, carefully taking in the light in the room as I finally opened my eyes, trying not to trip on the covers. Yawning, I dragged myself to the kitchen to greet my roomate.

- Hey.

Mandy turned around when she heard my grunt, spatula in hand. The table was already set, with orange juice, bread and cutlery, which I almost knocked over while putting my elbow on the table.

- Hi dude. No offense but you look like a truck ran you over.

- Fuck you, my head hurts so much already, how come I'm hungover and you're not ?

As a response, she shrugged, looking like she herself didn't know the answer to that. But like the good friend she was, aspirine was alredy on the table next to a glass of water. Oh I remembered now, she probably wanted to apologize for her screw up yesterday night. I couldn't blame her nor get mad at her though. It slipped, it happened. And besides, I think we saved this whole situation by lying terribly and then drink some more. I could vaguely remember Josh holding out shooters for everyone and cook burgers in the middle of the night but other than that... my mind was pitch black.

- Where's Josh by the way ?

Swallowing a whole glass of water woke me up further and despite my stomach's complaining and churning, my appetite awaken too.

- He's sleeping on the couch, came the simple reply.

- What couch ?

Did we owned a couch ? No we didn't.

Turning back once more, my friend pointed something behind me with her spatula, motioning for me to follow the direction. Oh, so we did have a couch after all. And a sleepy curly head snoring on it, wrapped in a blanket like a burrito. Too many questions came to my mind.

- Okay, so since when do we own a couch ? And also Josh slept here ?

- We got out for a walk last night and found a couch so Josh could sleep on it when he wants to crash at ours.

- He plans to do that on a regular basis ?!

She shushed me hurriedly, standing still as Josh turned and moaned in his sleep. His clothes were scattered on the floor around him and on the worned out leather couch that creaked with his every movement. God I hoped no animals were living on it. Getting up, I stole a pancake from the plate next to Mandy, needing energy to register everything that just happened in less than five minutes. So what she's telling me is that we got so drunk we went who-knows-where and got back to the dorm with an abandonned sofa we found on the side of the road ? Just so Josh could sleep at our place. Couldn't he just bring an airmat or a sleeping bag, like a normal person ?

I had to admit my irritation was purely fake. This whole situation was so ridiculous it made me want to laugh more than anything, really. Going to great lenghts only so he could stay the night. Unbelievable, what a princess. It's with an amused grin that I studied his sleeping figure, peaceful and quiet. A rare sight.

- Is he naked ?, I half-murmured to Mandy.

She turned to me, then to Josh, putting her back to the kitchen counter next to me, intently watching him turn in his sleep before the blanket slipped and uncovered his bare ass in all its glory for the world to see.

- Yup, he is.

- Should've guessed.

Nodding to ourselves, we returned to our occupations, and I helped her with breakfast. Our sleepy guest sat with us only a few minutes later, with the covers hiding everything needed this time, devouring pancakes and chatting joyfully about last time and the day to come.

We didn't have school today, which was the main reason why the Christmas Festival was set to this day. And it also explained why students weren't that interested in coming. Even though it was a proven fact that we were all gonna party hard in the dorms after the concerts. Speaking of which, Josh had to perform today but wasn't stressed at all. In fact I never saw someone being this serene about singing onstage to a batch of people. He was talking about how it'll be amazing, and we'll be there, and they'll be rocking the school like it was no big deal at all. It truly amazed me, giving how nervous I was just presenting an assignment to the class. He ate a lot, babbled a lot, and then thanked us for everything and left. Time flew by fast after his departure.

I was too hungover to do anything more than lie in bed all day watching Netflix, let alone do homework. Mandy and I slept some more, and in what seemed like a minute later, had to shower and get dressed for the festival.

Much to my surprise, almost every department had their part to play to the Christmas school fest. The architecture dudes with the help of the carpenters students built cabins and decorated them with christmas lights and lanterns hooked on trees, the Music dept helped set the stage, Furniture Design peeps brought some tables and chairs they had left in the workshop (mostly projects refused by teachers), and Photography students as any other department invited a whole lot of people and bought alcohol for us all to enjoy. It wasn't crowded, but there was a nice amount of visitors nevertheless. A good amount of drugs too, judging by the familiar smell surrounding the school grounds. The stage was surrounded by wood cabins giving or selling beer, food, or cocktails, with stools or benches to sit, which were already taken by the time we got there.

We stood in the cold for hours, close to the heaters and the tiny hot dogs stalls, stuffing our bellies with junkfood in a vain attempt to warm ourselves up. We didn't know where the guys were, nor what their band was called. None of the twins were replying to their phones, so we were left with no clue as to when they were gonna play or if we could skip half of it and come back just for them.

- Can't believe the flyer said « free beer », grumbled Mandy while rubbing her arms.

- Yeah about that, I'm the one who asked for it to get removed, sorry.

Her hair whipped my face as she abruptly turned around to face me with a look of pure betrayal on her face.

- What ? Look at all the efforts they put on the festival, it's only fair they at least get some money out of it.

A lot of people brought their own booze to the party so they didn't have to spend a cent here anyway, we just didn't know enough folks to borrow from them.

- Screw that, she exclaimed before heading to one of the stalls.

Where was she going ? Should I follow ? What kind of crazy plan had she in mind ?

I saw her body leaning on the counter of a drinks stall where the barman looked overwhelmed by all those people calling him around, playing idly with a strand of hair while pretending to read the laminated menu just has her free hand got under the wood panel, fingertips caressing the handle of a huge beer keg. There was no way in Hell nobody would notice her stealing something so big, she couldn't get away with it. By the time I was facepalming while pretending I didn't witness anything at all, she came rushing to me with the keg in her hand and grabbed my arm, hurrying me to follow as we sank through the park.

- I can't believe you stole it, how the fuck are we supposed to drink a KEG ? Do you even know how to open it ?

She paused, letting the big barrel of beer clunk to the hard floor.

- I was kinda counting on you on this one, she said with a perplex tone. We'll find someone who can, don't worry.

I wasn't really worrying about that to be honest but oh well, now that we had it, might as well open it.

It turned out finding someone who could help us was more easier than I first thought, and since a lot of people had the idea of bringing their own keg along, nobody seemed to think it was weird we were carrying one. Now I wasn't a big fan of curing a hangover with more alcohol, but I got to admit it was a special night. And seeing everybody party without participating would've been a shame. That's what I told myself when I poured us another drink.

It was starting to get really chilly outside, so we stayed by the heater, taking turns to sit on the keg when our feet got too tired of standing still, listening to the bands playing, watching the christmas lights illuminate the trees and people sitting under them.

- Who's next ?, asked Mandy for the fourth time that evening.

Struggling once more to get the crumpled flyer out of my jacket pocket, I squinted my eyes, trying to read what band was next in the darkness of the night.

- Greta Van Fleet, I guess. Don't know her.

- Me neither.

Oh how wrong we were. I think my heart leaped in my chest when I saw Jake's figure enter the illuminated stage, followed by Josh, his tambourine, and their two bandmates. The lump in my throat came back, and as the first guitar notes were played it became impossible for me to either keep my mouth shut nor to take my eyes off of Jake. He looked so good. They all did, jamming and playing loud, smiling and having fun, but Jake. He was something else. He looked unreal. His unbutonned black patterned shirt revealed his chest and all the pendants that hung around his neck, bouncing to the rythmn of his body, while his hand recklessly attacked his guitar' strings. His face, so concentrated, like nothing in the world in that moment existed, a single drop of sweat running on his cheek, hair plastered to his forehead, some strands of it getting stuck at the corner of his gaping lips. That night he took my breath away.

- They're so good, muttered Mandy, taken aback too.

I could only nod, at a loss for words, barely having the capacity to register all the informations that were presented to me because it would mean I could miss a second of Jake playing. They all were simply incredible. You could tell they were putting their soul in their music, and it moved me in a strange way, changed me somehow, even a little. That drum solo was the most powerful I had ever witness, the skilled bassist made an amazing job of keeping everything together, and Josh's vocals would put to shame every damn diva on this earth. I think I died a bit when I saw Jake lift his guitar to put it behind his back and play his solo like that. Or if I didn't, I fell even harder for him. There was no turning back from the depths I was now. When Greta Van Fleet started performing at our school, I saw all the people surrounding us stop their activities to pay attention to them. That's how powerful they were.

Josh was in a bliss, we could tell by the spark in his eyes. He played the tambourine during solos, hopping on the stage like he was born on it, giving the crowd smiles and winks, and even blowing us a kiss. We waved at him, but my gaze kept finding its way to Jake like he was calling it back home. He was too busy to focus on anything else, drowning in his music, delighted by the sounds they were producing, barely realizing there were people cheering for them. He looked up from time to time glancing at his surroundings, and during one of them our eyes met. My heart skipped a beat, and he smiled, a pick stuck between his lips, eyes squinted with glee.

By the time they finished their set, my legs were shaking as if I was the one who just performed, but they didn't let us any time to catch our breath. A sweaty and barely dressed Josh jumped out of the stage to come rushing to us, holding us both in a tight embrace and giggling in our ears. He was talking excitedly about the show, how exhilirating it was, and bombarding us with questions about it and what we had thought of it. In the corner of my eye, standing on the stage, Jake was quietly picking up his stuff, putting his guitar back into its case with great care, chatting excitedly with the drummer. Oh fuck I wasn't mentally prepared.

- Are you kidding me ?, yelled Mandy who was holding Josh at arms' lenght. You guys killed it ! We absolutely loved it, you were the best !

- She's right, I chimed in, adrenaline kicking in. Why are you even in this school ?! Damn I wish I had recorded you, I kind of want to hear your songs again now.

Chuckling kindheartedly and hugging us some more, Josh thanked us a million times before settling down with us, helping himself to a beer he chugged before asking for another one. Still feeling starry eyed, I couldn't help focusing on the sweaty guitarist next to the stage, deeply lost in thought between his two bandmates having a conversation. Some people must've bought them drinks real fast because they were carrying red cups, still in their stage clothes with a coat put on top of it. Josh on the other hand... I couldn't look at his bare chest without scolding.

- You're going to catch a cold.

As much as his red velvet sleeveless jacket looked good, seeing his moist skin glimmering got me worried. We were in December, it was like -4 degrees outside, a few more minutes like that and he'll end up like the little match girl.

- Mama I'm too hot to catch a cold, came the reply with a smirk and a wink.

- Oh my Lord go put a coat on I swear to God Josh-

- Okay, I will ! But more importantly !, he said loud and clear while putting each arm around our shoulders. Tonight, my place, we're throwing an after party ! Ladies, please be my guests.

As backup to his words, Josh made grand gestures and a deep bow, taking our hands in his while I shook my head with a look of disbelief on my face.

- Only if you put on a coat.

[mysableeze]

the perfect delivery

a/n: my v possibly biased take on miyuki kazuya’s thoughts from the end of dna act ii chapter 42; spoilers if you haven’t read the manga!!! 

With the bases loaded and Ichidai’s clean-up coming up at the next at-bat, Kazuya’s thoughts come stumbling one after another: if Sawamura’s gutsy tenacity and headstrong will are enough to pull them through, if Sawamura is enough to plug in the gaping holes in defense left by Furuya’s unstable pitching – Can he really shoulder the weight of this pressure? He wouldn’t blame Sawamura if he crumbled; this scenario is pretty damned fucked, and he’s mentally prepared to give up at least one run but if Sawamura can overcome this… 

As Furuya jogs back to the dug-out, Kazuya turns to Sawamura. “We all know this is one hell of a situation to be thrusted into all of a sudden, but – ” 

“I’m fully aware of my duty, believe me,” Sawamura interrupts, surprising Kazuya, his gaze focused straight ahead on something else. Sawamura’s voice is loud as usual, but it possesses a firm, unshakable quality in them that makes Kazuya’s eyes linger on him for a moment longer before he follows his line of sight. This boy, eyes dark gold and jaw clenched tight, has his gaze set firmly on Ichidai’s fourth batter. 

An odd mix of unease and anticipation ripples through Kazuya. He lets the words slide back down his throat, unsure if they would do more harm than good. The rest of the team jogs back to their respective positions, and the atmosphere around them hangs heavy, tight around his throat, and if this isn’t an exciting bind to get out of Kazuya doesn’t know what is. 

Now, Sawamura, will you be able to deliver? 

As Sawamura tosses the rosin bag in his hands, Kazuya watches, keen-eyed, trying to study and predict Sawamura’s current condition. Despite himself, Kazuya can feel his sweat trickling under his catcher gear, his thighs burning with all the squatting he did the past few innings, and he has no idea what he can expect from this Sawamura right now. It’s a little unsettling how hard it is to read him. He can’t say he’s close to Sawamura in any way, but as the main catcher for Seidou, he’s at least attuned to the little quirks Sawamura does that would at least clue him in on Sawamura’s current mental state – but at present he can’t get anything off Sawamura at all.

Kazuya can’t help the rising shadow of a doubt that nags at him, because he has seen pitchers self-destruct on this very spot because of the self-imposed enormous pressure that eventually caves and buries them under. As bold as Sawamura is, he has no idea if he is ready for this. 

The circumstances can’t be described with a mere unfavorable, Ichidai poised to score the moment any weak pitches are thrown. In a more optimistic scenario, he would ask for a ball to check for Sawamura’s condition but he knows that that’s not Sawamura’s style – and that’s not his style, either. He doesn’t want to call for a ball that might set Sawamura off the wrong way, and ramping up on counts here isn’t going to do them any favors.

As much as he has control over the field, he’s well aware that a pitcher’s condition hinges very much on their mental fortitude. Kazuya prides himself on his widely-acclaimed nasty personality that extends beyond his daily life and seeps into the very essence of his playing: he lives to provoke the shit out of batters, to make them swing at pitches they usually don’t – to warp their sense of judgement and bend it to his. Underneath Sawamura’s loud-mouthed and stupidly brash facade, Kazuya knows that a similar perverseness resides underneath his skin. That, was what attracted him to catch for Sawamura even when he was just a fifteen-year-old brat who knew nothing at all. 

He just has to believe that’s enough. 

What they need to do most now is stop Ichidai’s momentum and he’s sure that Sawamura knows that too. They need to do a head-on battle with the fourth batter, and he hopes that Sawamura’s up for the task. Their gazes lock; Kazuya has settled on their strategy, and Sawamura seems to sense it as well. Sawamura takes in deep, measured breaths, waits for Kazuya’s sign with his eyes bright and fiery, determination rolling off him in caged, silent waves. It’s unlike any Sawamura he has seen before, and Kazuya is willing to throw in all his chips on that look on Sawamura’s face.

Sawamura nods and tugs down the rim of his baseball cap, exhaling behind his glove. Then he winds up his leg and his arm whips out from behind him, startling sharp, before his feet slams down on the mound in front of him. The ball spins, blazes a white furious path towards Kazuya, and even though it hasn’t yet reached him, Kazuya’s round wide in surprise and can tell the trajectory is perfect. 

A chill zaps down the spine of his back, the burn from exhaustion long forgotten, as the powerful pitch slams right where he wanted it to. The fourth batter doesn’t – couldn’t – even swing, and Kazuya absently notes the stuttering surprise by his opponent hunched over the batter’s box. The ball rests snugly in his mitt as Kazuya’s heart thumps furiously against his ribs, shell-shocked stare on Sawamura who defied his expectations, who exceeded his expectations, above and beyond. The stadium is the quietest it has ever been, the audience and the dug-out holding their breaths simultaneously before the umpire announces the result Kazuya already knows:

“STRIKE!” 

Right now, Sawamura is golden fire and sharp edges, mouth set in a firm determined line. He does not seem to be fazed by how he has practically just threw a perfect pitch, as he winds up for his next pitch that Kazuya signals for. His next pitch is as perfect as the first, breaking right into his mitt. 

As the third pitch – obviously right in the zone – slams squarely in his catcher mitt, cracking loud and clear, the stadium doesn’t even wait for the umpire’s announcement, drowned by the entire stadium erupting to an uproar of amazed shouts and hysterical cheers, the audience overwhelmed by the unexpected turnover of momentum that was regained by the second-year pitcher that is Sawamura Eijun. 

Kazuya’s skin keeps fucking rising, goosebumps prickling all over, muted by how every single one of Sawamura’s throws are right where he wants them to be. Kazuya can’t stop looking at him, Sawamura’s leg still half in his release position as a loud “Osu!” comes spilling from between his lips, eyes dark and ravenous, like he’s not satisfied, a predator hungry for more. An unwitting smirk unfurls across the length of Kazuya’s mouth, showing teeth. 

Always so… Kazuya doesn’t complete his train of thought as he flings the ball back to Sawamura. 

Sawamura is still surprisingly calm, now, like he’s aware getting one out here doesn’t mean that he has completely turned the tides, and he slides his eyes close to inhale deeply, fingers gripping onto the seams of the ball behind his glove. 

Right now, the seed for an eye-catching flower has flourished, way before Kazuya has expected him to. Sawamura has sprouted fiercely, determined and gold-eyed, and it sends shivers down Kazuya’s calves as he thinks about how he hasn’t even grown to his full potential yet. 

Before Sawamura, Kazuya has never thought of not having to mold his game-calling to suit the personality of the pitcher. It’s hard to find a pitcher who has the ability and guts to deliver Kazuya’s brand of baseball, and catchers shoulder the responsibility of accommodating to their pitchers anyway.

Mei comes to mind, but he wasn’t a diamond in the rough; he grew into baseball like it was second skin, nestling into the position of a pitcher like a baby sapling planted in fertile soil. It was fun, catching for him – but not exhilarating. Sawamura didn’t come close to that image at all last year, lacking ball control and the arsenal of pitches that Kazuya would love exploiting to fuck up the batters the best he could. Realistically, Kazuya has expected Sawamura to reach that stage when Kazuya’s probably graduated; now, though…

Kazuya is born a challenger, not raised a king.

Sawamura’s rapid improvement lights a fire in Kazuya’s chest, making it go tight. Sawamura has grown from a bumbling, bratty, loud-mouthed first-year to this, all blazing bright and fiery on the mound, jaw clenched tight and mouth set in a determined line as he draws into position for the next batter. 

The corner of his mouth curves. So this is the Ace I’ve been waiting for.

a/n: (dna act ii manga has spoiled SO MANY of my headcanons lol but IT’S OK BABY EIJUN’S TIME TO SHINE!!) hi guys it’s been a while but im here to revive my dead blog and if you have stuck with me all this while, i just wanna holler a SAWAMURA EIJUN THANK YOU!!!!!

if yall wanna yell about feelings, drop by my personal blog @fallibleflakes or hmu on twitter where i spazz about shit @sleepyflakes

[cursed-ice-spirits]

Rebecca’s First Year: Chapter 4

Chapter 4: The Devil’s Snare

Prev: Chapter 3

First: Chapter 1

Next: Chapter 5

A/N: My muse has been dead for so long skdfmkdsfk. Here’s the next chapter though!

TW: Slurs and panic attacks

BOOM!!

“THIS IS THE SECOND TIME YOU SET OFF A DUNGBOMB THIS WEEK, TONKS WHAT THE ACTUAL-- 10 POINTS FROM HUFFLEPUFF.”

“Not again,” Rebecca mumbled into her pillow. She reached for another pillow and put it over her head. “Fuck this.”

When she couldn’t go back to sleep, she let out a groan and sat up, pulling her shirt over her nose and walking out of the dorm. 

She just wants to nap dammit. After a long day of classes and Lockwood, she doesn’t want this taken away. 

As she walks down the stairs to the Common Room, she sees Jane Court screaming her lungs out at a very innocent looking Tonks.  Rebecca scoffed and looked away, going to sit down.

She never liked Jane. That girl seemed to have a stare that sees through your soul. Like a she-devil. It was sorta creepy. 

“Oi! Loner Lordy!”

Her face twists into a scowl when she hears the unbearable voice of Meadows and turns around. 

“What?”

Meadows, who was wearing a mask over her mouth (where did that come from???) shrugs and hands over a letter. “Snape told me to give this to you.”

“Oh goodie. I get to find out when my detention will start for totally blowing up Snyde’s cauldron, yuppie.” 

Meadows snorts, once, but walks away as Rebecca slowly reads the letter, then her eyebrows shot up in surprise.

“Lord, I have discovered evidence that you may have indeed been framed for exploding Snyde’s cauldron,” Rebecca reads softly out loud. “While it does not prove your innocence, it does cast doubt on my belief that you are willing to sabotage your classmates to look less incompetent.” Rebecca scoffed but forced herself to continue reading. “Bring me a jar of Pickled Slugs from the Potions Storeroom, and I will consider restoring your House Points, Snape.”

Rebecca raised her eyebrow. Huh, there are directions to the Potions Storeroom at the bottom of the paper.

Hmm… something fishy is going on. 

If she was a Slytherin, or this was from another professor, then she’ll have no reason to doubt.  

Sprout? Yes. 

(She’s so warm and kind and positive. One of the more tolerable ones for sure. She’s always telling everyone to come to her if needed but…

Rebecca isn’t ready to open up. Not yet)

McGonagall? Eh, maybe. She’s fair but she’s not a perfect teacher. 

(Not to mention, she tends to look down on students who aren’t as good at Transfiguration as others. Granted, Rebecca is decent but still…)

Sinistra? Don’t know, don’t trust. 

(Isn’t there a rumor that she’s having an affair with one of her students’ father? Who is married? Rebecca has no idea but she isn’t looking into it further. None of her business)

Binns? PFFFT. 

(That man, er, ghost is more likely to make her fall asleep than get her in trouble.)

Hooch? Nah, she won’t get in trouble. She’s a great flyer, she doesn’t need to sabotage anyone. It’ll be a waste of time. 

(Besides, that woman has eyes of a hawk).

Flitwick? Same for Hooch and even if she did get in trouble, she would trust it. 

(And forgiving. Didn’t even held it against her when she apologized).

But Snape? The one with a massive bias for Slytherins? Bold of you to assume she’s that dumb. She’s not as incompetent as he implies, thank you very much. 

She is not going to accept the bride just so it can go away. No, she needed a way to prove herself innocent.

“You’re not gonna go?” Jane asked, snapping her attention from Tonks to Rebecca, who was about to rip the letter in half. 

“Duh,” she snorted as she ripped the letter anyway. “Giving what he wants isn’t going to prove I’m innocent. I can make up the points easily.” Rebecca got up and walked out of the Common Room. “I’m going to get a witness to prove me innocent. Besides, giving Snape a hard time is just a plus.” She may be Loner Lordy, but at least third quarters of the student body can unite with her on their hatred of Snape. 

--

Chiara is a literal goddess and you can’t change her mind. 

Forget slightly more tolerable, this girl rose along the ranks of her list of Potential Allies (wasn’t much really) after she immediately agreed to be her witness and not only came along, but also convinced Snape that it wasn’t her who blew up Snyde’s cauldron. 

The constipated look on Snape’s face as he admitted that the evidence points to her not being the culprit only adds to Rebecca’s delight. 

The strange part was that he wasn’t the one who sent the note. In fact, he denied sending a letter and Rebecca, not finding any sign of him lying (or any reason at all, really, because why would he?), gave him the pieces of the letters so he can repair it and get a look at who faked his signature and punish them. 

(However, if they were a Slytherin, she doubts he’ll punish them. No, she knows he won’t punish them. At all. That man seems to favor them a lot. 

Ugh)

“Thank you for covering me, Lobosca,” Rebecca sighed as they exited the classroom. “The Professor seems to dislike me for whatever reason.”

Chiara patted her shoulder and smiled. “Not a problem. Anything to help.”

Rebecca refrained herself from frowning as she waved Chiara goodbye. She doesn’t understand how anyone can be so selfless and get nothing in return. A long time ago, she would do the same for her family but now? She’s not too sure. Not after all she went through. 

(Even so, she remembers her birthday present and touched the hidden knife necklace under her shirt.

Who knows. Perhaps she’ll defend her allies furiously one day. 

But for now? She’ll work alone). 

She lets out a soft sigh and goes to head back to explore. 

Chiara is interesting. Maybe they’ll be allies. Maybe not. 

Regardless, Rebecca senses she’s hiding something. But with her brother and the Vaults, she figured she doesn’t need another mystery to solve. Her life is already a train wreck. 

—

Remember when she can’t seem to have nice things?

That applies to now. She was just helping out the DADA Professor, who is very new at the job (which is a pity, because he’s a very nice man), and heading back to the common room when she was cornered by Lockwood and co.

Brilliant.

“Well well well,” Lockwood smirked. “If it isn’t Loner Lordy. Having fun after dealing with good old Snape? I hope you lost more points. That’s all you’re good for anyway.”

Not fazed at the old nickname or the insults (she’s far too used to them thanks to her uncle), Rebecca sent him an unimpressed look. “What is it now, Lockwood?” She spat out. 

She memorized their faces and slashed it away in her memory so she can put her memories into a vial, hand it over to Snape, and tell him to shove it.

She has a feeling who framed her now, thanks to this conversation. How else did Lockwood know otherwise? He isn’t in her Potions class and she wouldn’t put it past him to put the blame on her. 

“No reason,” he said, that infuriating smirk on his face widening. (She wants to punch it straight off.) “I hope you’ve learned your lesson for soaking me in water and getting me in trouble with Snape.”

(Oh great, she knew that stunt was going to bite her in the arse but she didn’t think it’ll be this soon)

“It was you,” she said matter of factly. “Good to know.” She folded her arms and glared. “And for your information, I simply swayed out of the way. You were the one with terrible aim, or else that spell would have hit me anyway.”

Rebecca smirked at the sight of his red face and tossed her hair over her shoulder. “So really, It was your fault for getting in trouble.”

She went to push past him, only to be grabbed. 

“Not so fast, Lordy,” Madelyn Sanders sneered, shoving Rebecca back. “You aren’t going anywhere.”

“Oh by the heavens’ sake,” Rebecca scowled. “I don’t have time for this. Can you people please leave me alone?”

“I don’t see classes going on right now,” Lockwood said, sending her a mocking look as Elias Hayes shoved her again, earning a death glare from the shorter girl. “So you have all the time in the world.”

“Places to go, places to be,” she said, looking around her. She was surrounded. Shit. “If you’re here to rag on my brother again, I heard enough of that from Meadows.”

Raymon Chung smirked at her. “We’re just making sure you’re not gonna ruin Hufflepuff’s reputation like Jacob—“ she resisted the urge to snap out Don’t say his name! — “did to Slytherin, sweetheart.”

“Don’t call me sweetheart,” she snapped. “I’m not your sweetheart. And I’m not going to. I’m not my brother. I didn’t ask to be here.”

“No one wants a gook like you wandering around Hogwarts either, yet here you are.”

Rebecca flinched violently from shock at the slur. “Excuse me?!” The shock faded and she squared her shoulders, scowling darkly. “Say that again, I dare you!”

“You heard me,” He said, smirking at her reaction as he shoved her. “Gook. Know what it means? It means slut. I bet that’s what you are. Soon you flounce around, flirting with boys and girls alike and getting into their pants. That’s what your brother did and I have no doubt you’ll do it too.”

“That’s not me一 I’m not like my brother!” She snarled. “Nor does he get in everyone’s pants! Even he’s not that much of a dick to do that!”

“People say otherwise,” Belinda Murray sang as she shoved her around the circle. “I hear several girls chattering about how Jacob was so so sweet!” she mocked in a high pitched voice. “It’s a shame he went mad!”

“Shut up!” Rebecca screeched, shoving her back. “Shut up shut up shut up! My brother is not like that! He has more honor than that! Stop spitting lies with your damn mouth and keep it shut!”

“Can’t shut up what’s true,” Hayes raised an eyebrow, a brief smirk on his face as he gave her a shove. “All the talk from the older students say otherwise.”

“Well, they don’t know any better,” she hissed. “They don’t know my brother. They never lived with him!”

Then she shuts up. Why is she defending her him?

“Aww, she wants to defend her mad brother,” Murray cooed. “Come on now, let’s teach her lesson not to stand up for Death Eaters, shall we?”

“Hey, put me down!” Rebecca shrieked as she was grabbed around the waist by Chung and lifted into the air. “Let me go now! I don’t need you to teach me a lesson— LET ME GO!!”

She bit and scratched and kicked, screaming profanities at them as Chung carried her somewhere, but no matter what she tried, she wasn’t put down. 

At least until she heard a door open and she was thrown into a dark room. 

“Have fun, Loner Lordy!” Lockwood’s mocking laugh was the last thing she heard before the door closed, leaving her in darkness. 

“Let me out!!” She screamed, lunging to her feet and banging on the door. She tried the door, only to discover it was locked. “Let me out let me out let me out!!!”

Fear seemed to seize her from the inside out as she looked around. She sucked in air but can’t seem to catch her breath. Her heart thundered in her chest as she let out another cry and banged her fist on the door one… more… time…

She can’t breathe. Try and try as she might, she can’t fucking breathe. Her chest hurts and she feels like a hand is wrapping around her throat and choking her until she was gasping for air and screaming for help. Her vision disfigured, as if she were looking through a fish-eye lens.

She wanted out. 

She was so focused, so focused on trying to breathe, that she didn’t realize she was being dragged away from the door until something was squeezing her limbs and torso. She curls into a fetal position, squeezing her eyes shut and letting out another sob. Her breath shudders out of her mouth and she tries to suck in air…

“M-Mum…”

The door opens and light shines brightly. She flinched as she was suddenly released, before she was picked up by giant hands and pulled out of the closet. 

Light shines on her eyes and she wheezes, registering where she was and starting to kick and lash out, screaming and sobbing. Hands held onto her and a voice spoke:

“Hey now. Yeh safe now. I got yeh.”

A giant of a man, Hagrid, was speaking to her as she was slowly set down on the ground and a cup was placed into her hands. Another pair of hands, much smaller than the ones that took her out of the closet though, covered hers. A face appeared before her, looking concerned. 

“Is she going to be okay?”

“I got her, Diego, don’ worry. Go back ter yer Common Room.”

The newly dubbed Diego looked at her, looking hesitant, but relented and let go of her hands. Through her disfigured vision, she saw him walk away, before turning and latching onto Hagrid with one hand. 

“Easy now. Try ter focus on five things yeh can touch.”

The cup. His arm. Her necklace. Her black earrings. His chest. His coat.

“Four things yeh can see.”

He kept this up until her breathing was more even as she was clutching to the cup like a lifeline. She was shaking less so but… she’s okay.

“There we go,” Hagrid said proudly, “Let’s get yeh outta here… maybe yeh can explain what happened ter yeh…”

--

“They did what?!” Hagrid exclaimed when she finished explaining. They were at his hut. She was sipping the hot chocolate Hagrid got for her when they stopped by the kitchen. “What are yeh goin’ ter do?!”

Rebecca set down the hot chocolate and stared at her hands. 

That’s right. What is she going to do?

They are Gryffindors. They won’t be harmed. Even if she tells someone, Dumbledore will most likely give them a slap on the wrist and let them go. Frustrating, but true.

Going to Dumbledore is out.

Nobody likes her. Nobody will believe her. She’s a Grey Witch, which means a Dark Witch to some ignorant fools. And even if she wasn’t from a Grey Family, she’s the sister of Jacob Lord. The one who is said to be just as mad as her brother. 

Revenge is the only option left. 

Make them pay for almost killing her. Make them pay for throwing her inside in the first place. Make them feel her pain.

But…

Is it really worth it? To let it eat her up from inside until she does get revenge? To get revenge until she finds out it doesn’t satisfy her as it should?

She frowns and looks up at Hagrid again. He was looking at her inquiringly, brow furrowed, and she lets a bitter smile spreads over her face at last. 

“Nothing.”

[scribeofmorpheus]

Dangerous Liaisons part 3 (Billy Russo x Reader)

Part One, Part Two

A/N: This entire chapter was inspired by the glorious serious Billy gif below. Also, the timeline for this fic takes place before Iron Fist but after Daredevil s2, which is between November 2015 and February 2016. This chapter gave me so many problems, I had hit a stone wall and was torn between an Overprotective Billy and a Jealous Billy. In the end, we know which one won out. (I’ll add the jealous Billy scenes in the deleted scenes page later!)

Words: 3259

Warnings: Ward is an Ass! Slight NSFW

Summary: An overprotective Billy, an overstepping Ward Meachum and an encrypted file lead to quite the eventful day.

(Gif is mine)

You burst in through the office doors making your way to your boss’s office. You were a few minutes late to a meeting with a prospective client you had been asked to help secure thanks to your late night antics. The only reason you were even fashionably late was thanks to one fantastic maniac of a cab driver.

"How's it look?" You asked the receptionist.

She gave you an empathetic look and warned in a droll voice, "He's in a mood," she was referring to Ward. Just fucking great! You were in no mood to deal with Ward's temper tantrums this morning.

"Just my fucking luck."

You made your way into Ward's office and excused yourself when you had interrupted him mid-pitch. The clients didn't seem completely impressed by what he was selling. Ward gave you a look of displeasure as you made your way to the table.

"Ah, let me introduce you to the woman who will be heading this proposed project once it gets off the ground, Miss Y/N Y/L/N," Ward introduced you to the group of overseas clientele mid sales pitch.

You walked around Ward who whispered menacingly, "You're late." No one else heard it, but he had made his point. He didn't like being left to clean up your mess, he was probably seething. It took every ounce of his self-restraint to keep from giving off any visible signs of his anger. You knew him well enough that a simple clenched jaw and balling of his fists set off the alarms in your mind to keep from interacting with him after the meeting.

"A pleasure. Sorry I'm late, traffic." That was a lie, but it was New York, you could blame being late to anything on traffic.

You had taken over from Ward and started relaying the details of the current contract you had set up between Rand Enterprises and an overseas company looking to sell their shares in favour of being converted into a new global group of Rand Enterprises. The pitch had started off a bit rocky but once you were in your own headspace you had no fears of the proposal being rejected. The meeting dragged on for hours and every once or twice you would see your phone screen light up as someone tried to call you, Ward was not too happy about your phone distracting from the pitch even if it was on silent.

It had taken you nearly three hours but the contract was finally signed with no need to make any amendments to the original deal. Everyone left the table feeling pleased with how smooth everything had gone. Everyone except Ward that is, who was still trying hard not to let that vein on his forehead pop.

"A pleasure doing business with you. I'll be sure to draft the first legal buyout draft and send it to your offices by tomorrow," you thanked the businessmen as they made their way out of the office.

"I hope ours will be a profitable relationship," Ward added.

When it was only you and Ward left in his overly large office he walked round to you, hands folded, chest puffed up and nostrils flaring. He was not holding back anymore.

"How dare you be late today?" He barked at you, "Did I not make it clear that it was imperative we land this deal?" He swept a hand through his shiny hair before taking a breath, a poor effort at calming himself down.

You bit the inside of your cheek to keep from making matters worse and egging his tantrum further.

"What the fuck was so important you'd risk missing this meeting for? And don't feed me that bullshit about traffic."

You were getting sick and tired of his attitude, but what could you do, Ward was your boss and to be frank you'd rather deal with his temper than your father’s judgement if you lost your job.

You looked Ward square in the eye, he found the raw intensity of your angry gaze discomforting. He was forced to look away from your eyes as he fidgeted about, shuffling from one foot to the other. He wasn't just angry but agitated too. He looked to be sweating a little as well.

"It's not bullshit. This is New York, I chose the wrong cab and left home later than I should have. Hence, the traffic," You shot back. "Besides, I closed the deal, didn't I?"

Ward loosened his tie and went to plonk himself down on his office chair spinning it to face the window that overlooked half the city. His head hung back on the neck rest.

"Just draw up the paperwork. I expect it on my desk in the next two hours."

Two hours? He was being unreasonable and you knew it was his way of punishing you for being late. It wasn't impossible to have the paperwork done by then, but it was going to be a bitch.

You grabbed your phone and bag off the table and made your way to the door, "I'll get right on it."

"Next time… turn your phone off during meetings. I need your full attention when you're here," Ward's words were no longer coated in angry undertones, it was different this time. His words sounded proprietorial, it made you feel uneasy around him.

You didn't know what to say so you went with something that sounded detached and professional, "I apologise for the oversight. I thought I had turned it off earlier."

You walked out of the office before you could give Ward the chance to say anything else, itching to place some distance between him and yourself. You hated having to deal with Ward on legal matters, you preferred working with his sister, Joy. She may not have been as joyful as her name suggests, but she was less of a handful.

Back in your office, you began to type up the legal documents Ward had requested -more like ordered- of you. As your mastered hands typed away at the keys, your phone's screen became illuminated, someone was calling you. You looked at the caller ID and to your utter disbelief, it was Billy calling. You needed to learn to use a password for your phone.

"Did you program your number into my phone this morning?" You sounded both impressed and sceptical.

"You should really make it a habit to put a password on your phone. Besides, I wasn't sure when I'd see you again, so I took the initiative," Billy's voice was low and soothing, the stressful events of the morning quickly forgotten as soon as his voice met your ears.

Instantly, you blood turned to ice as panic set in. If he had access to your phone, could he have seen the sniffer device? You rustled through your bag for a second and then let out a sigh of relief. In your panic, you had forgotten Cecil had disguised your sniffer device to look like a turtle-shaped USB drive.

Thank you, Cecil, you praised inaudibly.

"Y/N, are you still there?"

You cleared your throat, "Yeah, sorry. I'm a bit preoccupied with work, I'm practically buried under a mountain of paperwork," you groaned.

Billy chuckled, "Want me to come save you again?"

"Tempting… but I think I can manage to save myself this time," you said brazenly. A cheeky smile spreading across your face.

"I don't doubt that. How about you save me from a boring night alone by letting me take you out on a proper date tonight? We can get to know each other a little bit better over a few drinks, seeing as how we didn't spend a lot of our time together… talking."

He was sly, you'd give him that, a part of you wanted to see him again, be near him again. You felt your resolve failing as you opened your mouth and let the words spill out.

"I get off work at five. I'll text you the address. Goodbye, Russo," With that, you hung up the phone and dialled for your secretary on the office phone.

"Yes, Miss Y/L/N?" Gavin, your secretary, answered.

"Hey, Gavin. Can you call the IT department and tell Cecil to come up here. My computer froze again."

"Right on it boss-man," Gavin said in a peppy attitude.

You cut the call and continued working on your paperwork, your computer working in perfect condition.

*** You were halfway done drawing up the documents when Cecil walked in looking like death itself. His messenger laptop bag was strapped across his skinny chest and his long bony fingers clutched onto a disposable coffee cup like it was some ancient prized treasure. His curly dark hair was ruffled and his eyes had circles moderately the same colour as his hair: dark.

You eyed him up and down, the poor kid looked like he'd survived a few rounds with the grim reaper.

“You look like shit."

Cecil gave you the stink eye before walking around your desk to lean against the table next to you, he made sure to move some office equipment around to make room for him to plant himself atop your desk lazily.

“Someone rudely awoke me last night. I'm an insomniac which means whatever precious few hours of sleep I do get should not be disturbed," He droned out.

You pulled out the turtle shaped drive and handed it to Cecil, "Disguising it in this-" You pointed at the drive, "-was a good idea," you applauded his ingenuity.

Cecil took a large swig of his coffee before extending his hand to you. You placed the drive in his palm and watched him twist it and turn it this and that as though he could process information simply by staring at a storage device. You smirked at him in amusement.

Cecil never ceased to amaze you. From his terrible flat humour to his constant sleep deprived state, he reminded you a lot of your brother. He was about the same age too, only less chipper or emotionally weighed down. Of course, the drawback of that was the fact he was cursed with have permanent bags under his eyes, you don't remember a single day where Cecil looked well rested.

You felt the poisonous sting of grief threaten to make itself know, being around Cecil had revived all your repressed emotions towards your brother. And yet despite the fact you tried to close yourself off to him, treat him with indifference, he had a way of lighting up the room even if he only ever wore black clothing and sported a perpetual blasé look.

You balled your fists to distract yourself from the emotional pain by focusing on the physical pain of your nails digging into your palms. If Cecil had noticed your subtle emotional break, he hadn't bothered to comment on it.

He pulled out a pair of large noise-cancelling headphones and placed them over his ears. The sound of muffled metal could be heard faintly coming from his headphones. You grimaced at the discomfort your own ears would have suffered had that been you.

Cecil spun around and then reversed towards your large glass office doors, "I'll text you once I sort through the data. Don't call me, it will be ready when it's ready and not a moment earlier."

You shook your head at his terrible social skills, musing at how freeing it must be to have no filter for your words or have to pretend around people. You mouthed a heartfelt, "Get. Some. Sleep" at the kid and watched his give you a Vulcan salute before disappearing down the office hallway.

***

Your two hours were nearly up when you had just finished proofing the paperwork for Ward when the man himself waltzed into your office, airs about him like he hadn't just had a moment of distress earlier.

"Mr Meachum, I was just finishing up the first draft. I was going to ask Gavin to deliver the documents to you," you affirmed.

Ward seemed taken aback for a second, fixing his tie in place. When he finally caught on to your meaning he cleared his throat and pinched his nostrils, taking a deep snort like inhale, "Ah, yes, the paperwork. That's not actually why I came down here."

"Oh?" Now it was your turn to look on in confusion. Ward fiddled skittishly with his hands, not knowing whether to fold them or lean them on your desk, he settled for the former.

"I wanted to apologise for my behaviour earlier. I was just wound up about this new deal and you are one of the few people I depend upon to be on their A-game. I'm sorry for overstepping my boundaries. I shouldn't have lost my temper with you," Ward stepped closer to you, almost like he was about to make a move.

You watched him cautiously, not entirely sure on how to process his apology.

"It's alright, don't worry about it."

You quickly hit send and your mail was sent to Ward and Joy's collective inbox for them to read over the contract. You stood from your chair and grabbed your small bag off the ground as you made your way towards the door. You hoped Ward would pick up on your not-so-inconspicuous indication that you were trying to bolt before this conversation got any more uncomfortable.

He didn't.

Instead, he stepped in front of you, looking down with a sleazy smile, "Listen, how about you join me for a drink? Least I could do to make up for being such an asshole earlier."

You kept your composure and held yourself steady, you had dealt with many unwanted suitors who didn't know when their advances were not welcomed. However, Ward was your boss, you had to deal with this in a muted manner, make him become disinterested, "That won't be necessary. Besides, I already have plans."

Something in Ward snapped and his demeanour changed from unprofessional to angry, "Is that the reason you got those personal calls during the meeting this morning?" His temper was getting worse by the minute. What was his deal?

"I don't see how that is your business, Ward," You dropped all pleasantries and glared back at him. You had never called him by his first name and the blatant disrespect of it had enraged Ward further.

Ward grabbed your forearm and leaned in closer to your face, nostrils flaring and veins protruding, you were prepared to sock him in the jaw when you heard Gavin's soft voice stammering worriedly in the distance, "S- Sir, you can't just- You need to make an appointment. Sir!"

You lifted your head to see Billy standing tall and menacing in front of both you and Ward. Poor Gavin looked at a loss for words as he stood behind Billy completely dumbfounded.

Billy's jaw clenched and his eyes narrowed. His dark eyes turning black as he gave Ward a lethal stare. If looks could kill alone, Billy could have easily mastered that deadly skill. Something about the severity of his gaze burned you, for the first time in a long time you were reminded what fear felt like. Cold shivers crept up your spine and Ward showcased his own look of dread.

"Let. Her. Go." Billy glowered. His voice a tone darker than you remembered. Ward complied, but then he turned to stare down Billy instead.

"Who the hell are you?" Ward barked.

"Billy Russo, who the fuck are you?" Billy glared at Ward's hand still clenching your arm in a death grip. Ward loosened it and you snatched your arm away.

"Ward Meachum, the CEO of the building you’re standing in," Ward said with an air of entitlement.

Billy took a step closer, his figure towering over Wards. He pinched his nose and inhaled deeply, "So what, that gives you the right to manhandle your employees?"

"That gives me the right to do whatever the fuck I damn well please."

Both men glowered at each other. They looked like feral beasts about to claw each other to shreds. Impeccably well-groomed feral beasts.

Billy standing up to Ward was enough to light that fire within you instantly, you gulped at the tense moment unfolding before you.

Finally, you took it upon yourself to diffuse the situation before more damage could be done. As much as you wanted to punch Ward in his perfectly polished teeth, you needed this job, which meant Billy couldn't fight your battles for you. Not that you needed him too.

You placed your hand on Billy's chest, ushering him out of the office, "Billy, let it go." He didn't budge an inch. "Russo!" You snapped at him garnering his attention. His eyes snapped to yours faster than lightning.

"Whatever you say," Billy gave you a reassuring smirk, but his fists were still balled up on his sides. As he turned around to leave your office, he shot Ward one last menacing glare.

"Have a pleasant day, Mr Meachum," you said, tongue in cheek. Ward simply scoffed and clenched down on his jaw hard enough you could see his vein straining against his temple.

On your way out Gavin looked like he was about to say something, clearly, he was beyond shocked at witnessing that little power wrestle between Billy and Ward, "That's quite alright Gavin, you're excused for the day," you said.

***

"How can you work for such an asshole?" Billy's hands were locked in a death grip on his steering wheel. His nostril flaring slightly.

You let out an ironic laugh, "Don't most people?" Billy didn't find your comment amusing, he was too tightly wound. "Hey-" you whispered as you pulled his face to look at you, "Anyone ever tell you how hot you look when you’re angry?"

Billy smirked, "Well, now they have."

"Thank you… Though, I hope you know I didn't need you to come to my rescue. I can handle myself."

"I know you can. If you don't take shit from me, chances are you don't take shit from anyone else."

"Glad we're in understanding then," you said as you pulled Billy closer for a kiss.

The kiss soon turned impatient and needy, both of you letting out lewd sounding pants. You were already wet from watching Billy be all aggressive towards Ward, you knew you couldn't last the rest of the night and you certainly didn't want to wait either. In fluid movements, you slid your panties off, manoeuvred around his gear shift and pulled up your pencil skirt to straddled him in his seat. Billy chuckled.

"Someone might see," he said, though he wasn't protesting. A suggestive smirk plastered on his godlike features.

"I know," you breathed out before you unbuckled his belt, unzipped his pants and began to fuck him in his extremely expensive car in the underground parking lot. His leather seats let out moans of their own every time you gripped them for stability.

Part Four is HERE!

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[bastillewolf]

Last Winter (Bucky/Reader/Steve) - Chapter I

Pairing: Bucky Barnes/Reader, (in later chapters!)Steve Rogers/Reader

Summary: Even though he claims to be as tough as he appears to be, James Buchanan Barnes doesn’t have a skin made of metal. While he has to work hard for his money, keep his best friend from picking a fight and his sister protected, he feels as if the slightest breeze might be able to push him over. That is until a stranger picks an interest in him and helps him find his way back home. Whatever home feels like.

Warnings: (Not all apply to this chapter) Strong female characters, mentions of violence and death, angst, mental health issues, future sexual content

Notes: Please let me know if you prefer an original character or a reader-insert, it means a lot to me. I’m never really sure how to write down what the reader feels considering everyone reacts differently to situations so if no one comments anything, I’ll make this O.C. instead of reader-insert.

1940s slang:

Fat-head = a stupid or foolish person.

Dead hoofer = a poor dancer.

To take a powder = to leave.

A dish = a cute girl.

Kraut = what Americans called the Germans during the Second World War.

CHAPTER I - Winter leaves its mark

James Buchanan Barnes always considered himself to be the responsible one, someone who wouldn’t punch a fella straight in the face if they’d called him a fat-head or a dead hoofer, unlike his best pal Steve. Steve always sought out the fights, he wasn’t one to take a powder when the town’s bully would ridicule the advertisement of America’s bravest soldiers shown in the cinema. He wouldn’t care that he’d be thrown against the trash cans in the alleyway outside, or that he’d get kicked in the stomach over and over again till he was bruised and bleeding. Of course, Bucky would always be right in time to save his ass.

Then again, Bucky was the responsible one of the duo.

He thinks back to this morning, where he’d met this cute blonde at the apothecary, where he was supposed to pick up Steve’s medicine.

Steve and him, they worked hard to scramble the money together. Bills needed to be paid, Buck’s sister needed to be looked after and Steve’s state of health didn’t make things easier for the two of them. But they always managed to get by, one way or another. In a couple of weeks, his sister would be off to boarding school and it was only a matter of months till he would be joining the army. Perhaps he could send some of his wages back home, to make sure Steve could go to art school.

Bucky didn’t really feel like he needed the money. He didn’t think he’d have a future after joining the military. So, he was set on making sure Steve would. The kid was talented, he’d have a fair chance at getting a proper job. Bucky did not.

As he took out the cash from his pocket, he felt someone’s gaze fixed on him. She had the bluest eyes and a polka dot dress on. He’d have to admit, she was a dish. But the way she followed Bucky’s hand as he paid the employee, made him hesitant to walk up to her.

You see, Bucky had gone to the funeral of Steve’s parents only a couple hours earlier. He’d worn his best – and only – suit, with his hair slicked back and his shoes shined. He hadn’t thought of changing after dropping Steve off at home.

She obviously thought he had quite a share of money stored in the bank.

He obviously knew he did not. He didn’t even have an account.

But she didn’t have to know that.

He took her out, treated her like any real gentleman would, and even shared a kiss afterward. She was absolutely smitten with him, he could tell. After all, he’d been in this situation plenty of times.

He never intended to go out today, he’d rather have hung out with Steve. But he knew what this girl wanted from him, and in a way that’s what made him ask her out in the first place. Not because he liked her, but because he wanted to teach her a lesson.

His ma had told him plenty of stories when he was a kid, about all of her lady friends who had married for the money and didn’t really care for their man. They had all ended up taking care of the kids, cleaning, cooking, becoming the perfect housewife. His ma had always told him to watch out for those girls. She wanted him to marry a girl he loved, whereas his dad had merely instructed him that he should get someone who’d do all the chores at home for him and who would obey his every command like a soldier would. His dad had slept a couple of nights on the couch after that strong piece of advice.

He’d always remember his mom to be the strongest person he’d ever come to have known. She’d taught him all he knew, and he intended even now, after her death, to make her proud of the son she had raised.

A very fond memory, but unfortunately it didn’t soothe the pain of a set of knuckles connecting to his face. He shook back to what was happening in the now and only then realized his idiocy in never stopping with trying to make other folks listen to his own so-called wisdom.

The gal’s boyfriend had shown up, right when Bucky had wanted to tell the girl the truth about the contents of his wallet. Apparently, the couple had had a big fight the day before about him losing his job and not being able to take care of her and whatnot. The usual stuff.

The gal had taken off without a second glance in Buck’s direction.

Of course, the bloke took his anger out on him. And in that moment Buck wished that he had someone for him like he was for Steve. Someone to remind him of how stupid he actually is and yet takes care of him while he lectures. No one took care of him anymore.

“Look, pal, I didn’t know she was your girl,” he tried to reason, but it was obvious that it was useless. The man’s red face wore eyes with fire which would have made any Kraut scurry off in fear.

Bucky tried to hit him, missed and ended up with a large foot in his gut and two arms wrapping around his neck, sucking the air out of his lungs.

‘Great job, Buck,’ he thought to himself in his annoyance, ‘Just add those cracks and bruises up to the medical bills. Steve will be happy to hear that.’

He started to feel lightheaded, and he knew he was going to pass out any second then.

But then a voice echoed through the alleyway they were in, making the man loosen his grip a little and Bucky already felt a surge of gratitude towards whoever was brave enough to step in.

Until he looked up at his rescuer and had to do his best to keep his jaw from dropping in shock.

“Why don’t you pick on someone your own size?” The words left her mouth like a song of velvet tones, soft yet threatening.

She wore an army green service uniform, one Bucky would only recognize as one only of the highest ranking would receive. It appeared to have been tailored just for her, as it fit her curves like a tight leather glove. Her hair was curled at the tips and was pushed back enough to show off her striking facial features, along with a scar which ran from her right cheekbone up to the inside of her left eyebrow. She didn’t appear to be self-conscious about it, however, as she carried herself with a confidence that little girls would look up to and boys would admire.

Bucky couldn’t bring himself to tare his gaze from her eyes. They looked as if they had lived through hundreds of years of the endless routine of life, experienced and focused, yet so tired and aged, even though the rest of her didn’t show any signs of elderliness.

Of course, he was intrigued; she was the most beautiful woman he’d ever laid his gaze upon.

“Why don’t you mind your own business, lady,” the man growled, “this ain’t no place for people like you.”

If he hadn’t been holding him in a chokehold, Bucky would’ve – only this once – agreed and would’ve told her to turn her back to him and walk back the way she had come from.

A well-acted look of confusion crossed her face. “People like me? And who exactly are people like me? Last I checked, there are no people like me, but me.”

Bucky admired her confidence, he’d give her that.

The bully seemed puzzled with her words for a moment and of course, a man with his IQ would only grow angrier when being outsmarted and treated like a child. “I’ll give you one last warning, lady. Get lost or get tossed.”

“No.”

“What?”

“I said no. My ass won’t be the one to land in the mud.”

It seemed the brute hadn’t been bluffing about his final warning. He threw Bucky off of him, sending him tumbling against the wall. His head received a big blow, making his ears pop and his vision go dark.

As the ringing subsided, all he could hear was a snap, a high-pitched scream, and something hitting the floor. He was too scared to open his eyes.

When he felt a hand land on his shoulder, he knew he was done for. He sent out a silent prayer for the brave beauty and for his own good, hoping for this to end soon. If he got home with any more bruises than he already has, he would most likely cause Steve to have a heart attack or something and that was, again, a bill from the hospital they could not afford to pay.

The punk would probably even blame himself for not being there for Bucky. And then the poor dame-

He had to get through this for her. Just think of her and maybe it won’t hurt as much.

He waited for it, for the pain, for he thought he deserved this punishment.

But it never came.

“Are you alright?”

 Blinking a few times to make sure he wasn’t dreaming, his eyes stared up in wonder at the beauty standing in front of him, who appeared not to have a scratch on her. “H-How did you…”

A groan nearby made him stop his mumbling and look over.

“You bitch!” the man yelled at her, “You broke my fucking arm!”

Indeed, Bucky noted. The piece of bone sticking out from the flesh of his upper arm made it clear that he would need more than just a bit of bandaging. Horrific, but impressive none the less.

“I’ll break something else if you don’t keep your trap shut,” she hissed back with as much venom as her voice made of pure honey could manage.

Their eyes locked, and neither of them wanted a key to change that. He looked into her shining ones, while she got lost in his own little blue seas. No words needed to be spoken, because they both felt the same. The electricity, the warmth that spread through both hearts gradually.

It sounded cheesy really, in their own minds, to think love at first sight was a real thing. And yet this feeling made them question their morals and decisions throughout their entire life, for if this was real, then how had they ever made the right choices, while not knowing what living with this incredible feeling was like?

“Hi,” he smiled, a dashing one only he could manage to gather in a moment such as this.

“Hello,” she replied, with a small chuckle of her own.