#shame is a word I abandoned the moment I got a nice comment on my first smut

[saunne]

BAHAHA YOU REALLY QUOTED ME. I ALREADY GOT PINNED IN THE NSFW WALL OF SHAME AND NOW IT'S IN THE OPEN LMAOOOOO

I am gratefully thanking you for the food and indulging my horny ass obsessed with this selfcest ship 😌

This is hot as fuck and I'll definitely end up writing some good content with that open in a side tab for inspiration and motivation.

Also fair warning to my followers : I put this in the processional vortex more commonly known as queue so expect to see that in your dash at least once a month from now on.

Love you Ara, you're the best platonic spouse one could dream of even if the Welt/Kafka crackship we ended up representing in the old friend discord server is something no one would ever think of while sober xD

A gift for my lovely platonic spouse @saunne 😎💖💖

Also for peeps who are witnessing this shift from wholesome cutesy content to not sfw shit just know, that it was bound to happen

"Y'all got cute now get my spouse's nsfw present. Same room, two vibes, we did a 380° drift while y'all were not looking." -saunne

[askinkiskarma]

𝕄𝕠𝕟𝕤𝕥𝕖𝕣 𝕀𝕟 𝕄𝕖 | ℂ𝕙𝕒𝕡𝕥𝕖𝕣 𝕀𝕍: 𝕀𝕥'𝕤 𝕀𝕟 𝕐𝕠𝕦𝕣 𝕀𝕞𝕒𝕘𝕖 𝕀'𝕞 𝕄𝕒𝕕𝕖

Pairing: Neteyam x (f)Omaticaya!Reader

synopsis: Neteyam's actions leave you aching and shamed, and life is made difficult by your attempts to avoid him at all costs, until it dawns on you that, much like your entire relationship, nothing good ever happens without reciprocation.

warnings: 18+ minors DNI, aged-up! Neteyam/Reader, enemies-to-lovers, angst (mentions of violence, battle, blood, death), smut (oral - m receiving, orgasm denial), strong language, neteyam and reader being horrible to each other lol

wc: 6.4k words

a/n: we're in it now, besties. the plot thickens, much like reader/neteyam's steamy enmity and desire for each other. i hope you enjoy this chapter, and as always, thank you for asking to be tagged, commenting, sending me asks, it really keeps me going and i appreciate you so so much (thank you very much also to @cinetrix for her amazing Neteyam art and the prompt which inspired me so much and got me out of my writer's block ily bestie x)

na'vi compendium: yawne - beloved, Tsakarem - Tsa'hik in training, ketuwong - alien, txepvi  - spark, teylupil - teylu-face, kurkung - asshole, skxawng - idiot, eveng - child, tsìltsan rewon - good morning, Oel ngati kameie - I see you, sa'nok - mother, ite - daughter, srane - yes, kä - go, Olo'eykte - female Olo'eyktan, tam-tam - calm, mawey - calm, oare - moon

: ̗̀➛ previous chapter (x) : ̗̀➛ series masterlist (x) : ̗̀➛ series playlist (x)

I'm only whatever you make me And you make me more and more a villain every day But you don't know, you reap, you sow Whatever you give to me, from yourself, you take Well, if you're a hater, then hate the creator It's in your image I'm made

The absence of his fingers, of him, from you, as he abandoned you, with your thoughts and insecurities, left you in a state of deep shock and shame - so much so, it took a good hour to finally get the strength to move the few steps it took to get to your tent.

Your mind was spinning with more thoughts then it could process, and as you continued worrying about the consequences of your actions, about all the ways Neteyam would find new ways to torture you and make you miserable, as you reeled from the ache that settled deep in your core from the emptiness he left behind, as you tried to understand the convoluted ways his mind worked and the reason he would ever do something like this to begin with, you found consciousness slipping away from you and in no time, you were asleep, taunted by dreams that you couldn’t find in you to call nightmares anymore, dreams about him finishing the job. At least in these dreams, you were safe, and he was nice, and his touch healed instead of breaking you further and further each day. You realise now it’s not what happens in these dreams that makes you think of them as nightmares, it’s the reality juxtaposed against them that sours their taste on your mind. It’s funny how even the purest, happiest moments can turn to ashes in your mouth when the backdrop is haunting and inimical. 

It was evening when you woke, and the headache that accompanied your newfound conscious state was heightened by Lo’ak’s harsh voice, as he shook you back to a reality that still ached, that couldn’t have been better than the fantasies you just left behind. 

“Lo’ak, stop shaking her, just give her a second.”

“Look, we have no time for pleasantries. She’s going to thank me for this.” 

“Teylupil. Kurkung. Skxawng.” You curse in a hoarse, barely audible whisper, eliciting a laugh from Kiri and an exasperated groan from her little brother. 

“Is this how you talk to the man that’s going to save you from an evening of misery?” 

“What’re you talking about, you irksome little -“ 

“Just get up and I’ll tell you. What’re you doing asleep at this hour anyway?” 

“Kiri, remove your brother before I remove him, and take one or two fingers with me.” 

“Come on, Lo’ak, let’s make sure you’re still alive by Eclipse.” 

You rose from your mat with a small wince as your head throbbed in pain. 

“Are you alright?” Kiri’s hand was cold and soothing against your skin, and you placed your own hand on top of hers, grateful that she was here, if not for anything else, to dilute the intensity of Lo’ak’s personality while you were still recovering your strength. You couldn't look at your two favourite Sully siblings properly, not when the shame stung and dulled your senses, not when their eyes would remind you of his, and what you did.

“I’m fine, just… tired. I… broke up with O’i’en. Or actually, I guess he broke up with me.”

“Shit. Did he find out?” 

You considered how much you should tell your friends about what transpired, knowing they’d have questions, knowing the answers might lead to more questions, some of which you couldn’t possible begin to explain. 

“Yeah… Neteyam told him.”

“Fuck. I still don’t know what you possibly ever did to make Neteyam, who happens to be the most boring and calm person to walk this planet, so angry at you.”

You scoffed at Lo’ak’s statement, so obvious and speaking to a mystery that has plagued you for the last 7 years. 

“Yeah… I love living my life paying for an imaginary slight he feels the need to remind me of every day.” 

He thought about it for a second, his fingers stroking his chin in an obviously exaggerated contemplative manner. 

“How do you know it’s imaginary if you don’t know what it is?” 

The roll of your eye reminded you briefly of the headache that tried you, and how it was getting worse with each passing second you had to entertain this conversation. 

“Look, even if it’s not, don’t you think it’s a little extreme?”

With a raise of his shoulders, Lo’ak continued.

“I guess… but it’s not like you make it easier for yourself.”

You felt your anger picking up speed, making your pulse quicken and heat rise in your cheeks. 

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” 

“I mean, you are just as bad to him. You’re both horrible to each other. Don’t get me wrong, it’s hilarious and we all get a kick out of it, but - OUCH, KIRI!” Lo’ak yelped in pain as soon as his sister’s elbow found its way in his ribs, and the theatrics continued as he collapsed on his side, until his head was on your lap. 

“You’re the worst.”

“I still maintain my view that you both just need to fuck. Maybe this mateship is going to be the solution to all your problems.” 

The flush of your cheeks brought about by anger only deepened at his words, that instilled memories that you still didn’t know whether you were trying to forget or imprint on your brain, memories that had no business flashing in front of your mind’s eye now, memories that might infer the beginning of the end of the world: Lo’ak finally being right about something. 

“Yeah, cause what successful lifelong commitment hasn’t started with two people who despise each other?” You didn’t want to harp on a subject that you’d do everything to never have to talk about again, so you quickly changed the subject. 

“Moving on. Why are you guys here?”

The two siblings exchanged awkward looks.

“Mum, dad and grandma were talking about you and Neteyam… about the ceremony and everything.” You could tell Kiri felt uncomfortable talking about the subject, and you were happy at least one of them was sensitive to the situation. “They want to sit you both down and pick a date. Grandma said something about the sooner the better. We thought you’d rather eat a Talioang tongue than do that, so we came to give you a heads up.”

Well, so much for changing the subject. You groaned, moving Lo’ak out of the way so you can raise your knees and place your head in between them, trying to make the world stop shaking and your heart stop trying to escape out of your chest. This can’t be happening. Not so soon.

“What did Neteyam say?” 

“Neteyam hasn’t returned home, which isn’t like him. Have you seen him at all today?” 

“No.” You lied. 

That was weird. Why would Neteyam not return home? It’s not like he had any reason to hide, unlike you. You’d think he’d be the first one back in the tent, waiting to see if you’d show up for dinner, with a smug smirk plastered on his face, so ready and willing to taunt you for your momentary lapse in judgement and for being able to rub in the fact he won one more battle in your never-ending war, that until now was even, but now, felt completely thrown off balance. 

“Do you want to get out of here?” The magic words, spoken to you almost like in a dream, pulling you out of your intense musings about the speaker’s older brother. 

“It’s almost eclipse. You’re gonna get in trouble.” 

Lo’ak snickered and rolled his eyes, almost upset that you would ever think that’s something he should care about.

“Come on. We can go to the labs, chill with the humans for a night.” 

“As tempting as that is, I don’t think aiding and abetting the Olo’eyktan’s kids to leave after curfew is going to improve my situation in any way. You should go back. I’ll see you tomorrow.” 

Lo’ak huffed and puffed, but did as he was told, not before he left you with one last nugget of information.

“By the way, Norm and Max intercepted some new intel about a mission the ketuwong are planning. It’s in two days. Dad wants us all in strategy meetings and training all day tomorrow. That includes you. As soon as eclipse is over.” 

“Roger that. Now go.” You kissed both of them on their foreheads, and watched as they left you with your thoughts. 

Questions and worries plagued your mind, all, like most times, revolving around the oldest Sully sibling. Ponderations of how or why, of when or what, all swirling, all fluttering away, none of them settling enough to be thought about in detail, all of them flailing about, knocking every other thought from your consciousness until you were a panted mess of breaths and ringing heartbeats. You couldn’t be here.

Curfew has always been more of a suggestion to you than an order, so with that mentality deeply embedded in you still, you picked up your knife and bow and made your way out, walking past the Sully tent and into the thick forest, to a place you haven’t been in since that night Mo’at announced your engagement. You tried to shake the unnerved feeling that still haunted you as you remembered what last transpired there.

As you trekked past foliage and snuck past apex predators that were out hunting for the night, you eventually reached the meadow you've always loved so much. You didn't have time to breathe out a sigh a relief as you noticed a navy blue form turned away from you, toned, muscular back full on display. You would always recognise this body and the man who inhabited it, now and forever, as long as you would live, but still, you almost couldn't believe what your eyes were clearly showing you.

Neteyam was deep in thought as his feet dangled in the lake in which you liked to bathe and relax normally, that used to be a sacred place for you, one more thing he ruined in the time you've known him. He didn't hear you, you realise suddenly, and you were glad. He was the last person you wanted to see and you didn't know what you were feeling in this moment as you watched him, so unlike the Neteyam you always got to experience, so far removed from the man that always had his guard on around you, that was smug and arrogant, and primed to hurt you with every possibility that presented itself to him. This felt more like the Neteyam you used to know and love, that everyone else still gets to know and love, that you hear so much about on a day to day basis - the peaceful Neteyam, the considerate and shy Neteyam, the golden son, the epitome of what made the Omaticaya special.

You stayed hidden in the shrubbery that concealed the meadow, just watching him, and as the time continued, you found yourself relaxing, your own thoughts percolating and settling one at a time, until you processed as many of them as you had the strength to. A few things became clear to you. The priority right now were the Sky People. You had to fight, and you had to do it well - too many people relied on you for you to give anything else than your 100%. Neteyam was a distraction you couldn't afford - not right now, and not until this was done. Avoiding him at all costs seemed like the smart thing to do. Revenge could wait... for a little while. You pushed the reminder of the ceremony discussion from your brain. You didn't have enough power to consider the implications of the talk the Sully patriarch and matriarchs wanted to have with you and Neteyam. It was too soon.

Other things, you were more confused about than ever. In the end, you left with more questions than you came with, leaving him to his own devices, knowing you'll soon regret not having gotten at least a couple hours sleep before the two days ahead, both difficult, both with enough power to take more from you than you were willing to ever lose.

Why is he here?

What is he thinking about?

Were you on his mind at all?

Did you even want to be?

Could you stand it if you weren't?

You made it back to the village right as Jake and Neytiri came out, a sleepy, uncooperative Lo'ak following close behind.

"Ma eveng, tsìltsan rewon. Oel ngati kameie."

"Oel ngati kameie, sa'nok."

Neytiri made her way to you with wide, gentle steps. She always reminded you of these humans you once saw in a video the scientists showed you when you were younger, called ballerinas. She had so much poise, so much gentle, quiet power, that you have tried to emulate your entire life. Despite it paining you to admit, Neytiri was more your mother, more a role model, than your own mother ever had been. When she reached you, her hands found your face, that she stroked gently, running her thumbs under your eyes.

"Please tell me you've slept, 'ite."

Your tail stilled midair as you were caught red-handed, and you knew you either had to lie, a concept only familiar to you after being around humans, and one that you have to admit you found useful in certain circumstances, or deal with a long lecture, that you were much too tired for.

"Srane, sa'nok."

She gave you a skeptical look, one that told you she didn't quite believe you, but knew better than to probe, at least not in front of the Olo'eyktan, who would give you the ass kicking of a lifetime if he knew you weren't going to give your 110% over the following days.

"Kä. Get your bow and quiver and meet us on the training grounds."

You did as you were told, changing quickly while you were at it, realising briefly you have been in the same garbs for a long time now, something your mum would have told you off about. She always looked her best, always beautiful and presentable, always the most sought-after woman in the village. She had no grand aspirations, not like you, or like your father, who wanted nothing more for you than to be a warrior and a fighter, to be the best of the best, the best of them all. If it was up to him, you would be Olo'eykte. You tried to make both of them proud in their own ways - your mother, by continuing her secret weaving technique and always wearing the special garbs that only your family knew how to make, and your father, by becoming the pride and prodigy of your clan, and sharing that title with only one other person, none other than the prince of the Omaticaya.

Your heart picked up pace as you reached the grounds and in front of his parents stood Neteyam, looking perfect as always, not a single stray hair on his head, his braids flowing softly in the wind and chiming when the beads adorning them knocked into each other. You've always loved Neteyam's hair. It was always perfectly braided, and so weirdly emotive and... alive, sometimes looking like it moved on its own accord, a little like the tail that you saw moving in a circle, a sign he was not happy - what else was new?

When Jake spotted you, he nodded in your direction, which made everyone's attention shift to you, including his, and when his eyes trailed over your body, widening minutely, mouth slightly agape, you felt your cheeks burn and ears twitch nervously. He gained composure as quickly as he lost it, the slightly taken aback expression far removed from the one now displayed on his face, that he reserved for you, that you hated with every fibre of your being. The moment of vulnerability you witnessed yesterday was long gone, replaced by his usual contempt he liked to emanate as soon as you entered his personal bubble. You wondered if he was gonna rub your nose in it, if he was going to declare it to the world, let his friends know that you were another name to add to the catalogue of women he's fucked, or if he wouldn't want anyone to know - his little secret, only for his twisted mind to keep and thrive on. Your own mind tortured you with scenarios, each one worse than the last, before Jake pulled you out of your nightmarish thoughts.

"Kid. Come on, now, you can't go all mellow on me today. Tomorrow's a big one, I need you here, I need you with me. Can I count on you?"

"Yes, sir."

By the end of the day, that now went well into the night, you were more tired than you could remember being in years, and between the strategising meetings, the weapon training, the military drill exercises, and the hand to hand combat that Jake insisted would, at some point in your life, become useful, your brain was fried and your body sore and covered in mud and twigs.

The dirt that covered every inch of you was the kind which would stick to your skin and your hair for days on end, without any sliver of hope that it could get removed. You knew your braids were ruined, and so were your garbs, that you worked so hard for, that were all you had left of your family and your ancestors. It was a good day, you tried to remind yourself. A successful day. That’s all that mattered -not your clothes, nor the man that you were trying to avoid like he was a plague, or his gaze, or the heat that emanated from his body, or the memory of his fingers or his torturous ministrations. 

“Good job today, both of you. Now go wash the muck off of you at the river and be back in 30 minutes so we can go over it and discuss what went right and what could have gone better. Dismissed.” 

“Um- can I go to the lake instead?” The thought of being alone with Neteyam made your skin crawl. Is that what that was? It had to be. Skin crawling… yes, not goosebumps and shivers down your spine. Skin crawling…

You cringed a little at Jake’s expression, and his raised eyebrow which most of the time, and especially now, indicated annoyance or grievance.

“The lake is far, plus you wouldn’t be able to make it back in 30 minutes, kid. And it’s still dark. Is there a reason the normal river is not to your taste anymore?” 

Your tail stopped in its tracks at his slight admonishment, ears pushed back so far, they were flat against your head. You hated disappointing Jake, almost as much as you hated Neteyam. 

“No, sir.” 

At the sight of you, Jake’s expression melted away and was replaced with a soft smile, one exclusively reserved for his kids. He approached you quietly and patted your head affectionately.

“That’s what I thought. Now come on, off you go, you little troublemaker.” 

It was a short trek to the river that most Na’vi used as a personal bathing station, that was now deserted for the night. The training lasted longer than expected, and you knew eclipse would be over in a short couple of hours. You felt Neteyam’s eyes boring into your back and you did everything in your power to forget that he was there, but alas, it was near impossible when his presence overwhelmed your every sense, when it took over any thought in your mind, when the embarrassment of your encounter still rings painfully in you, telling you to run, or hide, or get your petty little revenge so he stopped having the upper hand in this scenario. The latter option, much as it has for years now, seems like the most obvious, the most alluring one. 

The devious plan, that was just a slight variation of his own, as it usually was, was taking a more defined form in your mind with each passing second, especially after remembering the little human snap bracelets that were stronger than any Na'vi rope you owned, that were light and easy to carry, and that you conveniently happened to have in the little pouch that dangled from your waist. You just needed the perfect opportunity, and you believed in making your own luck.

Without looking behind you, you got into the river, purposefully bending until your hands reached your ankles, that you started rubbing and cleaning, taking your time as you moved slowly upwards, your ass fully on display for the male you knew would be watching, as he, too, was cleaning the day off him.

"Can you be any more obvious, yawne? You might as well have a 'fuck me' sign plastered all over you. Is that all it took, three fingers in that pretty cunt and you forgot you hate me?"

You ignored his words and continued cleaning yourself, until you were so squeaky clean, someone could eat off your body, which now, you felt like you craved more than food itself.

When you were done, you got out of the river, once more trying to be as sensual and inviting as you could, and you smirked as you heard him get out as well, his presence inundating your senses as he approached you, the way it always did.

"Are you finally going to apologise and behave? I knew you would event-"

You quickly turned and pushed him backwards, until he fell, a pained gasp escaping his lips as his back made contact with a tree. The snap of the cuffs was more satisfying than you would ever care to admit as they tightened around his hand, and almost as satisfying to you as his realisation of what you’ve done, of the fact that he was trapped, at your disposal, at your mercy. 

“Let me out.” The growl he let out was low and feral, unamused at best and frightening at worst. Lucky for you, you’ve never really been scared of Neteyam. The smirk that blossomed on your face deepened as you watched him, squirming and pulling at the cuffs with all his might, getting angrier with every second he couldn’t untie himself. His tail was moving furiously behind him, slapping his calf with erratic, uncoordinated movements. 

“You know, Neteyam... For far too long now, it felt like you had control over our dynamic. I hated it, every day, feeling weaker than you. When you came and grabbed me by the throat, it was the first time in my life I almost felt scared of you. When you came and told O’í'en about us, I felt almost like life was slipping away from my grasp and you were the quicksand through which it was falling. When you… when we-“ it took you a while to compose yourself and subside the purple stain of your cheeks as you remembered how he left you. “You made me feel things I have never felt before. And then you left. And I felt almost ashamed. I had just got out of a serious relationship, I broke someone’s heart, and all I could think of, was your fingers. I felt weak, and I hate feeling weak.”

You took advantage of the way he was entranced by your words, too focused on you for anything else, and took his other hand and tied it on an opposing branch.

“Fuck! Let me go!” His legs were thrashing in front of him as he struggled to undo the human contraption, but if there’s one thing you learned, is that humans knew how to imprison and hurt other beings the best, and for once, you didn’t mind taking a page from their books.

“Tsk tsk tsk… no, Neteyam, what do you say?” 

“Fucking let me go, you little -“

“Mmm…” you pretended to think about it for a while. “No… i don’t think that’s it. Y’want to try again?” 

He hissed at you, a hiss that sounded more like a roar than anything else, and heat ignited in your core at its sound, mighty and powerful, wild and untamed. Still, you kept your composure and the sweet smile that you knew would anger him further.

“No, that’s not either. You say ‘please’.” 

You knelt in between his thighs, thick and muscular, and put a hand on each one, steadying yourself as you found yourself on your knees, heart thundering in your chest at your plan, that, despite the adrenaline, seemed more and more deranged with every passing second. His breath stilled at your touch, as did his body, his legs now limp on either side of you. His expression shifted, from one of unadulterated anger to pure shock, and a flicker of muted awe, eyes wide and mouth agape, canines tucked away behind his beautiful lips, that he wet with a swipe of his tongue. 

“What are you doing?” 

“What do you think I’m doing, Ne-te-yam?” 

Your fingers dug in the meat of his lower limbs, thumb trailing over his inner thighs as you moved upwards, massaging him, stopping right before the part of him you itched to touch most, smiling to yourself as his breath laboured with every inch transversed. You wrapped your slender digits around his loincloth, making quick work of the knot that would have been safe from most other people, but not you - you and Neteyam learnt this knot together, back when you were still you and he was still him. Back when he loved you. No matter how much he wanted to forget you and what you meant to each other, he would never be able to, because you’ll always be there to use those memories - that he banished from the night of his mind - against him. 

“You see, Neteyam… I’m not the most creative person, unlike you.”

His cock sprung free and you swallowed a gasp along with the saliva that gathered instantly in your mouth. He was huge, and for the first time in your life, you found yourself thinking… pretty, too. There was something almost ethereal about him, deep contrasted stripes running alongside his length, the pattern of his luminous freckles so exciting, you wanted to run your fingers… or your tongue, over them, connecting them with your mind to uncover the pattern it would form, one you wouldn’t mind getting to know over and over again, until it was imprinted into you, into your skin, into your mouth.

You looked at him, back against the bark of a tree, just as yours had been before, his arousal, that he tried to hard to mask on his face, given away by the endless pits that were his pupils, which almost completely swallowed his beautiful golden-green irises. 

“Let. Me. Go. Or I swear to Eywa, I will make you pa-“ 

“Pay, yes, yes.. I’ve heard the speech before. And you know what? I know you’ll make me pay. You’re good at that. You like to think of these new ways to ruin my life, all inventive and new, all of them difficult to stomach and so, so pleasurable for you at the time, aren’t they? Yes… I’m not very creative, so keep in mind that anything I ever do, is your burden to carry… yawne. You made me, everything you hate about me, everything I hate about myself…”

You wrap your fingers around his cock, hard and throbbing under your touch, and watch as he throws his head back and lets out a small, intemperate groan.

“… I learnt from you.” 

Slowly, you start moving up and down along his shaft, taking your time, observing every twitch of the muscles of his face, all the ways he was trying to refrain himself from giving into the pleasure that was wearing his resolve down. His eyes were so tightly shut, you wondered if it hurt, and you hoped it did. You hoped it all hurt, just as it hurt you. You turn your attention back to his cock, that was throbbing in your hand, and noticed the glowy liquid now covering the slit of his pink-purplish mushroomy tip. 

“Am I making you feel good, yawne? I must be, since you’re dripping all over my fingers.” The sense of deja-vu couldn’t be lost on the male writhing beneath you, and you hoped every second of the incident was playing through his mind, like it has been in yours, ever since it happened. Not being able to contain yourself any longer, you sank down until your lips wrapped around him, the sweet taste of his precum staining your tongue as you swirled it around his tip, licking it clean. The moan that escaped him was music to your ears, erotic and sonorous and so unbridled, despite his best efforts, that it spurred you on, that it made you want to explore every inch of him until every striation of his cock was imprinted on your throat. 

And so you did. Your mouth stretched to accommodate for his length and girth, too big for even your best efforts, and your hand wrapped around his base to reach what your mouth couldn't. You gagged as his hips bucked upwards, driving his cock deeper down your throat, until the tip was tickling the back of it. You stopped yourself from thinking about your heart skipping alternate beats as soon as his tail wrapped tightly around your thigh, almost as if claiming you, bringing you closer to him, attaching himself to you, almost if his body was telling you a secret he tried his hardest to repress, one that he could never speak out loud.

You could tell he was itching to free his hand, to entangle his fingers in your hair and use you as his own personal toy. He was itching for the control he desperate craved when it came to you, that you denied him, that you now had over him, that made him weak and puny under your touch.

You hallowed your cheeks as you devoted everything you had to sucking him off, the saliva pooling down his shaft and balls facilitating the bob of your head, that got faster and deeper the longer you did it, the longer his moans, that could no longer be contained inside of him, filled your favourite meadow and your ears, nestling in your body and making their way to your core, that ached and throbbed, that begged you to ride his cock until you were both just a limp mess of limbs on the mossy ground. Your movements met his synchronously, working in perfect harmony, as his heels dug into the ground and he started wildly thrusting in your mouth, his self-control long gone, as the pleasure reached new zeniths and you knew he was close to orgasm.

"F-fuck! Fuck, oh, please!"

Hearing him beg brought you to the brink of your own release, and with a couple more strokes, you released him from your mouth with a pop, sucking on his tip just a little extra, as if he was your own personal lollipop, just like the ones Norm introduced you to as a child. This one was so much better, though.

His eyes opened wildly as the lack of stimulation registered in his mind, chest heaving and mouth open, tail untangling from your body and thrashing violently, as the high came crashing down abruptly, just like yours had. You smiled, flicking your index finger over your lips and chin, gathering the remnants of his arousal before you closed your lips over it, sucking on it enthusiastically, eyes locked onto his own, dark and feral, and for the first time in a really long while, completely lost in you.

“You taste fucking amazing, tsxepvi. Maybe next time, if you apologise and behave, you’ll actually get to cum.” 

You got up from your spot on the ground, removing your knife from its sheath and bringing it to one of the cuffs that looked like it had marked his wrist, and with a careful swipe, you freed him. Without sparing him a second look, you turned around and walked away, speaking as you left him, still shackled by one hand, naked and vulnerable, happy with yourself, unwilling to consider yet again the consequences of your actions and how the fear of retaliation, that you knew would be painful and ghastly, would hit you with enough intensity to cower you, just as soon as the adrenaline wore off.

"I trust you can get yourself untied... yawne. See you on the battlefield."

A few hours later, you could barely think straight, by the time you were preparing your beautiful ikran for battle, as she was dutifully waiting on you to finish, trilling softly whenever you pet her in between chores. 

“Tam, tam, Oare.” 

You felt guilty at the way you’ve handled the past few days, as images of O’i’en swirled in your tired, progressively drowsier mind, at how it took you no time to do… everything you did with a man you hated, a man that more and more it seemed your ex was somewhat right about, despite how much you wanted to banish the thought into the pits of Hell, where it belonged. You started to regret the fact you have not taken the opportunity to sleep when the opportunity presented itself to you, and now you were about to go into one of the most dangerous missions of your life, one that may even infer the future of your clan, worn-out and distracted, body trembling under the weight of your mistakes. 

You spotted the man that affected you in ways no one else seemed capable to, face and body painted in war patterns, just like yours was, and winced a little when you realised he was already watching you, deep hatred imbued in his features - you knew there and then you were in for a world of pain, if you ever survived this mission to begin with. It actually hurt, thinking of all the ways he could still make your life a living nightmare, his ingenuity knowing little bounds and never diminishing throughout the years. 

“You ready, kid? I need my little star in tip-top shape today. We’re all counting on you, you know?” 

Jake’s voice, usually soothing and calming, was grating to your ears, although you had a sneaking suspicion it wasn’t the voice itself as much as what the voice uttered, words that you didn’t want to hear at all, words that pushed you near the brink of collapse, whose weight you always almost buckled under, but now, with everything else going on, brought you to your knees. Still, you nodded, the desire to please and make him proud of you outweighing anything else you wanted to say, like asking for permission to sit this one out, like how, right now, you felt more like a liability than an asset. You had to do this, and you would, because they needed you, because they relied on you. 

“That’s what I like to hear.” He tapped the little choker that was tied around your neck. “Make sure this is on, alright?” 

“Yes, sir.”

The war cries echoed through the Hallelujah mountain as the full might of the Omaticaya clan erupted through the floating rocks, bearing down on the helicopters and ships that were looking and scanning for signs of life, that were ready and armed to kill and torture, to destroy and burn life to the ground. On top of your ikran, bow tight in your hand, you normally felt unstoppable. You were unstoppable. Before you even had time to register it, 3 helicopters fell at Neytiri, Jake and Neteyam's hands, crashing into the mountains before exploding into nothingness, never to be seen again.

In the midst of all the chaos, you tried not to think about how hard it was to control Oare, how your own frenzied, disruptive consciousness was affecting her ability to fly and focus, how that in turn was making you miss shots you would have never missed otherwise, how that was further weakening your state, the whole endeavour a vicious cycle you saw no escape from.

"Mawey... mawey." you couldn't tell if you were talking to your ikran or to yourself, as you pet her gently, trying to return you both to a state in which you could be present and useful, the way you were expected to be.

The sudden pain that rushed over you was excruciating, worse than anything you’ve ever felt, worse than all your previous injuries put together, and with a trumping heart and fear poisoning your blood, that felt like it was spilling out of your body more with each passing second, you looked down at yourself, trying to assess the situation. There was nothing. The pain deepened as soon as realisation hit that the fatal wound and the ache that followed wasn’t yours, although it might as well have been. 

“No…” your beautiful ikran, that has been with you every day of your life since you were 12, that not only witnessed, but facilitated every one of your victories, that was integral part of your life and happiness, that made you feel seen and understood, let out a screech so loud and filled with anguish, one that would haunt you for the rest of your life, that settled in your bone marrow and will forever have a home there, until your last day on this planet.

As she drew her last breath, you felt every ounce of happiness dissipate from your being, along with any sense of self, any sense of purpose. You had no time to dwell on your immense loss, not as your queues broke apart with her departure from this plane, leaving you in a free fall that would make sure that while you lost your sister, you would be following her close behind. The last thing you saw before you felt darkness enveloping you was Neteyam, and your last thought was how you must have imagined his panicked look and the tortured howl that left his body, as his hand reached out for you, his own ikran diving towards your falling form at full speed. 

I sleep with one eye open and one eye closed 'Cause I'll hang myself if you give me rope I lost all my faith and lost all hope That everything means anything at all

taglist: @fanboyluvr @theycallmesia @afro-hispwriter @soleilmoon @crazy4books1 @bakugouswaif@randxmthxughts @xreadersstuff @sirezaya @kimberlyshailany-blog @gyuventure @jujudsmyst @kikookii @nxptury @nonniesworld @koing-slvt @bakugouswaif @isnt-itstrange @tpwkforevermore @alahamums @tallulah477 @gknj9495@aquamarine001 @itssomeonereading @yumimak@sweetbread-m@eqgroil @im-in-a-pansexual-panik @juneonhoth @yagirlheree @jackiehollanderr @legendarynoodlebowl @iameatingmyhair @justasimps-blog @hannabanana-09 @xylianasblog @misscaller06 @yeosxxx @myh3artttt @teyamsbitch

[blzzrdstryr]

Like a fairy tale

Yandere!Diluc x maid!fem!reader

Wordcount: 1921

CW: Yandere and slightly suggestive themes.

You loved reading fairy tales as a child - they were magical and hopeful, a needed retreat for a child of destitute parents. They were a promise that if you were good and kind and beautiful enough, eventually some faraway prince would come by and save you from poverty. And you tried to be good - you were obedient and hardworking and you pushed your hardest in the local school, yet hardship and scarcity still trailed your every step - the meager earnings your parents made weren't enough to buy you nice clothes or let you eat until you were sated, which in turn made social interactions harder: some kids sneered and humiliated you, some tried to help you out of pity. You disliked both groups: whether they were friendly or aggressive towards you, they still looked down on you.

Thus you decided to distance yourself from your peers - there was no knight in shining armour galloping towards you on a snow white steed, yet a good education could be your golden ticket to a better rich life. It was hard at first - to work and to study and to help your parents all while ignoring the demeaning and insulting comments the bullies made, but you gritted your teeth and pushed forward, imagining how wealthy you’ll become in the future and in the end our efforts were rewarded - you graduated as the best student, that led you to receiving a scholarship from Sumeru academy. Sparks and shine appeared in your eyes as you read the letter, barely stopping yourself from outright squealing and jumping from joy.

The moment of happiness didn’t last long though, as a reality again reminded you that there’s no place for fairy tales in the real world - scholarship covered the full cost of apprenticeship, but only it - you still had to spend money on the journey from Mondstadt to Sumeru, a place to rent and food, and if you still could find a job after your arrival in the foreign country and pay off the later two, trip required mora that you never had. At first you had a mad idea to traverse Teyvat on your own two feet - it would be a slow and arduous process, but cheap nonetheless. You later gave up on this plan - archons didn’t give you any vision, nor did you have fighting and travelling experience to aid you on the trail that no doubt would be full of slimes, hilichurls and other dangerous monsters.

And that’s how you started job hunting - you took on any work that promised you a hefty pay, be it some boring reports for guild of adventurers or an exciting yet risky endeavor of getting information for an extravagant cavalry captain, which then led you to Dawn Winery. Head housemaid, Adelinde, posted a job opening for a maid, and the prospect of a stable salary, free food and comfortable bed was enough to lure you in there - two or three years ago the previous owner of the winery died in the accident and his successor left Mond for some reason, leaving the maintenance and management of the winery on the shoulders of the said housemaid.

After a quick interview, the head maid demanded you to show her your cleaning skills, which you effortlessly did, having to look after the house by yourself all your childhood. It seems she was satisfied, as she nodded to you and asked to follow her as she led you to your room. Compared to the other two maids here, Hillie and Moco, who preferred to spend their work time in idle chat, you came off as highly professional and diligent worker. This contrast raised both your position and salary in the winery, as Adelinde started to entrust you with tasks more interesting than simple sweeping and cleaning.

You were outside the winery the day you met Diluc - returning from the city and carrying several stacks of milk and wheat you got chased by the hilichurls. Monsters didn’t leave you, no matter how long and how far you ran. You were ready to drop all the goods and have Adelinde to scold you for wastefulness and dereliction when Ragnvindr appeared and stole a breath from you. He looked just like the prince from your childhood tales, impossibly pretty and strong, arriving just when the creatures caught up with you and then defeating all of them with a single slash of great claymore. And just like a fairytale prince he helped you to get up and collect the scattered baggage and asked if you were okay. Then you two headed for the winery, you didn't know that he was it's owner at the time, chatting and thanking him, as he carried purchases. Adelinde almost fainted when she saw the return of the prodigal master in your company. After hastily taking goods from his hands, she made you apologize for rudeness and insubordination, but Diluc interrupted you saying it was fine.

Ragnvindr heir returned back to the winery and life went on its own, except the unreadable glares Diluc started to send you when you both were in the same room. It started off small: the quick glances that soon grew into intense staring. With his impassive stone face it was impossible to tell why he was glaring at you so much, so you acted as polite and professional as you could in his vicinity - after all you didn’t want to get fired and look for a new job. The key to this riddle presented itself during one day.

It was a bleak windy morning when Adelinde sent you to the city again, and as you walked the sky darkened and rain started. You returned absolutely soaked and shivering, teeth chattering and limbs slightly numb from cold and when Diluc saw you he ordered you to change in a low commanding voice. Frightened by the possible dismissal, you hurried putting on the uniform. Because of the haste you pulled it too tightly, hiking up a maid dress a little. It wasn’t up enough to reveal your hips or thighs, showing just a portion of knees that was usually hidden by the wide skirt.

Diluc’s eyes were glued on the uncovered joints, a subtle blush appearing on his pale cheeks. You continued to work, feeling how he consumed your legs with his eyes alone. He is lusting after me. You didn't know what to do with that revelation back then, embarrassed and slightly scared of attracting master Diluc's attention.

Nonetheless, an answer quickly came on the next day as you found a bonus to your salary, so big that it could be considered a payment for the next month. Diluc, despite his usually impassive face, seemed to be ashamed of the thoughts he had yesterday, with the body language telling you of his true feelings.

A plan came to mind. You hated yourself for it at first - it was low and disgraceful, you felt like a stereotypical manipulative gold digger, yet still decided to realize it in life - you needed mora, as fast and as much as possible. Over the time you spent working at the Dawn winery you noticed that Diluc, despite his obviously high intelligence, wasn't really good at judging one’s character, so he fell for your scheme pretty easily. Design you had in mind was pretty simple - to stir him up with small, innocuous gestures and changes that would slip past the outsider’s eyes.

Sometimes you applied a thin layer of healing lip balm on your lips, that so conveniently happened shine and glitter under the light, sometimes you donned your dress a little bit higher, opening the view of two delicate knees and sometimes after cleaning and working all day you felt so hot that you had to unfasten one or two buttons to cool off. Diluc, despite not showing it on his face, was obviously distracted and aroused, hands clenched into fists and a shaky, barely controlled exhale escaping his nose.

He started to pile you with bonuses and prizes; “for a well done job”, he said one time, averting his gaze and masking the shame in his voice under a huff. He also started to request you to specifically clean the rooms he occupied, his eyes sizing up almost every inch of your body. You felt how the lust and desire radiated off him, how his hands itched to trace your skin and have you at his mercy, yet he stopped every time with his steel strong control and self-discipline. You sensed how it dwindled little by little.

Diluc, in some perverted sense, was that fair prince of your childhood daydreams that would save you from poverty.

You almost had saved up the needed amount of money when you noticed the loss of your most cherished possession - an invitation to the Sumeru academy and scholarship certificate. With heart booming in your chest you started to look for it in the whole winery, without giving out that you were searching for something. It seems that you were unsuccessful in your attempts, as master of the winery soon called you into the office.

Here, he was sitting behind the desk with a familiar paper in his hand - your eyes widened as you saw it and you had an urge to run up to him and snatch the invitation from him. You performed a curtsy instead, closing the door behind you and waiting for him to speak, eyes still on the sheet in Diluc’s hold.

“[First], you are a diligent and skillful employee, Adelinde has a very high opinion of you” he started from afar, a slight rosy blush dusting his cheeks at "skillful employee".

"So as your employer I wouldn't want any harm to befall on your person, and" he shaked the invitation a couple of times, "it came to my attention that you were planning on travelling to Sumeru. I advise you against this nonsensical idea".

You gritted teeth, careful not to insult him with the couple of barbed words at the tip of your tongue. Nonsensical idea? This was your goal, a main reason why you worked so much and allowed yourself so little.

“I am sorry, master Diluc, I am afraid I can’t abandon this idea”, you say, response flat and controlled, a thunderstorm of emotions hidden beneath the faux calm, “It is my goal, and the main reason why I work here”. So I can have a bright and secure future, in which I won’t have to worry about the tomorrow ever again.

“I also learned that you were born into a low income family and you had to struggle in your life because of that ” a sudden mention of your less than glorious origin makes your face burn from the shame you thought you buried a long time ago. You are stunned, so he continues: “I believe this little endeavor of yours is also motivated by your desire for a stable future. Drop it, I travelled all across the Teyvat and there are horrors that can easily destroy you both in body and spirit”.

He stands up from the desk, and gets closer to you: “I can look after and provide for you, just stay there and you won’t have to worry about the future again ”. His hold on the paper gets tighter, pyro vision shining with a dangerous glint. A faint smell of smoke spreads through the room - a warning if you remain stubborn and unyielding.

Who could have known that the fair prince was a greedy dragon all along?

[seita]

— live now: redlove | eijirou kirishima (m.)

pairing: eijirou kirishima/reader ft. katsuki bakugou.

genre: fluff, smut, pwp

wordcount: 𝟷𝟼𝟹𝟽

cw: cam couple!au, prohero!bakugou, established relationship

tags: voyeurism (bakugou’s pov), dirty talk, masturbation, humilation/degredation, begging, light praise, rough sex, doggy style, choking, hair pulling, light spanking, baku has a crush

note: i have no excuses for this lmao. i was originally gonna make this into a fic where bakugou joins u nd kiri but,,,i kind of want to make this like a series or something????

—  bakugou enjoys porn. especially live cam porn. he discovers the cam couple redlove and is immediately smitten.

blog navigation.

 next. the lottery: redlove ⇨

© all content belongs to seita 2020. do not modify or repost.    

Bakugou watched porn. Just like every other guy on the planet. He enjoyed it, especially since as a pro-hero, he didn’t have the opportunity to get into sustainable relationships. He was the #2 hero so finding himself someone who wanted him because he was Katsuki Bakugou and not Ground Zero was near impossible. 

So, he turned to porn. Sounds sad now that he thought about it but truthfully, he never thought twice about it. It was just the way things were. 

More specifically, he had an interest in cam porn. The live stream kind. He couldn’t quite pinpoint why that was ― there was just something alluring about watching porn live. 

Usually, he stuck to solo girl content, every once in a while he’d venture to the male side. It was only recently, however, that he discovered the booming community of couples cams. 

Watching couples have sex live was even more enticing than watching men and woman masturbate or watching amateur porn. It seemed so intimate, watching these couples together. Almost forbidden. 

And he was sure that was exactly what made him cum so hard every single time. He liked watching these couples have sex, feeling like he was seeing something he wasn’t supposed to.

Many times, he’d stroke his cock to the idea of being humiliated by a couple as he watched them together. Filthy thoughts and words filtered into his mind, his eyes closed as he panted to the idea. They’d call him disgusting, a pig for getting hard watching ―  how only a slut would act as lewd as he did. Maybe they’d shame him; #2 pro hero Ground Zero a pathetic whore. 

It wasn’t until one night, he laid in bed browsing the couple’s livestreams on his favorite website, he discovered one couple that immediately caught his eye. The thumbnail showed a redheaded guy with spiky hair sitting on the edge of the bed with a pretty girl with marvelously smooth skin sat behind him with her arms wrapped around his shoulders. The young man’s hair color must have been the inspiration behind their channel name: redlove. He could only assume they had just started the stream and were looking at comments when the picture set. 

The stream was titled “We had a long day”. Bakugou couldn’t help but scoff at such a title, it was hardly enticing. Most streams had things like ‘watch me squirt until i cry!!!’ or “he makes my pussy hurt so good” or some other cringy shit. He would have been tempted to scroll past but he couldn’t deny just how attractive the couple was. Not to say there weren’t attractive people doing cam porn, no he’d seen his fair share of beautiful women and handsome men. 

But redlove were stunning together. They looked like a perfect match, he could tell just by how you were holding him that just oozed affection for the redhead. 

Another thing that caught the blonde’s eye was the view count: most cammers had in the double digits ― 20 or 30 viewers. Every once in a while he’d catch a particularly popular cammer and see a few hundred but it had never exceeded 200. So the live view count, the number of people watching them at that exact moment, was currently displayed on redlove’s stream link had him baffled.

Edging on 800 viewers. Sitting at 782.

It was clear the two of you were immensely popular. There had to be a good reason. 

Curious and thoroughly intrigued, he tapped the screen of his phone to get into their stream. 

It took a moment to buffer, all the activity with the chat making it lag a bit. When it finally finished loading, Bakugou felt like the air had been punched out of his lungs. His cock was immediately hard, straining against his boxers.

It was clear the two of you had been streaming for a while, judging by the fucked out blissful look on your face. Sweat glistened on your skin in the illuminating light of your bedroom.

You were on your hands and knees, your redheaded boyfriend on his knees behind you on a messed up bed, a pillow nearby that Bakugou assumed had been used to prop your hips up at one point. Your hair was wrapped tightly in his fist, using it for leverage as he hammered his cock into what Bakugou could only imagine was an absolutely dripping wet cunt. 

The sounds you made were downright sinful, your lips swollen from no doubt kissing and biting. The redhead grunted suddenly, jerking you up onto your knees so your back was pressed against his chest. Bakugou couldn’t resist reaching down to palm his aching cock, throbbing and painful from neglect. 

Your boyfriend groaned, glancing at the camera, “Everyone’s got a good view of your little cunt now, huh?” he growled moving his grip from your hair to your throat, “You like that, I can feel you squeezing me at the thought of all these people watching your pussy stretch on my cock. You’re stuffed so fuckin’ full you can barely stand it, isn’t that right?”

Bakugou couldn’t tear his eyes away from the scene. The4 dominance the redhead exuded rivaled his own and the way you so easily fell submissively to him was beautiful. There was so much trust in you ― knowing your boyfriend would take good care of you. Bakugou’s heart ached ever so slightly at the idea ― it was clear your relationship was a good one. It was something the pro hero would never hope to have himself.

You didn’t respond, your eyes rolling back in your head before closing. Your mouth was open, no sounds escaping due to the tight grip the redhead had on your throat. Your head rolled back to rest on his shoulder, legs spread to let him fuck your hole with everything he had. Your weight was braced completely on him, your partner dutifully supporting your body as you let him have his way.

With his free hand, he palmed your breast, pinching your nipple harshly to make you keen. Bakugou felt his cock throb at the sound. It was so whiny, pathetic. You were so completely submissive and at the mercy of your boyfriend. And you were loving every second of it. 

Bakugou couldn’t deny he enjoyed witnessing it himself.

Your cunt was stretched wide, the HD camera giving spectacular quality to the way your juices dripped down the length plunging into your body. It dripped off of his balls and down your thighs. So fucking messy. 

The redhead’s cock was big, something Bakugou himself could even feel envious of despite his own well-endowed size. Your cunt was tight, no doubt requiring a good amount of preparation to take him. He wondered if you enjoyed the stinging burn of pain when you took the cock. The blonde made a mental note to check out your part streams later.

“Gonna...gonna cum,” you gasped, warning your boyfriend. 

He scoffed, sounding annoyed, “Do it then. I don’t give a shit.”

“Please, can’t!” you sobbed, finally opening your eyes to look up at him. He wore a cocky grin, knowing your pleasure laid in his hands. 

“Why?” he teased, abandoning his hold on your breast to travel down the soft skin of your stomach, pausing right above where you needed him, “You need me to touch your little clit, hm? Is that what it is?” 

You nodded desperately, grinding your hips down every time he sunk his cock into you, hoping to get more than you were being given, “Please!”

“Alright,” he sighed, pressing a kiss against your temple. The gesture was oddly soft and intimate in comparison to the harsh, punishing pace of his cock, “You had a long day. I’ll be nice. You better thank me for making this greedy little cunt cum.”

Finally, his fingers reached your swollen clit. A couple practiced circles over the bud had you tumbling over the edge. Bakugou gripped his cock through the material of his boxers as he watched you tremble and moan as the redhead fucked you through the high. 

Letting out a sob at the overstimulation when your boyfriend still didn’t stop when you came down, you choked out, “Th-Thank you!”

“Good girl,” your boyfriend grinned, letting you fall back into your original position with your face buried in the blankets. The redhead tossed his head back, gripping your hips as he fucked into you, chasing his own orgasm. He laid a few harsh slaps against your ass, making you whimper, flinching at the impact but not running from it. Bakugou could hear the sharp sound of his hand making contact with your skin. Now that you had cum, the redhead let himself go. 

And he did. Your boyfriend let out a groan of pleasure, announcing his release. He didn’t pull out, pouring his hot cum into your overstimulated cunt.

Bakugou’s cock throbbed once, twice before he was spilling a load of hot cum into his boxers. The white cum oozed through the fibers as his thighs trembled.

When he came back to himself, he looked at the screen to find you had curled up on your side with a dreamy smile aimed at your boyfriend, Bakugou couldn’t help but smile at the screen at how cute you looked. He moved towards the camera with a grin, having already pulled out.

“Thanks for watchin’!” that was all he said before the screen went dark and bold white letters flashed over the screen that said ‘this stream has ended.’

Bakugou’s attention moved to the chat, checking to see what was being talked about. 

The comment that caught his eye was, “Eijirou and ______ are literally the power couple of porn.”

Bakugou sighed. Eijirou and ______. 

The names of his new favorite cam couple. 

[hercleverboy]

can i please get your take on 25 from the general prompts and 33 from angst? omg please make it a happy ending if possible. i'm just a sucker for angsty fluff tbh!

wc ↠ 1.7k 

this one really took on a mind of it’s own but here you go! and it does have a happy ending, fret not. also it’s like wayyyy to long to even be classed as a blurb but whatever

General #25 ↠ “She doesn’t belong with him!” “Then who does she belong with?” “..With me.”

Angst #33 ↠ “I was happier with you.”

The day that Spencer broke her heart was one she would never forget. 

He’d been acting off lately. He pulled away when she tried to kiss him, turned his back to her when they went to bed each night, only answered with few words whenever she tried to speak to him. 

She knew it was over before he even said the words. 

“I can’t keep doing this.” He murmured one day, and Y/N sucked in a breath, preparing herself. “Me being away so often...It’s hurting you. I can see it. And you deserve so much better than that.”

She shook her head, moving toward him. “Please don’t do this, Spencer. Yes, I get a little upset when you’re away but that’s because I love you! I miss you when you’re gone!” She cried, “But that just makes the time we do spend together so much better.” 

“I love you too.” He paused, tears burning in his eyes. He was doing this for her, she’d understand that one day. “Which is why I have to let you go.”

and that was it.

Y/N moved out of their shared home, the house once filled with such light and warmth and happiness was now empty and cold and dark and Spencer had no one else to blame but himself. 

He did love her, very much so, and it was because of that that he no longer wanted to be the cause of her pain. No matter how much she played it off, smiled through her upset, laughed even though her heart would ache without him by her side- he could see right through her. She deserved better than him, than the limited life he could give her. At least, that’s what he thought at the time. He’d never regretted a decision more than that one. 

Six months later, JJ and Will got married in a beautiful starlit wedding in Rossi’s garden, surrounded by great friends and family. Friends- one of which was Y/N. Now Spencer thought about it, of course Y/N was going to be there. She was very close with JJ, and it was that fact that had led to the two meeting in the first place. 

Now, Spencer watched from across the garden in awe as she smiled and laughed with the bride. She’d never looked so beautiful, her melodic laugh radiating the warm energy that he’d missed so badly. He felt hope swell in his chest. A part of him that prayed to anyone that was listening that perhaps he’d be allowed a second chance, the opportunity to repent for the biggest mistake he’d ever made. 

All hope was abandoned when he saw a man he didn’t recognise come up behind Y/N, his hand resting on her hip as he handed her a drink, pressing a kiss to her cheek. 

She’d brought a date. 

His breath caught in his throat, rapidly blinking his eyes to rid them of tears that were brewing faster than he could clear them. Morgan, who Spencer had been mid-conversation with, paused. 

“You ok, Kid?” 

Spencer nodded a little too quickly, clearing his throat. “Yes, uh, I’m fine. Would you just excuse me a moment?” He stammered before turning and making his way inside the house, away from the worried eyes of his team. 

Morgan looked across the garden, catching JJ’s eye. She gave him a concerned look, to which he shrugged. JJ excused herself from the conversation she was having, walking over to Morgan. 

“Where’d Spence run off to?” 

“Not a clue, but I think it has something to do with that.” Morgan sighed, tipping his beer bottle in the direction of Y/N, who was laughing happily whilst dancing with her date. 

JJ gave Morgan a sad smile before heading off into the house, walking down numerous hallways trying to find which room Spencer had gone into. She eventually found a room where the door was slightly ajar, knocking gently before pushing it open. “Spence?” 

Spencer was sat on one of the chairs in the room with his back to the door, soft sobs coming from him, his shoulders shaking. At the sound of JJ’s voice, he sprung up from the chair with a sniff, hand wiping at his eyes as though he could convince her he wasn’t crying at all. “JJ! Hey, uh, sorry, I just- I needed a moment.” 

She waved her hand, giving him a soft smile. “You don’t have to apologise. You want to tell me what’s going on?” 

Spencer sighed, plopping back down into the chair as JJ came and took a seat beside him. “Did you see the date Y/N brought?” He asked quietly. 

JJ hummed. “I did. He’s nice.” She commented, not wanting to rub salt in the wound. “Is that why you’re so upset?” 

“Yes, of course that’s why I’m upset. I made the biggest mistake of my life letting her go and now I might lose her.” He cried, voice raising. “She doesn’t belong with him!”

“Then who does she belong with?”

His shoulders dropped, eyes finally meeting JJ’s. “...With me.”

JJ sighed, shaking her head. “You broke up with her, Spence!”

“I know I did, but it wasn’t because I stopped loving her!” 

“You can’t have it both ways! Either you want her, or you don’t!” JJ exclaimed. “Is she the one you want, yes or no?” 

“Yes.” He spoke so surely, his tone so certain that it made JJ grin. 

“Good! So, go out there and fix it!” 

Spencer nodded, scrambling toward the door with a quick ‘thank you!’ as he went. 

Once he was back in the garden, he headed over towards Morgan who greeted him with a small smile. “JJ knock some sense into you?” 

Spencer rolled his eyes at the comment but nodded nonetheless. “Could you do me a favour?” 

Morgan nodded, placing his beer down on the tabletop of the bar with a grin. “You want me to distract the date? You got it Pretty Boy, but you owe me one.” He smirked, narrowing his eyes playfully at his friend before heading in Y/N’s direction. 

Spencer watched the three speak as he fiddled with his thumbs, anxiously trying to figure out what he was going to say when a less than sober Penelope Garcia stumbled her way toward him, what must be her fourth (maybe fifth?) glass of champagne in her hand. 

“Reid! Have you seen my chocolate thunder? Cause you know I’ve been looking for him for a while now and- hold on a minute, you’re up to something!” She deduced, wagging an accusatory finger at him. 

“What, no I am not!” Spencer exclaimed, his tone getting higher in pitch like it always did when he was lying. 

“Oh, you so are! What’s going on?” She whined, making Spencer grin. 

“Okay okay. You wanna help?” He leaned in, explaining to her what Morgan was doing. 

Penelope let out a gasp, nodding happily. “That’s so exciting. I can totally help.” She moved over to where Morgan had struck up conversation with Y/N’s date, her loud voice catching both the men’s attention. 

Spencer let out a chuckle, Garcia was certainly a good distraction. 

When he saw Y/N was stood alone, he knew that was his shot. He shook all the negativity from his head, running his finger through his hair in attempt to look as presentable as possible before making his way over. 

“Y/N?” 

When she looked over and saw him, it was as though her heart was broken all over again. She’d made a good job of ignoring him thus far but couldn’t find it in her to be cold to him, despite everything that had happened. 

“Hi Spencer.” She gave a little smile. 

He bit his lip, his mind racing. “Do you think- maybe we could talk?” 

It would’ve been in her best interest to say no, to tell him that she didn’t want to speak to him, but she couldn’t. Even if she didn’t want to admit it, no matter how hard she tried to convince herself otherwise, her heart still beat for him. 

She nodded, allowed him to lead her to a quieter part of the garden, away from the eyes of others so they could talk. “What’s up?” 

Spencer froze in that moment. Now that he had her there, what was he supposed to say? With all the thoughts flooding his head, where did he start? 

He tried desperately to form the words, but nothing left his lips. 

“I thought you said you wanted to talk?” She sighed. “I can’t do this.” She shook her head, beginning to walk away when Spencer gently grabbed her arm.

“Wait!” He called, cringing at how demanding he sounded. He knew he had to say something, anything to make her stay and listen. “I was happier with you.”

She looked back at him, eyes wide. “What?”

“I’m so sorry, Y/N. You don’t know how much I regret what I told you that day. I thought that I was keeping you safe by letting you go. I thought I was being selfless, but I wasn’t. It was selfish of me to do that without even considering trying to talk it out with you first, without allowing any room for your feelings or concerns.” He breathed out in one go, his words quick and filled with shame. “I know that things might never be the same, but I want to try. I love you, so much.” He whimpered, dropping his hold on her arm.

Her face softened, as she reached down to grip one of his hands in hers. She gave a light-hearted chuckle, one that contrasted the tears welling in her eyes. “I think we have a lot to talk about, huh?”

Spencer chuckled a little too, thumb rubbing over her skin. “Yeah, I guess we do.”

She sniffled. “This doesn’t mean I’m not still angry, cause I am.”

He nodded, looking down at their joint hands. “That’s okay, you have every right to be.”

“It might take a while, but I’m willing to try.” She confirmed, giving a small smile at how Spencer’s face lit up. “But I swear to god Spencer, this is your last chance.”

“I know, I know.” He grinned, giving her hands a squeeze. “One last chance is all I’ll need.”

and he was right.

[matbarzyy]

17 with Tito please!!

A/N: Trying to clean out my inbox from all the requests I got last time I posted a prompt list, hope you like it <3 The prompt was “I’ll feel better if you let me walk you home.”

Word count: 1702

.

“Is that your daughter?” Anthony noticed your lockscreen when you checked your one last time before putting it away in your purse.

“Um, yeah,” you nodded, feeling your chest tighten a little.

Jumping into the subject right at the start of the date wasn’t what you had expected. You hadn’t made it a secret that you were a single mom to a beautiful and smart two years old little girl, so Anthony knew what he was getting into when he asked you out, but you were still nervous about it. He was a year younger than you, and while that wasn’t much you also knew he probably had other things on his mind than taking care of a child. It was understandable, of course, but you were tired of having expectations when it came to men you were dating. If they weren’t ready to deal with the fact you had made a priority of your daughter, then you weren’t interested.

“Millie, right?” Anthony smiled, seemingly more curious about her than other men you’d met so far.

“Yes, she’s two,” you returned the expression but tried not to jump into too many details. “Still small but an absolute ray of sunshine.”

“She looks cute,” he complimented although he had only caught a glimpse of her.

You tried not to let yourself get too excited when he kept on talking and asked you more about her, but he seemed genuine and you both laughed together so much that you couldn’t help but let yourself get your hopes up. It was your first date in months that wasn’t an absolute disaster. Granted, you already had a few friends in common so you knew he had to be a decent person, but he was already more than you had hoped for.

It helped that you lived close to each other too, as you soon found out because he had walked to the restaurant too. It was still warm enough to stroll around the city without losing the tips of your fingers, so you were both making the most of it.

Two glasses of wine later, you were just about to order dessert and the date was going so well all of your stress had worn off. You were talking comfortably, most of the awkwardness made you laugh as you got over it, and Anthony was genuinely funny without ever making a misplaced comment. It was all too good to be true, but after the last three years of your life and the struggles you went through, you felt like you deserved this.

Everything wasn’t perfect, but it was nowhere near as disastrous as your previous dates and you felt like you could breathe again. Maybe your love life wasn’t completely hopeless, and maybe not all men were a nightmare to deal with.

“I can’t believe you think an apple pie is better than a brownie,” Anthony shook his head with a teasing smile, starting up a new debate on desserts now that you were both trying to pick.

“The brownie doesn’t even come close to the second place,” you had already worked out the hierarchy of the desserts on the menu in your head and the brownie was all the way down with the carrot cake.

“But it comes with ice cream!” He argued like that point would fix everything, so you laughed wholeheartedly and kept on going.

“Ice cream is for warm sunny days,” you stated, sure that it would get a reaction out of him, and his huff was just what you had expected.

“This statement is wrong in so many ways.” He rolled his eyes, tone still playful.

“Enlighten me,” you chuckled, leaning the side of your head against your hand. Your smile fell a second later when your phone rang, stopping him from replying. “I’m sorry, I have to take that,”

“It’s okay,” he nodded, leaning back in his chair and pretending to look at the menu again to give you a moment.

“Please don’t be an emergency,” you muttered to yourself but Anthony still caught it before you picked up. “Hello?”

You didn’t move from your seat as you listened to what your niece had to say. You let out some okays here and there as she talked, and Anthony watched the way your face fell a little bit more with every second that passed.

“I’m so sorry,” you bit your bottom lip. “I really have to go,”

“Hey, it’s fine,” he frowned at the look on your face. “Is she okay, what happened?”

“She’s sick, apparently got a fever and all that fun stuff,” you put your jacket on and grabbed your purse. “My sixteen years old niece is watching her and she doesn’t know what to do,”

“Let’s go then,” he nodded, abandoning the idea of eating dessert and standing up too.

You walked back to the front of the restaurant together, a waiter had already spotted you and was coming forward so that you could pay. You expected to take care of the bill, being the reason the date was ending early, but Anthony stopped you from reaching into your bag and handed his card to the waiter.

“I got it,”

“Thank you,” You replied quietly, not wanting to argue because it was bad enough already that you had to leave. “I’m really sorry I had to cut this short.”

“The night isn’t over, come on, I’ll walk you back.” Anthony didn’t let his mood go down and your eyes almost bulged out of your head.

“You don’t have to do that, it’s getting cold,” you felt awful for ruining the night, the last thing you needed was to make him walk further to get home.

“It’s late and it’s dark, I’ll feel better if you let me walk you home.” He held the door of the restaurant open for you and you ducked your head as you walked past, heat rushing to your cheeks.

“Thank you,”

You were quiet as you walked, a little hurried to get to your daughter fast although you weren’t in a rush to leave Anthony. Having him close was nice despite how uncomfortable you now were due to your family emergency.

His hand bumped against yours, once, twice. The third time, you knew it wasn’t an accident, so you looked up at him to find him stealing a glance at you too. A smile etched on his face and he linked your fingers while you went giddy all over.

“So,” he broke the silence. “How many dumb guys have ruined dates for you just because you have a daughter?”

“That obvious, uh?” You stared at your feet again, but the way his thumb rubbed over the back of your hand comforted you.

You wished you still had the confidence you used to have before you got pregnant. As much as it had taught you, there were still times when you regretted how easy it used to be for you to believe you were worth something on the dating scene. You had learned a lot with Millie, but you also stopped progressing in other aspects of your life.

“A little,” Anthony admitted and kept on walking at your pace. He could tell you were in a rush to check everything was okay at home, so he didn’t want to slow you down despite wishing the date could have lasted longer. “I knew about her when we met, I wouldn’t have asked you out if it bothered me,”

“Well, I used to assume that when I got asked on dates, but turns out it was too big of an assumption.” You chuckled dryly, making his heart squeeze.

Anthony felt for you in that moment. It was unfair that they had treated you that way for something you weren’t hiding. He could tell you were happy to have you daughter and you clearly loved her more than anything, but he could also see the shame you carried being a young single mother.

It wasn’t right that you were constantly receiving negative reactions for being the parent that stayed. You were the one trying your best to give your daughter the best life you possibly could, and Anthony couldn’t do anything but admire that.

The idea of being with you in the long run and possibly becoming important in Millie’s life had been on his mind for a long time before the date. It was a lot of responsibilities to take, but at the end of the day he had refused to pressure himself because of it. You were great and he wanted to get to know you, it was that simple. Only time could tell where the two would end up, and going out with you on a few dates didn’t mean he had to commit to anything immediately. He also knew that if you were the right person for him then he was ready to commit to it all.

“That’s me,” you eventually slowed in front of a building and came to a stop, unsure of what else to say. You hated how uncomfortable you were, the two of you had just clicked when you met up at the restaurant and yet you were stuck in an awkward silence now.

Anthony welcomed the interruption; he didn’t want to keep on overthinking things. “I know tonight didn’t end the way you hoped it would,” he said because that much was obvious, getting you to look up at him rather than anywhere else on the street for the first time since you had begun walking. “But I had a great time, and it’d be nice if we could go out again soon,”

“I-” you had prepared yourself to utter another apology, but his words took you by surprise and your chest went tight with nervousness. “Yes, I’d like that,” you breathed out faster than you should have and Anthony’s smile spread across his face, making his blue eyes brighten even in the darkness of the night. “I’m not sure when I’m free yet but, um-”

“Don’t worry about it,” he chuckled softly. The way you were fumbling for words and tried to hide your grin was endearing. “Just text me when you know, yeah?”

“I will.”

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[dreamii-yume]

For Malleus’ birthday can we get a date exploring abandoned buildings with him.

Note : This takes place back when you still don’t know what Tsunotarou’s real identity is.

Malleus couldn’t sleep.

Not like he needed much anyway, someone as powerful as him wouldn’t submit to something as primal as sleep. To him, it was irrelevant and the darkness of the night just so happens to be his favorite time of the day. So, he had to do what he always do the best; Escape from the surveillance of his retainers and explore a world he had never been to before. It’s the same old routine every time and yet, the unknown never cease to fascinate him.

However, it was strange to say that no matter how much he walks, his feet would always carry him back to a place that he knows all too well. The Ramshackle Dorm whose only occupant is a petty monster, and a lone human that could not use magic. It used to be his favorite place, although he’ll never actually admit that to anyone. It was a shame that there is now someone to disrupt that atmospheric peace it had. There would be more people that’ll visit that place and soon, it’ll lose all the qualities that made it special.

But even so...Malleus found himself gazing at it tonight as well.

He...Doesn’t really know how he got here in the first place, nor does he ever understand why. It felt like it’s a huge responsibility, to visit the dorm in every way he can. Maybe it was because he’s still attached to the place? Maybe he had already explored everything he has to in this island? No, it’s not that. He was simply waiting...and hoping for a certain someone to come out every time he comes to visit.

“My, my...It’s a surprise to see you still out in the cold at a time like this. Have you had any fear at all?”

One of the residence in that same broken down dorm, a child of a human. She had no powerful magic to compare to his, the odd one in a school focused on honing a wizard’s magical capability. Honestly, she was just an unfortunate creature, a bystander that shouldn’t have gotten involved in the first place. Malleus almost feels bad for her, having heard of stories from his supervisor about all the things that this human had to go through with the other dorm leaders mysteriously overblotting. She was a well-developed young woman by human standards, but in his eyes, all he sees is a little girl still in need of guidance.

She was nothing special, and yet, she never fails to put a smile on his face.

“Ah, Tsunotarou...!”

What a ridiculous nickname. If his people were to hear this one human call him, call The Malleus Draconia by such terms, there would be a riot, a controversy. Honestly, if it were anyone but you who would dare to call him by that name, a shot of lightning would’ve probably executed them right on the spot. Guess it was a good thing that you got permission beforehand, huh? Even if you yourself hadn’t realized so, it was charming to say the least.

“I could say the same thing for you too.” You said, with your head held up high to look at him in the eyes. Malleus could not see the tiniest bit of fear in your eyes, it was clear that you did not see him as a threat at all, unlike the others. “Say, didn’t you say that you were a fan of exploring around? I’m kinda in a mood to do just that so, would you like to accompany me?”

Malleus couldn’t help but chuckle at what you said, not one person had ever said that to him with a straight face before. “Was that an invitation, Child of Man? How curious...” He asked, in which he received an eager nod from you. “Very well then, I accept. Honestly, I could never find a gloomy moment with you.”

His comment only left you raising your eyebrow in confusion, something that he had already expected. It was no use on confusing the ignorant any further, after all. Either way, you carry on along with him accompanying you wherever you plan to go.

Some of the places that you both ended up visiting had already been old news to Malleus, having all the time in the world to explore them. However, that radiant in your eyes prevented him from saying anything that would spoil your excitement, your reaction was far too amusing. You were a curious human child, having the courage to look at every crooks a place had without worrying about the risks for traps. For that short time he had with you tonight, he already lost count of how many times he had to use his magic to move away debris away from you, without yourself even noticing. From the large boulders that could actually seriously injure you, to the tiniest of rocks that you wouldn’t even feel, it became a reflex for him to keep a look out for any other danger that may come your way.

Malleus even found himself secretly using magic to lead you to a specific part of a place, one that would make your eyes shine in amazement once you found it. You would go up to him, feeling proud by thinking that you found such treasure yourself when it truth, he played a major role in it. But still, he could never say that, he enjoyed your enthusiasm way too much to do so.

“Exploring like this really takes the energy out of you quick, huh...” You said as a yawn escapes you. Initially intending to take a break, you and Malleus sat beside each other in a nearby bench, a lamp post illuminating the surroundings.

With his arms crossed, Malleus observed the way you rubbed your eyes, as if to fight the urge to sleep. It was clear that you’ve already reached your limit for tonight, and although he feels rather disappointed that it would end so soon, you needed to rest your eyes. “Isn’t it about time for you to come back to your dorm? It has gotten quite late.” He suggested with his eyes closed, still in dismay that his time with you is over. Truly, the difference between the endurance between a human and a fae are both far and wide.

“Yeah...” You listlessly agreed whilst nodding off, it made Malleus smile slightly actually. Honestly, you’re hopeless, and with that extreme vulnerability of yours, just imagine all the things that he could do. He isn’t as friendly as you think after all, but revealing that now would simply be boring in his standards, not to mention quite pointless. With only a few months of talking and meeting up like this, you already had come to trust him so much as to never raise your guard up when it comes to him. He should be offended, but there was a certain charm around it when it’s you. “It’s really late, and...”

Suddenly, you looked up, coincidentally seeing a clock post nearby and Malleus had to tilt his head in wonder with that pause in your words. Then, you widened your eyes. “Ah! It’s already passed midnight!” You blurted out in panic, which made Malleus face palm gently, so that’s what this is all about? Just realizing that, you’re such a... “Here!”

This time, it was Malleus’ turn to be caught off-guard as you handed him some sort cloth, no...It was a scarf. “...What do you intend on giving me this?” Malleus asked, looking back at your smile.

You blinked repeatedly. “What do I intend...? Well...” You trailed off, scratching the back of your head before looking back at him with a cute blush on your cheeks. “...It’s your birthday today, isn’t it?”

It took him a moment, slowly widening his eyes as realization came by him. “Birth...day?” It didn’t even occur to him, he completely forgot the importance of this new day that came by. “...How do you know about that?”

“Lilia-senpai told me! Since he seemed to know you.” You beamed up at him. “Though...I kinda panicked a little, and I don’t really know too much about you to actually know what kind of gift you would like...”

You scratched your cheek in embarrassment, looking away from him. “...So, I ended up knitting something and before I knew it, it turned into a scarf, haha...” You sheepishly explained, face burning at how low your reasoning was. “Y-You don’t have to wear it if you don’t want to, but I’d really appreciate it...If you can at least take it...”

Malleus stared at your face, your usually bright expression had suddenly been overpowered by sheer embarrassment. Your face was red, the way you were biting you lips slightly was a new side of nervousness that he didn’t know about you, nor he had ever known that you were capable of expressing. It was honestly...refreshing to see that, adorable even. Looking at the scarf in your hand, it was true that it looked like it was hand crafted. You still didn’t seem to have a full grasp in knitting yet, judging from the few loosely strands sticking out here and there, but it still wasn’t exactly bad.

Then, Malleus just couldn’t help it anymore. A booming laughter escaped his throat, it was more than a chuckle, he was actually letting out his entertainment right there. “Haha! Oh, Child of Man...You are truly the most interesting human I’ve ever encountered!” He exclaimed, a large smile sprawled on his face.

“I-I am...?” You muttered in a flinch, not expecting him to say anything at all.

“Very well...I shall take it.” It’s not like there was any trouble anyways, Malleus would’ve still gladly take it from you if you were so generously offering it up to him. Regardless if it was his birthday or not.

“R-Really...!?”

“I don’t see why not.” Malleus said, raising his eyebrow with a smirk that can never disappear from his face for some reason. “I’ll even give you permission to place it around me and let you see how it looks.”

“Yay!” You cheered, scooting closer to him with the scarf on your hands. Malleus instantly noticed the gesture you gave him and lowered his head slightly, just enough for you to wrap the fluffy fabric around his neck. Tying them up nicely, you marvelled at the way your horned friend look. “Wah~! Tsunotarou, you look adorable! And comfortable too!”

A twitch displayed on his eyebrow, but you playfully dismissed it. “Is that so...” He said and you nodded vigorously. He huffed, the cold was not an enemy to him at all, he has a natural tolerance when it comes to it. A scarf was something that is normally pointless to him but surprisingly, he felt warm. Maybe not because of the heat it provided, but because he could feel the immense care and loving effort that you put into making it. “Well...Whatever makes you happy.”

Giggling, another sleepy yawn escapes you, but it sounded way more exhausted than the previous one. Without thinking, you lay your head on Malleus’ shoulder, startling the fae. “Hehe...Tsunotarou’s so warm...” You said, leaning your forehead against him, with your hands clenched around his sleeve. Malleus kept quiet, he couldn’t say anything back as he just stared at your form, waiting for your next response.

...But what greeted him next were just a batch of soft snores, suggesting that you had finally succumbed to your battle against the overwhelming slumber. Malleus blinked a few times, before chuckling at your behavior. Even in your sleep, you sound so chipper, probably because of the fact that you’ve accomplished something for tonight. He raised a hand and hanged it around your shoulder, pulling you closed for more comfort. He glanced down at your sleeping figure, still can’t believe that you fell asleep in his presence.

Sometimes, Malleus wonders what you would be like if you’ve met in an alternate universe where you’re aware of who he is. Would you be scared, or would everything stay the same as always? When it comes to you, he still couldn’t determine which would be the exact answer. But if he were to ask you that same exact question, a part of him could just laugh and sit back as it wouldn’t really matter. He already knew what you were going to say, after all.

“Tsunotarou would always be Tsunotarou”

...That was what you told him before too, right? Malleus liked that answer, it was really something to expect from the strangest human he had ever meet. So, until then, there was no reason for him to doubt you. He’ll believe your words as he continues to wait for the inevitable day that you will come to know of his real name. He doesn’t have to rush, he’ll cherish these moments for a little longer, while he still can.

It was funny, for the first time in his long years of fae life, he was fine putting his arms around a human like this. He even go as far as to keep you warm from the cold, making your slumber a little more comfortable. Closing his eyes gently, he leaned his head close to your own, foolishly basking in a human’s warmth himself...How scandalous for the future heir of the Valley of Thorns, being so intimate with a mere human like this. The very fact that he’s enjoying this moment right now is a sin of itself, he’ll be in so much trouble...

...And yet, for the very first time, Malleus could not care less.

MALLEUS AND YUU INTERACTIONS ARE THE BEST SCENES IN THE WHOLE ENTIRE GAME.

CHANGE MY MIND.

...Actually, no. You can’t, it’s too late. I’m already feeling so girly for this ship.

[blinder-secrets]

Between Palms

fem!reader x michael gray

warnings: power imbalance, role play, mild nsfw (its a slow burn but hang in there trust me)

wordcount: 4,125

It seemed silly really, a birthday meal at Arrow House, but here you were. Invite accepted and fulfilled, even though you were just there as a plus one. An almost family member. Michael had you living in his house, accompanying him to every event, and yet your finger was still empty of the ring you both knew would come eventually. He’s waiting for the right moment, you suppose. It doesn’t really matter. Everyone knows he’s yours, and you’re his. Even Polly is starting to treat you like a daughter.

‘Is it his actual birthday today?’ you ask Michael, as he takes your coat in the entry way.

‘Don’t know.’ He passes it to Mary, who you’ve only just been introduced to. 'Tomorrow I think.’

You hum. This was the family version then, they’d spend his birthday alone, just the two of them. ‘It’s quite sweet, isn’t it?’ you muse. You’d never have marked either Tommy or Lizzie as the sentimental sort.

Michael snorts. ‘Sweet, yeah.’ From his smirk, you know he doesn’t even remotely agree.

‘The meal is being served,’ Mary tells you, careful in her interruption. ‘If you’ll follow me?’

‘Oh, course, sorry.’ You nod and gesture for her to continue; you’d almost forgotten that the both of you were late. ‘Come on,’ you say to Michael, offering your hand.

He takes it readily, his palm warm and soft against yours. From the look of him, his sharp suits, his set hair and his square jaw, you’d always assumed he would shy away from touches like that. That he’d keep his hands in his pockets and his character professional, impenetrable. But, he never does with you. Whenever you give your hand, he takes it, locks his fingers around it. He’d let you pull him half way across the world, you think. If you tried.

In the main dining room, you’re met by the rest of the family. They’re seated already, talking and drinking around the platters of food, the plates already filled with some expensive cut of meat. The conversation stills as you enter, a few of them beginning to stand to greet you.

‘No, no don’t,’ you say quickly, waving them down again. ‘We’ve got time for that later.’

‘Tommy,’ Michael says, acknowledging him with a nod. ‘Happy Birthday.’

‘Yes,’ you add, ‘we left your gift with Mary.’ You’re sure he doesn’t care what it is, you don’t even know that he’ll ever open it. It’d had felt wrong to go to a birthday party without taking something.

Tommy almost matches your waiting smile. It’s as much of a response as you’ll get. ‘Please,’ he says, gesturing to the two empty chairs, ‘sit down. Get a drink.’

You take your seat which is, of course, next to Michael. Your Michael. He’s holding the chair out for you, ready to tuck it in as you sit. Always the gentleman like it’s second nature. Like he doesn’t even notice he’s doing it. You smile up at him in thanks, but he just touches your shoulder briefly before sitting himself. ‘Looks great,’ he comments, eyes down as he scans the lay of food and alcohol before him. His accent’s stronger when he’s with them, like he picks it up at the door. At home it almost disappears, melts into something softer, some remnant of his upbringing. You haven’t decided yet which it is that you prefer. It’s what he says that charms you.

‘It’s nice of you to have us, Tommy,’ you say, leaning around Michael to smile at him.

He’s sitting at the head of the table, as uninterested in the food as you’d expected him to be. His eyebrows raise in response to your comment, and he half-shakes his head, as if to say, oh it’s no problem, no trouble. From the way Lizzie’s smiling beside him, you know that it was all her really. Her idea, her planning. She wanted him and the family to have something nice for once and so here you were.

‘And Lizzie, of course,’ you add. ‘Thank-you.’

‘Our pleasure,’ she replies gently, lifting her glass. ‘Please, eat. Before it gets cold.’

You nod and bring your focus back to Michael, who’s lit a cigarette and is now resting between drags. It sits between his fingers on the table, smoke pulling up and over his plate, swirling his meal in grey. How he doesn’t mind, you have no idea. He may as well peel it open and eat the tobacco instead.

‘Michael,’ you scold quietly, knocking your elbow against his. ‘Put it out.’

He clears his throat and sits straighter, lifting the cigarette for a final taste. ‘Was in my head,’ he comments on the exhale, before taking another sharp, final drag. ‘Think we should do something like this.’

You watch him lean forward and stub the cigarette out, into the ashtray in the middle. ‘Do what?’

‘Have a dinner,’ he says, sitting back again. ‘For you, for your birthday.’

Snorting, you shake your head and turn to pick up your cutlery. The house you have together is nowhere near big enough to accommodate for the Shelby side, let alone your family too. Not that you would invite them anyway. They’d see Arthur and go running, hear Johnny Dogg’s jokes and flush red with shame.

‘Yeah? And who would arrange that?’ you ask. You take a bite and throw him a closed-lip smile between chews. ‘I’m not doing it.’

He shrugs. ‘Well, I will.’  

The beef is cooked perfectly, you cut another piece off as you reply. ‘You’re good with numbers, Michael, not parties.’

‘Alright.’ He picks up his fork limply, too focused on the side of your face to even consider eating something himself. ‘Mum will,’ he says to you, then, turning to her, ‘you’ll help, won’t you?’

Polly scoffs from opposite. You hadn’t realised she’d been paying attention, but of course she had. She never misses anything of interest. ‘Not bloody likely,’ she chides. ‘You’ll have to do something for yourself one day, Michael.’ She’s smiling, teasing with her lips soft and curling, but it still sours him.

‘Fine,’ he says, slouching. ‘No party, then. Christ.’

You almost roll your eyes, but it isn’t often that he suggests something like this. Something flashy. Normally, any gesture of affection he has for you is quiet, private. Tucked away just for the two of you. A big party like the one Lizzie’s thrown for Tommy is entirely new; you hadn’t meant to shoot him down so quickly. Sighing, you soften your voice and say, ‘We can have a party, baby.’ He hums. You put your hand to his face, thumb angled for his chin, but he tilts his head away in the last second.

Before you can complain, Polly catches your attention again. ‘Here, love,’ she says, ‘have some more potatoes.’ She holds the dish up for you, over the centre of the table and the glasses between.

‘Sure, thanks.’

You take the offering and when you pull the dish toward you, the bottom catches on your wine glass. It tips quickly, spilling red over the table, over you. You half expect it to shatter against the edge of your plate.

Cursing loudly, you abandon the dish into Michael’s waiting hands. ‘Sorry, fuck, sorry.’ You stand quickly and the commotion hushes every conversation that had been rolling within the room.

‘You’re meant to drink it, love,’ Arthur laughs, from whichever end he’s sat at — you’re too busy patting your napkin frantically onto the tablecloth to check.

‘God, sorry, sorry Lizzie.’ It’s stained, it’s definitely stained and ruined.

‘It’s on your dress,’ Michael comments, like you hadn’t noticed.

‘Never mind the dress,’ you snap back. ‘The sheet’s ruined.’

Tommy clears his throat. ‘Its just the tablecloth, [y/n], sit down.’

‘It’ll do more damage to your dress, love,’ Lizzie adds, sympathetically. ‘It’s alright.’

You pause, huffing slightly, then sit clumsily back into your chair. It’s always you, it seems, to stand out like this. To be un-calculated, accidental. Every Shelby is so precise, and so careful, and so in control of everything at once, somehow. Michael’s a Gray but he’s got it too, the grace. Lizzie isn’t even blood related and she holds herself the same. What is it about you? What do you lack?

‘Don’t worry,’ Michael says quietly, interrupting the thought by pouring words into your ear. ‘Don’t get yourself worked up.’

You don’t answer him, you just pout and dab at the stain on your lap. The wine’s sunk in deep already. It looks purple, not red, against the fabric.

‘Mary could help,’ he offers, after sighing at your silence. ‘She’ll be in the kitchen.’

You nod and stand, clutching the soggy napkin in your palm. ‘If you’ll excuse me,’ you say to the table. Your voice only catches the attention of Polly and Finn, but no-one else challenges you when you turn to leave. It’s just another of your quirks, they must think, just something you do. They either don’t care, or didn’t see.

You hurry from the room with your ears turning hot. Michael will tell you later that you were being silly, worrying over nothing, but right now it feels mortifying. Leaving the room to see a maid about a stain. In the middle of a dinner party, no less.

When you reach the kitchen, Mary startles. Her eyes widen at the sight of you, like your presence alone means she’s done something wrong, like she’s forgotten something and you’re here to chase her up on it.

‘Don’t worry,’ you tell her, gesturing to your dress. ‘I just wanted to see if you had something for this.’

Her expression softens. The gentle folds in her face fall slack and for a moment she reminds you of your grandmother, though she never had the gall to be a gangster’s housekeeper. ‘Is it wine, miss?’

You sigh. ‘Tragically, yes.’

‘There isn’t much we can do for that.’ She hums. ‘But I’ll try, please sit.’

She gestures to the table, and the chairs which are wooden, and bare, and much plainer than the dining set upstairs. It’s welcoming in a way elegance will never be. You sigh into the seat and watch her pull bottles from various cupboards, busying herself quickly. Her dress folds as she does, creasing at her waist, comfortable enough to not restrict her movements. If only yours was like that. The dress you’re wearing is too expensive, and too tight, to be any good for anyone. Now, it isn’t even pretty.

‘Mary,’ you start, stilling her as soon as the idea strikes, lighting itself as a match would. ‘Do you have any spare uniforms?’

Her brow arches slowly, like she’s unsure of your intention and even more unsure of asking for it. ‘Miss?’

‘That I can wear,’ you explain. The thought is rolling, piling up and catching speed in your head. It makes sense really, a worker’s fit for the working woman, an apron for the spills. If the Shelbys can’t find the humour in it, you certainly will.

‘Only the ones the maids wear,’ she says.

You smile. If Michael could see you now, he’d accuse you of plotting something. He’d be right. ‘Perfect,’ you tell her, ‘that’s perfect, Mary.’

If your exit was quiet, unnoticed, then your return may as well have been an explosion. A great tremor to the room and all its inhabitants. You’re barely through the doorway before Arthur’s laugh is bursting from his chest, barking over Johnny’s head toward you. From the noise of it, the rest turn in your direction. Conversation is tossed out the window and onto the lawn. Lizzie laughs, more out of shock than anything else, Polly mutters a ‘Christ’, and you’re sure you catch Finn swallowing his beer like it’s running out. How Tommy reacts, you don’t know, you don’t look.

‘Fucking hell, woman, almost lost me drink over that,’ Johnny says, speaking before anyone else has chance to.  

You reach the table and give a half-confident bow, with your gaze sitting easily on Michael. ‘Would you like a refill, mister?’ you ask falsely, twisting your voice high enough that it hardly sounds like you at all.

His eyebrows lift, eyes widening, and then they drop again, quickly, like nothing’s happened. His face hardens slightly. Then, he turns away, facing forward, and he goes very still, and very quiet, and you don’t quite know what he’s thinking. You thought he’d laugh, or at least make some snarky comment about not mingling with the help. Instead, his eyes sit on the whiskey in his hands like you aren’t even there.  

‘What the hell you got that on for?’ Arthur asks, amusement in the crinkles by his eye. ‘Eh?’

You force a smile at him. ‘Thought I’d give you something to dream about, Arthur.’

There’s few snorts in response and then Tommy puts them to rest. ‘Alright, alright, sit down,’ he says, lighter than you’d expected, ‘unless you’d like to help serve pudding.’

‘If it gets me on the payslip, I’ll consider it,’ you reply, pulling your chair out to sit.

Michael doesn’t acknowledge you still. The plates are cleared, your wine glass is upright again, refilled, and then dessert is brought out. Everything in order as Lizzie’s itinerary no doubt demanded. By the time everyone’s eating again, your outfit is entirely forgotten about. There’s no comment on the plain black dress, no jokes on the white apron that pulls it tight to your waist, no awareness of it at all. You almost regret not wearing the matching hair-band, maybe if you did Michael would have had something more interesting to say.

When the other guests are suitably distracted, he finally leans into you, whispering harshly by your ear. ‘What’re you wearing?’ he asks. You don’t have to see his face to know he’s frowning.

Your eyebrows pinch, gaze on the spoonful of tart that you’re chasing around the plate. It’s very obvious that you’re wearing what the maids wear. It’s a joke, Michael, ever heard of that? ‘My dress is ruined,’ you answer. ‘I’ve left it with Mary to work on the stain.’

‘And you couldn’t find anything else to wear?’

‘No,’ you say firmly. ‘I couldn’t.’

His jaw flexes. He downs the last of his whiskey like it’s laudanum and you’re the ache. He wants to say something, you can see it, but he holds himself back. He shakes his head like he’s knocking it down, forcing it into his throat with the liquor.

After that, the pair of you eat in silence, and when Tommy invites the party to move into one of the more comfortable rooms, you stand in silence too. You let the rest of them go ahead of you. When Polly passes on her way out, she says, ‘That’s something I’d have done when I was your age,’ and even though she’s being friendly, you wish she hadn’t. The last thing you needed now, was to be told that you were acting like your boyfriend’s mother.

You follow the crowd out of the dining room with Michael behind you. Before you can get much further, he catches your wrist, tugging you back and sideways into one of the shorter hallways. It’s dimly lit, a hardly used corridor between rooms that you’d never been to, never even noticed. He sets you against the wall, careful despite the firmness of his grip, and then his hand lifts from your arm to sit flat on the wallpaper by your head.

‘Are you trying to embarrass me?’ he says sourly, words forced over sharp teeth.  

You frown. ‘No? Why would I?’

‘This.’ His chin dips and lifts again, gesturing to the uniform. He isn’t sneering but it’s implied.

‘I had to wear something, Michael.’ You had no idea it would offend him so much. You hadn’t even considered that it’d upset him, embarrass him. It was a stupid joke and a way out of a wine-stained dress.

He breathes heavily through his nose. He’s close, very close. The heat coming off him is warming you too, making the skin beneath your collar sticky with sweat. He lets his gaze sink down your body, then drags it up again, slowly.

‘What’s the problem?’ you ask.

He doesn’t answer. His eyes find yours and harden, the angles of his jaw setting like he’s forcing it to. Oh. Oh, you think, oh, that’s what this is. It doesn’t offend him, he isn’t insulted. He’s embarrassed because you’ve found something out about him, you’ve brought something to the surface that he hadn’t even known himself, and you’d done it in front of his family, without warning.

You smile. It stretches slowly across your cheeks as the realisation solidifies. ‘Does this turn you on, Michael?’ you tease. ‘It that what it is?’

His eyes squint slightly but he says nothing. That’s a mistake — his silence just encourages you, dares you to push it further. You’re right. Now you know you are. You see it in the sharpness behind his expression, in the weighted breaths against your skin. In the way he steels himself before you.

‘Who would have thought?’ you purr, tilting your hips forward.

You catch the material of your dress at the waist, pinching it, so that your movement pulls the hem up your legs. His chin drops. The dress is bunched enough to reveal your thighs, just high enough to show the top seam of your stockings. With his free hand, he pushes carelessly under the apron and lifts, scrunching it by your hip to give him a better view. The air puffs out of his nose like he’s breathing manually, like if he doesn’t force it he’ll stop all together.

‘Have I embarrassed you, Mr. Gray?’ you drip, honey pouring from your mouth, sinking into him like an opiate. It’s new, but it’s easy. It comes naturally. Perhaps it’s always been like this; without you realising, without you caring. A power imbalance that you both liked.

You’re looking at his lashes when his eyes dart back to you. ‘Stop it,’ he warns. The apron falls down again, his hand pulls away from the wall. ‘Don’t.’

‘Why?’ You’re enjoying it too much to pay any attention to his order. ‘Would you prefer I call you Sir?’

He swallows. You bite down on your lip as you wait for a response, half-convinced that he’s about to storm away and leave you there. Then, slowly, slowly like he’s fighting and losing, letting it flood the cracks, letting it pull him under, he leans into you. His palm cups your cheek. His head drops to put his mouth just below your chin, angled and ready by your neck.

‘Say it again,’ he coaxes, voice rough over your throat.

Your breath shakes, quiet, fragile from your mouth. ‘Say what, sir?’

He exhales sharply but it catches, and for a moment it sounds like he’s growled. Your Michael, growling, with his breath hot and heavy against you. If you took drugs, this would be yours, this would be your fix. You run your hand up his side, under the jacket and over the waistcoat.

‘Do you like it, sir?’ you ask.

‘Fuck.’ The words drags out of him, scrapes through his teeth like he hasn’t realised. ‘Bring it home,’ he says, pulling his face up to look at you. He looks serious, so serious, and so desperate that it should be ridiculous.

‘What?’

‘The dress,’ he answers tightly, ‘the outfit. Bring it home with you.’

You’ve won. Somehow, you’ve won. You’d put on a uniform you had no right to wear, and now Michael was begging for you to bring it home. Desperate to have you like this, again, just for him. And you would, of course you would, you’d be an idiot to deny him something like that. To deny something so mutually beneficial. You’d get your dress back from Mary, and thank her kindly, and then take the maid’s clothes home without saying anything else. But, that was no fun now, that didn’t see to the ache that had started to build between your legs. That didn’t feed the hunger. You had Michael alone, in a darkened corridor, needy and tightroping between disciplines, teetering on the edge of his restraint. That’s too rare, too good to lose. You won’t let it end yet.

Instead, you pout your bottom lip and say, ‘Don’t you want me now? Did I do something wrong, sir?’

He groans, eyes rolling to the ceiling.

You’re impatient so, tiring of the gap, you pull him forward so that your hips are together. He’s hard, you realise, taut against his trousers. You’ve barely touched him and already he wants you, his body craves the way yours does. ‘Kiss me,’ you say messily, quickly, forgetting all about the persona you’d adopted. ‘Kiss me, Mikey.’

‘Hm?’ he hums, putting his other hand to your face, holding you still as he settles his attention on you again. He pushes back until your spine is straightened along the wall. ‘What was that?’

The slip in character hadn’t gone unnoticed. It’d broken the tension enough to give him the upper hand, to finally let him make his play.

‘You don’t talk to me like that,’ he says. ‘Do you?’ The words pour out of him thickly, whiskey and languid control melting across your cheeks, over your lips.

‘Sorry, sir,’ you reply.

Now, it was your own breath that came stiffly, unwilling to move of its own accord. Your chest rises against his because you tell it to. The pressure from his crotch grows, firm and wanting against the dip in your hip.

His tongue runs between his lips once. He’s following your expression carefully, noting each shift, each hesitation. He can see you’re cracking, you’re sure of that. The look he has is the look of a man who’s already won. One that has want he wants, but enjoys the sport of taking it. He puts his nose to the hair by your ear and breathes in deeply, sending goosebumps along your skin. ‘Ask properly,’ he says, his voice low, rumbling.

You swallow quickly. You’re flushing hot. There’s fire in you, flames curling and rising, pulling upwards from your thighs, your stomach, swallowing your heart before it can stutter a beat. ‘Please,’ you start, ‘please kiss me, sir.’

‘Better.’

His eyelids flutter once, as he looks to your lips, and then he’s kissing you. Hard. Harder than he has for a while.

Your hands go to his wrists, hanging onto him as he holds you, as he kisses you into the wall, into the house, through the brickwork and into Elysium. You moan against him and he pushes his tongue into your mouth, wanting more. Needing more.

‘Not a sound,’ he pants as he pulls away. His grip on your face disappears and then his hands are on your thighs, roughly, desperately. His palms settle behind your knees and tug them up, lifting your legs off the ground and putting them around his waist instead. He takes your weight like it’s nothing; uses his hips and his own body against you to keep you upright, between him and the wall. ‘Not a fucking sound, right?’

You nod, frantic, already reaching for him again, already pushing your mouth to his for the taste. For the whiskey. For the heat and the need, and the tongue between your teeth, for his cock, hard and ready against the softest part of you.

He pushes the dress up abruptly, piling it and the apron over your stomach. ‘I want to hear you say it,’ he breathes, forcing it between kisses. ‘Say you’ll keep quiet.’ His touch is searing, alight with something so untapped, it’s raw. Primal.

‘I’ll be quiet, sir,’ you answer pliantly. Willingly. He could ask anything of you now and you’d give it to him, you’d bleed it into his palm like molten silver. ‘Please fuck me,’ you beg. ‘Please, sir.’

He growls again and this time it’s on purpose. His face buries into your neck, into the base of your throat. He kisses the skin hungrily, wet and biting, lustful. He takes you and you let him, you invite him to, because you always have wanted it, the imbalance. The game was fake but the power is real, the submission is honest. Cultivated. It was him over you, always, and you liked that. You wanted that more than anything and now you had it, scorching between your fingers. Burning you into the wallpaper.

You moan; his hand goes to your mouth firmly, flat palm against your lips. An order without words. Quiet, he says, stay quiet. All you have to do is oblige.

[whumpzone]

Tomas and Rowe - Part 11

this chapter was tough, and I might never be totally happy with it, but I hope you all still enjoy it! I’m doing my best to keep to the fortnightly updates <3

Masterpost

taglist: @sola-whumping @just-another-whumper @misspelledwitch @looptheloup @briars7 @black-polarf @zipadeedooda-drabbles @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi @rosesareviolentlyread @thingsthatgo-whump-inthenight @jazz-0307 @kestrelsparverius @whumpsy-daisies @whumpersworld @memoriesneverforget @sky-or-something-idfk @ghostcomit @cupcakes-and-pain @frankieswhump @ihaventwritteninsolong @mybrokenlittletoy @kiretto-laorentze @morelikepainsley @lave-e @tears-and-lilies @whump-me-all-night-long @newbornwhumperfly (just ask if you want to be added! thank you all!)

CW: pet whumpee, dehumanisation, hospitals

-

"Hey," came a voice. When Rowe didn’t immediately wake up, a slap landed across his face. It ground the muzzle deeper into his flesh and forced him awake, wide-eyed and cowering. He was lucky to be spoken to first, of course. Usually he’d be hit without any warning. "Wake up Mutt. You’re finished here."

. . .

"Why couldn’t he come meet me in the waiting room?" Tomas asked the orderly.

"The exit is just this way. We find that most Pet owners like to be discrete in this kind of situation."

The ‘discrete’ room was divided into small curtained cubicles. The orderly left without a word after pointing Tomas towards Rowe, and Tomas was grateful for that at least. Rowe looked horrific. His wrists were strapped into a wheelchair- like he had any intention of running away, given the splint fixed around his left leg. His head flopped to one side, eyes closed, and a thick muzzle was clamped over poor Rowe’s face. His Rowe, that someone had bound and muzzled and hurt. The surge of protectiveness scared Tomas. It felt too close to ownership.

He went to take a closer look at Rowe’s legs, when a hand appeared in his line of sight. Tomas shook it without thinking.

"Hello, you must be the owner. Mr… Grzegorzewski? I’m Dr Scarlett Easton, and this is Dr Jacob Clerval."

"Ah, pleased to meet you both," Tomas said weakly. Out of the corner of his eye he noticed Rowe’s head twitch. He’s awake, then. "He was bad enough to need two doctors, then?"

Rowe flinched, ever so slightly, at the word bad.

"He? Aw, that’s quite cute," smiled Dr Easton. Tomas wished everyone would stop commenting on that. "Dr Clerval here is quite new, so he’s been observing. We thought he might be needed, but only one leg was broken, as it happens. We’ve put it in a splint. The other one just needed stitches."

"Right, that’s good then. And the restraints, I… was he being troublesome?"

Tomas chanced a glance in Rowe’s direction. His eyes were full and apologetic, and Tomas wanted to reassure him that everything was okay, but he couldn’t. Not yet.

"Spoke out of turn."

"Mm. But we could get the arms down without a problem. So there’s hope still," the young doctor said with a smile. Tomas realised a few seconds too late that he was making a joke. It felt too weird to speak about Rowe like he wasn’t even in the room. Discussing him without letting him have a say in the matter. Rowe, of course, looked completely used to it. He sat perfectly still, and it only angered Tomas more. It was normal! Rowe was on his best behaviour despite being muzzled like a bad dog because he’d be hurt if he wasn’t, and that was just normal and expected and understood. It made Tomas’s blood boil. He needed to get Rowe home.

. . .

Rowe’s heart jumped when he heard Master’s voice. The painful fog lifted. Master Master Master. He was here. He didn’t abandon Rowe. He was here and that was worth any punishment he’d give out when Rowe got home. He didn’t remember ever being so happy to see his old master, but he didn’t dwell on that. Master, they fixed my legs. Please take me back home. You said I can have wants. I want to go back home and serve you and let you do whatever you want to me.

The two doctors were talking about Rowe, and Master glanced over a few times, but not to look at Rowe’s legs. He was looking into Rowe’s eyes, staring at him from under his blond curls and Rowe couldn’t understand because that wasn’t where he’d been hurt. He wanted to survey the work the doctors had done, right?

"Okay, thank you," said Master, and his voice was so familiar, so calm and clear and measured, and even through his shame Rowe’s spirits lifted. "I don’t think this wheelchair will be necessary from now on, thanks."

. . .

"That’s handy, because we need it back anyway. And the muzzle."

Tomas tried to act like someone who didn’t care because he had one at home anyway. Rowe kept his eyes down as his mouth was released and again Tomas just wanted to scream at them, because for goodness sake he’s bleeding, and it was fastened over a barely-healed broken nose, and you’re all acting like it doesn’t fucking matter.

"Have you brought a cage for it?"

"If you haven’t brought a cage then he will need carrying, sir."

"That’s- I can get him home fine, thanks."

"Whatever," Tomas muttered, scooping Rowe into his arms without a second thought. He was still light even with the addition of the splint. Rowe didn’t react except to bury his face into Tomas’s neck as he turned on his heel and left.

"Hey, Rowe," he said gently as soon as they were outside. "How do you feel, pal?"

"M-Master," he said weakly.

"I’m here, I promise. Does it hurt?"

"It d-doesn’t matter…"

No Master for once. That was probably not a good sign, right now. "Can you tell me anyway?" Tomas was careful to avoid sounding like Rowe was being rude, or disobedient, or forcing him to tell him out of fear.

"U-uh, it hurts on m-my legs, M-Master. And m-my face."

"From the muzzle, right? Little bastards. I never said they could do that to you."

"I s-spoke without permission, Master."

"Well, I like it when you speak. I like hearing what you have to say." He kept his tone matter-of-fact. Rowe shuddered against his chest, and it could have been a laugh. Yes, I suppose that isn’t said to Pets very often. "And your poor legs. Well, we’re going to try this out, but let me know if it doesn’t work, okay?"

Tomas gently hoisted Rowe onto his back, climbing onto his bicycle very carefully. Rowe clung on; his frail arms hooked over Tomas’s shoulders and the brittle scabs forming over Rowe’s newest cuts tickled his jaw. This is fucking stupid.

"I’ll go slowly," Tomas promised, pushing the bike into motion and vowing never to go back to that wretched place.

. . .

Rowe savoured the last few moments, tucked protectively against his owner’s chest, before they got home and his punishment started. He had wasted Master’s time, he had spoken without permission, he had got blood everywhere upstairs, he was ugly, he was useless, and he was due a punishment. He was due more pain until he was a pitiful, twitching wreck, sobbing that he’d never trouble Master like that again. This was all he could think as he was carried into the house and- not dropped on the floor, as he’d expected, but placed onto the sofa. But- but- Pets couldn’t-

"You’re allowed on the sofa," Master Tomas said, like he’d read Rowe’s mind. "You’re always allowed. But right now, I don’t want any argument, okay?"

Rowe nodded nervously, and didn’t resist as Master unclipped the collar from around his neck. It was insolent and rude and selfish, but Rowe had got used to life without one. He tried to sit up and be pretty, but he was still faint and clumsy with pain.

"H-hurts, Master. M-my legs hurt."

"Rowe?" Master asked, and Rowe’s heart sank because of course, Master would notice immediately. Pets were too stupid to hide things from their Master. The truth always came out, eventually. "You doing okay?"

A pause. "They did… you got painkillers right, Rowe? They gave you anaesthetic?"

Rowe shook his head and immediately Master’s eyes darkened with rage. Wrong answer.

"What the fuck?" Master cried. Rowe flinched. He knew what that tone predated. "No, I’m not- I’m not angry with you. I’ll get you some painkillers."

"P-please, it’s n-not wasted on Pets," Rowe protested weakly, even though he knew Pets never argued with their Master. What was he thinking? Besides, he still opened his mouth obediently when Master approached him with two small pills and some water.

"Okay," he exhaled. Master crouched before him and took Rowe by the hand, ever so gently. Rowe still felt ice run through him at the contact, expecting him to clamp and wrench and pull, but he didn’t.

. . .

I have to do it, thought Tomas as he looked at Rowe. …but I don’t have to do it tonight.

. . .

"Rowe," Master began as he often did, and Rowe liked being reminded that he was important enough to be named. It made him feel wanted.

(made him feel like a person) (no it didn’t)

Master was looking at him so warmly that it made Rowe just want to shy away because he hadn’t earned this kindness. Why was Master even here? What did he want? Why was he here if not to get something from Rowe- to punish him for causing such a fuss?

"When people get hurt, it’s important to be extra nice to them. This doesn’t mean that you can only have nice things if you take pain first, okay?"

"O-okay, Master." But what does that matter?

"I want to do whatever you want tonight. Anything at all. I know having wants is still new, so this is a good chance to try them out." Master ran his thumb over Rowe’s hand. His fingers weren’t rough like old master’s were. They were soft. "Wanting something won’t make me angry. I won’t get angry, I won’t laugh at you, I won’t ignore you."

"I can want s-something?" Rowe timidly confirmed. "I’m not being punished?"

The worst case scenario flitted before his eyes, as it always did- Master’s grip turns painful and he smacks beats hits kicks whips burns hates me and it was all a cruel joke- but it didn’t linger, it didn’t make him seize up. It-

It passed. And all that happened was Master nodded.

"I want-" Rowe’s breath hitched. He knew what he wanted. He couldn’t believe he was even capable of wanting. And now that it wasn’t a dream, or a private thought, the desperation came crashing into him almost too fast to keep up with. It tore and wrenched and made him ache. "Please- please p-pet me, Master, please hold me and ruffle m-m-my hair. I want to b-be held so badly. Please."

. . .

Oh, Rowe, Tomas thought, feeling his heart break once again. I’ve really been cruel to you, haven’t I?

"Of course, pal, of course," he said gently, sitting down next to Rowe and putting an arm around him. "Why don’t you lean on me and get comfortable?"

It felt wrong, Tomas couldn’t deny that, it felt so wrong to let this small, traumatised human rest his head on Tomas’s chest and be pet like a- well, like a Pet. But he also couldn’t deny the way Rowe softened against him. Sure, Rowe went limp a lot, his training making him unresisting and pliable, but this was different. Tomas worked the fingers of his free hand into Rowe’s hair and stroked, all the way down to the top of his spine and back to his crown. Rowe let out a shuddering breath, like all the defences he’d had to keep raised since Tomas got him were being lowered, just for tonight.

The words kept dying on his lips, but Tomas promised himself that if Rowe didn’t respond then he wouldn’t say them again. "You’re- you’re a good boy, Rowe."

Another shudder, and a sniff. Rowe’s face pressed harder into Tomas.  

"Such a good boy. You were so brave today."

And then- Rowe’s shoulders trembled, in the way Tomas had quickly learnt they only did when Rowe was crying silently.

"Th-thank you," Rowe whispered between sobs. "Thank y-you so much, Master."

"I mean it," he soothed. "You are so good, Rowe. I’m happy I have you as a Pet."

It was a confession to himself as much as it was a comfort for Rowe. The words sank in, for both of them. Rowe’s crying didn’t abate, and Tomas felt a few tears of his own drip down his face. They landed perfectly on the hand in Rowe’s hair. That’s for the best. Proper Masters don’t cry over their Pets.

Tomas couldn’t help it. All his anger at the hospital had settled into sadness. He wasn’t being selfish. Rowe so desperately needed to feel safe and comforted, even if by morning he would be back to his usual fearful servitude. But Tomas also wanted to drop the pretence, just for a night, and let himself be kind and gentle without confusing his poor precious Pet.

He continued stroking his hair until Rowe fell asleep, his head rising and falling in unison with Tomas’s slow breaths.

(ending loosely inspired by this post)

[lakesandquarries]

Tangled Up - Chapter Two

oh, i’m gonna mess this up

Benrey’s spent 26 years living in a tower - 27, tomorrow. When a thief breaks into his tower, he finds his chance to escape and takes it.

Alternatively: Tangled, but the AI is self aware.

(featuring art by @kenas-artstuff​ )

Notes: check ao3 for warnings and tags! “kane radio” is just gordon using a fake name. fic title from “tangled up” by caro emerald, chapter title from “shots” by imagine dragons.

AO3 Link

It’s nice to be back at Black Mesa. Well, mostly nice. Gordon shuts the door behind Benrey only to immediately spot a wanted poster, the only thing making it unrecognizable a bizarre mullet. Do people seriously think he looks like that??

“Hey, Mr. Radio!” a voice calls from behind the counter. Kane rips the paper off the door, rushing across the room. 

“Hi Darnold it’s great to see you shut the fuck up please -”

And that’s when he gets grabbed from behind. He barely sees Darnold’s eyes widen before he’s spun around, now facing an absolute mountain of a man. Behind him, he hears Darnold slap something - his forehead, probably - and mutter a quiet. “oh, right.”

He loves Darnold, he really does. Being friends with someone since you were kids will do that. Right now, though, he kind of wants to throttle him.

“Kane Radio, hm?” the main holding him says, ripping the wanted poster out of his hands. The thief glances around awkwardly, his eyes finally falling onto Benrey struggling to pull his hair back into his possession. 

"H-hey, he'd appreciate his hair not being touched, guys!", Kane exclaimed, to help his partner as well as pull away from his attention. It works for a moment, as Benrey tugs the last strands of hair away and marches up to the guy holding Kane, unintimidated despite the height difference.

“Hey,” Benrey says quietly as he walks up next to the man. “Put him down? Please and thank you?”

Mountain man snorts. “Not likely. I need the reward money. Hey, you! Go get the guards!”

One of the other men nods, slipping out of the tavern as an argument breaks out. Kane is pushed and pulled, various thugs grabbing him and insisting they need the money, they deserve it most, as the bar descends into chaos.

A loud, meaty thwack! breaks up the argument. Kane’s dropped on his ass, and when he looks up, Benrey has his crowbar against Mountain man’s arm. “I said put him down.”

Kane rolls off to the side, dodging another man’s grabbing hands, and stands up so he can dart back over to Benrey and push him out of the way. “Hey, appreciate that, don’t get me wrong, but - Benrey, what the fuck?”

Behind the counter Darnold is glaring, grabbing a cup and a spoon to try and get everyone’s attention. Black Mesa housed a fighting ring once upon a time, but that got stopped when Darnold took over. It doesn’t matter now - even with Darnold yelling, everyone’s too riled up. Kane has to duck down to avoid a punch, only to immediately get kicked in the face. A hand grabs his arm and he swings instinctively, stopping at the last second when he realizes it’s just Benrey, pulling him off to the side.

“What the fuck,” Kane repeats.

“Being polite didn’t work,” is Benrey’s only explanation.

Darnold is still yelling, trying desperately to get some sense of calm as the crowd beats the shit out of each other. And then - just as quick as it started, it’s over. Screams dissolve into laughter as the assembled patrons dust themselves off, seemingly satisfied with the amount of violence they've had. 

"It's been too long since we've had a fight like that," Mountain man says. "Nice job."

Benrey blinks up at him. "Whuh?"

Gordon agrees with him. Wiping blood from his nose, he mutters a quiet “What?” as well.

“Should’ve been longer,” Darnold complains. “You know I hate this kind of behavior! I have half a mind to throw you all out.”

"We'll clean it up, Danny, don't worry,” another, very skinny guy cheerfully responds, followed by a roar of laughter.

“Darnold,” the bartender corrects sharply as he sets to cleaning the place up, picking up overturned chairs and mopping up spills and sweeping up broken glass. 

Turning back to Mountain man, Kane asks, "Just to be clear. Does this mean you won't tear me and my friend apart anymore?"

“Are you kidding? That’s the most fun I’ve had in years! Darnold never lets us do stuff like that. Real shame, considering how this place st -“

He’s cut off by someone slamming the door open. “I brought the guards!”

Apparently ten seconds of peace is the max he’s allowed. “Shit shit shit,” Kane wheezes, grabbing Benrey’s arm as Darnold directs them behind the door. The massive dog from earlier, the one who had chased him through the forest and up Benrey’s tower, is here. And it’s pissed. Kane’s heart drops as he watches it sniff around, following the trail of his footsteps.

Darnold pulls on a lever, revealing a ramp down into a stone tunnel. “You’re lucky you’re my friend,” he says as he ushers them through it. Benrey hesitates, but Kane pulls him through anyway, into some kind of cave system. The walls are dark stone, rough and natural. This is something old, and hopefully, it’ll cover them. 

He exhales slowly, adrenaline still rushing through him. “Shit,” he mutters again. “That was close.”

“Who were those guys?” Benrey asks. The raccoon on his shoulder chirps.

“Guards. Royal guards. They, uh….they don’t like me much.”

“You stole something?” 

“Big something.”

Benrey nods, apparently satisfied with the answer. The raccoon chirps again, and Benrey mumbles something in response to it. Because his day is just going so normally, he needs to listen to his weird...escort mission talk to his fucking raccoon as they run from guards.

Metal clanks behind them, and Kane picks up the pace, until he’s running down the tunnel. It opens into a cliffside, with no way down. “Fuck!”

“There’s a guy down there,” Benrey points out, and Kane bites back another string of curses when he realizes it’s fucking Forzen. He’d abandoned him after stealing the royal helmet. Betrayal’s nothing new between them, but this is recent enough that Forzen’s probably still pissed.

“That’s Forzen. He doesn’t like me much either.”

It’s then that the guards burst out of the tunnel and several things happen all at once. Benrey shoves his crowbar at Kane, and before he can question why Benrey is giving him his only weapon, he’s tossing his hair across the canyon like a grappling hook and running off the ledge.

Before he can even ask why Benrey would possibly give him his only weapon, he watches in horror as his partner takes flight. He doesn’t have time to check if Benrey’s alright - the guards are on his ass. The crowbar makes a satisfying thwack! as he swings it, taking down the guards in barely an instant. “Fuck, this is handy. Need to get me one of these!” Kane comments to himself, looking to see who’s left. One opponent remains - the dog, who is now holding a sword.

Because his day just cannot get any fucking weirder.

“You should know this is the weirdest thing I have ever fucking done!” Kane yells to Benrey, as he battles the dog, sword to crowbar, until the dog knocks it right out of his hands and down the cliff. “Two out of three?”

A lock of black hair wraps around his hand. Kane grins, giving the dog a salute as he’s pulled into a free fall. “Ha! Get fuc - hhhh.” His words dissolve into a wheeze, as his trajectory slams him into an exposed beam, knocking the wind out of him.

Kane, struggling to get a grip of himself, only just manages to hold on to Benrey while he swings down with his support. His feet connect with the water pipes, sliding down unsteadily as they collapse underneath him, and then the entire dam breaks. It happens in a flash, an enormous amount of water - it feels like the whole ocean when Kane glances back - pouring down into the valley. Rocks fall, the last of the wooden constructions collapsing. With a couple of leaps, Kane reaches an already running Benrey, and scoops up the last bit of his hair flailing behind him. "Benrey! Benrey, into the cave!" he shouts, hoping the other would get understand the general direction they have to run.

---

Benrey grabs the crowbar as he darts after Kane, barely avoiding getting crushed by the massive rock that comes crashing down and seals them into the cave. The walls are stone, not like the bricks of his tower but a random arrangement of rocks and boulders forming a lumpy wall. There’s a puddle of water on the floor, only as he looks it starts to grow, up over Benrey’s feet, his legs, creeping higher and higher. He looks around the cave frantically, spotting the trickles of water coming in past the rock that sealed them in. The only obvious opening, but the water is like another force behind it, pressing it shut like Benrey used to try and hold his door shut. The rock is stronger than him. No matter how hard he slams with his crowbar, there’s not even a dent. He turns his attention to the rest of the cave, alternately smashing and prying at the walls, but they hold firm. There’s nothing. Not a single loose rock, nothing resembling a weak point, not even a crack he can widen into an exit. 

The water’s at his waist now. His breathing sharpens, small panicked inhales as he realizes there’s no way out. They’re trapped, with water climbing higher and higher. The water is murky, making the already dim space feel smaller and darker with each second. 

Zeki was right. Kane’s gonna die here with him in this stupid fucking cave, all because Benrey wanted to see some lights.

“This is all my fault,” he mumbles, tugging on a strand of hair. “I never should’ve - she was right, this whole time, I just -“ 

Kane’s hands grip his shoulders, firm but gentle, forcing him to look at the thief’s face. "Benrey, don't blame yourself. Sometimes things go bad...that's how life works. It's - it's gonna be ok." In a different context it might be comforting. Right now, they’re about to die, and Kane’s voice is shaking.

Benrey’s voice is choked when he responds. “I’m sorry, Kane.”

"Gordon.” Benrey tilts his head, and Kane drops his hands from his shoulders with a sigh. “It's - my real name is Gordon Freeman. I made up Kane. You might as well know it now."

“Feetman?” Benrey asks with a shaky smile.

“If we weren’t trapped in a cave I’d hit you with your crowbar,” Kane - Gordon? - Gordon says. For the briefest of seconds, he smiles at Benrey. 

“I, uh. I have magic hair that glows when I sing,” he says. Keeping a secret doesn’t matter when they’re both about to die. Gordon furrows his brows, looking questioningly at Benrey, and a sudden burst of inspiration hits as he repeats himself. “I have - oh shit!” He starts singing, voice shakier than normal as he races through the song. “Flower gleam and glow, let your power shine -“ The water is still rising, and maybe it’s his imagination but it feels even faster. “Make the clock reverse, bring back what once was mine -”

The last line gets cut off as the water fills the cave completely. He’s never tried singing underwater before, and for a moment he’s terrified it won’t work - and then his hair lights up, a bright neon teal, illuminating the cave. Gordon swims down to the bottom, pushing aside rocks desperately. He finds one that’s loose enough, dislodging it, and the rest follow suit. The wall starts to crumble before collapsing completely, launching the two of them into a river, the current quickly sweeping them downstream and onto a grassy bank. 

Benrey drags himself out, flopping limply onto the grass, taking deep breaths as he stares up at the sky. “We’re alive,” he breathes, looking over at Gordon. He likes that name better, now that he has a spare moment to think about it. Laughter bubbles up out of him, along with bright yellow-green. Olive means I’m glad to be alive.

Beside him, Gordon is less chill, elbows on the grass and hands in his hair. “His hair glows,” he’s mumbling. “He - hhh - his hair? Glowing - glowy shit - people don’t glow!” From there his words just get more and more incoherent as he stares at the ground.

With a huff, Benrey stands up, starting to squeeze the water out of his hair. Jefferem shakes himself dry, splashing water onto Gordon. “You good?” Benrey asks.

“Am I - are you good?? What the fuck was that? How long have you been - ow, fuck -” He pulls his right hand close to himself, and when he holds it out again Benrey sees blood, bright red against the brown skin. He must’ve cut himself on a rock or something. 

Benrey offers a hand to help Gordon get up, so he doesn’t put pressure on the injured one. “Lets, uh. Find somewhere to dry off first and then we can play 20 questions?” Or, maybe, if he stalls long enough, Gordon will forget whatever he wants to ask and Benrey can keep pretending like he’s a person.

[tessisawriter]

Invisible String, Part 1 (Colton Parayko)

Request: Can you write an imagine where the reader is John Krasinski’s [niece] but she’s dating Colton Parayko and like she has to breaks the news and John acts mad or something and scares them but then he says he’s joking and he’s fine with it? Thanks

***NOTE***: I changed some details in the last scene b/c I moved the timeline up from October 7 to September 14.

A/N: I’m back! The protagonist is an OC but I decided to call her Y/N instead of giving her an actual name b/c John Krasinski has nieces and/or nephews irl. I already planned the entire plot but idk whether the series will be 2 or 3 parts—I’ll post an update when I know more. This series takes place from March 2018 to June 2019 and is loosely based on Taylor Swift’s “Invisible String.” Here is the playlist.

Warnings: Six swear words, rough breakup, alcohol, loneliness & homesickness

Word Count: 3.4k

March 21, 2018

You were impervious to the mix of pitying and derisive glances from passersby as you sat on the curb. You knew you looked like a cliché, crying in front of a restaurant because your boyfriend broke up with you on your 22nd birthday, but you didn’t care. One question gnawed at you: how had six words upended your seemingly perfect day and relationship?

Your brain was buzzing with activity, wondering if Max had given you any clues that something was amiss. This morning, you woke up in his Cambridge apartment to him singing “Happy Birthday” while kneeling at the side of the bed. As soon as Max finished singing, he kissed you before grabbing his backpack and hurrying out of the room. That didn’t mean anything, though: Max was one of the only seniors to have the misfortune of taking all morning classes because his major was Theater, Dance, and Media. He was also (as usual) running late.

The rest of the day unfolded like any other Wednesday as you followed your schedule of lounging in bed, studying for an hour, going to the sandwich shop across the street for lunch, and heading to campus at 1PM for your classes. Afterwards, you went back to the apartment to find Max waiting there, already dressed for dinner. You quickly showered, curled your long (Y/HC) hair, and changed into a dark green dress and black booties before taking his hand and going to an Italian restaurant in Boston’s North End.

There were no warning signs at dinner, either. In fact, everything was perfect until you were waiting for the check and Max said with a detached look in his eyes, “I think we should break up.”

You didn’t want to relive what happened next, but the images of you acting like Elle Woods when Warner broke up with her in Legally Blonde popped into your head unbidden. You closed your eyes in humiliation and shame as you remembered Max, the man you dated for three years, abandoning you at the table and fleeing the restaurant. The other customers stared at you, some sympathetic, others scandalized, and the rest in pure shock.

You snapped out of the flashback when you felt a large hand rest on your shoulder. You whipped your head around to find a young man with blonde hair and black rimmed glasses squatting next to you on the curb.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

The panic faded as you took in the man’s features. He was definitely in his 20s, probably a few years older than you, and his blue eyes were filled with concern. Something about that concern, though, made you snap.

“Do I look like I’m okay? I mean, come on, look at me!” you demanded while pointing at your face, which you (correctly) assumed had giant black streaks of mascara on it.

You fully expected the man to walk away and leave you be, but he sat down on the curb instead and said, “My bad, that was a stupid question. I’ve got some tissues if you want them?”

That made your attitude soften. He was only trying to help, so you nodded and he handed you a pack of tissues from his pocket. You smiled at him, took the tissues, and wiped your eyes and face. As soon as you were satisfied that they were clean, you broke the silence. “Thank you…?”

“Colton, and it’s no problem. What’s your name?”

“Y/N.” You held out your hand for him to shake, which he did. After a pause, you asked: “Why did you stop? Surely you have somewhere better to be tonight.”

He chuckled, and the sound of it made your heart flutter. “I was just heading back to my hotel when I saw you, and I figured I’d stop and make sure you get home safe. That is, assuming you live here?”

“Yeah, I live in Cambridge.” As soon as the words left your mouth, you realized they were no longer true, so you amended your statement. “Well, I lived in Cambridge until about 15 minutes ago when my now ex-boyfriend dumped me. On my fucking birthday.”

“Shit, that sucks. I’m really sorry.” He paused before adding, “I’m assuming he isn’t here.”

“Nope. He hightailed it out of the restaurant as soon as he got his credit card back.”

Colton shook his head. “What a jackass.”

“I know, right? I wasted three whole years with someone who not only broke up with me in a very public setting on my birthday, but also couldn’t be bothered to ask where I would go! He probably assumed I’d go to my parents’ house, but still.”

“Your parents live here?” Colton asked as he fished his phone out of his pocket and unlocked it.

“Yeah, right by Boston Common, why?”

“I’ll get an Uber and drop you off before going back to the hotel.”

“Oh no, you don’t have to do that,” you protested while going through your bag for your phone. “We just met! I’ll pay.”

“Nonsense. You’ve been through a lot tonight. Let me take care of it.”

You stared into Colton’s eyes and realized he wasn’t going to back down. It took everything in you to suppress your pride, thank him, and provide the address. Colton typed it into his phone, waited for a moment, and said, “The closest one is around the block.”

“That’s good.” Your burst of energy dissipated as quickly as it came, and you fell silent. From the corner of your eye, you saw Colton open his mouth as if to say something before the headlights of a car momentarily blinded you.

“That’s the Uber.” Colton stood up and offered his hand, and you took it. You couldn’t help but notice how well they fit together as he pulled you up and off the curb, but after regaining your balance, something else grabbed your attention: his height.

“Gee, how tall are you? No one’s ever made me feel like a dwarf before,” you joked as he led you to the car, your hands still intertwined.

He chuckled and opened the door for you. You let go of his hand and slid into the car. After Colton slid in next to you and shut the door, he replied, “I’m 6’6” and no one’s ever made me feel like I’m not a giant before. You’re what, 5’10”?”

“6 feet, actually,” you corrected him. “So, where are you from, Colton?”

“St. Albert; it’s just outside Edmonton in Canada, but I’ve been in the States for a while. I went to the University of Alaska in Fairbanks before moving to, uh, St. Louis.”

You noticed Colton’s hesitancy and the fact that he lowered his voice when saying “St. Louis,” and you were about to ask why when you thought better of it. You were protective of your privacy, too, especially whenever people commented about how funny it was that you shared the same last name as John Krasinski. It wasn’t a coincidence—he was your uncle, and the two of you were extremely close—but you went along with it and never corrected them because it wasn’t their business. So, you let it go. “And what brings you to Boston?”

“Work,” he said before changing the subject. “What do you do? Are you still in school or—”

“I’m a senior at Harvard,” you cut him off. You generally didn’t drop the “H-bomb,” as you and your friends called it, with people you didn’t know well, but this was a special case. Colton just confirmed he was hiding something, and after looking at him in better lighting, his face seemed familiar, which weirded you out. You had to get back on equal footing, and the H-bomb almost always unsettled people.

“Wow, you must be really smart,” Colton said, seeming impressed but unphased. You couldn’t help yourself from raising an eyebrow as he asked, “What’s your major?”

“Government. What was yours?”

“Business administration.”

“Ah.” You fell silent again, this time on purpose, as you racked your brain for where you might have crossed paths with Colton. He wasn’t from Boston, not even close, but you couldn’t shake the feeling that you’d seen him before, and recently.

Colton didn’t let you ruminate for long before reviving the conversation. “What do you want to do when you graduate?”

“I’ll be a lawyer one day, but I have to be a paralegal first. I’m looking for jobs right now.”

Before Colton could reply, the car came to a stop. You looked out the window and saw your parents’ townhouse and your childhood home.Your time in the car had flown by, a sensation you rarely, if ever, experienced. And there was something between you and Colton, a connection you couldn’t quite describe, that made you want to spend more time with him. But your time was up. “This is me. It was nice to meet you, Colton, and thanks again for the ride—I really appreciate it.”

“It’s no problem,” he replied. “I’m glad I found you.”

You were overwhelmed by an intense desire to ask for his number. If only he lived in Boston or somewhere in the Northeast. But he lived in St. Louis, so you moved to open the door, only to feel Colton’s hand wrap around yours and hear him say: “Y/N?”

“Yeah?” You turned around and locked eyes with him. It was like being in a trance, and your heartbeat thundered in your ears.

It felt like years, but it was more like a few moments before Colton let go of your hand. “Good luck with the search. I’m sure you’ll find a good job.”

You wanted to let out a sigh of disappointment, but you just said, “Thanks,” and smiled at him before getting out of the car.

***************

The smell of bacon finally lured you out of your bed at noon the next day.

It had been a rough night. The reality of the breakup hit you like a ton of bricks when you rang the doorbell and all but collapsed in your mom’s arms when she answered the door. She brought you over to the couch, where your dad was waiting anxiously. As soon as you sat down, you grabbed your mom and cried for an hour straight as she held you and stroked your hair. You knew Max wasn’t worth your tears, but it had more to do with you. Despite his major, he wasn’t that good of an actor, and yet, he fooled you into thinking he could be your person. You took immense pride in your instincts, but they failed you with Max. How could you have possibly fallen in love with such a heartless person? More terrifying, would you have ended up marrying him a few years down the road if he hadn’t broken up with you?

You didn’t know the answer to either question, so you stopped crying and began venting about how the breakup went down. Your dad almost hit the ceiling after hearing that Max left you at the restaurant, and you had to talk him out of driving to Cambridge to “give that little shit a piece of my mind!” That wasn’t to say you weren’t thinking about revenge, but your dad potentially getting arrested was not helpful. After that, you started crying again, only this time out of frustration, and didn’t stop until you practically passed out on the couch. The last thing you remembered was your parents guiding you up the stairs to your bed.

Thankfully, you had no classes on Thursdays, so you were able to sleep in and be, if nothing else, well-rested. Your stomach rumbled when you smelled the bacon, so you got out of bed and made your way down the stairs to the kitchen, where your parents were sitting at the table and watching the television.

“Ugh, why are you watching the news?” you said as a way of greeting while making a beeline for the bacon.

“Good morning to you, too, sweetheart,” your dad replied. “I’m waiting for the sports report. I missed the game last night and Uncle John wouldn’t tell me the score. He said he’s sorry about, I quote, ‘the scumbag’ and he’ll call you tonight.”

“God, I miss him. And you,” you addressed your mom as you shoveled a load of bacon onto your plate, “are the best.”

“See, honey? I knew bacon would cheer her up,” she said to your dad.

“I didn’t doubt it. Y/N, we have to figure out a time to get your stuff from that piece of shit’s apartment. I’m not letting you go by yourself, but do you want to let him know ahead of time or just show up?”

“Who did the B’s play?” you sat down at the table and changed the subject immediately. You didn’t care about sports, but your dad and Uncle John were major Bruins fans and the mere mention of Max gave you a headache.

“The Blues.”

“Where do they play again?” you asked as you ate your bacon. It had to be a team from the Western Conference, but the only teams you knew there were the Canucks and Blackhawks because they were on your dad’s shit list.

“St. Louis.”

You almost choked on your food. “What?”

“St. Louis, sweetie. You know, the Gateway Arch—”

“Yeah, I know, Mom,” you recovered. “That’s the team Jenna likes, right, Dad?”

“Yes. Shh, here it is!” He didn’t need to tell you twice; you doubted Colton was a professional hockey player, but your curiosity won out as you intently watched the television.

The score flashed on the screen—an OT loss for the Bruins—and your dad groaned. “Ugh, I’ve got to turn this garbage off.”

And suddenly, a few Blues players, including one that looked awfully similar to Colton (albeit without glasses), flashed onto the screen. You didn’t get a good enough look at him to be sure, though, because your dad changed the channel. You let out a noise of frustration.

“What’s wrong, sweetie?” your mom asked, and your dad looked like he had the same question when he turned away from the television.

“I’ll text the scumbag and tell him I’m coming this afternoon, if that’s okay with you, Dad,” you said. “I want to get it over with and besides, I need my laptop and textbooks.”

“That’s perfect, sweetheart. The office doesn’t need me today, anyway.”

“Okay, I’ll be right back; my phone’s upstairs,” you called out behind you as you raced back up the stairs. You did not want to text Max, but it was better than telling your dad that the man he praised for making sure you got home last night was potentially part of the team responsible for his beloved Bruins’ loss.

You locked your bedroom door and grabbed your phone to pull up Google and the St. Louis Blues roster. Part of you thought there was no way a professional hockey player actually cared enough to bring you home, but the Blues being in town and one of its members resembling Colton were too many coincidences for your liking. You tapped your foot impatiently as the phone loaded the roster, and you scrolled through the list until you found a name of interest.

“C. Parayko, 55, R, 6’6’’…”

It cut off after that, so you scrolled sideways to see the other information. It left you without a shadow of doubt, but you clicked on the name anyway to view a picture. Colton’s headshot and full first name stared back at you as if they were looking into your soul.

It really was him. You had to have seen him on the little television at the sandwich shop’s register yesterday.

But what did this information mean for you, really, besides discovering his identity? It was nice to know his full name because it confirmed that he was a real person instead of a delusion your reeling mind made up, but it didn’t change one important fact: you lived in Boston and he lived in St. Louis. Barring a radical change in one of your lives, which you didn’t see happening, that was the reality of the situation. It was time to stop dreaming and confront your immediate future.

You pulled up Max’s number and began composing the text which, after several drafts, read: “I’ll be at the apartment today from 3 to 5. My dad’s coming with me, so make yourself scarce. I want my shit back.”

***************

6 months later: September 14, 2018

You were miserable only two weeks after relocating to St. Louis.

It was funny how one phone call could completely change someone’s life. In your case, said phone call involved an extremely attractive job offer with a clear path for advancement within one year. The offers you had received from legal firms in Boston, New York, D.C., and Philadelphia were underwhelming, to say the least, and you were only a week away from graduation. You had already endured a lot of change this year, so why not one more?

After nearly giving your parents a heart attack but ultimately receiving their blessing, you accepted the offer and moved to St. Louis on September 1st. Uncle John had been especially supportive, enlisting Jenna (known by the rest of the world as Pam from The Office) to fly out from L.A. and show you around the city last week. She made sure you knew the ins and outs of the city, which you really appreciated. You also loved your job. You were doing important work every day, and your boss was already hinting at giving you the promotion you wanted. 

So, why were you unhappy? It was your social life, or rather, lack of one. You didn’t know anyone in St. Louis, and while your coworkers weren’t mean, they didn’t make you feel welcome, either.

That seemed to have changed earlier today when two of your desk neighbors who were around your age, Harper and Ellie, invited you out for drinks after work. You couldn’t have been happier. You went home after work, did your hair and makeup, put on your favorite royal blue mini dress, and met them at the dive bar you recommended. You were so excited on the way over that you could barely sit still; maybe you’d make friends with these girls and finally feel like you fit in in this city.

Unfortunately, that didn’t happen. Harper and Ellie abandoned you within less than five minutes after two guys came over and asked them to dance. You were now sitting at the bar alone, nursing a cocktail and despairing over your situation.

It was times like these when you thought about Colton. It had been six months since you’d met him in Boston, and you didn’t want to risk looking like a lunatic by slipping into his DMs on Instagram, but you were getting desperate. It was bad enough that being from the Northeast made you stick out like a sore thumb, but the loneliness was eating you alive, and the combination made you feel unmoored. Maybe a familiar and friendly face could change that.

As if God had answered your prayers, you heard a commotion near the entrance. You swiveled your stool in that direction and saw a group of tall, good-looking men in their 20s entering the bar. The tallest one had blonde hair and black rimmed glasses.

It was Colton.

Your brain screamed at you to look away and approach him after he settled in, but you couldn’t take your eyes off of him as he laughed at something one of his friends said. It was as if he felt your stare because he suddenly looked in your direction and appeared to gasp.

It was only then that you turned away and faced the bar, drinking the rest of your cocktail in a few gulps. You were so embarrassed; he probably thought you were a stalker or something. You were about to flag down the bartender for another drink when you felt that familiar large hand rest on your shoulder.

You turned your head and found Colton staring at you, his blue eyes full of incredulity and…happiness?

“Y/N. It’s really you,” he breathed.

[gotnofucks]

Parts of Whole

(No images are mine, but I did edit them. If anyone knows the owners, do let me know so I can credit them)

Pairing: Sam Wilson x Bucky Barnes, Sam x Steve (platonic)

Summary: Steve would see his OTP’s ship sail, even from across the grave.

Words: 3.9k

Warnings: mentions of death (nothing graphic and not very sad), language, angst + fluff

A/N: I saw the trailer for tfatws and I just had to write this. This is also my entry for the amazingly talented @sagechanoafterdark and @sweater-daddiesdumbdork challenge (pic prompts above). Thank you for hosting this and being wonderful. The beautiful dividers are made by @firefly-graphics . Huge thanks to @the-inquisitive-hobbit for beta reading and giving me her very valuable insight.

 It never felt right in his hands. It was his to wield, his to claim, and yet it never felt more foreign. The concentric red and white circles with the star embedded in the blue center glared back at him from the mirror. It had been months, but Sam had never taken this shield with him to any mission. He couldn’t.

It felt starkly cold in his hands, lifeless and materialistic. It was Steve’s symbol of strength and hope. It used to hang on his back, warmed by his body heat. Now, it seemed like the shield only existed to remind him of Steve’s absence. This shield was made for Steve. It belonged to him, it always would. How could he ever stand where he stood? How could Sam ever be the captain that Steve was, take this shield that held more power than a crown on a head?

He put it down again, covering it with a cloth before shutting the door on it, leaning heavily against it. He missed him, he missed him like a throbbing wound that refused to heal. If only he could see the sun shining on those golden locks again, have those baby blue eyes smile at him again. What wouldn’t he give for that.

He didn’t notice he wasn’t alone until a heavy hand was on his shoulder, squeezing gently. Sam didn’t open his eyes, just let the weight of it anchor him, let it bring him back from the chaos that was his mind. The cold metal hand felt like a relief against the overwhelming burden of grief that penetrated his being whenever he touched the circular shield.

“I miss him too.” Bucky said, and Sam opened his eyes. Bucky’s eyes were blue too, slightly grey where Steve’s were green. He could see himself reflected in them and he straightened, looking away, hiding his weakness.

This mantle of Steve Rogers that he was supposed to assume, this legacy he was supposed to take forward felt like cheating. His friend, his mentor, his brother was no more. How could people just expect him to move on? But they did. It didn’t matter he was emotionally compromised, it didn’t matter he wanted to drown, like Steve nearly had at the Potomac all those years ago. The world didn’t wait to create one disaster after another. They needed Captain America then, and they needed him now. Like Fury said, trouble always sticks around.

Sam cleared his throat, making sure he was collected before looking at Bucky again.

“Everything loaded in the Quinjet?” He asked and Bucky nodded. They’ll be leaving for another mission soon, and Sam was glad he’ll have the sounds of battle to drown the war in his heart.

“Sam.” Bucky said once Sam started leaving. “Take it.”

Sam looked at Bucky over his shoulder, his gaze equal parts pain and accusation. Of everyone, Bucky shouldn’t be the one telling him this.

“I’ll meet you in the jet.” He said firmly and quickly marched to his room, shutting the door behind him. He hated coming back to the compound, the lingering memories of their fallen warriors whispering in his ears every time he was here. He preferred his little house in the woods where it was only Bucky and nature with him.

He took out his tactical gear, laying it on the bed and getting out his wings when he heard it.

“You are punishing yourself Sam.” Came his voice.

It was this moment where Sam broke, sliding down the wall and letting a few tears escape. He was gone but he never left him.

“How could you have been so selfish Steve. Why?” He asked, looking up to glare at Steve. Even dead he looked so handsome, so put together with his hands on his hips. He didn’t look like the old man they had buried a month after the battle. No. He was their Steve, their young, beautiful Steve who left them behind.

Sam didn’t know why he saw him. He didn’t know if this was a ghost or a creation of his mind. To him, it was Steve. It was Steve and it was a beautiful suffering to see him again every time he reappeared.

“I am sorry.” Steve said and knelt before Sam, looking apologetic. Sam didn’t try touching him. Not when the first hundred times his hand just went through him.

“You are? What for?” Sam asked. “For leaving behind your shield and title, for leaving me behind, or for abandoning a best friend you promised to walk till the end of the line with? What are you really sorry for Captain?”

Steve didn’t answer, he never did. He let Sam take out his hurt and anger, and Sam cried. In the privacy of his walls, he cried. He was so tired of pretending to be strong, to be happy. He hid behind his jokes and smiles, fooled the world which was so ready to move on while Sam was buried somewhere with Steve in the cemetery, half dead, half alive.

“I am sorry Sam, for everything.” Steve insisted. “But you need to stop punishing yourself for mistakes you never made. You can’t live this way.”

Sam snorted a laugh for even in death Steve was a humanitarian bastard. He didn’t come back to haunt his enemies; oh no the centenarian came back to help his friends. Why didn’t people see that he could never be Steve? That Sam Wilson can never, won’t ever be the Captain that Steven Rogers was.

“I hate you so much Steve, I really do.” Sam whispered, wiping his nose and getting up. Steve watched him getting changed, no barriers of shame between them from that side of the grave.

“You always said that. I have never heard a ‘I love you’ more pronounced than I do in your hate.” Steve commented with a soft smile, it widened when Sam gave him a half-hearted glare. It was amazing how they could go from having a painful conversation to joking, but that was how it worked with Steve. He knew Sam, he knew everything that made him laugh and made him smile.

“What are you doing here anyway? Don’t you have a tea party with Gandhi or some other do-gooder like you in the afterlife?” Sam grumbled, tightening the belt in his suit and attaching his wings to it. Steve chuckled, sitting on the chair and watching Sam with a relaxed smile.

“They are too uptight for me. Mother Teresa tried to adopt me the other day” Steve said, and Sam laughed. His wings were the colours of American Flag, a new change. He grabbed his weapons and fixed Steve with a look, hating and loving him for being so him.

“I’ll see you after the mission?” He asked tentatively. He would never admit it, but he feared one day Steve would disappear again. It was crazy, it was not normal to see dead people, but Sam would rather have a shadow of Steve than just a memory.

“I’ll be here as long as you need me Sam. Always.” Steve said, a sad smile on his face when he saw Sam leaving without the shield.

Sharon greeted him in the jet, talking to Bucky and the other agents over the blueprint spread before them. Sam nodded his hello, snatching the half empty pack of Cheetos from Bucky’s hand and munching on it.

“So now you want to steal the show and my food. You’re such a dick Wilson.” Bucky said, poking Sam in his shoulder and Sam poked his tongue out at him, a gap-toothed smile on his face. Their previous somber interaction would not be mentioned, filed again like so many inside the neglected corner of their minds.

“Bitch, I paid for grocery this month. This is technically mine.” Sam replied, making Bucky scowl. Sam knew there was a 70-30 chance he’ll find his bed crawling with centipedes when they got back home.

“Charming, boys.” Sharon remarked rolling her eye. “What are you guys doing for Christmas? Must be nice to have a holiday.”

Bucky shrugged, sharing a look with Sam. It was their first Christmas without Steve, a 6 feet 2-inch void always between them.

“Nothing special. Stay home, watch movies, eat a lot.” Bucky said. A lot remained unsaid, but they rarely needed words to communicate anymore. Sam bumped his shoulder in his, offering him some Cheetos to munch while he silently grieved.

“Well, I’ll leave my address here for you to deliver your presents to me.” Sharon joked and Sam laughed softly, mentally making a note to get her something.

“Alright then, and I’ll just casually remark that my phone and laptop are both in serious need for an upgrade. Just saying.” Sam said. “Hey Buck, what are you going to gift me?”

Bucky crumpled the empty chips packet before sending Sam an amused glare, flipping him off.

“A ball gag, so that I can hear something other than your stupid voice.” He snarked.

“Damn dude, at least ask me out for dinner before getting kinky.” Sam winked and Bucky swelled with indignation, pointing an accusing metal finger at Sam.

“I cook dinner 3 times a week you bastard, and I don’t even burn it!” He protested making Sam laugh louder than ever. He loved making Bucky mad, teasing him into an incensed rage that usually ended in a pillow fight or sometimes with Sam’s head in a headlock.

They straightened as they saw the incredulous looks on the new agents’ faces, baby agents as Bucky liked to call them. It was times like these, when both the battle-hardened veterans missed their lost teammates, the inside jokes that were shot around with as much precision as bullets and arrows on the battlefield.

They got to work again, discussing the mission and its details with the other agents. Sam would run point on scaling the territory and fly down to the enemy base with two agents while Bucky would guide him from up here and take out potential threats. They just needed to secure a technological innovation and it didn’t seem too like much work. As Sam poured over the briefing, his eyes subconsciously went over to Bucky who was fiddling with the equipment, making sure everything was in working condition.

If someone had told him a few years ago that Bucky would become his anchor, his solace in his darkest hours, Sam would have punched them in the face. But as it happened, they came to lean on each other, the only unchanged part of their older lives, the only person who made each feel that were still real, still alive. They were still annoyed by each other, but the arguments were more of a routine than an actual expression of resentment.

He didn’t realize he was staring until someone deliberately coughed behind him.

“He is so pretty, isn’t he?” Steve asked, though it was a rhetorical question. Bucky Barnes was a beauty, from his blue grey eyes to the new golden streaks running through his new arm. Sam tried not to notice the way Bucky’s armor clung to his muscles, his face looking almost boyish as he forgot the world and focused on his task.

“I thought you said I’ll see you after the mission.” Sam muttered, taking care that no one noticed him talking to air. He hurriedly looked away from Bucky when their eyes met, a heat rising in his cheeks that made Steve chuckle.

“I said I’ll be there when you need me. And it seems like you do.” Steve commented. He took the seat next to Sam, so near that Sam swore he could feel the heat emanating from his body.

“I don’t know what you mean.” Sam snapped, the smug look on Steve’s face making him wish he could touch him if only to be able to punch him. Stupid blonde best friends with perfect teeth and beautiful smiles and an ass that looked just as round after being dead.

“Oh, I think you do.” Steve said, shifting his gaze to Bucky. “I liked his hair longer but the shorter is going well with the new arm. Don’t you think?”

Despite himself Sam found himself nodding, admiring Bucky as he’d done a thousand times before. He liked his longer hair too, but without them falling in his face, he could see him better. And the arm. The new arm that gave Sam tingles in the most delicious ways, it had him flustered for three whole weeks after Bucky first showed up with it on him.

He didn’t know when it started, but Bucky had somehow become the most beautiful person to Sam. From the way he would make him the perfect mug of coffee to their little kitchen garden they started to keep themselves busy, he loved everything about him. Those moments where he would sense the turmoil inside Sam and silently slip his hands in Sam’s to assure him that he was there, these little moments endeared him even more.

Sam had lost count of how many times Bucky and he had woken up on the couch, sharing a blanket, both silently afraid to sleep alone. He had forgotten how many times he had spent kneeling at Bucky’s bedside, coaxing him out from a nightmare. Every moment spent in each other’s company, laughing, joking, mourning together, it brought them together in a way Sam had never imagined before.

“Tell him” Steve said, a wistful look on his face as he looked at his best friend. “He feels the same. I know.”

Sam shook his head, tearing his eyes away from Bucky with reluctance. He’d already lost so much, he wouldn’t lose Bucky too. Not because he has a minor, very minor teensy tiny crush on him.

“Man, shut the hell up.” He snapped.

“Who’re you talking to?” Bucky called out from across the jet and Sam’s head snapped up, mouth parting a little before he mumbled out a ‘no one’ and focused on the papers in his hand. Sometimes he felt guilty for keeping Steve a secret, for keeping Bucky away from his best friend. He knew Bucky cried into his pillow at nights, he knew because he’d held him then, tried his best to fill the cracks that appeared in the walls of Bucky’s heart as well as his own.

But then, Steve chose to come to him. Chose to talk to Sam. And he was afraid that telling anyone would disturb this magic, whatever this was. That he would once again have to bury Steve. So, he kept quiet. He buried this secret in the deep recesses of his mind, the initial worry of insanity long forgotten in favor of seeing his friend again.

“Do you even have a plan?” Bucky questioned, watching him prepare for the jump. Sam had a job for every agent accompanying him, but the idiot had not outlined anything for himself.

“I do.” Sam said, and when Bucky looked unconvinced, he lightly punched his shoulder. “You’re my plan, my backup. I scream, jump down and get my ass back up.”

Saying this, Sam jumped, the exasperated look on Bucky’s face imprinted behind his eyelids as his wings flared out and he floated.

Everything that could have gone wrong on this mission did, and Bucky was hysterical even before Sam’s call for backup came. He was going to kick Nick Fury’s ass, but before that he was going to bring his friend back in one-piece and chew him out for giving him a heart attack.

Sam’s wings took most of the weight of the fall, so he came back with a sprained ankle and bruises. Bucky was getting increasingly irritated when they came back home, their little secluded spot in the woods welcoming them with the smell of pine and wild grass.

“It’s not my fault Fury gave us shitty intel.” Sam groaned, “You can stop being salty now.”

Bucky remained quiet, the silent treatment going for almost the third day in row and Sam was at his wits end. It was stupid and ridiculous because Bucky almost always pulled the stupidest moves in the field, like stopping a bomb with his hand or listening to the villain’s evil monologue.

Steve was grinning as he leaned against the edge of the table, and with every suggestive wink he gave Sam, the new Captain America resisted the urge to throw a vase at him.

“He cares so much that he’s speechless.” Steve commented and Sam flipped him off. Dickhead has been giving running commentary of the thick tension in the air since they came back, and Sam was on the verge of calling for an exorcism.

“Why do you do that?” Bucky asked suddenly and Sam was so glad to hear him talk again it took him a while to understand the question.

“What?”

“This thing, looking somewhere and talking to yourself, or – I don’t know, you keep being weird.”

“You’re the one with the cyborg brain and arm and I’m weird” Sam tried deflecting. Bucky frowned, coming closer to sit near Sam, leaving abandoned Christmas decorations scattered around them. Clint had delivered it for them but neither had the heart to put them up.

“Sam.” Bucky deadpanned, and Sam sighed, resting his head back and avoiding eye contact. He looked at Steve who was still smiling, his beautiful face like a slap on the face and caress on the head at the same time.

It was more difficult than one would assume to explain. Why did Sam see Steve, and why did only Sam see Steve? Was it a hallucination, or his spirit? Would Steve go away if Sam confided in Bucky? Would Bucky be mad he didn’t tell him? There were so many questions, so many doubts, and yet as Sam looked into Bucky’s eyes, shining like sapphires, he couldn’t keep it to himself.

“Its…Its Steve.” He said, looking down and playing with the soft lint on his blanket. He didn’t hear Bucky say anything but moments later a metal hand gripped his, stopping its nervous movements.

“Steve?”

Sam gulped, the coolness of Bucky’s hand in his warming his heart, swelling it with hope and an emotion Sam was too afraid to acknowledge.

“Steve, he – he talks to me.” Sam confessed and tentatively looked at Bucky whose eyes were brimming with emotion. He expected him to call him crazy, or to get mad, but what he did not expect was Bucky to shift closer and take Sam’s other hand in his too.

“He talks to me as well.” Bucky said. Sam was breathless, both by the slight smell of cinnamon that came from Bucky and the way Bucky came even closer, close enough that he could count the flecks in his eyes.

“He does?” Sam asked and Bucky nodded.

“I don’t know how he does it with you, but whenever I need him, miss him, I feel him speak to me from here.” With this Bucky placed one of Sam’s hand on his chest, the beating heart under thumping strongly. Unconsciously, Sam’s hand caressed Bucky’s chest, mapped its muscles and the jagged scars that bulged under his left shoulder.

“I see him.” Sam admitted, unable to look away from Bucky. “I can see him”

Tears blurred his vision until they dropped on his cheeks, sliding down, and forging a river down, leaving a trail of hurt, betrayal, and loss in their wake. Bucky’s hand came up to wipe them away, staying on Sam’s cheek, playing with the soft hair on his chin.

“I see him too. In you.” Bucky said and they didn’t know who moved first, but their foreheads were touching and then their lips met in a chaste, hesitant kiss. Sam melted into his touch, molding himself to fall into Bucky’s larger frame, his arms circling his waist and pulling him closer. They kissed as if they had walked a hundred miles just to kiss each other, as if they had saved every last breath just to live this moment.

“I – I, Buck –” Sam began but Bucky shushed him, pulling him into another soul-searching kiss before pulling away.

“I know.” He murmured.

As Sam relaxed in Bucky’s warm embrace, lost himself in the blues of Bucky’s eyes, he noticed Steve from the corner of his eyes. There was sadness on his face, the pain of a goodbye in the creases around his eyes. But when he smiled, he smiled with genuine love and happiness. The two parts of his soul he’d left behind seemed to have found themselves, and with them Steve felt himself complete.

“Till the end of the line pals.” He whispered.

Sam never saw Steve again.

Their Christmas was not very festive in terms of decoration. There was still too much pain, too much suffering in their hearts. Steve and Nat’s pictures beamed at them from the walls, and Sam sent Pepper the confirmation that they’ll come over for New Years.

It was a beautiful thing about human nature, about how one rises from the ashes to become stronger. Sam and Bucky lost someone, but they found each other. In the shared grieve of their hearts, they discovered the love long buried in there, eagerly waiting to be spread and shared.

They stayed warm under the blanket, wearing oversized sweaters that they wouldn’t be caught dead wearing outside. The sweaters may or may not have been Steve's; the soldiers mutually decided to hold Steve close in this way. Sam’s heart was tripled in size, as his head rested in the crook of Bucky’s neck, the smell of chocolate and cinnamon melting together to make a little world of their own. Sam wondered if he would mind growing out his hair again.

“So, what did you get me?” Sam asked, knowing he wouldn’t mind if Bucky did get him that ball gag. Part of him almost hoping for it.

“How rude Wilson, here I’ve given you all of myself and you still thirst for more.” Bucky mocked and Sam tackled him into a hug, peppering kisses all over his face.

“Bitch, you’re lucky I lo-” Sam cut himself off, suddenly shy. The smirk on Bucky’s face melted into a smile, a hungry look in his eyes.

“Say it” Bucky ordered. And Sam did. The Captain obeyed his Sergeant without hesitation.

“I love you. I love you so freaking much! I got us the cheesiest gifts.” Sam said in excitement. He pulled away long enough to grab his gift from under the bed, giving it to Bucky to open. He watched with his bottom lip between his teeth as Bucky opened the box to pull out two chains, each dangling with a rectangular pendant.

Dog tags.

Their dog tags. Bucky raised his eyes to Sam’s, fisting his hand in Sam’s t-shirt to pull him closer into a searing kiss, all tongue and teeth and moans, hips grinding as passion merged with love and emotion.

“I love you!” Bucky growled and kissed Sam again. “And I got you chocolates that look like dicks. I didn’t know this would happen between us when I bought them, and I was going to give you a hint with them.”

Sam’s laughter echoed around their small house, the dopey smile on his face remaining intact as they ate candy and burnt sparklers into the night. In the colourful light that played on their faces, they held hands together, filling the void that was there with the warmth of each other.

“We can use the shield as a sleigh until you’re comfortable using it as a weapon.” Bucky mused and Sam smiled into his neck, thinking of a certain blond asshole who may have gone away, but will never be lost.

Permanent Taglist: @what-is-your-wish @shooting-star-love @stanmysoul @sweeterthanthis @scentedsongrebel @muralskins @rayofdawnworld @donutloverxo @just-one-ordinary-fangirl @angrythingstarlight @rockyrogers @slothspaghettiwrites @nerdygirl8203 

CE & Steve : @littlegasps @bluemusickid @harrysthiccthighss @abeyyaaar @slytherinandoutasgard @empath-bunny 

SebStan & Bucky : @sebastiansthot @its-izzys @harrysthiccthighss @empath-bunny

For this fic : @barnesandco​

[pastpatientlywaitingforimagines]

All The Clouds Ch. 1 | Niall Horan x Reader

Warnings: tiny mention of alcohol

Chapter 1: HEARTBREAK WEATHER

“It can be so lonely in this city,”

In a surprise to no one, Niall was watching golf when you arrived at his large Los Angeles home. He had changed clothes in the couple of hours since you had seen him last, he was now wearing grey sweatpants (that you were very familiar with having worn them multiple times yourself) and a blue t-shirt. The late afternoon sun was filling the entryway with a deliciously golden and welcoming hue when he opened the door for you, letting you inside.

“I thought we were watching a movie,” you couldn’t help but comment on his choice of programming as you took off your coat, dropping it on a chair as you made your way towards his kitchen.

“I thought you were bringing dinner,” he shot back with a smirk, following you like a lost puppy.

“I did bring dinner, I just need to make it first.” You were no stranger to his kitchen, and wasted no time preheating the oven and reaching for the dishes you’d need to make the dinner you had planned. Niall perched himself on a chair, watching your movements closely.

“What?” you raised your eyebrows when you noticed the way he was pouting.

“I was hoping you’d just order pizza or something,” he confessed, leaning against the counter, “I like it when you cook, pet, but I’m starving.”

“You’re a grownup with your own phone. You can order pizza if you want, but…” you paused, pulling tomato sauce and mozzarella cheese out of the grocery bag you had brought, “I can make it faster than the delivery person can bring it.”

Niall looked at you in disbelief, his mouth opening slightly and his eyes lighting up, “how’d you know?”

“We’ve been friends for years, I just know,” you shrugged, biting your lip to hide your smile and looking down at the dough you needed to roll out, “I let this rise while I was home so all it needs is toppings and to be thrown in the oven once I shape it.”

“You do that, I’ll go put on some music,” Niall suggested. Much like you knew he’d want pizza that evening, he knew that you preferred loud music while cooking. While you started stretching the dough, he walked away. You heard the TV turn off, followed by the beep of his phone connecting to his speakers.

The music came on while you were dusting his counter with flour, a bright pop melody that you immediately recognized. You couldn’t help but move your hips along to the song, letting the beat dictate your movements.

“Ahhhh this hit, that ice cold Michelle Pfeiffer, that white gold,” Niall rejoined you in the kitchen, singing loudly and dancing just as badly as you were. He shuffled up beside you, dancing in time until he found the perfect moment to grab your hands and spin you around. His quick movement caught you off guard, sending you into a fit of giggles when you righted yourself. He let you turn back to the pizza dough, instead grabbing a wooden spoon from beside his stove and using it as a microphone.

“Stop, wait a minute. Fill my cup, put some liquor in it,” you sang along with him. This song was one of your favorites to listen to while goofing off with Niall, it had the perfect amount of words and instrumentals. It was a great song to listen to while in the kitchen, driving through the city with the windows down, and every time in between.

Out of the corner of your eye you noticed Niall strutting away from you, still lost in the music. You took the opportunity to leave your station at the counter and innocently walk up to him, singing quietly as he turned to you, oblivious.

Just as the beat dropped, you reached your floured thumb up to his face and swiped it across his forehead, leaving a trail of white dust in your wake. Niall knew exactly what you’d done, laughing loudly as you scampered away from him to the other side of the kitchen. He followed you quickly, grabbing a handful of flour as he passed by the bag you had left out. You tried to escape him, getting chased around the table in the middle of the room a few times, but there was no way for you to get past him.

“Niall,” you cautioned when he had you cornered by the fridge.

“Petal,” he emphasized the L just as you had with his name.

You held your hands up in surrender as he took a step closer, “you don’t have to do this.”

“Yes I do, you started it.”

Another step.

“I didn’t start anything.”

“Yes you did.”

Another step.

“I thought you were starving, let me finish the pizza.”

“The pizza can wait.”

Another step. You were running out of time.

“What’s that over there?”

As soon as Niall’s head turned to look where you had pointed, you lunged towards the pile of flour on the counter. He was quick to react once he realized you had tricked him, catching you with one strong arm across your middle. The other came up to drop the whole handful of flour that he had been holding over top of your head. You managed to grab enough flour from the counter to leave handprints on either side of his cheeks when you turned to face him.

His grip around your torso didn’t loosen until you were both sufficiently covered in a plentiful dusting of flour.

“Are you conceding?” you asked smugly when he finally stopped.

“No, I’m just hungry,” he confessed, laughing, “can we finish the pizza now?”

“The pizza could have been done by now but someone chose to dump flour on my head.”

You moved back to where the dough and toppings had been abandoned, quickly putting everything together and into the oven. When you closed the oven, Niall was back by your side, pulling you into him.

“This is for Instagram,” he explained when he held up his phone, the front camera facing the two of you.

“As if your fans needed another reason to love you,” you rolled your eyes, but posed anyways. “I can’t wait for this pizza to be done so I can go shower.”

“You can go now if you want, I’ll watch the oven,” Niall offered.

“Are you sure? You won’t get distracted and forget about it?”

“Have a little faith, petal. I’ll be fine.”

“Ok…” you said slowly, walking towards the guest bedroom, “I’m trusting you. It needs to come out it ten minutes.” Niall shot you back a cheesy grin.

“Don’t worry about it, enjoy your shower.”

Though your days of being starstruck by Niall were long gone, his home never ceased to amaze you. It wasn’t every day you got to be in a multi-million dollar home that put your small apartment to shame. Niall didn’t spend all of his time in LA, and when he was in the city of angels he usually had some form of work to do. Somehow, he always managed to make time in his busy schedule to hang out with you, even if it meant leaving the studio and stopping by your apartment for dinner three nights in a row. Though you often lived on opposite sides of the world, you never felt like Niall neglected you or your friendship.

Over the years you had spent enough time at his house to be allowed a whole drawer in his guest bedroom to keep your clothes. In reality, your drawer contained a pair of gym shorts, a pair of sweatpants, a nice outfit for going out, and a stack of t-shirts you had stolen from Niall.

You pulled out a t-shirt and the shorts, then walked over to the en suite bathroom and stripped yourself of your dirty clothes. You turned on the shower and let the water warm up before stepping into the stream. It took longer than you wanted to scrub the flour out of your hair and off of your face. It seemed like every time you thought you had gotten it all, more would appear.    Once you were absolutely certain you were clean, you turned off the water and wrapped yourself in a towel.

You dressed yourself in the clothes you had picked earlier, then combed through your hair with your fingers briefly before leaving the bathroom to rejoin Niall. He was lounging on his very large couch, transfixed on his phone. You sat down next to him, sinking into the cushions. Without looking up from his phone, he lifted his arm so you could rest your legs across his lap. His calloused thumb started rubbing thoughtlessly and gently across the skin by your knee.

His hair was damp and his clothes were clean. He had probably showered as well, you mused. You couldn’t help but find yourself distracted by the nuances of Niall’s facial expressions as he scrolled through Twitter. You couldn’t deny that your best friend was extremely handsome, even more so now that he had stopped bleaching his hair and was letting his natural brunet locks grow out. The way his face lit up when reading comments from fans made your heart swell, his grin so familiar it was like putting on your favorite hoodie.

“What are ya lookin’ at?” Niall poked your ribs when he looked up and noticed the way you were staring at him.

“Your face.”

“Is there somethin’ wrong with it?” he cheesed, turning his chin back and forth so you could see it from all angles.

“Of course not,” you smirked, pinching his cheek between your fingers, “I think it’s nice.”  

“Only nice? I think it’s sexy.”

“Dork,” you rolled your eyes, “are you going into the studio tomorrow?”

“Mhmm,” Niall hummed, “do you want to come with?”

You scoffed at his question, “Of course I want to come with, that’s not even a question. Can I-“

“Absolutely not,” he quickly interrupted you, aware of what you were about to ask before the words even left your mouth, “you’re not allowed to touch the sound board.”

“Niiiii,” you whined, throwing your head back dramatically, “please?” You tried to pout as best as you could, hoping his heartstrings would do you a favor. Instead, he just laughed at your dramatics.

“No, you know me too well. I write decent lyrics but if you get your hands on it, it’ll be like reading my diary to the whole world.”

“You keep a diary?” you snickered, choosing to ignore the compliment he gave you.

“No, but if I did you would turn it into a gorgeous song, I know it.”

“Sure.” You chose to leave it at that, pulling up your own Twitter timeline. Your notifications were flooded with screenshots of the Instagram story Niall had posted. Most of the replies were along the lines of ‘goals’ and ‘I wish I was (y/n)’. There was also an abundance of conversations regarding your relationship status with Niall. ‘I ship this so hard’, and ‘I didn’t know Niall and (y/n) were dating’ among other things.

This wasn’t the first time your relationship with the Irishman had been speculated about, online or otherwise. Multiple of your friends and even your parents had said something to you at one point or another, claiming you were made for one another. Every time you or Niall posted something online about the other, the fans had a field day with it.

The close bond you shared was no secret to the world, but it hadn’t come easy. After years of knowing each other, the best way you could describe it was ‘right person, wrong time’. Your lives were better with the other in it, but there were too many ups and downs that had gotten in the way of a romantic relationship.

Your mind wandered to the possibility of actually dating him, of being able to call him your boyfriend for the first time since you had met. He wasn’t wrong, you did know all of the nuances of his emotions. You knew him better than you had known anyone in your entire life. When you were younger, there were a million reasons not to date. One Direction was just taking off, paparazzi was everywhere, and he was in a new city every day. You were also both career-driven, a relationship that early on would have gotten in the way. Now, though, the band was on hiatus and he was taking some much needed time away from the prying eyes of the public. Now, a relationship could actually be a possibility.

As soon as the thought crossed your mind it terrified you.

There was a reason you and Niall had stayed friends all these years- the connection you had with each other was undeniable- but you worried that if you tried to pursue something else with him it would ruin all of the goodness between you. You had to stay just friends with him, even if it felt like you were starting to want more.

You needed a distraction, so you refocused your mind on the present.

“Did you eat all the pizza while I was in the shower?” you nudged his stomach with your knee gently.

Niall glanced at you in confusion, processing your words. As soon as he did, his eyes went wide.

“Don’t be mad.”

“I was hoping you’d share but I guess I’m not-“ you were cut off by a loud beeping in the adjacent kitchen, realization hitting after the initial shock of the sound. “Niallllll,” you sighed as you jumped out of his lap.

You ran to the kitchen, shutting off the oven and pulling out the charred remains of what was going to be a delicious pizza. Niall followed quickly, grabbing a hand towel to wave in front of the smoke alarm until it turned off.

“Sorry, pet,” he apologized once the house was once again silent. You stood shoulder to shoulder, sadly gazing at the burnt meal. “You went to shower and it sounded nice so I wanted to take one too. I got distracted and forgot.”

“It’s ok, Ni,” you put a hand gently on his wrist.

“No, it’s not. You worked hard to make dinner for us and I ruined it.” He seemed really upset about it, looking down and away from you instead of his normal attentiveness.

“Hey,” you called gently, “I’m actually, honestly, not mad at you, or upset at all for that matter. I should have remembered too. Accidents happen.”

“Honestly?” he looked up, his blue eyes searching yours for sincerity.

“Honestly. There is something you can do to make it up to me, though.”

“Anything,” Niall perked up eagerly. You reached up to pat him lightly on the cheek.

“You can order delivery from that place across town that I like.” You left him with that, walking back into the living room and getting comfortable again on the couch. You heard Niall talking in the other room, presumably making the call to the restaurant. After a minute he joined you, picking up your legs as he sat down so they were once again resting across his lap. He didn’t say anything until he noticed the way you were biting your lip to fight back a smile.

“What?”

“It’s not funny.”

“We almost burned my house down,” Niall was starting to catch on, the corners of his lips turning up.

“Yup. We almost burned your house down and it’s really not funny.”

Niall watched you struggle to keep your composure, amused, “it’s a little funny.”

As soon as the words left his mouth, you both lost it.

It took you far too long to stop laughing, feeding off of each other’s energy. Once you had finally caught your breath, Niall stood up.

“Delivery should be here in ten minutes, do you want a beer?”

You nodded, watching him walk away.

That man is my best friend, you thought. As soon as the words crossed your mind, your earlier internal battle resurfaced. Sure, Niall was your best friend, but your relationship didn’t necessarily need to stay that way.

It certainly wasn’t how it had started.

“But it feels different when you’re with me”

Chapter 2: BLACK AND WHITE 

[vesuvian-american-fics]

better with time. Ch 16

you're not safe.

You're hit with a harsh reality check. Just because you're not out there, beyond the walls, doesn't mean you're safe. (AO3)

Words: 1,570

“What are we doing here... it’s been two hours and nothing.” Connie complained, holding his head in his hands. Sasha only hummed lazily in response, a blank look to her eyes. You shook your head at their conversation before averting your attention to Bertholdt’s and Reiner’s chess game.

“Think of it like a day off, we don’t have any training or expeditions today since we’re here. We aren’t even dressed for work.” Sasha said after the quiet threatened to put her to sleep.

“Don’t you find that odd? Being in our plain clothes and not allowed to do anything. Even more suspicious, everyone outside is armed...” Reiner chimed in while Bertholdt took his time expertly deciding where to place his rook. You shifted uncomfortably, knowing exactly why everyone was here unarmed. They’re investigating us to weed out any more titans in the ranks, and it only makes sense that you’re here too, according to Hange. You decided to change to subject before the scouts got any more suspicious.

“W-what are expeditions like? On a good day, I mean?” You asked awkwardly. The table lapsed into silence for a moment before Bertholdt responded.

“On an ideal expedition no one dies, we count how many titans are within forty kilometers of the wall, and then we head home by lunch. We haven't experienced an ideal expedition.” He cleared his throat after his last comment and watched as Reiner placed his knight down onto the wooden chess board.

“Oh... I’m sorry I shouldn’t have asked––”

“No, don’t be sorry Y/N it all comes with the work! Bertholdt and I understand as much, I’m not too sure about these kids here.” He said, chuckling as he nodded towards Connie and Sasha starting a lazy game of I Spy.

“Kids? Aren’t you only a few years older than them?” You laughed, getting to know Reiner more today was nice. He seemed like a funny guy and dependable, at the very least by the younger scouts. You adored his close relationship to Bertholdt, they seemed a lot like brothers in your eyes. A faint blush tickled Reiner’s cheeks at your words, making Bertholdt stifle a small laugh before refocusing himself with the game of chess.

“I like to think of myself as a big brother to a lot of these guys.” He said, stumbling over his words just a bit, you supposed he’s shy when talking about his feelings.

“I like to think of you as a warrior...” Bertholdt cuts in, he had a small smile on his lips but they didn’t quite reach his eyes. You didn’t pay that any mind, no one else seemed to notice besides Reiner anyway.

“Well anyway, Y/N, how old are you?” The blonde brute asked, changing the subject. You thought about it for a moment, you thought about your features and how you looked in the mirror. You didn’t look old per say but in your heart, you knew you weren’t around their age. The way you carried yourself, you factored in the time you spent as a titan, and how when you woke up your hair was overgrown. You can’t imagine you had your hair so long it almost dusted the floor in your past life so you decided to take a guess.

“To be generous, I’ll guess I’m in my twenties at the very least. Twenty-five to shoot for the middle?” You added, shrugging your shoulders.

“Oh really? You don’t look a day over a hundred!” A snarky voice called from over your shoulder. It was Ymir, she stood behind you with two drinks in hand, one for herself and the other, you imagined, was for Christa. You frowned at her words, but shook them off with a small laugh.

“One hundred and twenty-five then, I suppose.” You said, giving Ymir a short smile. Ymir tried to look annoyed with you but her resolve crumbled, a small smirk playing around her lips. Up close you noted the way her freckles danced about as she spoke, her eyes narrowing at you, no real venom to it. Ymir was interesting to say the least, though thorny from time to time.

“Ymir! Stop teasing!” Christa called from the back of the room, without missing a beat Ymir turned on her heels and made her way back to her friend.

“Alright alright, I’m only playing around!” You heard her say nonchalantly. Turning back to your table you caught Bertholdt and Reiner sharing some intense eye contact before they broke away and looked back to the game before them. It was odd but you couldn’t think more about it before Connie and Sasha showered you with questions.

“Do you remember anything about being a titan?!” Sasha asked, scooting over to be across from you. Connie scooched forward now too into your personal space to ask his own invasive questions.

“Was it fun being so big? Do people even taste good?” He asked, his golden eyes boring into your own. His eyes were so large it was almost unnerving, you pushed back on his shoulders so that he was sitting properly again and not leaning forward to you.

“Okay, okay! I don’t remember much alright, and I definitely don’t remember... eating anybody. I’m glad for that!” You said, and for the next half hour you answered questions, paying no mind to the way you drew attention from other scouts, or the way Ymir’s stare made the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end.

“So... How’d you come back?” Connie asked, his brows knitted together in thought.

“W-well, I hadn’t eaten so the... my titan was frail. Hange told me they don’t need to eat to survive but still I was weakened. Hadn’t moved for years and just suddenly it’s like I could hear the outside world. But with my own regular ears, it was muffled, and my back felt warm. And so... I just moved, and it felt different. It wasn’t the titan but my own body. I’m not sure I think time and lack of food, and the fact that I somehow kept sane through it all helped. That’s all I remember. I’m not even sure how or why I was a titan. It sounds impossible!” You said, finally silencing yourself after rambling trying to piece together your past.

“Well from our perspective, Levi all but ripped you from out of that titan. We thought you were eaten and cutting your way out with all the steam but it was coming out of you too.” Reiner said, his once laxed attitude nowhere to be found. He sounded serious and cold now, the muscles of his arms flexed.

“He dropped you in Reiner’s arms and we took you back to base. You looked like Eren with the little titan muscle things attached to your face. Egh!” Sasha added, sounding a little queasy as she recalled the events. Your brows raised; this was news to you. You touched at your cheek as you took in her words.

“And you were naked.” Connie added, snickering as he disclosed the information. A furious blush formed on your face, frazzled you slammed your head down onto the table before you to hide your shame. The force knocking over a few pieces of Bertholdt and Reiner’s chess game to the point that they decided to abandon the game all together.

“Why would you tell me that!” You whined, Connie always seemed like the childish type, his playful antics only growing with Sasha nearby. You groaned, what a great first impression you had with Levi. Hell, with the rest of the scouts as well. You were so new to everything that happened the moment you were free that you hadn’t even noticed you were unclothed. You continued to furiously shake your head, trying in vain to free yourself from the memory.

“That looks like a good idea.” Sasha said with a yawn. She dropped her own head harshly onto the wooden table, for a nap you suppose. She was only there for a moment before she snapped her head up, a fear-stricken expression on her.

“I hear thuds! Like footsteps!” She shouted, out of breath. You didn’t understand what was happening but she caught the attention of everyone in the room. A bead of sweat slipped down Reiner’s face.

“Get serious Sasha... If you’re suggesting that there’s titans that would mean... That would mean that Wall Rose fell.” He said, not sounding like he wanted to believe Sasha’s words, but his expression told another story.

Titans... here?

“Titans are coming?” You said, your voice trembling, you hadn’t seen a titan since you were a titan. The anxiety pierced through your, your heart thrumming painfully fast.

“It’s true! I really hear it!” She said standing with her hands in the air. Your hands began to tremble, palms feeling clammy. Bertholdt noticed your fear, his eyes darting between you and Reiner. Before Sasha could continue, Nanaba was outside the window with a cold look in her eye.

“Multiple titans, five hundred meters to the south. They’re coming right this way.” She informed, addressing the room. Your mouth fell open, this couldn’t be happening. You never had time to address your own fear of titans. You had struggled with nightmares of them and of the hell you endured out there. You shook your head slowly, trying to will your mind that this was all a very vivid dream.

“No...”

[wiypt-writes]

Too Loose And You’ll Lose It

Chapter 6: Jesus Is My Homeboy Co-written with @icanfeelastormbrewing​

Summary: Jake and Stella spend an afternoon looking for suitably embarrassing photos of Pooch to use on his Stag Party and when they find some older shots of themselves they take a trip down memory lane. But the trip is cut short when Evan arrives.

Pairing: Jake Jensen x OFC Stella Stevenson

Warnings: Bad language, Smut (NSFW, 18+)

A/N: So this chapter was written for For @sweater-daddiesdumbdork​ and @sagechanoafterdark ‘s Winter/Holiday Challenge. Prompt- “That is the ugliest sweater I have ever seen.”

TLAYLI Masterlist // Main Masterlist

Chapter 5

They were running low on time. There were so many things to do before Pooch’s stag party in four weeks that The Losers had all agreed they should split their forces to get everything ready for the weekend in New York. As such, Stella and Jensen had ended up pooling their resources and were currently browsing through pictures on Jake's laptop while Pooch was on his lunch break. Unfortunately, Cougar had the day off so he wouldn't be able to stall Pooch at the small café down the street but that would pose no problem if they hurried and got what they needed fast. Mind you, Jolene had done her fair share of work and had sent them a bunch of shaming Pooch pictures they could use for their ‘mission’ and picking the most embarrassing ones should surely be easy as pie.

The problem was, however, that Jensen was finding it hard to concentrate and keep his eyes and mind focused on the screen. In fact, hard didn’t even come close to describing. He was leaning so close to Stella as they studied his computer screen that he could smell her shower gel. A scent of vanilla and pumpkin which he could easily identify anywhere with his eyes closed. Not that he needed to keep his eyes open to smell something but he knew what he meant…

"Oh my god, Jake! Look at his fucking hair!" Stella suddenly shrieked before starting to howl, startling him and pulling him out of his useless wandering thoughts.

"What?" he asked looking at her before glancing back at the screen again as Stella grabbed the mouse and clicked on a picture to magnify it and show a young Pooch sporting an afro hairdo which made Jensen blink.

"Didn’t know Pooch was part of the Jackson 5" he laughed before he inhaled and looked at her “Oh my God, Stel, they were really the Jackson 6. Pooch is the missing link. Poor Pooch, abandoned after birth, discarded youngest son of an already overcrowded family." He sighed and Stella howled again, this time banging her hand on the desk.

"Did Jolene send you these?"

Jensen grinned, smug he was making Stella laugh hard at his wisecracks. "Yup."

"He is gonna kill you." Stella snorted as she shook her head.

"Nah, he will be too drunk to care, as we will all be." Jensen offered as he saved the picture into another folder, missing Stella wrinkling her nose, but hearing her sigh before speaking.

"I dunno if I'm going yet."

"What? Why?" Jensen inquired hastily, turning to look at her. "You have to come, Stel!"

"Yeah, but I’m not so sure. I mean it was nice of Pooch to count me in but..."

"He counted you in because he wants you there. You're a Loser." Jensen cut her off before she could even doubt her place in the tight group they all formed.

"Yes I know that and I want to spend a good time with you guys but…" she trailed off and at that Jensen inhaled and shuffled on his chair to sit facing her. She hadn't spent any decent time with them for the last month. Every time they organised something she ended up backing out as Agent Shithead happened to have booked them something to do, on the exact same night, always a coincidence.

Bullshit if you asked Jensen.

He was just pondering how exactly he could point that out to her, without pissing her off, when she continued talking.

"Ev was on about us going away that weekend. He's busy for the week or so after with stuff at home, so I won’t get to see him."

There it is, Jensen thought, but did his best to stay calm, even though he wanted nothing more than to scream at Stella that the guy was a jerk and it was clear he was doing this to keep her away from him. But Jensen knew he couldn't do that, not without ratting his nosy ass out for listening into their argument the other month, so instead he decided to keep it cool and play the role of the concerned, interested best friend and confidant.

"Oh, what's he got on at home?" he spoke, pleased to hear his voice sounded interested as opposed to prying. "His Auntie is moving house and he's helping. Then there’s like decorating and stuff so we won't see each other." Stella explained and Jensen could clearly see her frown burrow as she repeated what he suspected were the exact same words Shithead had told her, but the look on her face made it seem as if she was doubting them almost, now she was the one that was uttering them. Jensen felt a flicker of hope and sighed as he looked at her, pondering what to say. Don't jinx it now, Jensen.

"Don't sigh at me like that Jake." she pleaded, somewhat guiltily. "I was just thinking…good luck explaining to Pooch you’re not coming to New York with us because your boyfriend is busy the week after." he explained himself, almost spitting the word boyfriend, which he regretted the moment he did as he could see Stella's expression change from a concern to anger as he glared at him. "Don't start, Jensen." "I’m not starting anything, Stevenson." He declared, using her surname as well, making it clear her calling him by his hadn't gone unnoticed. "Just trying to make you see you’re missing Pooch’s Batchelor Party, which will only happen once in his life, so as not to make your boyfriend angry." "It's not about not making him angry, for fucks sake" Stella almost growled, visibly annoyed at his insinuation. "You sure about that? What would his reaction be if you told him you were coming with us?" Jensen pressed, ignoring all the red flags her tone and expression carried, in a desperate attempt to make her see for herself what, to him, was crystal clear. 

Fuck it Stel, why can't you see it? "I don't know.” Stella said, somewhat exasperatedly as she gave a shrug “He wouldn't be mad, probably disappointed but..."

However, as she spoke there was something in her voice and Jensen squinted his eyes at her. He could tell she understood that to be not entirely truthful, as he knew she was well aware Evan had a temper. Stella herself had kicked him out of her apartment the very same day he had confessed to her he didn’t want her near her ex, and from what he had heard since about a few other arguments they had, it always ended the same. Him raising his voice and guilt tripping her into thinking she was to blame.

So, all things considered, Jensen decided to change strategy and go down the guilt trip road. "Ok. Whatever you wanna do. But remember, disappointment goes both ways Stel." he stated as he shrugged and focused his attention back on the screen. "What's that supposed to mean?" Stella asked, frowning. "Just that by not disappointing your boyfriend, you’re gonna end up disappointing Pooch. But I guess its fine, he still got the rest of us. I just hope it doesn’t bit you on the ass one day.”  He insisted on making his point while flicking through the rest of the pictures. His eyes didn't leave the screen but he heard her groan besides him.

"You know what? I can't be bothered listening to you bitch." She pinched the bridge of her nose.

"I’m not bitching Stel. Do whatever you think you should do. You already know my opinion, so that’s the last thing I’ll say on the topic." he said as he looked at her from the corner of his eye. "That'll be a first." Stella snorted, folding her arms over her chest. "Well if it has to be, so be it." Jensen shrugged again as if he couldn't care less, but he could feel her eyes on him and he fought to avoid turning his head to look at her.

"Just flip to the next photo JJ, before I smash your head through the desk."

Jensen was fuming now, but decided not to acknowledge that last comment, thinking instead when he finally unmasked Shithead, she’d be eating her words and apologising big time. Instead, he fought the anger down, took a deep breath and did as he had been told, flipping to the next picture which drew a smile to his face. It was a shot of all the Losers out at Christmas a few years back, five faces grinning into the camera while wearing tacky Christmas sweaters.

And, just as Jensen expected, Stella laughed heartily when her eyes spotted the one he had on and he grinned.

"You still have that sweater?" Stella chuckled, pointing at the item of clothing which depicted Jesus wearing a party hat whilst holding a balloon, with the words ‘BIRTHDAY BOY’ written underneath  "Yup. Don’t know where though. Must be at my parents. That’s if Gracie hasn’t found it and decided it’s the coolest thing ever."

“No one would decide that’s the coolest thing ever.” Stella laughed again and then grabbed his arm. "Oooh! Do you still have the photo of the time we went out back home with them all on, the Christmas before we passed out of training?"

Jensen took his eyes off her hand that was still grabbing his arm and rubbed his beard while thinking about the system folder the picture may be in. "Yeah, I think it might be in one of these." he said as he clicked on one named ‘Good Times’. Stella could see a load of thumbnails as they popped up on the screen. They were mainly shots of his family, but there were also a few of her and him and a couple of him and Gracie. And she was just thinking about how he still had some of the pictures they had taken together all those years back, wondering to herself if that meant he still cared for her after everything that had happened between them or if he had simply forgotten they were there in the first place, when she heard him say "Yup. There it is."

"Oh my God, look at that Jakey!" she squealed, her gorgeous smile on her face again, as Jensen noticed she was back at Jakey. “We look so young.”

Jensen smiled broadly at her before turning to look at the picture again, taking every detail of it in. It was a picture of him, his dad, Rob and Stella all in horrific sweaters. Jake wore the aforementioned item bearing the large Jesus image, Rob’s was a Home Alone themed Sweater, featuring the infamous picture Kevin finds in his brother’s room along with the quote- ‘Buzz, your girlfriend…woof!’ John’s had a 3D elf attached to the bottom emblazoned with the slogan ‘When I think about you I touch my Elf’ and Stella’s was the classier of the four, a sparkly green Christmas tree effect, with baubles hanging all over it. The four of them were rosy cheeked from alcohol (well, mostly…) and smiling broadly, Stella stood next to Jake as his arm curled around her waist, John to her other side as his draped over her shoulder.

Happier, simpler times for them all.

"Remember that afternoon?" Jensen asked her, smiling softly at a grinning and younger Stel on the screen. "Yeah." Stella smiled at him. "It was the afternoon of our annual Secret Santa dinner night at your mom and dad’s." Jake then turned to look at her, grinning. "That’s not what I was asking, Stel."  She chuckled and rolled her eyes. "You want me to say I remember our bunk up in the bathroom?" "Yup." he replied as he wriggled his eyebrows playfully at her. "My sweater was missing a few baubles when we made it back into the bar."  "Yeah" he reminisced as he grinned wildly. "Birthday boy got his very own porn show.”

Stella snorted, slapping his arm. "We are so going to Hell for that."

"Well if that's what Hell is like baby, I don't wanna go to Heaven." he quipped cheekily, making Stella slap his arm again.

“Stop it, Jake!"

"Okay, okay, sorry..." he chuckled. But he wasn’t sorry in the slightest about bringing up that memory and as Stella turned her eyes back to the screen he found himself back in that bar, one Friday afternoon in December 2002. It was the day before Christmas Eve and he, his dad and Rob were out for drinks on what could have been deemed as a forced boys’ afternoon because his mom had kicked them out not long after lunch stating that she and Jane were doing dinner with Jules. Apparently they needed to get started like five fucking hours in advance for some reason and thus, all three men had found themselves at their local bar at four p.m. wearing their ugly Christmas sweaters as was the tradition on that day. What they hadn't counted on was having to go out in them, least of all to a bar where almost everyone knew them.

Stella was meeting her girlfriends for a shopping afternoon before they all met up for dinner and drinks and the annual "joke" Secret Santa. Only this year they were two down as Rey and Dick were in Florida visiting some of Dick's extended family, who knows who exactly, as Jake wasn't very fond of paying attention to details when Dick Fitzpatrick spoke. What he did know however, was that they would also be examining pretentious venues for their wedding the year after.

Fifteen minutes after their first round was served, Jensen was putting his empty beer down as he pulled his phone out of his pocket and John immediately nudged him. "Give it a rest son! You've been glued to that all afternoon."

"Yeah. What are you doing? Talking to someone?" Rob snorted, rolling his eyes. "I wonder who."

Jensen grinned. "Not my fault my girl can't stand not to message me for more than thirty minutes."

“Keep telling yourself that. It’s you who can’t stand not talking to her." Rob quipped as John chuckled and nodded in agreement.

"You saying I'm whipped Robert?" Jensen asked sternly, tilting his head to look at him before his face split into another huge grin. "Because you would be absolutely right and I'm not ashamed to admit it." 

At that he waved at the bartender and ordered another round while John snorted and Rob shook his head.

"We’ve lost him, John." "We lost him a long time ago, Rob” John sniggered and Rob nodded seriously. "Yeah, so says Jane." He spoke as he leaned on the bar. "Shut up Robert, you're the one that drove two hundred miles home at like four a.m. because Jane was crying she had period cramps and you were away with work." Jensen jabbed at his brother in law.

"He got you there pal." John laughed loudly as Rob narrowed his eyes.

"How do you know that?"

Jensen just shrugged. "I’m her little brother, I know things."

Rule number two?... four?..., whatever, in military training; never reveal your sources or methods of information.

But Rob wasn't buying any of Jensen’s bullshit and narrowed his eyes again. "Jane told Stella, didn't she?"

"Maybe." 

Maybe wasn't a yes, right?

Rob rolled his eyes. "Whatever."

"You wanna make this a competition? Because Jake’s been like that for years now." John teased Rob.

“Oh, shut up dad." Jensen protested as he passed him one of the beers the bartender had just placed in front of them.

John laughed before raising his bottle "You already admitted you were whipped!" and Jensen groaned as his dad took a big gulp of his second beer. "You know, Son. I'm kinda offended you don't make me coffee and toast every morning."

"What?" Rob asked, spluttering beer all over the bar.

"Every time Stel stays over, he makes her coffee and toast in bed. Fuck the rest of us, like.."

Jensen grinned and cut his dad off straight away. "No. I don't fuck the rest of you, which is why I don’t make you breakfast."

At that some of the usual patrons turned to look at them as Rob started howling at John’s face. "He’s not wrong John."

"Guess I asked for that one." John mused before taking another sip of beer.

"You totally did, dad."

"Cheers to that." Rob quipped as he and Jensen clinked their bottles together.

"What is this, gang up on John day?"

"Come on old man. Don’t get angry and order another round for us." Jensen grinned, chugging his beer down and patting his dad's shoulder. So John did, and then when they finished that it was Rob’s turn to buy, and thus the cycle continued two hours later they were still perched at the same place at the bar, talking nonsense with alcohol running freely through their systems.

"Pity Rey and Dick are away this year because I had found the perfect shit Secret Santa gift for her." Rob whined and Jensen sniggered by his side. "A joke book?" "Nope. Her boyfriend is the joke." Rob quipped and both men started laughing until John corrected Rob.

"Ah ah ah, her fiancé." "Yup, right. Her fiancé." Rob repeated, raising his beer in a mock toast.

Jensen chuckled and leaned his head on his right arm where it was folded on the bar before speaking. "Fahk man. All she talks about is that fahkin’ wedding." "Well she's excited, son." John shrugged. "Too excited. She’s got Jane on the phone, all day." Rob complained and, at that, Jensen groaned raising his head again to look at Rob.

"And Stella, man. She’s dreading whatever bridesmaid dress Rey picks." Jensen paused, before grinning widely. "When me and Stel get married it's just gonna be one big party." John and Rob shared a glance.  "Well, we’ll see if you stay true to your word when we come to it." John said simply, not knowing if it was drunken Jensen speaking or if his son was being serious about it. But Jensen's next comment left no room for doubt.

"We already talked about it. No fancy ass do just a simple set of I dos and a fuck load of fun." Jake stated seriously.

Rob shared another quick glance with John as he raised an eyebrow. "You two talked about it?"

"Yeah." Jensen nodded but then frowned, spotting the expression on his sister's boyfriend's face. "What's the issue?"

"What's the issue? For fucks sake, Jake. You're only twenty-one" Rob argued and Jensen was fast to cut him

"So what? When you know, you know Rob."

"And what can you possibly know at twenty-one?" Rob insisted.

Jake just shrugged, any possible concern on Rob's part falling on deaf ears, he just knew. "Never be another girl for me."

At that John decided to help his son out. "To be fair Rob, he's been in love with her for basically the last ten years. Was just too chicken to do anything about it until he was seventeen"

Rob snorted and shook his head as he raised his beer to Jake. "Cheers to that man. You're a goner." and then sipped from his bottle before continuing. "You wanna spend your life with Rey as a sister in law, be my guest."

Jake looked at him and then shrugged again. "Worth it."

"Well, I guess that speaks for itself." Rob finally conceded which put a big smile on Jensen's face before he made a confession.

"I'd ask her now but we got training to finish first, so..." and then Jake hiccuped before gulping down the rest of his beer.

When they all finished their drinks and another round was ordered the three men were in an inevitable semi-drunk state and, as was to be expected, started cracking jokes and, what was worse, singing out loud. After being told to quit their fourth rendition of ‘Oh, Christmas Tree!’ by the bar tender, they moved back to jokes, Rob and Jensen trying to out-do each other with the trusty old ‘Yo Momma jokes’.

Jensen nailed rob with the one about his momma being so stupid she stared at a cup of orange juice for twelve hours because it said concentrate, to which Rob responded that Jensen’s momma was so short you could see her feet on her driver’s license photo. They continued getting more and more insulting until Rob grinned and pointed his bottle at Jensen, smirking.

“Yo momma’s so ugly, she threw a boomerang and it refused to come back.”

"Hey!" John protested, suddenly zoning into the conversation, making the two younger men howl with laughter. He clutched his glass as he glared at Rob.  "You're my least favourite son in law now, Danby." "I’m your only son in law John."  "Yeah, and you're shit." John stated, tipping his bottle towards Rob, spilling a little of the pilsner he was drinking onto the bar surface. "I’ll tell Jane you said that." "Tell her whatever you want. I’m her favourite father." John shrugged, taking a large gulp of his beer. "As opposed to that other one who shows up on her birthday, Thanksgiving and Christmas?" Jensen quipped, grinning at his father. "What?" John asked, not understanding what shit his son was talking but then he realised what he had just said and snorted. "Oh God, I think I’m drunk. Your mother is so gonna kill me." "Just blame John. She can't shout at him." Jensen offered, trying to keep a straight face at his father's frown. "John? Who’s John?"  Rob and Jensen started pissing themselves laughing at John's dumbfounded face. "John Jensen, best disgusting person." Jake shrugged. John frowned and suddenly realised "Oh, you mean me? Hey! Why am I disgusting?"

"Because we have pretty much finished our drinks, your lagging behind and you haven’t ordered a new round yet.” Jensen fired his shot.

"I bought the last one." John reminded his son.

"No, you didn’t. Rob did." Jensen quipped as he winked at Rob.

"Yeah, he's right John. I did." Rob played along.

John was about to tell them both to piss off as he wasn't that drunk when he spotted Stella and her friends entering the bar and decided to play his son, with his one and only weakness. "Tell you what. Whoever cracks a smile first buys the next round. If you can go for two minutes I’ll buy the next ones. Think you can keep a straight face boys?” he baited them. "You mean you want us to be grumpy like you old man?” Jensen arched an eyebrow as he hiccupped. “But it’s Christmas, what’s there to be grumpy about.”

"You chicken, Son?” John teased him and Rob whistled as Jensen stopped dead, his almost empty beer bottle poised at his mouth.

"You just call me a chicken?” he slammed the bottle down on the surface, wrinkling his nose as he waved his hand in the air “Whatever man, start the damned timer." 

John did as told and put his phone at the centre of the table, so they could clearly see it counting upwards. The three men started looking at one another, examining each other’s faces for a flick of a smile as they tried to keep their own as straight as possible. And just as the two minutes were about to expire John tapped Jensen on his shoulder and nodded behind him.

Jake turned and just as he did a huge grin broke on his face as he spotted Stella, Then he realised, turning hastily to his dad with a groan. "Damned it!! You stitched me up."

John was already cackling as Rob banged on the bar, both men unable to hold back the tears of laughter.

"You know what, I don’t care. Here.” Jensen said as he slapped twenty bucks on the bar. "Imma go say hi to my Stelly." "Yeah, go Son. Say hi to your Stelly." John mocked him as he wiped the tears in his eyes.  But before Jensen left, Rob nodded to the twenty bucks and looked at John.

“Another twenty say he doesn’t come back in the next fifteen minutes."

"You think it'll take him that long?" John scoffed, earning a glare from Jensen who then looked at Rob.

"You suck.” Jake hiccuped. "Talking about sucking, fifteen minutes Jake." Rob teased him, tapping at his wrist. "II only need ten.” Jensen shrugged.  

At that Rob looked at John who shook his head with a smirk as he set the timer again. They then saw Jensen leave, crossing the room over to his girl.

As he approached, Jensen saw Stella's cheeks were pink most likely from a combination of alcohol and cold. As she spotted him, those cheeks raised showing off her dimples and her cute little nose wrinkled as she grinned hugely which Jensen loved. "Hi Jakey!"

"Hi, gorgeous." he greeted her back before kissing her and then grinned at her friends. "Ladies?"

They all murmured hi and Stella looked at him. "You gonna buy me a drink?"

"I’m buying you all a drink but you’re gonna have to help me bring them to the table, baby." Jensen offered, getting his plan rolling.

The girls all cheered Jensen and ‘complimented’ his sweater in return for the free drinks. "Jesus is my homeboy." he stated, seriously puffing out his chest causing Stella’s friends to laugh. "You’re so full of shit." she snorted.

"Rude, Stel."he narrowed his eyes playfully. "True." she admitted as she stood up patted Jesus's head. "Come on then, let's get these drinks. Be back in a moment girls."

"Yeah, sure." One of them spoke as the rest all giggled. "Don't make it too long guys."

Jake chuckled as he grabbed Stella’s hand and started leading her through the room.

"Jake, the bar is that way.” She started to protest. "Need a pit stop." He replied simply. "Right well you go pee and I'll meet you at the bar. Gimme your wallet." Stella ordered as she stopped in her tracks behind Jensen.

"Nope. You coming with me." he ignored her request, pulling her hand to keep her walking.

"What?"

 Jensen didn't answer her but yanked her towards the men’s restroom. "Shhh..."

"I'm not going in there Jake!" Stella protested.

"All right. Ladies it is” Jensen quickly spun to the door next to the gent’s and Stella scoffed.

"Jake! No!" She stopped again and yanked on his arm hard enough to make him jerk back, turn and bump into her slightly. “What's up?” his hands fell to her hips as he began to walk them backwards into the ladies bathroom. As he pushed the door open he checked around to make sure they were alone and began to pull her further into the room, ignoring her protests. He dropped his head to whisper in her ear, stopping just outside an open cubicle “You losing your sense of adventure, baby?” he softly nipped at her neck and she shuddered “God, you’re a damn bastard, Jakey.” She whispered.

“Yeah but I’m your damn bastard, Stelly.” “Oh, shut up!” she mumbled, grabbing the front of his sweater and pulling him towards her for a ferocious kiss before she pushed him into the cubicle, his lips curling into a smirk against her mouth. Once inside he backed her up against the door, reaching round to lock it, before his large hands cupped her face, the kiss growing deeper as his tongue slid against hers, grazing the roof of her mouth as she fisted her hands in his sweater.

“Don’t pull Jesus’ hair too much.” He quipped and she grinned, her hands sliding up into his own short locks, giving a shark yank tipping his head back, bearing his neck to her.

“I’ll just pull yours instead.”

A low growl rumbled in his throat as his hand slid up her sweater, his leg moving forward as he planted his thigh in between hers. She let out a moan as he pushed up sharply, the harsh denim of both their jeans grinding on her spot. She was soaked already, and when his fingers started to undo the buttons of her pants she was relieved that he wasn’t wasting any time. He pulled them downwards and pulled off the boot on her left foot, allowing her to step one leg out of her jeans, freeing her legs slightly as he gripped her left thigh, hooking it over his hip. Planting one hand by the side of her head, his other shifted her panties to one side, and he grinned again, his lips hovering over hers.

“You know, for all your protests, you feel pretty ready, Darlin’”

“Shut up and fuck me Jake.” She mumbled as his lips caught the pulse point on her neck, her head banging against the cubicle door causing it to rattle as his fingers slid into her folds, one circling her clit. 

“This what you want?” he asked, his breath was low.

“God, yes!” she muttered as his fingers picked up the pace. He inserted one inside, then another, and her head fell forward onto his shoulder as he curled it forward his digits forward against her spot, thumb circling her clit. Moving his other hand he slid it up her jumper and pulled down the cups of her bra freeing her breasts, gently rolling one nipple in between his fingers, his other hand still fucking her gently and she let out a gasp.

“Jakey for God’s Sake just fuck me already!” she repeated her demand and Jake grinned.

“I love it when you beg.”

“Prick.” She mumbled, as her hands flew to the buckle on his belt, opening it with a clink of metal before she easily undid his jeans, her fingers pushing them and his boxers down, allowing his hard cock to spring loose. Jensen hooked his hands under her knees and lifted her so her legs were round his waist, back pressed to the locked cubicle door. Once more he claimed her mouth with a heated kiss, swallowing the dirty groan she gave as he pushed into her.  

Her walls gripped him with their familiar warmth and tightness and with a sigh he began to move, slowly at first, gently, her hands grasping at his shoulders as she tilted her hips towards him, her clit grinding against his pubic bone and it was then that one of the baubles on her jumper pinged loose and dropped to the floor with a soft chink.

“Shit.” She mumbled, but her word cut off as Jensen rotated his hips, pushing against her harder and she gasped as his hips quickened their pace, his ruts becoming deeper and faster. Soon the bathroom was filled with the filthy sound of skin on skin, moans and groans, punctuated by the odd soft clink as bauble after bauble worked itself free from Stella’s sweater. Her hands were everywhere-in his hair, up his back, under his top, nails biting at the skin as she hung onto him for dear life. Jensen continued to slam into her again and again, lips kissing down her jawline, neck, nipping and biting softly as he went. 

“God I love you, Jakey” Stella gasped, her hands now on his face, bringing his mouth round to kiss hers again, the pads of her fingers digging into his short stubble.

“Love you too, my Stelly” he moaned into her mouth, the noise of the door behind continuing to rattle loudly as his pace didn’t falter in the slightest.

“Fuck…” she moaned, her nails sliding up into his hair and Jensen gave a gasp as he felt her tighten around him Her heels, one still wearing a boot, dug into his ass, her nails digging into his scalp as she groaned, her eyes wide. “Jakey, I’m…”

“You gonna come for me?” He asked as his mouth hovered over hers, eyes locked on hers, watching, and she nodded, a whimper escaping her throat, as her head banged back against the door.

“Shit, Jake, oh, oh…” and then her words and little noises died off, her mouth dropping open into a silent scream as she clamped around him, hard as her release took her away. Her entire body shook and Jensen gave a strangled groan that bubbled from the depths of this chest, and he clutched her to him, tightly, hips stuttering as he shuddered with the utter intensity of it all, before he too came hard with as surge that curled his toes.

Their chests heaved together as Stella clung to him, Jake’s head pressed into the crook of her shoulder as they both waited for the world to stop spinning around them. After a moment or two, Stella began to chuckle and Jake moved, pressing his forehead to hers, their noses bumping as he kissed her softly.

“You good?” he asked and she nodded.

“I am but I think poor Jesus will be scarred for life.” She grinned and Jake laughed, before he pulled out of her with a gentle sigh, setting her back on her feet. “Can we get that drink now?” she asked.

Jake laughed before he remembered what Rob and his dad had said to him and he quickly grabbed his phone, smirking.

9 minutes…

The memory faded away as Stella’s voice hit his ears and he turned to her “Sorry, what?”

She rolled her eyes. “I knew you weren't listening!”

“Sorry, was just thinking about that afternoon.” He grinned “Dad and Rob were highly amused we did the dirty with Jesus watching.”

“And whose fault was that?” Stella arched an eyebrow at him.

“I didn't hear you complaining. Well, not until after when you realised half the baubles were missing off your sweater.”

Stella snorted “My mom asked me what happened to it when we got back to yours. And your dad said…”

“Divine intervention!” they both spoke at the same time, laughing, only to be interrupted as Pooch walked into the office.

“Amen! What are you two up to?”

Stella wiped the tears of laughter from her eyes and looked round at him. “We were just looking at some photos and reminiscing.”

“Some photos?” Pooch asked as he approached Jensen’s desk. Jake turned the laptop for him to see and Pooch bent closer before he shook his head.

“Jensen, what the fuck are you wearing man?”

“Question should be who the fuck was I wearing Pooch.”

“Or why?” Pooch shot back and Jensen shrugged.

“It’s a Jensen-Stevenson family tradition buddy.” He leaned back in his chair, scratching his chest over his uniform. “Every year we have a dinner and a Secret Santa. Well, we used to anyway before...” at that he sat forward and cleared his throat, noticing Stella look away as he did so. He quickly recovered himself and smiled up at Pooch “Rule was the worst sweater won an extra prize.”

“Well you nailed it Jensen because frankly that is the ugliest sweater I have ever seen."

“You’re going to hell for saying that.” Jensen pointed at him.

“Yeah and we'll see him there after what poor Jesus saw that afternoon.” Stella snorted. Jensen smirked asas Pooch looked between them slightly confused.

“What do you...” he trailed off, groaning as he suddenly understood and then scoffed as they both started laughing again. “You guys are...were...” he pulled a face, “oh that’s nasty.”

“What’s nasty?” another voice spoke and all three of them turned to see Evan in the doorway. Jake shut his laptop violently, in a display of petulance more than anything. He was damned if he was letting that fucker into their private joke. Evan arched his eyebrow slightly before his attention turned to Stella as she explained.

“Oh we just found some old photos of us in horrific Christmas sweaters.”

“Found? On his laptop? By chance?” Evan’s tone was slightly accusing and Stella shrugged, missing the glare he shot at Jake.

“We were looking for something else and got side tracked.” Stella waved her hand “Anyway, what are you doing here? I thought you were in briefings till late?”

“I was but we finished earlier than expected and thought I could pick you up and maybe grab dinner at mine? I’ll cook.”

“Erm, sure.” Stella smiled “Sounds good.”

Pooch and Jensen exchanged a glance and Jensen merely rolled his eyes. Here she was again, backing out of a pre-arrange Losers social. But Jensen knew better than to raise that fact, certainly not in front of Evan.

As it happened though, Pooch didn’t.

“You not coming to the poker game then?” he asked and Stella blinked before she gave a groan.

“Shit. I forgot, erm…” she looked at Evan. “Roque’s organised a game.”

“Oh, okay.” Evan shrugged “I just thought we could spend the evening together. You never said anything about a poker game, Pumpkin, I wouldn’t have asked if I’d have known.”

At that Jensen rolled his eyes. The smell of bullshit was overwhelming.

“I must have forgotten.” Stella shrugged.

“Arty, you ain't been out with us for weeks.” Pooch pressed “Every time we organise something you’re busy. We got stag do planning to do!”

At that Jensen really did grimace given their earlier conversation. This wasn’t going to be pretty.

“I thought you weren't going to New York?” Evan spoke, his voice calm but Jensen spotted the nerve twitching in his jaw.

“What?” Pooch tuned to Stella and she groaned.

“Sorry.” Evan looked from her to Pooch, an innocent expression on his face and Jensen gripped the side of the desk firmly to stop himself doing something stupid. Like punching the fucker in the face “Did I put my foot in it?”

“What do you mean you're not coming?” Pooch completely ignored Evan, his eyes fixed on Stella as he waited for her to answer. She floundered for a moment, and Jensen sighed. He was torn, he felt sorry for Stella but on the other hand he really wanted Pooch to call her out and perhaps finally see what he had been saying for weeks- that Evan was a manipulative little shit.

“I haven't decided.” Stella shrugged, her voice quiet “I don't know what I'm doing.”

“You haven’t decided? What’s there to decide?” Pooch continued “You said you were coming Arty, I was counting you in”

“I know. I'm sorry, I just-“

“This is my fault.” Evan jumped in. “I'm busy for the week after helping my Aunt move house and I suggested we do something that weekend as we won't see each other. I booked us a hotel in Boston.”

“You did?” Stella frowned and Evan nodded before he took a deep breath and shook his head.

“I didn't know the dates clashed.”

“Sure you didn’t.” Jake mumbled to himself, turning back to the monitor which now showed nothing but the screensaver which was a picture of him, Stella and Gracie at her soccer game they had attended back home last year. Still, he pretended to be busy as Pooch and Evan stared at one another before Pooch shrugged, taking a deep breath.

“Whatever man.”

“I’m sorry Pooch I…” Stella started again and Pooch cut her off.

“No Arty, I’m the one who’s sorry.” His usually jovial tone was cold and Jensen saw Stella’s shoulders slump in the corner of his eye and wanted nothing more than to give her a hug.

“I think I’m gonna skip poker tonight.” She spoke softly and Jensen’s head whipped round to face her full on.

“What?”

“I’ll let Roque know you’re dropping out.” Pooch cut in.

“Are you sure, sweetheart?” Evan looked at her “I don't mind if you wanna go, we can do something tomorrow instead.”

This time Jake’s scoff was loud enough for all three of them to hear and Evan turned to glare at him. Jensen held his stare, his hands clenching into fists under the table. He was just about ready to explode.

“Yeah, I’m sure. It’s fine.” Stella stood up “I’ll see you both later.”

With that she grabbed her jacket and left the room, Evan behind her, his hand planted in the small of her back. Pooch and Jake exchanged a glance, watching her go before Pooch crossed the room and closed the door, turning to Jensen.

“Dude. She’s not coming on my bachelor party? What the fuck?”

“I told you the guy is a manipulative bastard.” Jensen grit through his teeth. “She told me earlier she didn’t know if she could make it as he wanted to spend the weekend with her. He’s doing it deliberately to keep her away from me, or us, whatever.” He sighed, “And I’d bet my last dollar that, despite what she says, she’s offhandedly mentioned something about poker tonight and he’s shown up here now, on purpose, to guilt trip her into not going.” His fingers traced his goatee. “I don’t know what to do, Pooch.

“I tell you what I do know.” Pooch looked at Jensen. “We need to get rid of him. He has got to go, man!”

Jensen blinked, and then a broad grin spread across his face as Pooch’s words registered. Finally, he had an accomplice, someone else who had seen Shithead for what he was.

A shithead.

“Welcome aboard, Pooch.” Jensen leaned back in his chair, arms folded behind his head “Welcome aboard.”

**** Chapter 7 Part 1

[demonslayedher]

Omake for the final chapter of Impatience & Hunger, my Demon!Tanjiro and Slayer!Nezuko fic. For those who read it or checked it out, thank you! 

And I totally have more omake. Actually, this is 1,500 words of extended epilogue I started adding, but I decided it was too detailed and sappy and that I wanted to the leave the last chapter as I had originally written it. But I drew this stuff to go with it, so the extra details of Tanjiro’s recovery go here, under the cut. 

Tanjiro’s recovery over that winter hadn’t only been physical. Back on that day at the end of January when Inosuke came barging into Urokodaki’s home, he could sense something was unwell in Tanjiro’s heart, but it was a relief to Tanjiro that Inosuke didn’t have the words to address it. He couldn’t quite express that he knew why Tanjiro was nauseated every time he caught a glimpse of Giyuu’s hand, or why his smile trembled when he asked about how Zenitsu was recovering.

Back in early December, it was Nezuko who made the decision to take Tanjiro away from the hospital.

Any moment when her mind wasn’t occupied with the thrill of having her brother back, a little disgust crept in about having ingested human blood. However, the instant she thought to express her shame to Tanjiro, it was like a pit opened beneath her. What made her think she had the right?

In that hospital, there were too many Slayers who had lost eyes or limbs either to Tanjiro’s thorns or to his demon army. As happy as they all were to see Tanjiro return and eager to chat with him to lay to rest their own anxieties, and as warmly as Tanjiro welcomed each visitor, worry pressed on Nezuko’s heart.

Zenitsu sensed her struggles. At a quiet moment while Tanjiro was away, Zenitsu told her he also heard a troubled sound from Tanjiro. A little encouragement was all she needed to make a decision; she tearfully hugged Zenitsu tight and thanked him for everything, then made swift arrangements for their departure. Shoichi would later blame Nezuko for stirring up Zenitsu’s heart into such a frenzy that it delayed his recovery, but that memory kept Zenitsu elated through every lonely moment he was left stuck in bed.

They passed the New Year quietly. Urokodaki usually avoided addressing Tanjiro’s deeds as a demon, focusing instead on the simple matters of what foods he’d like to eat or good spots for viewing the sunrise. Giyuu would have preferred to avoid the topic as well, but it was hard to hide the hindrance Tanjiro gave him. Tanjiro tried to make him feel more at ease by pretending not to let it bother him, but Tanjiro was never a skillful liar.

Nezuko had repeatedly insisted to Tanjiro that the only one who held any ill will toward him was himself, but even she found her words unreliable, for she had spent her time as a demon innocently.

It was nice to have someone like Inosuke get frustrated with Tanjiro and bluntly tell him to knock it off. That kindled something in Tanjiro, thinking back to good old times, and alighting a desire to go back and see everyone.

Such was how Inosuke laid the way for Tanjiro’s return. On his rounds, visiting Zenitsu a drag since all he did was complain about how even Shoichi abandoned him at the hospital to go visit family and how much irritating it was to learn to walk again. Instead, Inosuke made frequent visits to the Butterfly Manor, where he could at least be assured of a good meal (though he had a different favorite spot for tempura). The girls eagerly listened to every bit of news he had, however undetailed, and hearing how down Tanjiro was inspired Kanao to compose a letter. The plum blossoms were starting to bloom, she began, though if Tanjiro was there, he’d probably notice the scent of the yellow wintersweet blossoms first.

And then she got stuck. What else was one supposed to say in a letter? She was never among Tanjiro’s numerous pen pals back in the day, so she could only guess what he might had written about. Likely something straight from the heart. Turning red and sweating, she set aside that paper and thought about composing a letter to Nezuko instead.

No, Kanao decided, it was more pressing to send some support to Tanjiro, so she had to endure. Thus, she inquired from her heart how he was fairing, and if the poison had left him with any lasting effects. In case he had any worries about her, she stated that her injuries from their encounter were slight, and Aoi’s had long since healed without leaving scars. Since he might find it interesting, she told him about the events that lead to Kotetsu creating a new weapon for her. She wondered about asking him if he had seen Yushiro at all, but decided against including that.

Inosuke’s second visit to Mt. Sagiri found Tanjiro a little more joyful, and Nezuko thrilled to receive so many tidings of how everyone was. While Nezuko stayed busy writing letters for Inosuke to deliver to Zenitsu and to each resident of the Butterfly Manor, Tanjiro took care in replying to Kanao, telling her he was physically well, expressing his joy that Kotetsu had been making new inventions, thanking her for her concern and promising to visit in person soon. He made sure to state that he had indeed been encouraged by her letter, and that plum blossoms were one of his favorite scents.

Initially, Inosuke found it fun to deliver tidings to the Kamado’s. When burdened with replies, though, Inosuke had a few complaints and ordered Tanjiro to do it himself next time. Tanjiro assured him he would, and he soon consulted Nezuko about the rounds he wished to make.

Inosuke didn’t find Zenitsu at the hospital, and gave him an earful about giving him more trouble once he tracked him down at home. Zenitsu had the strength back in his diaphragm to give him an earful in return, much to Chuntaro and Shoichi’s chagrin. With those odd sorts of greetings out of the way, Zenitsu settled down with folded arms asking for a report on the Kamados, and looking him up and down, Inosuke pointedly said that Zenitsu had better look more put-together by the time Tanjiro might come by. Zenitsu expected as much, for that troubled sound at the hospital was always worst when directed at him. He told Inosuke that of course, he was working hard to make sure he could stand up straight and make a proper groom for Nezuko.

With little advance warning from Giyuu’s old crow later, Nezuko and Tanjiro paid a visit to the Butterfly Manor. Kanao scrambled to hide the letter she had been laboring on, and Tanjiro felt it hard to meet eyes with Aoi, but Nezuko, Kiyo, Sumi, and Naho’s excited hugging and chattering soon set a tone that made it a joyful visit for everyone.

Tanjiro mentioned that he was grateful Inosuke had gone between them so much and that it was a shame he wasn’t there, to which Aoi said that his visits to the Butterfly Manor were so frequent that if anyone had business with the former Beast Pillar they often inquired there for him first. Nezuko laughingly added that he probably spent the rest of his time bothering Zenitsu and Shoichi. She recalled what a pleasant place it had been to spend a recovery, and brightened as she proposed that they all meet there for a picnic.

As Nezuko feared, her arrival at Zenitsu’s abode with Tanjiro was unsettlingly formal. The polite remarks of inquiring about each other’s health and how nice Zenitsu’s home was and how good it was to have a Tsuguko like Shoichi made Nezuko wish Inosuke could have gone with them to break the tension. It had never been this bad with Giyuu, who could calmly address the impact of the loss of his fingers, giving Tanjiro an outlet to express his regrets. If anything, Zenitsu’s efforts to bottle everything up out of consideration for Tanjiro’s feelings made it worse, for it didn’t leave Tanjiro with a chance to thank him for anything beyond tea and dinner.

It at last reached a boiling point when Tanjiro made a passing comment about how such a big rice field would probably be hard for Zenitsu to tend to. The ensuing conniption came as a relief to everyone. Tanjiro sobbed and overflowed with a stream of gratitude and apologies, and Zenitsu nearly let it slip that he had been honored Tanjiro remembered him well enough in his demon state to offer to let him stick around as a friend, but he managed just enough self-control to keep that to himself.

If what Tanjiro needed was to express everything that weighed on him, then Nezuko had to stare into the pit that seemed open beneath them. The only reason she hadn’t fallen into such darkness herself was because Tanjiro had carried her, but now, she was the only one who would understand and could follow him there.

They had been demons; they had been slayers. Most of all, they had lived a life before all that.

The journey ahead was for Tanjiro, but it was just as much for her. Besides thanking the gods, she had so many people to thank for letting them have life still ahead.