#she tips ever so slightly towards existence and ends up fully coming back from the void fluid

[its-rat-time-babey]

“The Artificer’s campaign has little impact on the overall story” bitch I cannot stress how much of an impact the Artificer had on the entire world. You just need to pay attention to some things.

By the time of the Artificer, Scavengers are basically in the middle of a massive golden age. They have a Chieftain (with a mark of communication (maybe Five Pebbles gave them the mark and citizen ID drone and tried to use them for something but they rebelled and found Metropolis)) with armour made from Red Centipede Scales, they have a permanent home in metropolis above the rain, they figured out how to harvest electrical scrap and broken down Rarefaction Cells from the ruins of Looks To The Moon and pieces of Five Pebbles to make electric spears and Singularity Bombs, they even have specially trained Elite Scavengers, which did exist before in the time of the Spearmaster but it’s still worth bringing them up.

Overall, Scavengers are at a golden age of invention and life in general.

And then they anger the Artificer, who slaughters countless Scavengers, kills their Chieftain and drives them out of Metropolis, locking the gate behind them.

After that, a new Chieftain is never made, armour like the chieftain once wore is never made again, Scavengers suffer a massive population loss, they can’t enter Metropolis without a Citizen ID Drone and Elite Scavengers slowly disappear as the methods used to teach them and the knowledge of how to scavenge and create electric spears and singularity bombs is lost, with the last Elite Scavengers being seen in the Hunter’s campaign, which happens next in the timeline. In other words, the Artificer literally sent Scavengers into a dark age.

It takes until the time of the SAINT for Scavengers to show real signs of recovery, now appearing in larger numbers than before. And even THEN Scavengers never do anything like they did during the time of the Artificer. The Artificer plunged Scavengers into a dark age for countless years, and they STILL haven’t recovered.

And that’s not all. According to the wiki, Scavengers are afraid of Slugpups, most likely because they remember how the last time they killed one they were hit by the full force of an angry explosive lobbing goddess of destruction that slaughtered countless members of their kind. They are afraid of Slugpups in all campaigns, even the Saint’s. So even by the time of the Saint Scavengers know not to mess with Slugpups, presumably because the last time they did so is a legend among Scavengers by that point in time.

Hell, the Artificer’s existence even explains something about the Hunter. The reason that the Hunter starts with a negative reputation among Scavengers is because they look like the fucking Artificer. Scavengers look at the Hunter and see the goddess of vengeance and destruction that they’ve only ever heard of from stories.

Both of them have red fur and a scar on one eye, and will the time gap between campaigns, there’s a good chance that only a few Scavengers that saw the Artificer in person are even alive by that point in time (without even taking into account how the Artificer murdered so many Scavengers that it’s probably rare that a Scavenger saw them and lived to tell the tale), meaning that the Artificer is probably told about in Scavenger stories and her appearance would therefore differ, leaving the most obvious details like the scar on one eye and red fur.

[selinakidreams]

hello!! this is my first ever collab and man o man am I happy to be participating in @buttershouse ‘s Magic March with so many talented people!! Please go check out everyone’s work, there’s so many delicious pieces to choose from.

without further a-due, please enjoy this 7k word mash of a magic coffee shop/witch/ college au that I have goin here

pairing: Sero Hanta (with a FUCKIN UNDERCUT !) x gn!reader (afab)

warnings: she’s WHOLESOME, implied sexual themes throughout and then actual smut at the end !! , sex on aphrodisiacs

a/n: thank you so so so so so so so much to @keishinslove @hiddenbluee @spikesbimbo @scorpiomoonslutt and @dymphnasprose for reading and beta-ing this big boi- you guys helped me so much and 🥺🥺 you guys seriously mean the world to me.

tag list: @hiddenbluee​ @undersero @sawam0chi

“Double double, toil and trouble, fire burn and cauldron bubble,” you hum as you steep black tea before shifting to the other part of your station so you could add the guise of vanilla to the milk you were about to steam. 

You hear a snort come from your coworker as she looks over to you before smirking, “You think you’re so funny,” she teases while heating up a chocolate muffin for the current order. 

“I do, I really do,” you muse, holding the metal pitcher up to the espresso machine’s steam wand. The distinct smell of the liquid luck wafts around as you begin blending it in with the milk; it makes you smile, a comfortingly warm feeling washing over you. 

You always hoped people stepped into the shop hearing about the rumors and whole-heartedly believed them; believing in the magic that went into each drink when they ordered something off of the special menus- and that it wasn’t just for the unique taste. 

When you first started out, you often heard that with each new employee, the magical feeling tends to die out sooner or later; the happiness of creating spells and potions for others fleeting with the ever-growing pessimism towards all things unexplainable. After working at the shop for three years, one would think the feeling would have caught up to you, instead you felt anything but. With each new regular whose eyes sparkled with excitement as you handed them their unique concoction of a drink, your smile grew wider. Sometimes the familiar faces would come back and whisper about how each drink gave them the right energy to deal with each individual situation… almost like magic. You could do nothing but smile, sometimes a coy little wink was added, exciting the customer more and more. They'd leave with a newfound pep in their step. That's what has kept you going for so long. All anyone ever has to do was keep an open mind and believe that true magic does exist, and when you do, it's almost as though a door opens up, full of delightful possibilities.

As you called out the finished order and thanked the satisfied customer, the shop’s entrance bell chimed, welcoming in the newest one. 

You look up and made eye contact with someone who seemed oddly familiar; you tend to remember almost every person that has shown up more than twice at the cafe, so the fact that you can't fully recognize him only shows that the cafe couldn't have been where you’ve known him from... You couldn't quite put your finger on where you've seen him before but you definitely couldn't forget the welcoming aura he radiated. With his black hair pulled into a ponytail, exposing his undercut, and his extra large t-shirt hanging off of his lean frame, he flashed a bright smile, heading up to the counter to order.

Accustomed to ‘hey’s, ‘hi’s, or even an immediate order, the first thing out of his mouth somewhat surprised you. With a tilt of the head and a squint of the eyes, he mumbled out, “.. You look really familiar.” as he tried to place the face.  

“You know, I was thinking the same thing...” you trailed off. 

After a few seconds of analysis with no conclusion, he seemed to shrug and let out a little chuckle with a passive “it'll probably come to me in the middle of my next class…” before his eyes caught sight of the menus off to the side. Not wanting to make it too obvious that you were tempted to stare, you aimed your gaze elsewhere, only occasionally sneaking a glance at him while he was preoccupied with the menu.

“Ahh… can I get…” he kept his sights on all the options he could, as if it was going to make him any more decisive. Part of you hoped to hear something special, something magical, only to hear, “uhh a… hot latte please?”

While a very solid drink, you subconsciously waited to hear a flavor come after it; staring at him, almost in a daze. 

“Did I forget something...?” Your eyes grew wide, mind blank, trying to come up with an excuse for the elongated silence but before you could spout something out, his smile grew as he rolled his eyes, “Oh, duh, I forgot the size!” A breathy laugh came after his revelation and your chest  felt lighter once the sound hit your ears. “Could I get a large please?”

“Yeah, absolutely!” you chime as you grab a large paper cup and mark down his order with a sharpie.“Will that be all for you today?” looking back up at him, your customer service smile makes its awaited appearance like clockwork as it did when wrapping up every order. His eyes darted to the full pastry case before he could conclude, causing an actual smile to grace your lips, “Tempted?”

“One way or another, yea,” he said with an undertone of something else being implied, causing your cheeks to heat up. The smile that he threw in there further caused a little flutter of your heart.  

“Well luckily for you, we just restocked, so you've got a wide range of goodies to choose from.”

He licked his bottom lip and smoothly responded with, “Well which is your favorite?”

“My favorite? Hmm… Well, I always love a good chocolate croissant whenever I'm drinking regular lattes. The chocolate adds in that kick of sweetness that compliments the lack thereof with the coffee and bonus, it's not too heavy where it will make you feel bloated.`` 

“You really know how to sell a guy… That sounds amazing. Could I have that, please?” the tone in his voice was playful, fun, possibly flirty- and that was something that you were not going to think about. He’s a customer; he might not come back when he wants his next cup of coffee.

“You want me to warm it up for you?”

“Sure!”

Picking up the prongs, you took the freshest croissant from the batch and placed it in the microwave oven, turning back around. 

You voiced his total with a soft smile, “Cash or card?”

“Card. uh .. Can I leave a tip on here?” 

Cue the airy sigh that left your chest. A man who knows to leave a tip: you were in love with him already.

“Yea!” you squeak before clearing your throat, “Yea, once you remove your card, the option should pop up on the screen!”

You throw one more smile back at him before turning around to start his drink, not missing the incredibly hard stare your coworker was giving you. You try not to look at them throughout the duration of making his drink.

Handing the handsome man his order, your hands lightly brushed against his and you fought hard to ignore the hefty thump in your chest. You looked back up at him and swore that there was a tint of rose dusted across his cheeks. 

You saw the beginning of his outburst before you could hear it. 

“Sero!” he said quickly, “Sero Hanta. That’s my name.” 

You smiled, sticking out your hand and saying your name, “I’ll be sure to remember it… Sero.” 

The rest of the shift went by pretty quick after that. Your coworker couldn't keep their mouth shut about how he was flirting with you and how you just so happened to be flirting back. You two were giggling so much that the rest of the shift just seemed to slip away and before you know it, it was time to clock out.

“Is there anything you want me to do before I head out?” you shout, asking the newly present night shift as you’re halfway out the door. 

“No no, we got it,” both your coworkers chime, “just hurry up and get to class!” one of them adds. 

Rolling your eyes, you wave goodbye, double checking that everything needed for class was in your bag before fully lugging one of the straps onto your shoulder and heading off.

The walk wasn't that far from the shop, luckily- taking your time and enjoying the world around you was such a cooldown from the hustle and bustle of your work shifts. 

The college town was quaint, warm, homely; It felt like everywhere was a short walk away- which it was. There was an ample amount of time for you to stroll to class after one of your shifts.

As you peruse down the street, you took note of how bright it felt this time of day and how soft the glow emanating from the sunlight hitting the trees was; the kiss of the sun heated your skin, allowing you to bask in the warmth of everything: the environment, the vibe, the mood. What a great feeling. 

Random thoughts passed in and out of your brain as you got to the entrance of campus- but the continuous train of thought halted at the station when the image of that man who came into the shop, the one with the undercut- Sero Hanta, popped up.

He was really attractive… where had you seen him before?

You mindlessly head towards the lecture hall, with the image of Sero’s face ever present behind your eyelids. The approaching building was a beautiful brick with ivy climbing up the side, a framed golden plaque near the large double doors announced that people were about to enter the Mirai Sasaki building- something you would normally stop to admire but today, you headed straight inside and towards your seat, still mentally preoccupied. 

Plopping down, you situate yourself, getting everything out; your textbook, notebook, pens, pencils and even a highlighter. You take a deep breath before slightly shaking your mind to wake up and concentrate on the human sexuality lecture that was about to start. Sero Hanta can wait.

Is what you told yourself and yet, the thought of him wouldn't leave you alone. It went so far as even hearing the professor call out his name. 

“So, I just wanted to clarify,” your ears perk up at the voice, “The article you gave us was about how unequal the orgasm ratio- the orgasm gap- is for women… but I feel like there is a new wave of um… feminine orgasm appreciation. Not to get too personal, but I know between my friends and I, we make sure that our partners always come… first.” He trailed off at the last part, probably coming to terms with the awkward phrasing he had ended with. 

You had to take a second to get a grip; too many things were happening at once and the one that held most of your attention was the fact that Sero Hanta blatantly admitted to wanting the girl to orgasm first. 

What a gentleman.

“Thank you for your… input … mister Sero- but with what you pointed out, it’s actually a perfect segway into the first project of the semester! If you notice in your syllabus, I typed a very vague title for the next class’s date. We're going to talk about it more next class but until then, please read the assigned articles by the next class and have a good rest of your day!”

While the majority of the class was packed and headed to the door, your eyes stayed glued on Sero as you mindlessly put things away. It seemed as though he was taking his time as well. Maybe he needed to talk to the professor? 

Seeing that your desk was now cleared, you slowly began descending down the stairs to get to the floor level, eyes glued to each step in front of you, mind somewhere completely different until your head is met with a firm back. With wide eyes, you step back and begin a stream of apologies, head bowed and eyes still on the floor as if you didn’t learn your lesson the first time. A warm chuckle hushes you accompanied with a light, “It’s alright, it’s alright!”

You look back up and are met with the mind-dizzying smile of the man who failed to leave your thoughts alone. 

Before your eyes could get any bigger, he murmurs your name. “So this is where I know you from!” He slightly cheered, lopsided grin growing comfortable. 

˚✧₊⁎⁺˳✧༚ 12 oz Time Flies with soy milk, hot; cinnamon orange black tea latte brewed with charmed orange peel to bring back the most nostalgic feelings (add a shot of our very own vanilla -liquid luck- to help Luck stay on your side!)˚✧₊⁎⁺˳✧༚

“Hey! Hey- you guys aren't closing are you?” You hear a panting voice rush through the door- the complete opposite of the energy the cafe currently held. You and your coworker were just winding down from your shift, cleaning and making sure everything was restocked for the next shift, soft music aiding the mood. 

Sero was attempting to collect himself when he realized the two pairs of stunned eyes staring at him. 

“I just- I wanted to walk with you to class. If that’s cool,” he said to you, flattening his shirt down, “and maybe get a coffee.”

Warmth fills your face as you try to suppress a smirk, “in that order?”

The already flustered college student blushed just a bit harder. Before he could come up with a response, your smirk eased into a soft smile, “okay Sero, what could I get you to drink?”

He steps further inside and orders the same thing he got the first time: a large hot latte. It doesn't take long until the drink is in his hand and you're shooing him off to a table, “I’ll be done in like 10 minutes, is that alright?” you ask, hints of your customer service mannerisms kicking in. He nods and you get back to cleaning, unaware that your movements became a bit swifter. 

After clocking out, you’re met with an eager grin and a glint of something unnameable in sero’s eyes. 

“The coffee was excellent, by the way. Both times I had it. Do you do something to it? I feel like it’s so much more than just a simple latte.” 

You smile at two things, him opening the door for you, and the fact that he was absolutely oblivious to the fact that his drink is one of the few drinks you don’t add any magical properties to. 

“I make it with kindness.” You say as you two start your walk, intertwining your hands behind you.

“So mister Hanta… have you been stalking me?” 

His eyes grow wide as his cheeks taint red, “N-no! I just thought that maybe you work every shift that’s before our class.”

“Hmmm… So were you going to come by every day to test out your theory if i wasn't there today?”

“Well, luckily you were there, so I guess we’ll never know the answer.”

After you hummed out a response, the walk turned into a comfortable type of silent.

The both of you had several things passing through your mind, but outwardly, one was caught up basking in the fresh spring air while the other was admiring how the wind would slightly shift your hair.

Deciding to break the silence, you turned to face him, “Hey, so, why did you choose to take human sexuality?”

He didn't seem surprised to hear the question but he took a moment; it didn't seem like he was scrambling to find the perfect answer, it was almost like he just couldn't properly find the words. 

“Honestly, I love intimacy. I think its really cool that not one person’s views on sex and sexuality and the miniscule details within it, are the same.”

While the words you were hearing made sense, it must have shown that you weren't prepared for such an insightful answer because he let out a hearty laugh that seemed to go on and on, even after he took a deep inhale. 

“I’m sorry-” he choked out as he grabbed his chest, “your face just-” he gulped another breath of air, trying to regain composure.

Throughout his fit of laughter, you almost joined in a few times if it weren’t for you biting your cheek in attempts to keep the annoyed facade up. 

As soon as it seemed like he got it all out, you try to pull a convincing pout. 

“So what's the real answer, then?”

He cocks his head at your question, a smile still playing on his lips, “whaddya mean?”

“You're telling me that what you said wasn't just to catch me off guard?”

“Oh! No no, that's really why I'm taking the class. But i bet you thought i was going to say something asshole-y like ‘i just wanna learn more about sex so i could be better’, hm?” he said the last part in a dopey voice before smirking back at you.

You rolled your eyes in return, “not necessarily, that was just a really… refreshing… answer.”

By the time you got to class, it seemed pretty full, which was a bit odd seeing as though there was still some time before the lecture started. Part of you was hoping that you could snag a seat next to Sero or he could snag a seat next to you- but both of your usual seats were surrounded by others already. There was also always the possibility that maybe he didn't want to sit next to you; you didn't want to get your hopes up so you turned to him, waved goodbye, and headed to your normal seat. Unbenounced to you, he physically slouched in disappointment before heading to his spot.

The lesson went on, and while he wasn't crowding your mind today, you subconsciously kept stealing glances at him throughout the lecture in hopes that one of the times you'll find him glancing back at you. The only time you did catch him staring at you was with wide eyes when the professor announced that you two were going to be partners for the upcoming project.

“So I guess this means it's an appropriate time to ask for your number… I wanted to ask you for it but I didn't want to move too fast…?” he said as you two approached eachother after class, cracking a shy smile while he absentmindedly scratched the back of his neck, a subltle flex of his muscles on display. It was a bit hard to concentrate with a combo move like that attacking you, as if he was going in for the kill. 

“I wouldn't have thought it was too fast.” you softly counter, flashing him a tender smile.

It was one thing to feel the heat go to your face, it's another to visibly see it appear on his.

You both traded phones at the same time with the promise to text each other later that night; you put a little coffee emoji by his name while he put the sun next to yours.

˚✧₊⁎⁺˳✧༚20 oz The Charismatic ! with hemp milk, iced; freshly brewed jasmine tea with a shot of our very own vanilla (liquid luck) to help your attitude and chances toward  any situation˚✧₊⁎⁺˳✧༚

Sitting at the furthest table away from the register, you start to unpack your laptop and make yourself comfortable- you're gonna be here a while. Powering up the device, Hanta pulls at the seat across from you and begins to mimic your movements. 

“So you want our first project meeting… at a coffee shop?” you start, trying to keep the smile from coming onto your face. Looking up at him would mean automatic defeat seeing as it's getting harder and harder for you to look at him without your lips twitching upward.

“I thought it would be very symbolic.”

A snort greeted both of your guy’s ears as your eyes went wide and your hands shot up to cover your mouth. “Anyway, so the project.”  Blushing around him was starting to become a regular occurrence, as well.

“Right,” he says clapping his hands and rubbing them together.

“So the project is to point out common sexual misconceptions and back it up with statistics and research articles. The fact that we got dibs on the misconception of the orgasm gap all because you had bragged about your personal sex life…” the thought alone shot a wave of warmth down your spine and right to your lower region. A flash of a Sero you hadn’t faced yet appeared in your imagination; him looking up at you, hungry and eager to please. It made your breath hitch. 

“Well, yea! I had to voice it. I mean, I feel like it’s common sense! When you have sex by yourself, then you can focus on what makes you feel good and what makes you cum. But when you’re with a partner…” he trailed off and your gaze snapped to him, “you should make sure they cum at least once before doing… whatever you two.. had.. planned on… doing.” Sero finished, his eyes flickered between your eyes and lips. 

Oh fuck. 

You felt yourself throb. 

“Y-yea! Uh I completely a-agree.” 

It’s almost as though he could tell that you were flustered so just to top it off, he smirked, “Good. I’m glad we’re on the same page.” before deciding to drop it and move on.

He took a sip of his drink and sighed, “You guys really do make the best coffee. I got the same thing as I did with your place and yet… I'm here longing for your coffee.” you snort once again.

After that, the conversation eased into the project and what exactly needed to be done; the assignment was very simple but sorting out what dates you guys were going to meet up and how exactly you were going to go about gathering the information was all crucial. The project was due in a month and needed to be submitted in powerpoint format- which the both of you were relieved about.

It was really cute seeing Hanta’s eyes all lit up when it came to the part of how you two were going to go about getting all the information needed. He even suggested to conduct a little side research if you guys were ahead of schedule. It was something that made your heart patter. It was almost like you had smelt some of the charmed rose petals from work because every time you looked at him, you couldn't stop the warmth that flooded in your chest.

With that thought, there was the fact that he was more than likely going to be spending large amounts of time at the cafe- would he notice? Should you just come straight out and explain it? Explain that you were considered a witch, someone who was open-minded and was in tune with their intuition and can work with certain herbs, charms, and spells to create wonderful things? It didn't seem that big of a deal to you, it was something you had grown up with; simple spells and practices that just made day to day life more simple. Not every witch has been through the same childhood you had, there’s no special school- not that you were aware of, anyway. Your parents kept their grimoire out in the open and let you frolic about as they eased basic wholesome rituals into your life, and when you got old enough, they let you take in chapter by chapter each spell they casted, each potion they brewed. 

When you applied at the cafe, your first interview was full of normal questions worded in a way that almost sounded like it had a double meaning, thankfully you caught it and later was asked for a second interview- conducted by the boss himself. He had asked you to perform a basic potion/drink you grew up with, something that made you feel like you were walking on air. It was simple; a butterfly pea tea with a breath of life, with just a little bit of lemon activated the spell in the brew. When the well made drink hit his tongue, he offered you the job not a second later.

No. You wouldn't tell Sero yet. It never came up; It’d be odd to tell him straight off the bat- there's really no need. If he ever asks… then you’ll tell him.

But he hadn't so far.

Each meeting so far felt incredibly productive. It seemed like getting work done came naturally, with the topic being easy to discuss between the two of you and getting the articles to support your claim was fairly simple- apparently a lot of studies have been done about people’s orgasms. 

Since drafting up a skeleton outline the first time meeting, the bits and pieces really started coming together, but the get-togethers sometimes didn't go as planned- however, what was a constant was that no matter what the meet-up consisted of, there would always be a paper cup from your work, filled with a hot latte.

Some of the days, rather than working on the project, the two of you would use the allotted time to sit in your cafe and goof off, or sometimes you would host “tea time” in your apartment and talk about anything and everything- and it was okay because very early on, you both gathered all the adequate articles that involved your topic and sifted through them to get the statistics you needed. Collecting the data was simple enough and putting it together just came easy to you. 

Looking up from your laptop, finally done with sorting all the cited sources in each slide, you wave your hand at Sero to get his attention. Hanta was working on phrasing the facts and statistics from each work, so when he tilted his head up, gaze still on the screen until he finished typing the last sentence, he took his headphones out and hummed as he looked at you. 

“You get the same thing everytime we’re together… why?” 

He glanced at his almost empty cup before fully taking out his headphones, “I get it all the time because it really is the best latte I've ever gotten from a cafe before. I tell you this all the time.” 

“You never… wanna try anything new?”

“Is there something in particular you want me to try?” he asks, quirking his eyebrow upwards.

“Well no, not necessarily…”

“Well then how about you give me a recommendation? What’s a drink you think I would love?” 

This one stumped you for a minute. Though the thought had crossed your mind quite often, you couldn't quite pinpoint which special drink he’d appreciate the most. Something warm… something reflecting how you feel about him.

“I think that you should get the Time Flies; it's this black tea latte with orange zest and it's really… cozy.”

“Okay, I'll try it the next time I go.” 

And he did. The first sip he took felt like smooth gold hitting his tongue. So warm and rich that it had apparently induced the vivid image of the sunset from his grandmother’s porch. He was remembering the orange glow of everything the light touched. The whole day, he was feeling incredibly nostalgic, he even did some of the things he used to do when he was a kid, like watch old black and white movies and make dinner with his mom (even if it was through a phone call).

He told you all of this with one of the most handsome smiles you've ever seen, and that's saying a lot.

˚✧₊⁎⁺˳✧༚16 oz Love Me or Love Me Not with oat milk, hot; our very own pink rose syrup (enchanted candied petals inside and dried petals on top) steamed in the milk meets a double shot of espresso for a deep, sweet, cozy drink˚✧₊⁎⁺˳✧༚

 “So,” you start once everything is situated on your living room table, the two floor pillows that play hosts to your guy’s lower halves sit diagonal from each other.

“So.”

“Everything is practically done, I just wanted to… call this meeting so we could just quickly skim over it and see if there was anything in the powerpoint that needed fixing and or adjusting.”

“Very reasonable reason to call this meeting but both of us have been looking at this practically nonstop… so I’m pretty sure it's good.”

“Well it’s due next class and I know we finished it up a few a couple of days ago but… there is absolutely nothing wrong with striving for perfection. And if anything, I’m trying to save your reputation.” he choked at the accusation you were attempting to make, “Oh yea! How are you going to get away with making that bold statement in front of the class, do a whole project on it, and then just… have it not be anything short of jaw dropping?” you didn't even wait for him to speak, “exactly. Your rep is on the line, I'm just the sorry person who got stuck with you.” You smirk, driving your ludacris point home while crossing your arms over your chest. 

Scoffing, he leaned over and lightly shoved you, “we got to choose are partners for this project! You chose to be with me!” his cry caused a chuckle to fall from your mouth as you readjusted yourself onto your pillow, “that's neither here nor there.” you try your best snotty act as you stick your nose up in the air.

“Okay okay then, your grace, let us go over the powerpoint,” he jested along and gave you a slight bow.

After a quick runthrough, everything seemed spick and span, so the two of you became more relaxed and sunk into the larger floor pillows once again. 

“So… I noticed that you finally got something from your shop.” Sero gestured over to the other paper cup on the table. “I have never seen you with your own coffee before, why today?”

Your cheeks involuntarily began to heat up; the drink he was referring to was none other than the Love Me or Love Me Not. Usually, you never went out of your way to make it, but for the occasion, it was necessary. It was the last time you guys were going to meet up for the project and you just… had to know. 

Let it be known, messing with love potions wasn’t your forte, you preferred for everything romantic to be consensual and untampered with- that's why this brew in particular was one that you preferred out of all the ones that are out there. When made correctly, the person drinking it should be able to look at their crush (in person) and if the crush liked them back, then the drinker would get a fierce wave of goosebumps; if the person did not like them romantically, their head world ache for just a few minutes before going back to normal. Simple and effective, plus no one gets roughed up or drugged.

Not a single sip had been taken yet, you were on edge about the situation. This was the first time you had ever made it for yourself, and it was pretty nerve wracking to see if this man who you began harboring feelings for liked you the same. 

It’s surely gone cold by now but that wasn’t going to stop you. “Oh! Uh- I was just really craving this drink today.” You say lamely before bringing the cup to your lips and taking a gulp. 

The smell of rose hit your nose before you could register the taste. The evenly sweet syrup paired with the strong espresso danced on your tongue before you swallowed it. You softly sighed, it tasted delicious. Another sip slipped past your lips. 

A roll of relief cascaded through you when an intense wave of goosebumps rose on your poked at your skin, causing you to cough and sputter. Eyes going wide and squeezing shut as the coughs wracked through your body. 

He likes you.

While coming down from your fit, you semi glance at Hanta who had almost instantly appeared by your side, patting and gently rubbing your back. 

“Is there liquor in that?” He joked as he handed you your drink so you could have more liquid to ease your throat.

You shook your head after drinking some more and cracking a grin. It might’ve been too big of a smile for someone who just choked but you didn’t care. Sero Hanta… likes you. 

Unable to help it, you glance down at his lips only to realize how close he is. Your grin slowly drops, your heart pounding in your chest.

“Can I uh.. can I try your drink?” He says, face red with blush. 

As you go to hand him your drink, he leans in and cups your jaw- causing your whole body to still, even your heart stopped to join the languor.

 He peaks his tongue out to softly lap up a drop that must have been on your lip, before capturing your lips with his. 

It felt like your mind shut down, and all you can feel is how soft his lips are and how sweetly he’s kissing you. Almost hesitantly. 

He pulls away in attempts to find your gaze to decipher how you felt about it. 

Your breath is ragged as you look back at him- everything and nothing is going on in your head in that moment, unable to speak, until you see the goosebumps that coat his body. 

Your heart thumps impossibly faster as you realize that not only does he like you… but he truly believes. He believes in the two of you, he believes in love, and he believes in magic. 

Without another second to waste, you tackle him in a hug and find your lips on his in a way that you know you’ll never get enough of. 

special extra ! : you and Hanta in the fall- Season of the Witch with almond milk, hot; dirty chai latte with a bewitched cinnamon stick to help keep you warm ;) , even on the coldest of days ˚✧₊⁎⁺˳✧༚

The cold nips at your nose just as big hands nip at your waist, causing you to let out a noise between a squeak and a gasp. A flash of soft black hair blurred your vision before cold lips meet yours. “Hanta,” you sigh into the kiss before pulling away and giggling. 

You were heading back to your apartment after a day shift at work, the sky already becoming darker because of the autumnal equinox. 

“What are you doing? I thought I was gonna meet you at my place.” You say as your fingers intertwined and your step fell into pace with his. He pulled you closer so that you were basically leaning into him as you walked.

“You know those chocolate and pumpkin scones you baked for me? The special ones?” He quietly moaned. 

Your eyes go wide as he purposely guided your intertwined hands over his blatant bulge.

“Hanta you weren’t supposed to eat those until later, the spell usually kicks in within the next 30 minutes!” You giggle again. 

A few weeks after you two started officially dating, you formally sat him down and explained everything you didn't when talking about your guys’ past- the memories of frolicking through tall grass and talking to your mother’s familiar, to getting your job at the cafe. He told you that it was a lot to take in, but never did he push you away. When he went to the cafe, he was more observant. Somewhere in the months between June and July, he slowly became more and more interested in the rituals you would do and the potions you would make. He wanted to start joining in. Now in October, he loves seeing your crystals around your house and all the different herbs you grow in the sills of your window. When he found out that you could bake magical pastries with certain herbs, he almost immediately asked you to bake him some. At first, it started as something simple like a sage and rosemary savory loaf that helped cleanse your pallet of any negative energy. Then it started becoming more and more intricate, and that's how the two of you ended up here.

 “I know but fuck-- I was hungry and they looked so good, and now I’m hard and I need you.” he spoke lowly. 

This was going to be fun. 

The rest of the way, you were casually asking him things that shouldn't be heard in a public setting, “What is it you want to taste first, Hanta?”

“How badly do you want to fuck me into the mattress? Hm? Have your big cock stretch me out?”

“Wanna fill me up?”

By the time you both got to your apartment, there was no fumbling with the keys to get your door to open, you already had them out; getting through the door took three seconds tops. Next thing you know, your back was against the closest wall, your hands pulling at his tied up hair and scraping your nails against his scalp when the soft locks fell. One of his big hands lifted up a leg of yours and he groaned as he thrust upward against your heat.

“Fuck-” he panted into the kiss before trailing down your neck, still holding up one leg while the other hand finds itself under your shirt, his fingers hot to the touch. 

Releasing your leg and dropping to his knees, he looked up at you as he fumbled with the button of your pants. You lace your fingers in his hair, feeling him yank the material down your legs, tossing the one leg over your less dominant leg over your shoulder, and when a warm muscle hits your sopping clothed core, you pull his hair harder to apply more pressure.

“Look at me when I have you in my mouth, I wanna see how much you enjoy this.” 

You felt yourself clench, and apparently so did he, because a smirk grew on his lips. “Oh, you like when I say things like that?”

“H-hanta, please.. '' your voice wavered before you sucked in a sharp gasp. He had a finger, then two inside of you in no time, the other hand keeping the underwear out of the way so his lips could wrap around your clit.

He was pumping in and out of you faster and faster, occasionally switching the pace to unbearably slow and when you would whine, he’d tilt his head up, mid lick, to throw you a teasing glance before picking up the pace. He bagan curling his fingers, hitting a spot that had your eyes rolling and with the pressure building up, it had you panting out a breathy repetitive stream of his name. 

“‘M gonna cum Hanta, hh-” you moaned out before clenching your eyes shut, your body involuntarily shaking above him. And right below you, he was ready to lick up everything you had to offer.

Holding you steady as he came up to kiss you, your juices still on his lips, “you ready for me, sweetheart?” he asked when he pulled away. The short sobering moment hit as soon as he scooped you up and carried you to the bedroom, but after he tossed you onto the bed, the look he gave you as he was unbuttoning his pants drew your mind hazy again.

“Can't wait to pump you full of my cum, to have you a drooling mess because of my cock.” he huskily whispered, giving you so many delicious previews of how the night will go. “You want that, pretty? Use your words.” he said as he crawled over to you and caged you in. The scent of cedar wood and citrus clouded your senses.

“Yes please Hanta!” you whine, “wanna feel stuffed b’cause of your cum. Please fill me up--” you whimper out, cutting yourself off when you felt his leaky tip at your wet entrance. 

Just like each time you two have been intimate, he guides himself slowly until he's in to the hilt of his pelvis, “shit, squeezing me so hard- c-an i move?” he moans out. 

Unable to form coherent sentences, you frantically nod and squeak out, “yes!”

With your permission granted, he eases in a thrust before he starts snapping his hips into you.

“Fuck, look at you, milking my cock so good-” he moaned, as he leaned in and kissed you. Each sharp thrust jolted you upwards, proving just how powerful his thrusts were. You threw your arms around his neck for the slight stability.

You began to let out little moans into the kiss that spurr him further; everything was beginning to get to him. How tight you felt around him, the feel of your tongue against his, the sloppy wet noises of your cunt.

“I’m gonna cum-- i'm gonna cum!” he choked out. 

You clawed at his back while whimpering pleas for him to fill you up, “fill me up with your cum, your cock fills me so good, please Hanta, more- more!”

You were clenching around him hard, and to bring you right to his level, he found your puffy clit and began a quick circular motion that made your jaw go slack, causing more frequent clenches.

His mind blurred as he pushed himself the deepest he could, moaning out your name and a gruff curse before emptying himself into you. 

You felt him twitch inside of you right before hot seed coated your already warm walls, and that’s what pushed you into a convulsion of ecstasy. 

He lazily humped his hips into you as you rode out your high before pulling out and rolling next to you.

Calling out your name to bring your attention to him, he pulls you into his chest where you could feel his racing heart, “what if… I started singing that song from hocus pocus? You know the one..” 

What a goof, you thought to yourself, playfully smacking his chest as you roll your eyes, looking up at him. 

“I put a spell on you… and now you're mine…” you begin to whisper, earning a hearty laugh from you boyfriend.

Maybe it was mutual, but quite possibly he had put a spell on you. And you were more than okay with it.

[omniscientwreck]

Let me combine both of your favorite things! I would love a little thing about Caduceus (in his infinite wisdom and questionable intelligence) trying to give either Essek or Caleb relationship advice that may or may not be actually helpful. Those two wizards are probably too much in their own heads to see what's right in front of them and could use a little nudge. Just imagine both of them going to Caduceus for advice on how they're attracted to the other and Caduceus just sitting there trying to fight to urge to facepalm.

Hello! Thank you for combining my two favourite things into this fic that took way too long but I'm quite pleased with! I hope you enjoy!

In which Caduceus has three conversations with two wizards fighting against a force bigger than either of them.

----------

The first of these conversations Caduceus had was expected. Gardening alongside Essek, teaching him how to sow beauty where destruction had laid waste had been therapeutic for both of them. Caduceus had never given up on the war criminal. It’s difficult to feel no sympathy for someone whose story was written across their face in blank but pleasant stares and a mask of platitudes.

The state he’d been in when they met him at the outpost had filled Caduceus with determination. He’d been as close to a wreck as they’d ever seen him and now kneeling alongside him and looking over to see a small self-satisfied smile as he observed the work they’d done, it feels like they���ve done something right. This second chance had been well earned and he has faith that Essek will continue to earn it for the rest of his days.

This Essek is determined to right wrongs, and he’s started with the garden. He pays careful attention to the plants, always asking if he’s unsure about the compatibility of certain species, and making sure to put them exactly where they tell him. When they work past the point when the sun disappears behind emerald leaves he takes off the gloves Jester had made him and digs his hands into the ground. It seems to bring him peace, it’s good that he’s found any.

Most of the time when they work it’s silent, creases pressed into Essek’s forehead. He sweats through the layers that serve to keep him safe from the heat overhead and always has to be cajoled into taking breaks or drinking water. It reminds him a bit of Yasha.

On the third day, when he’d nearly gone faint Caduceus has to intervene, “You don’t need to hurt yourself to repent you know.”

Essek takes great care to swallow and not choke on the water he’d been sipping, bad timing. The mask comes up again, “I don’t know what you mean.” he states flatly. He knows that Caduceus is smarter than that and it shows.

“Hurting yourself doesn’t change anything. It’s the creation of beauty here that tips your scales, not the destruction of yourself.”

He nods slowly, indigo eyes downcast. “I suppose you’re correct. I have much to atone for Caduceus. There is much work to be done before I will deserve any of the kindness you foist upon me.”

“Hey now, I decide who deserves my kindness. We all do.”

Essek nods again, running a dirt stained hand through his silver hair. It leaves streaks of dirt, Caduceus says nothing.

“It’s difficult to be made aware of your stark moral failings, to learn what it means to truly care for someone again. It’s difficult to care more than you expect and to know what is enough, if anything is.”

His eyes flick behind Caduceus, where he can hear Caleb explaining something to Luc and he understands more than Essek probably wants him to. “You’ll find enough.” Essek looks at him, eyes full of a delicate hope, easily shattered, “He’ll tell you when it’s enough.”

His eyes widen just slightly and a deep blush spreads across his face alongside a smile so small it’s like he doesn’t want to let himself accept the barrage of feelings it holds back. “If.” His voice is small but the weight is heavy in the tone.

Caduceus reaches a hand to cover one of his, “When. Remember, I see things the rest of you don’t.”

Essek smiles wryly at that, voice full of mirth, “Of course Mr. Clay the ever observing.”

They go in for dinner and Essek speaks up a little more, he’s a little more alive. The change is small, but Caduceus notices.

----------

The second conversation is less expected, completely unexpected if he’s being honest. Caleb arrives at the doorstep of the grove one evening around 8 months after they’d last seen each other. “Hallo friend, I hope I am not intruding.”

His smile is easier now, though still restrained by sadness. “Not at all Mr. Caleb you are always welcome here. There should be left overs from dinner, fix yourself a plate.”

Caleb allows himself to be ushered in and fussed over. He tells a few stories of the trial but Caduceus tries to steer away from that particular vein of conversation. It’s raw and it doesn’t look like he’s fully healed. There’s still one catch somewhere that he needs to loose himself from before the smile will be easy and free, before he can walk away from his past and toward the future.

“I am going to Aeor next.”

Ah.

When Caduceus doesn’t say anything he continues, voice laced with trepidation, “I am going to ask Essek to join me.” he wants Caduceus to convince him of something.

“Well, two wizards is better than one.” He eyes Caleb knowingly and the wizard squirms a bit under his gaze.

“It is just, a little strange isn’t it? The directions we are led in.” He trails off again, maybe he’s hoping for wisdom. Caduceus decides he can probably dispense something.

“You’ve never seemed like someone who wanted much to be herded into decisions to me.”

“It’s been a journey.”

Caduceus clears his dish and sets down a teapot, “It’s a journey you’re still on. One that might not have a definite end. Is it worth it to deny yourself happiness because you’re worried about whether you deserve it?”

That caught him a little off guard, copper hair shook a bit as he’d clearly gone a little further than Caleb was expecting. He likes to talk in metaphors so that he can hide from truths later, or at least pretend everything can have multiple meanings. It’s time for Caduceus to stop letting him twist words around in that expansive brain of his until the original meaning is obscured by hypotheticals.

“I cannot tell you what’s right Caleb, but if you came here for a reasonable perspective listen to the one I’m giving you.” He pours the tea and offers honey, “You will never know if you don’t go and I know you better than you think. You don’t like loose ends, not as long as there’s something to learn.”

He nods, staring into tea, they’re so similar and so stubborn that Caduceus can feel the loving annoyance usually directed at his siblings creeping in. “Caleb, stop punishing yourself for something that wasn’t your fault in the first place.” Caleb nearly interrupts but Caduceus keeps barrelling through, “Self-flagellation won’t get you anywhere, you’ll just end up with regrets and what ifs. Go explore Aeor, forget everything else for a bit. Do that thing the two of you do where you’re finishing each other’s sentences and nobody knows why you’re bothering to speak out loud because it’s obvious you’re thinking the same things.”

Caleb’s smile is smaller now, but lighter. “Ja mein Freunde, I think you will. Thank you for tolerating questions I don’t know how to ask out loud.”

Caduceus smiles back, “I think this will be good. If you need anything while you’re there don’t hesitate to reach out. Stock up on healing, you’ll need it.”

Caleb laughs at that and spends the night, before heading to Zadash the next morning, undoubtedly to clear out Pumat’s stock of healing potions.

----------

The third time this conversation is had it’s his fault. He doesn’t mean to start it, but honestly the situation is getting ridiculous and the sibling feelings Caduceus has to both the wizards are firmly cemented.

They decide to get everyone together maybe a year after the last conversation. It’s his first time seeing any of them since then and as soon as they’re all in the same room it’s like no time has passed at all. Essek had come to get him while Caleb gathered the rest at Beau and Yasha’s home in Rexxentrum. Jester wraps him in a crushing and loving hug, Beau gives him a punch that’s soft for her but still stings, Yasha offers clippings of flowers immediately, and Fjord’s hug is warm. Veth’s family is here and she looks happier than he’s ever seen her. Caleb greets him with the warmth that’s always burned behind eyes that hold less and less sorrow every time he sees him. He hopes they’ll drop it all together one day.

When they pop back into existence from the way Caleb and Essek look at each other Caduceus expects something to happen. He doesn’t know what exactly but they hold each other’s eyes in a profound way. There’s gravity to them and everyone can feel it, he’s getting tired of watching them fight it.

It seems so simple even though he doesn’t feel that kind of pull, to see where this is going. It’s feels like the days before a big storm, when everyone knows what’s coming and it’s getting a little ridiculous that you’re still waiting for lightning to strike.

Everyone else drinks, they cook and eat and tell stories. Caleb and Essek sit apart but spend the entire time stealing glances across the table when they don’t think the other is looking. Nearly always they catch each other.

Yasha plays on the bone harp, she’s gotten very good and Jester swings Veth around into a dance. Kingsley, three sheets to the wind, grabs Beau and whips her into a reluctant dance and her initial protests eventually bubble into laughter. Caleb sits beside Caduceus and Jester has switched to twirling a flustered Essek across the floor of the livingroom. It often turns to dancing with these people and he loves that they love it so much.

“As I recall you’re an excellent dancer Mr. Caleb, go cut in.”

He shakes his head, “Ah- I couldn’t. Yasha is playing and I don’t think you’re much of a dancer.” He looks over with a quirk of a brow.

“I’m sure Jester won’t mind a break.”

He coughs at that, “I ah-”

Caduceus shakes his head, “No, talking is done, this is getting ridiculous.” He puts a hand square on his back and guides Caleb to stand, “You two will weave circles of metaphor around each other until one of you drops. Go Caleb, follow gravity.”

He seems to understand, seems to accept Cadcueus’ words and as soon as he stands to full height, Essek is watching over Jester’s shoulder. She, thankfully, understands the same way Caduceus does and even sends a wink as she loudly proclaims, “Oh my gosh Essek I’m so tired, I think Caleb needs someone to dance with, go to him.” She extends her arm, releasing him, and his levitation doesn’t allow him to stumble at the abrupt change in momentum.

Essek and Caleb meet and Essek steps to the ground gracefully as Caleb holds his hand out and pulls him in.

Nobody says anything for fear of spooking the delicate peace that settles over both of them as they gently turn, but Yasha slows the music she’s playing a bit and a quiet celebration is shared in the eyes of the rest of the Nein.

Caduceus breathes a sigh of relief and Jester sits herself beside him, bringing an overly sweet juice she’d found on her travels for him to try. She tells him stories into the night, and the wizards never let each other’s hands go.

[captainlevisteacup]

Perhaps you could do some SFW Fluffy & some NSFW headcanons with the brothers in a relationship with a Shapeshifter MC who frequently changes their form?

Like, they keep their natural/signature features to be recognizable, but they do regularly change their gender, height, & sex organs 😏 (Why? Because they can and they find it fun) They’re also total Dom no matter what form they are in, and will happily talk about the various ways they used their abilities to make sex more..exciting (Ex being Tentacles, two huge dicks, a big dick AND a vagina, forming a tongue designed specifically for their partner so they can perfectly give blowjob/eat them out, things like that)

This MC also uses their abilities in some way on the brothers when they are having sex, wether that be fucking them with a dick while pressing their boobs against their back/front, or doing something more..hentai related

On the fluff side of things, MC totally regularly turns into the Bros favorite animal whenever they are stressed and just lets them pet them, or if the brothers are feeling overly worried they might hurt Mc she just turns into a demon. (Which MC does whenever they want to do an activity with the brothers a human can’t do)

This also works out for them aswell, as this Mc is essentially gender fluid and just changes their form to whatever they want to when they are feeling dysphoria (Though they typically go by they/them because of how confusing it can get to go by specific pro-nouns fitting the form they shift into when they rapidly change forms throughout the day)

Sorry this was so long!

*cracks knuckles*

AAAAALLLLLLLLRRIGHTTTTTTT LET'S GO!!

No need to apologize for the long ask, I absolutely LOVE requests and this gives me a lot to work with!

The brothers with a Dom! Genderfluid *Shapeshifter* MC

***WARNINGS: HEAVY NSFW, 18+ ONLY***

Lucifer

Slightly wounds his pride that try as he might, he just can't dom MC

Something about them just renders him helpless against them

He loses his usual confidence and natural leader abilities around MC

Speaking of abilities

The things MC can do to him; the things they can make him feel

Mc can access any and every end of any possible spectrum

His favorite thing they can do is shifting themselves into having a truly impressive cock, complete with a set of plump breasts and a very, VERY long tongue

Impressive as that alone is, what MC uses it for is even more so

Pegging him mercilessly from behind, breasts bouncing and scraping against his back while that damned tongue snakes around his waist to pleasure his own member

He never knows just how to focus on any one thing when everything feels so incredible; Their dick ramming into him with reckless abandon, those globular tits bouncing onto his back, or that tongue with a lewd amount of saliva dripping off of it and onto Lucifer's body, massaging his throbbing member

MC'S gifts aren't JUST used for sex, though

They'll often use their abilities to calm him down when he's stressed

They'll make their hands impossibly soft, and run them lightly all over his body in soothing motions

Light circles on his arms, lazy lines on his face, and light massaging through his hair

Mammon

Has no problem whatsoever with MC domming him

Absolutely loves their abilities

Comes completely undone when MC stands right behind him, whispers about how they need him to be their little slut in an alluring feminine voice, and presses their intimidating member against his ass

He knows what comes next

MC ripping his shirt off of him, and pushing him down onto the bed.

Mammon takes this time to admire them; their pert breasts, their smooth skin, to their thick cock, perfectly accentuated with smooth veins, and the beautiful, somehow always moist pussy right below it

This was a skill that had startled Mammon at first. Shapeshifters aren't that common, so for it to be used sexually like THIS? Oh, Mammon was in euphoria.

MC had experimented with many different positions, but the one that drove Mammon over the edge was the one they used the most

MC on top, riding Mammon as if he were a prized mare, their dick slapping harshly against his chiseled abs, the lewd sound echoing throughout the room

Once MC came, not only was Mammon's dick enveloped by their wet vagina, but their hot seed sprayed onto his toned stomach.

Outside of the bedroom, MC would shift their hair to match Mammon's whenever he wasn't feeling well. It never failed to cheer him up, seeing MC with the same white hair made him so happy.

Levi

The biggest bottom to exist

MC takes FULL advantage of the otaku

Shifts to have the exact same body as Ruri-chan

Huge tits, exaggerated waist, and slender legs

Shifts so that their pussy is unbelievably tight, and during sex they tighten and loosen it to provide further stimulation

MC shifts to have slight fangs, so that they can drag them along Levi's skin

Often turns into a snake and rests on Levi's shoulders, sometimes they do this during class if MC doesn't want to attend their's that day

MC can stretch or shrink their vocal cords to mimic certain Anime characters

Occasionally, MC will do this doing sex and moan Levi's name

This drives him insane

If the two are in public and MC wants to tease or arouse him, all the have to do is adopt the anime girl voice and say something along the lines of "Gomenezai, Oni-sama"

Levi immediately gets hard

Mc then drags them off to relieve him *wink wink*

Satan

Cat ears.

CAT EARS

MC knows damn well what this does to him

Satan prefers rough sex, so MC will shift into having chiseled, muscular arms capable of holding him down, with a chest to match, all topped off with a well-built cock complete with subtle ridges all along the shaft

MC will pin Satan's arms to the wall with one hand, and harshly jerk his chin towards them with the other while rubbing their cock in between his legs, teasing his sensitive balls. Then, as a cue, MC would make the cat ears appear

In a flash, Satan would be shoved onto his hands and knees and roughly taken from behind, the ridges on MC'S dick creating deliciously painful friction

Mc would knot their fingers into his hair and yank his head back, often earning a yelp from his lips

Outside of sex, MC is almost always either fully a cat or has some aspect of a cat (cat ears, subtle fangs, or sometimes a tail that he loves to play with

This is because it really helps suppress Satan's temper for some reason

Since MC likes to change up the color of their fur when they go into a full cat, Lucifer becomes convinced Satan has snuck multiple cats into the House of Lamentation, because he keeps finding the fur

Satan refuses to let MC tell him, because he finds it hilarious how irritated it makes Lucifer

Asmo

As SOON as he found out MC could shift their body, had a whole list of things he wanted to do with them

The first on that list was being fucked by two dicks, both belonging to MC

MC made him agree to being stretched out first, so as not to hurt him

Every time MC fucked Asmo, they would use a differently shaped and textured cock, each ever so slightly larger than the last

After Asmo took an unfathomably large member from MC, he was deemed ready

Asmo watched in awe as MC shifted to possess two large and vastly different cocks.

One was girthy, with a perfectly smooth shaft and a bulbous head

The other was more slender, with diagonal ridges, almost scale like, running all along it's length.

MC slid them in one at a time, allowing Asmo to adjust

Once both of their dicks were fully in Asmo, they slowly began to pull back

Their dicks dragged painfully slow along the insides of Asmo, creating a brutal friction that threatened to make Asmo crumble right then and there

Outside of sex, MC was Asmo's dream come true

Well, inside of sex too, but that's besides the point

MC often shifts their body to mimic different body types, and Asmo styles their outfits based on how they decide to have their body that day

Same thing goes for hair, as MC can adjust their hair to any length, color, texture, and width

Asmo loves trying out and practicing different styles

Beel

Face fucking.

His favorite. No arguments.

MC shifts into having a cock even bigger than Beel's (a true feat), and a tight pussy just beneath it.

Beel loves it when they shove his head onto their cock, fingers fisting into his hair

Forcing his head to move onto their cock, tears pricking in his eyes and they fucked his mouth, his throat, mercilessly

MC doesn't allow Beel to sit and do nothing, oh no

Beel fingers their wet pussy as they fuck his face senseless

If Beel isn't moving his fingers fast enough, MC shoves their dick even further down his throat

Huskily whispers into his ear "Come on, Avatar of Gluttony, surely you can swallow more than that"

Outside of sex, shifts into a demon so they can play with Beel and the brothers.

At first, the brothers wouldn't let MC play any sports with them (mostly Beel), out of fear for MC getting injured

So, MC proceeded to shift into a whole ass demon.

Shocks everyone and utterly destroys all the brothers

Belphie

Cowboy

Like cowgirl...but not.

MC shifts so that their body is substantially bigger than his

This makes Belphie small enough in comparison to easily fit in MC'S lap

Ironically, MC shifts to have a cock roughly the size of a bull. They would never dream of making Belphie take it all....

But they can try

Belphie sits on their lap, legs spread, facing MC so they can see the fear and pleasure mix on his face

MC slowly teases him with their tip, entering one inch at a time before pulling out, pausing, and suddenly shoving back in, an inch deeper each time

Their hands holding Belphie up by the hips the whole time

Outside of sex, will shift to have a very soft stomache for Belphie to lay on

When Belphie is feeling depressed or lonely, MC shifts into a very, VERY soft wolf for Belphie to stroke the fur of as a grounding technique, and to sleep with on the nights he feels alone

This happens so often that MC just relaxes around the house in a wolf form

This never fails to scare the shit out of Mammon, which, in turn, brings a rare smile to Belphie's face

[highfaelucien]

for elucien: maybe some soft content of lucien and elain cooking together

send me ship fic prompts!

Elain looked up as she heard a small tap at the door of the kitchen. She glanced towards Nuala and Cerridwen, both of whom remained relaxed, though she couldn't think who would be knocking.

Anyone who typically stayed here, Feyre and Rhys and their Inner Circle, none of them would have knocked. They would just have barged in, on a varying spectrum of politeness.

Azriel was at one end, and Cassian was on the other, which felt an appropriate way of measuring the two brothers' personalities.

"Come in!" she called, looking up from her flour dusted work table.

A golden glimmer caught her eye as one mechanical eye and one of glimmering red peered owlishly around the doorway.

"Lady Elain," he said with that courtly grace, giving her as refined a bow as any she'd ever seen, "Your sister told me that I could find you here. May I approach?"

"Oh," Elain said, a little flustered, feeling her cheeks go warm for reasons entirely unrelated to the heating oven behind her, "Oh, yes, of course, my lord-" she catches herself, remembering that he's not a lord, she corrects, "Lucien."

He inclined his head slightly and approached, carrying a small wicker basket in front of him, which he set gently on the worktop in front of her.

"Your sister told me that you liked to bake down her most days," he said, watching her almost warily, as though he expected her to snap at him for merely being here, "So I brought you a gift."

"A gift?" she repeated, blinking down at the basket.

"It won't bite," he said, with a small smile, "You can open it."

Tentatively, she slid the lid open and peered inside. At once, a tart, wonderful smell of fresh, crisp apples, unlike any she'd ever experienced, emerged from the basket.

She gave a little squeal of delight and took one from the basket, holding it in her hand. It was larger than any she'd ever seen, gleaming as brightly red as a forge. And the smell, even unpeeled, she had never smelled anything so mouthwatering or delicious.

Lucien smiled a little at her reaction to them and answered the question that had been dancing on the tip of her tongue, "They're from the Autumn Court."

There was a flicker in his eyes he couldn't quite read, a sadness, deep and haunted. And she felt it. She felt it, a deep pang in her own chest, twin and echo to what she saw in him. She wasn't sure if he was aware of that, as he kept talking, hands clasped behind his back, bouncing slightly on his toes.

"My mother sent it to me," he told her, and there was a tightness to his voice. She knew little of the other courts, but she had heard Lucien's mother lived a sad existence trapped with his father. "She told me, she told me to offer it to you, so that you would know that Autumn has more to it than the violence and brutality seen from outside."

He laid a gentle hand on the basket's lid, one slim finger tracing another of the apples. They had a meaning to him. A connection to his old court, his old home, the mother he had not seen in so long.

"I thought, perhaps, you could use them in your baking," he said, straightening up and taking a breath, composing himself, "They are best enjoyed when they are cooked."

"They smell even better than this?" Elain blurted, eyes widening.

Lucien huffed a soft laugh, and it felt, oddly, like a victory, "They do indeed. They are made for roasting, for bonfires, and mead. I think they will be an excellent treat for those upstairs. And for you."

She smiled at him, "Thank you," she said, giving him a polite little curtsy, "This is very thoughtful," she gestured towards Nuala and Cerridwen, the two wraiths watching silently but, she knew, listening to every word, "We were actually about to make a pie. I think now it shall be an apple pie."

He smiled at that, then gave her another bow and made to leave. Something about the way he turned, the way his touch had lingered upon the apples, the smell of him, of Autumn, that lingered, the sadness in his eyes, the sadness in her chest, has her calling out to him.

"Perhaps you could stay?"

Nuala and Cerridwen glanced up, but kept their thoughts to themselves, as always.

Lucien turned slowly, seeming a little startled, and looked at her with raised eyebrows, "That's not necessary," he said carefully, "Please, don't feel obliged."

"I don't," she told him firmly, trying to be more assertive, "I think it would be nice to have a practiced hand to show me precisely how to, to slice and spice these apples. So that they taste their best."

He hesitated just a moment, then he gave her a smile and tied his long red hair up into a loose bun on top of his head, securing it with a leather band around his wrist.

"I can certainly do that," he told her, with a soft smile, "I've roasted more of these in my lifetime than I'd care to count."

She gave him a little smile, then turned to Nuala and Cerridwen and said, trying, and failing, to control her blush, "The kitchen may be a little crowded with four of us. I think I can manage, with Lucien's help. Perhaps you could attend to your other duties? I know you're both very busy."

It was painfully transparent, but neither of her friends made any mention of that. They just gave her and Lucien little bows, then vanished through the wall.

Lucien gave an exaggerated shiver at the sight, "Does that ever get unnerving?" he asked Elain, squinting down at her.

She giggled, "I suppose it was at first," she admitted, "I've gotten used to them. Mostly. But I still get a fright if I turn around and they're standing inside the table. I thought perhaps it was just a holdover from my being human."

"No," Lucien said wryly, "That's definitely not a human thing. Standing in tables is downright unsettling."

Elain smiled again, then added, "They've been good friends to me, despite their blatant abuse of furniture. And they're very good bakers."

"That I can attest to as well," Lucien said, washing his hands at the sink, "Their pastries are deliciously light."

She couldn't help noting, out of the corner of her eye, as he rolled up his sleeves, that his arms were corded with muscle, and well toned.

He didn't have the bulk of Cassian, or even Azriel, who was less of a 'beefcake', to use Mor's word, than his brother, but still broad-chested and muscular. He was more delicately crafted, and she bit her lip as her brain very firmly did not object to that one bit.

Lucien didn't seem to notice her ogling. Or if he did, he was polite enough to pretend that he didn't, for which she was grateful.

"Why don't we prepare the apples together?" she suggested, "The pie crust is nearly ready, after all, and there are quite a few of them. I can peel if you don't mind chopping?"

"I am at your service, my lady," Lucien replied, giving her another sweeping bow, "Your kitchen, your authority."

"I don't think anyone has ever given me authority before," she mumbled, before she could stop herself, picking up one of the apples and starting to peel it with a sharp knife.

Lucien took out a cutting board and set it down beside her, fishing a knife from the nearby block.

He smiled as he waited for her to finish with her apple. As she handed it to him, he said, "If you were given authority, over a whole court, let's say, what would it be? A court of pastries and cream? Or perhaps roses and violets?"

She considered, humming, then said bluntly, "Well, it would certainly have a lot more sunlight than there is here."

Lucien laughed, even as she blushed.

"Oh dear," she said, feeling even the newly pointed tips of her ears growing hot, "That sounded rather rude and ungrateful, didn't it?"

"Actually," Lucien said, leaning in conspiratorially, so she once again caught his scent, and trembled with it, "It was quite refreshing. I know that Rhys has an aesthetic to maintain, the dark and broody git, and there's a definite beauty to all of this," he waved his knife around airily, "But it does get a bit depressing day after day."

Elain gave a little squeaky at the mention of Rhys being a 'dark and broody git' but otherwise smiled at Lucien's assessment.

"No-one else seems to have a problem with it," she said, watching as Lucien efficiently cored and sliced the apples she passed him.

He was clearly practiced in the kitchen, which surprised her. She'd been told he was a High Lord's son, a prince - she wasn't sure why they were called princes when their father's were lords, but hadn't questioned it - she hadn't expected culinary training to be in his skillset.

"In fact they all seem to like it, even," she said, with a little sigh, "I miss summers in the mortal lands. Everyone keeps telling me I should stop thinking about it. That my life is here now, but..."

"But it was your home for most of your life," Lucien said quietly, "And that is difficult to forget, or fully escape from, no matter how long you're gone from it."

She nodded, and watched him examine the apple in his hand, that sad longing back on his face.

"Do you miss your home, too?" she asked quietly.

He glanced at her, weighing her, apparently judging how to answer, sincere, or sarcastic. To her surprise, he chose sincerity.

"I do," he said quietly, "Both of them." He sighed very deeply, "I have bad memories connected to both Spring and Autumn. Terrible memories, if truth be told, but..."

"But there are good memories, too," Elain said quietly, finishing the thought, "And other people seem to forget those. Maybe that's why it's been so easy for them to move on with their new lives."

Lucien peered down at her, holding her gaze for a long time, then he nodded.

"When I was given quarters in Tamlin's manor," he said, turning that burning gaze away from her to confront the apples again, "I chose to decorate the space as my rooms had looked at Autumn. Dark wood pannelling, oranges, and reds, and yellows, the colours of the bonfires and falling leaves. Tamlin and the others couldn't understand it. They had thought I would want to erase every memory of that court, after what had happened to me there."

Elain didn't press him to go into details about what precisely that had been. She had overheard snippets and gossip, but she had never gotten the full story. Now did not feel like the time for it.

"They didn't understand," he said, shaking his head, "I left Autumn, left it gladly. But a part of my heart still belonged there. A part of my heart will always belong there. Just as another part will always belong to Spring. My mother was of Autumn. There was a fire in my blood that called to that court. the festivals, and bonfires. The plants, and the people. The scents, and the food, and the beauty of it.

"I still remembered those things fondly. I didn't want to let myself forget. I didn't want to become the kind of person who consisted only of scars, and sadness, defined only by the terrible things that have happened to them."

He huffed a soft laugh and had to stop himself dragging his long fingers through his hair while he was around food.

"I apologise, lady," I came here to deliver you some apples, not wax lyrical on my philosophy of life," he said, inclining his head towards her.

But she laid a gentle hand on his arm and said, "No, I like to hear it. It...It's good to hear, honestly. I don't like to forget the good times, either. Nesta and Feyre, they fit in so well here, and have taken so well to being fae, on the whole. I know that whenever anyone mentions our past in the human world, they think of that cottage. They think of freezing winters, and near starvation. Of abandonment, and rejection, and sadness. So I don't blame them for finding that easy to leave behind."

"What about you, Elain?" Lucien asked, very quietly, "What do you think of?"

Elain closed her eyes, taking in a deep breath, feeling a soft smile touch her lips, "I think of the cottage too," she admitted, "But I remember the way we all clustered around the fire under a big blanket, all of us.

"I remember my little windowbox, and the wild flowers I grew. I tried vegetables, but the seeds were too expensive, and the soil quality was too poor and shallow in my little box. But the flowers made me smile. They brought some colour to our dull, cold world when we needed it most.

"I remember Feyre's painting. And father's carvings. And the stories Nesta wrote and hid from us, but I still found them.

"I remember riding horses with mother when I was little. And pretty dresses that made me feel like a princess.

"I remember singing, and laughing, and living with my family. And sometimes, sometimes I feel mad for focusing on those little things, when everything else was so awful. I feel silly, and childish, and like I should think of things how they were."

"You are," Lucien said quietly, and she opened her eyes, finding him watching her with something close to awe on his face, "All of those things were real. They happened. They are true memories. I, I don't think it is childish to focus on the small things that brought you joy when the world was bleak and full of misery and pain. I think that makes you strong, and wonderful. In a world of harsh, jagged stones, and concrete walls, you find the beauty of the wildflowers growing up between the cracks. That, that is a very special, and noble way to live, I think."

"You see them too, don't you?" she said softly, "The flowers in the windowbox, and fighting to grow between the cracked stones. It's how you've survived after everything that's happened."

Lucien swallowed tightly, but nodded, "I try to," he replied, a little hoasely, "It's not always easy but...I try."

Elain nodded, "Me too," she murmured.

There was a long, intense silence, like a string being pulled taut between them. She felt herself leaning into it, both excited and afraid. Then Lucien cleared his throat and looked away.

She felt the relief, as the tension broke, but also a little disappointment, unable to discover where it might have pulled her to.

Taking a deep breath, Lucien said, too loudly, "Look at all these apples."

"Oh!" Elain exclaimed, only just taking note of the small mountain of slices between them, "Oh, yes."

"Come on," Lucien said, giving her a grin, clearly trying to put her at ease after that charged moment they had shared, "This is the best part."

It took him a moment, opening several cupboards, cursing under his breath when he caused a small avalanche of poorly stacked pots to come tumbling out of one, but he finally straightened up with a large mixing bowl held triumphantly in his hands.

He scooped all of the apple slices into it, then began raiding the spice rack. She lost track of all of the different things he tossed into the bowl. He gave it a final sniff, then nodded, satisfied.

"Alright, get stuck in," he said, nodding to her with a glint in his eyes.

She raised an eyebrow and he stuck his hands into the bowl with almost indecent enthusiasm, mixing the spices with the fruit slices.

Smiling, she stepped up shyly and put her hands into the bowl with him.

They stayed quiet as they mixed, but occasionally their eyes met, and, even more intensely, their hands.

Finally, Lucien deemed it ready, and they began lining the apple slices at the bottom of the pie tin. He showed her how to weave a traditional Autumn lattice on the top, and even how to make some leaf patterns from the leftover pastry.

While it baked, Elain soaked in the scents of it cooking. Lucien was right, it was so much better than it was originally. As it went on, she noted Lucien was starting to shift a little uncomfortably from one foot to the other.

"What is it?" Elain asked, biting her lip, "Is my pastry not good enough to contain your magnificent Autumn apples?"

He glanced to her, mechanical eye whirring softly, and did not bite at her attempt at humour. He swallowed and said, "I don't think I should partake in this particular pie, Elain."

She frowned slightly, "Why not?" she asked, confused.

"It's, it's mainly a symbolic gesture, but I wouldn't want to take any chances. When, when a woman," she noted his use of the word 'woman' instead of 'female' with a jolt of pleased surprise, "Offers her mate food, and they accept, it generally seals their bond."

"Oh," Elain said, flushing as darkly as his hair.

"I'm not saying that if I eat this it will bind us togeher forever, with no choice, and no backing out but- To be honest with you, I have no idea what it will do, and I wouldn't want to take that risk."

"No," Elain said, perhaps a little too quickly, given the flash of quickly smothered pain in Lucien's face. "I mean, I'd like to take a little more time with things, if we could."

"We're immortal," Lucien said, with a small smile, "We can take all the time there is," he glanced at the large clock on the wall and added, "And speaking of time, I realise I'm almost late for my meeting with Azriel. He gets very grumpy when his guests aren't as punctual as he is."

"Azriel is always very punctual," Elain said, a little lamely, not quite sure what else to say.

"So I shall take my leave, lady," Lucien said, with another bow.

The formality felt...A little strange between them now, and she wasn't sure what she thought about that. She still didn't really know this man at all, and yet, what they had shared...

"Please tell me if you like the apples," he said, with a small smile.

"I will," she said, giving him a little curtsy in turn, "And please, give your mother my thanks."

"I will," he said, but there was a sadness in his eyes that told her he wasn't sure when he'd next get the chance to do that. If he ever did.

He turned to go, and she again found herself starting forwards, halting him once more, "Lucien," she said, and he glanced back towards her, "If, if you ever find yourself with any more fruits for baking. Or, or just the next time you're here, if you wanted to help me bake again I, I think I'd like that."

The smile Lucien gave her in answer was nothing short of a beam, something she had never seen from him before. It made him look younger, his eyes brighter, and softer.

He inclined his head to her in gratitude, then winnowed into nothing, leaving behind the faint scent of cinnamon and campfires, the perfect complement to their baking pie.

***

Thank you for the prompt! I hope you enjoyed!! (I got carried away and I'm SORRY).

[heavenbarnes]

when it’s that time of night

Jim Hopper x Reader

Warnings/Contains: swearing, dirty talk, oral sex (female receiving), unprotected sex, mentions of masturbation, fully clothed sex, implied age gap, canon-typical spookiness

Word Count: 3.4k

i finally finished stranger things and i’m just as hot for hawkins chief of police as i was when i started, so here we are x

Gathered around Joyce Byers' kitchen table, your gaze flickered between the comotion unfolding in front of you, and Hopper. Things had undeniably changed since that evening, and those same things had only seemed to get, well, stranger. A silly part of you hoped that if you glared at him hard enough, things would start to become clear.

"I wouldn't normally do this, but you're about one of the only people I can trust."

Jim stood on your doorstep with three of the neighborhood kids, and one young girl you'd not seen before. This was not something you anticipated when you started seeing Hopper, but nevertheless, you stepped aside and let them in.

Maybe that was why he had brought them hear, because it was in your nature to care more about their safety than what made sense. You let the kids have your TV remote and flick through your records, before you turned back to Hopper with a kind of expression that said "you do this with all the girls that let you sleepover?"

And after that, in all hushed tones in your very small kitchen, Jim divulged tales of disappearing children and ones that could move things with their mind.

"I just need you to keep them safe for a few hours, then I'll explain even more."

As much as he did explain, you felt like the more you saw and heard, the less you knew. Listening to these kids, try to tell you that Joyce's son had been kidnapped by the monster from their boardgame? You felt like you needed to lay down a while.

Your skills ranged from serving diner meals on rollerskates, and driving the neighborhood boys crazy in the process. You weren't sure how you'd fear as a monster hunter. Young Jonathan Byers snapped you from your thoughts by throwing a theory out to the group.

"So for us to strike whilst the iron is hottest, we'd just need to know when it will all start happening again?" 

Everyone murmured in agreement but Hopper wasn't having it.

"Ok, so when exactly would that be? Are you going to tell me there is just a time that these things are all going to kick off?"

Your ears pricked up and suddenly your mouth was opening before your brain could catch it.

"Three in the morning." That had everyone's eyes on you.

Not used to hearing you join in on these things, Hopper prompted you to carry on.

You pushed up off the wall you were leaning against and spoke again. "Three in the morning, the witching hour."

"What is the witching hour?" Jonathan pressed you further.

"My Grandmother used to tell me about it, in folklore they say that three in the morning is the witching hour." You stepped further towards the table where they had all congregated.

"It's when the veil between this part of the world," One of your hands lay flat beneath your chin, whilst the other lay palm turned up in line with your belly "And this part of the world,"

"Like Australia?" Dustin questioned, receiving a smack in the arm from Mike.

"No, like the underworld or what you guys call the upside down, it's when the veil between the two is at it's thinnest allowing the unforgiving to travel through."

They all looked from each other and back to you, beginning to fear that you might be onto something.

"Believe me, I work in a 24-hour diner, if things are going to get strange it's going to be at three in the morning."

"What kind of strange?" Joyce spun round at that comment, a sort of pleading in her eyes.

"The lights will pulse, and the machines will start to get these electricity surges, I hate working the nights in there." The look she gave you began to prick the hairs on the back of your neck. "Why are you looking like I've just laid the last piece in your puzzle?"

"Because I think you just have."

Ever since you spoke the witching hour theory into existence, you hadn't been able to get it off your mind. That very next day, your boss called the house and told you that you'd be on the night shift, and Veronica's kid had mono so you'd be doing it alone.

Something told you that you'd made a mistake speaking it outloud, that now this- well whatever this was, but now that it knew you knew it's secrets, it was onto you. However that could've all been crazy, and maybe Hawkins was getting lazy with it's electrical and it just got screwy when they thought everyone was sleeping.

Regardless, it was now 1.41am and there wasn't a customer in sight. It was just you, the empty diner, and the fast approaching witching hour. For the first time in your life, you actually wished one of the town's teenage boys would come in and hound your for a date, just so you had some company.

You resorted to wiping down the counter for about the 30th time that night, a spot of mess at the one of the back booths catching your eye. Leaving the counter, you roller-skated down the back of the store and cleaned up the leftover baskets and napkins. You were bent over the table, flicking the the cloth over the surface when you heard it. The bell on the door.

Your blood rain cold and just about every hair on your body stood on end. An unexplainable feeling drifted over you, that feeling when you know it's all gone wrong, but there just isn't anything you can do about it. That feeling enveloped you and it took over you, you couldn't even bring yourself to turn your head.

Heavy, heavy steps were heading your way and you knew it was do or die. You could try shoot the gap to the backroom, that or beat whatever it was with your bare hands. As it got closer you geared up all your strength and spun around on your skate in an instant.

"I'LL FUCKING KILL YOU, YOU STUPID FUCKING-"

"GOD, PUT YOUR ARMS DOWN WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING?"

Hopper gripped your wrists and stilled you moments before you lay your fists in his eye sockets. Your breathing slowly came back down to a normal pace, but you could still feel your pulse rattling around in your body. Of course it was just Hopper, of course it wasn't a boardgame monster stopping by for a snack.

"What are you doing here?" You still sounded exasperated as you pulled your arms from his grip and threw yourself into his chest.

He brought both his arms around your shoulders and pulled you further into him, giving you a moment to calm yourself down. "I came in to keep you company, I know you've been a little on edge since you brought up that shit at the Byers' house."

"God, thank you so much, I'm sorry for trying to beat you to death." Voice muffled by his chest, your sentiments were still appreciated.

He brought you back down to the front of the shop and you took one side of the counter each. Fixing him a coffee as a half-hearted apology for the near miss, you slid it across the counter to take place of an olive branch. He accepted with a grin, unable to stay mad at you, even when you're trying to knock his teeth out.

"I am actually so sorry, I really have been on edge, I don't know why." Your head fell into your hands, gently tugging at your own hair.

"Hey, hey come here." He called you around the counter, turning around in his stool as you got closer.

Pulling you between his spread legs, you settled back into his hold, allowing those big hands to rub down the spanse of your back. Even his touch alone could soothe you, even when you were still a little terrified of a time on the clock. His hands moved to your lower back, gently rubbing away all the tensions you'd held inside you for sometime.

There was something about Hopper, from the moment you finally let him drive you home after a shift, giving in to his multitudes of compliments about your roller-skates and your coffee pouring and your little uniform. He was warm and he was kind, he made you laugh and he felt good when he wrapped himself around you. Oh, and it couldn't be forgotten that the Hawkins Chief of Police was unbelievable in the sack.

"You got any customers tonight?" His voice rumbled against your whole body, sounding from deep insdie his chest.

You pushed back from him, letting his hands fall to your waist and your eyes meet, your fingers played with the buttons of his uniform.

"Not since 11.30, and I won't see anymore, I never do." You sighed, tipping your head back with a petty groan. "I still don't know why they have me here so late."

Hopper's hands drifted lower, ever so slightly, until his fingers were toying with the hem of your dress. The gentle touch pricked your skin up, understanding from a touch alone exactly what his intentions were. You kept your gaze fixed on his, a look in your eye that almost seemed to say "go for it."

One of his hands took yours, long fingers slotting between yours as he pulled you out from between his legs. Your roller-skates glided you easily along the linoleum floor, putting you out in front of him.

"Do a twirl for me?" His mouth quirked up into a smirk, making a heat rise up your neck and settle at your cheeks.

You didn't so much agree as he did it for you, lifting your arm and twirling you around on the wheels of your skates. If your dress wasn't so tight, it would've spun around you, but your apron did it for you. An unmissable grin spread across Jim's face, watching your little pose at the end as you both giggled.

"I believe they have you here so late to keep you in this little uniform just a bit longer." His voice was gruff, pulling you towards him again.

"Oh is that what it is?"

"That is what it is," His hands went back to the hem and seemed to sneak under it. "It's to make life harder for me."

"So, this is about you?"

"All about me, it's so I have to sit at home and just think about your pretty ass skating around in this tiny fucking dress, and there isn't anything I can do about it."

It got hotter in the diner, right in that very moment, you could feel it spreading across your body as you lent into him. Your lips ghosted just moments above his, so close he could feel your breath on his skin.

"Well you aren't at home now," You whispered, very nearly placing your lips on his. "What are you 'gonna do about it?"

He didn't have to tell you, it was rather a display to show you what he'd do. His lips came to yours, his signature was a domineering kiss that left you reeling an unable to think of anything else afterwards. His kisses left a hold over you, the way his tongue felt against yours, the way his hands moved against you. This man had you good.

Standing up from the stool, he wrapped one hand around your waist, pulling you flush against him in one swift movement. Your hands went up to his jaw, feeling his coarse beard under your fingers as you pulled his face closer to yours. One of your hands took his hat from the top of his head and hung it off the register beside you.

Hopper kept his hand on your waist, and left the other go beneath your thigh. In one swift motion he lifted you, placing you down on the counter before pushing the skirt of your dress up your legs. With a hand on each knee, he spread them apart and pulled you right to the edge, pushing himself between them to get even closer.

You moaned into his mouth, the feeling of him handling you like his brought a wave over you, making your legs shake around him. One of his hands traveled higher up your thigh, making it's way past the bunched fabric and between your legs. Two fingers pressed firmly against the seat of your underwear and it was made apparent, just how wet he'd gotten you.

"Fuck, little lady you are always so good for me, aren't you?" His voice was nearly a bark, lips moving down your jaw and to your throat.

"I try my best, chief."

His motions stopped at the sound of that name, and within in instant he was pulling your underwear down your legs. It hung around one of your roller-skates as he pushed both your legs over his broad shoulders, leaning you back till you were perched up on your elbows.

Hopper's mouth found the meeting of your thighs, his tongue coming out to lick a fine stripe along your heat. Your mouth fell open and your hands flew to his head, fingers threading into his hair as he began to move his tongue against you.

Gasps and nearly pathetic whimpers fell from your lips as he worked against your clit, rolling it against his tongue with unreal precision. The only word leaving your lips was his title, the sound of chief filled the diner and bounced off the windows.

His hands gripped your thighs, holding them apart as your body willed you to clamp them around his head. Your hips rolled forward, pressing you further into his mouth as his tongue moved down further before coming back up to that one spot.

So quickly, you could already feel that tension building inside you, a fine line of pleasure that was ready to snap. His eyes rose up to you, locking with you and making about every muscle inside you tighten. That look in his eye, it could've killed you the way you knew exactly what it meant.

He had a sweet tooth only you were pretty enough to sate.

One of his hands left your thigh and moved below the counter, you listened to the sound of his belt buckle as he haphazardly undid it one-handed. You heard his fly next and it was incredibly apparent that he was palming himself as his tongue still moved against you.

The thought, the image in your mind, the sounds he made as he moaned against your wetness it was all too much. Your head tipped back, fingers tightened in his hair as you cried out for him. You felt that line snap as your release washed over you.

Hopper never let up, lips still pursed around your clit as you rode out your high, nearly overtaking you. He never went to far, always new the line and he pulled back as he stood to full height. Your legs fell to his sides and you looked up to see him grasping himself in his hand.

His other hand trailed against your sensitive heat, two fingers dragging through the wetness that remained there.

"You have the sweetest fucking pussy I've ever got my hands on." He growled as he dove in for a kiss, the taste of you ever present on his lips.

He took that hand from between your legs and used it to slick up his cock, twisting your wetness around himself as he lay his head at your entrance. He dragged it along your sensitive cunt, before slowly pushing his way in.

The gasp that fell from you was iminent, Jim had a stretch like nothing else. Your body relaxed into this kiss and into him until he was hip-deep within you.

"And your pussy is so fucking tight, I can't believe how lucky I got." 

"It's all for you, chief, fuck me like you mean it."

So he did, his hands slid to the other side of the counter and gripped the edge before he delivered the first incredible blow. Your back arched up and a cry was ripped from within you as he pumped his hips quickly against your own.

Your hands shot up to grip his arms, feeling the muscles tensing beneath the cotton of his work shirt. Legs tensing up around his hips, moans and whimpers still steadily coming from you, it only seemed to spur him on like he was listening for the way you fell apart for him.

"You look so good taking my cock, pretty girl." He huffed, one hand leaving the counter to come and grip your hip.

He pulled you back against him with every thrust, striking deep inside you and rolling your eyes back in your head. Still on edge from the flood of pleasure he had just dipped you in, you felt like you were right there, teetering on the edge and waiting to be pushed over.

Always knowing exactly what he was doing, exactly what would drive you crazy and have you falling apart around him. Maybe this is what it had all been about, that talk about being with an older man, you'd heard the stories and he'd proven them all right.

From the moment you'd started sleeping over with each other, Hopper had changed your life. You didn't know if you could go back to nights without getting your back blown out by Jim Hopper. He would always talk about how he couldn't believe he got a pretty young thing like yourself, but you didn't know how you'd lucked out on someone that made you feel the way he did.

Gripping onto his uniform and crying out for him, you felt that hand on your hip slip down to your clit, rubbing furious circles against it. Another moan of that name, that title that until you had said it, was nothing more than a work give name. Now, the way that you said it gave it a whole new meaning.

It had gotten so bad that he had to stop asking you to call him that in front of people, after he'd pitched a tent the day you visited him at the station. Now that was reserved for teasing.

The way he touched you, how he knew your body, it had you dangerously close to coming undone for him once again that evening. Your heat clenched around him, dragging him in with a raw cry ripping out of your throat and rising above the both of you.

That line snapped once more and you couldn't help the way your hips rose from the counter and your body twitched under the mountain of pleasure. Over the sound of your own blood rushing in your ears, you could hear the words of encouragement coming from Hopper.

He rode out your high with you again, pulling you back against him and refusing to let up as you felt him faltering slightly. "That's my good girl, 'gonna make me come."

You reached your hands up his chest, pulling against his shirt as you arched your back for him again. Your lips pursed as you mustered the strength to call out to him.

"Come for me, chief."

And that was enough to do it for him, his hips stilling tight against you as he came deep in you. Grunts and chopped cries of your name could be heard as he pulled you flush towards his chest, arms wrapped under your back as his heart hammered against both of your chests.

He let you back down from the counter, fixing himself as you pulled up your underwear and smoothed out your uniform. You placed his hat back on his head as he sat back on the stool, before you slotted back between his thighs.

As he wrapped his arms back around you, you heard, and then you saw it. That electrical pulsing, that buzzing that seemed to come from the lightbulbs. Right as your heart-rates had just come back as they should, you physically felt yours pick up again.

"Baby, what'd you call that damn time again?"

Your eyes moved from the flickering lights to the big clock on the wall, the one you usually focused on for your breaks. The hands were pointing clear as day, three in the morning.

"The witching hour."

[sequinsmile-x]

Day-to-Day

Chapter 4: Aaron

Words: 5k

Warnings: None 

Read over on ao3, or below the cut.

Please let me know what you think <3

December 2009

He’d convinced her to go. Aaron had seen her hesitation as she stood at the front door of their temporary apartment, the twitch in her fingers when Amelia almost immediately reached out for her after Aaron took her. The way she bit her lip when Theo asked her, again, if she really had to go out.

She did have to go, despite how much she would deny it. He knew she needed some time with her friends, and Penelope and JJ had practically begged for a girls night. The 6 months Emily had been gone long and drawn out for all of them. She talked them down to dinner, not wanting to spend too long away from her family that had been so delicately stitched back together. Getting a table at any restaurant so close to Christmas had been difficult, but being the daughter of an ambassador had its advantages, and for once Emily hadn’t been hesitant to use them.

Aaron had sent her on her way with a kiss to her cheek and an assurance that they would be ok without her for a couple of hours.

He was now slightly regretting that decision, but he would never tell her. Their children were feral. Jack was in a mood. His teenage angst was out in full swing this evening, the anger he had experienced shortly after Haley’s death coming back to the forefront in the fallout of the situation with Foyet. He was hiding out in his room, playing a video game and ignoring his father.

Theo was asking where Emily was every few minutes and when she’d be back. He tried to placate his son with his favourite tv show and pizza, and it wouldn’t do. Theo was sitting in the living room, sideways on an armchair as he watched the front door intently. Aaron knew he was going to have to have a conversation with Emily soon about the attachment issues, but it was not the time yet, knowing his wife wouldn’t take it well either. That part of her loved that their son constantly sought her out.

Amelia was cranky. She still didn’t fully trust him, but things were better than they had been when she first shied away from him a few weeks ago. He knows that Emily nursed her before she puts her to bed, that it’s a treasured part of his wifes daily routine, so in the hope that a snack will help he grabs a small yoghurt from the fridge and places her in her high chair.

He feeds her, and although just under half of it ends up on her face, she does calm down a little whilst she is eating. He cleans her up, but she starts fussing again almost immediately.

As soon as Emily walks into the apartment he breathes a sigh of relief. Theo jumps out of the chair and to his mothers side, immediately hugging her.

“Mommy, I missed you.”

“I missed you too.” She kneels down to hug him properly, kissing the side of his head. She pulls back to look at him, thumb worrying over the now mostly healed cut on his forehead that he had acquired during Aaron’s final showdown with Foyet. She looks over and sees Amelia crying in Aaron’s arms. “It’s late, why don’t you go to bed and I’ll come say goodnight in a bit?”

Theo nods, hugging her again before bounding off, throwing a goodnight aimed at his father as he runs down the hallway.

“You were right.” She says, happiness pouring off of her as she removes her coat and shoes at the door. “I really did need that. Pen kept trying to convince me to drink wine even though I told her I’m still nursing.” She says with a laugh in her voice, she turns to him and the smile slides off her face as she takes in the sight of him, and he realises how stressed he must look.

Ameila tries to turn in his arms at the sound of her mother’s voice and starts to cry harder as she reaches out for Emily. Aaron transfers her with little fanfare, knowing that whatever was wrong with the little girl was something only his wife could fix.

“What's this all about, baby?” Emily says as she holds her daughter tightly, her lips pressed to her forehead as she rocks her. “Has she been like this since I left?” She asks as she looks up at her husband.

“The past hour.” Aaron says, watching as Emily gently bounces Amelia in her arms as she attempts to settle the 11 month old. “I’ve been struggling to calm her down.”

The sympathy on his wifes face makes frustration flood his veins, another reminder of something Foyet had taken from him. His relationship with his daughter was still fragile, the way she was still unsure around him a punch to the gut every time she frantically reached out for her mother. Emily looks at the high chair and frowns when she spots the yoghurt pot still sitting on the tray.

“Did she eat that?” Emily asks, her hand rubbing delicate circles on Amelia’s back.

Aaron looks over before turning back to his wife. “Yeah, she was cranky. They all were. I thought a snack would help tide her over until you got home.”

Emily hesitates. It’s fast, almost undetectable, but he catches it.

“Aaron.” Her voice is soft, gentle in a way that was usually only used on the children when she wanted them to know they weren’t in trouble. “She’s lactose intolerant.”

The memory hits him suddenly. Emily curled up next to him in the hotel room they had stayed in when they were first reunited, filling him in on anything and everything to do with the kids. He remembers her telling him that the doctors had got to the bottom of Amelia’s bad stomach, and that she was dairy free herself because she was still nursing her. She’d lamented missing chocolate and cheese, and joked it was her biggest sacrifice as a mother so far.

“I’m sorry.” He stutters, not sounding like himself as it dawned on him. “I’m sorry.” He repeats as he runs his hand through his hair.

“Aaron, baby, it’s ok.” She says, her hand on his arm. She has Amelia on her hip, one arm securing their grumpy baby to her. “It happens. I should have reminded you before I went out.”

“I should know what my daughter can and cannot eat without being reminded.” He seethes, his anger aimed at himself. He tears his arm from under her hand and takes a couple steps back. He watches as she tries to placate him further, useless reassurances on the tip of her tongue. “I’m going out.”

“Honey-”

“I need some air.” He grabs his keys from the side table and leaves the apartment before she can argue any further, the door closing a little too harshly behind him.

Emily sighs and closes her eyes. Amelia buries her head further into her mothers neck, whining as she did so.

“Oh, sweet girl. I know you feel icky.” She kisses the side of her daughter's head and rubs her back. “Let's go see what your brothers are up to.” She kisses her head again and walks through the apartment in search of her sons. ________________

She feeds and settles Amelia before reading with Theo for a bit, smiling as her son drifts off to sleep against her side. She quietly slips out of his room, well practised at the quick and silent exit, and gently closes his bedroom door. Jack gives her a small wave and a grunt when she pops her head into his room, his grumpiness obvious the second she lays eyes on him.

Emily washes her face, blowing out a breath as she takes in the sight of herself in the bathroom mirror. Any joy, any relief she felt after spending an evening with her friends had wilted as quickly as it had bloomed in her chest. The lightness that JJ’s laugh, and Penelope’s overly personal questions about Emily and Aaron’s reunion, had brought was torn away by the devastation in her husband's eyes just before he left the apartment.

Everytime they made progress, every step away from what Foyet had done to Aaron, to their family, it felt like they were thrown right back into it. Emily was exhausted. She missed the version of them that had existed before she had come home to find her husband missing and his blood staining their hardwood floor.

She wondered if they’d ever get the old them back, or if they would slowly build something better. Emily was hopeful that the move to the new house would help, that it would give them new foundations. Somehow even stronger than the ones they had before.

She’s finishing up getting ready for bed, pulling her pyjama shirt over her head, when she hears the front door open, and her husband’s familiar steps throughout the apartment. She hears their bedroom door open and close quickly. She takes a deep breath before she walks out of the ensuite and she sees him sat on the end of the bed, his head in his hands. She sits next to him, purposely keeping her hands to herself despite how much she wants to touch him, to assure him everything was ok. A slight clench in his jaw is the only indicator he has even registered that she's there. She waits him out, knowing he needs to process this himself before he’ll speak to her.

“I should have remembered.” He finally says, removing his head from his hands but not looking at her.

“Aaron-”

“Don’t.” He interrupts, finally looking at her. There are unshed tears in his eyes that make her heart ache. Thoughts about how she could find a way to bring George Foyet back to life just so she could kill him herself burning through her.

“Don’t what?”

“Tell me that it’s ok. Because it isn’t.” He shakes his head at himself. “I gave our little girl…” His voice falters and he clears his throat. “I gave her something that’s made her sick.”

“And so did I.” She reasons, and she grabs his hand. “For the first almost 5 months of her life she was getting it through my breast milk. You did it once. Give yourself a break.”

“I should have remembered.” He says, repeating himself.

“Baby.” She says, moving her hands to grasp his cheeks. “Please stop this. She’s going to be ok. She is ok. She’s fast asleep next door.” She leans her forehead against his, her thumbs stroking his cheeks. “We’re all ok.”

He starts to cry, sobs escaping him that he hadn’t set free since their ordeal had ended. Emily had been waiting for it as he processed everything at his own pace. She pulls him towards her, his head resting on her chest as she wraps her arms tightly around him, one hand in his hair as she presses fierce kisses to the top of his head.

“I’m right here.” She kisses the top of his head again, unsurprised when she can feel her own tears on her face. “You’re ok. I’m here.”

She comforts him like she does their children. With tender words and soft touches, the whispering of nonsense against his hair as he slowly calms. The grip he has on the back of her shirt loosens ever so slightly.

Aaron sniffs as he pulls back, a shaky smile on his face as she wipes his tears away with her thumbs.

“I’m sorry.” He apologies, his voice cracked and torn open by the months of repressed emotion he had let out against her skin.

“You have nothing to apologise for.” Emily says tenderly. “I’m your wife. This is what I’m here for.”

Amelia’s cry through the baby monitor visibly undoes some of the work she had done in calming him down, some tension returning to his shoulders. Emily kisses his cheek before she stands up.

“You get ready for bed, I’ll go see what's up with her.” She says just before leaving the room, crossing the hallway into the small bedroom serving as Amelia’s temporary nursery. Most of the baby's things are boxed up ready for the move to the new house. Emily smiles as she approaches the crib, Amelia already standing with her arms reaching out for her. “What’s wrong, sweet girl?”

She picks up her daughter, settling her on her hip as she kisses the side of her head. Amelia almost immediately settles, her crying quietening down as she presses her face into her mother’s neck.

“You just wanted to cuddle, huh?” Emily says, pacing the small room. “I think your dad could do with a cuddle too.”

Emily walks back into their bedroom to find it empty, but the tap running in the ensuite calms any nerves that he had left again. She settles into bed and lays Amelia on her chest, the baby snuggling down, her fingers grasping at her mother’s shirt.

When Aaron leaves the ensuite he falters slightly at the sight in front of him. Emily catches it, the small hesitation before he climbs into bed. Amelia is already half asleep, the discomfort she had been in when Aaron last saw her gone, and Emily watches the tension leave him as he sees with his own eyes that the baby is ok.

“See, she’s fine.” Emily says, smiling at him as he lays down next to them.

He kisses the top of Amelia’s head, which makes her open her eyes. She reaches out for him and he carefully takes her to settle her against his own chest. Emily smiles as she moves to be closer to them, her head resting on Aaron’s chest next to their daughter. He presses a kiss to the top of his wifes head.

“My girls.”

“Yeah.” She replies. “Your girls.” ________________

April 2021

Aaron sighs in frustration as his phone rings, distracting him from his lesson plans. Emily often teased him for his interpretation of retirement, the profiling classes he taught at the academy taking up a fair amount of his time. He turns from his computer to pick up his cell phone, frowning when he sees a number he doesn’t recognise as he answers.

“An inmate at the Federal Correctional Institution in Otisville, New York is calling you, to accept the charges please press one.” An automated voice says through the phone.

The name of the prison makes him freeze, there is only one person he knew who was in prison in New York. He presses one and puts the phone back to his ear, waiting for the call to connect.

“Aaron?” He hears down the phone, the voice on the other end of the tinny line was unsure, nerves easily showing through.

“Sean?” ________________

The rest of the day goes by in a blur and the next thing he is truly aware of is the front door opening, Amelia and Theo bursting in, both of them animatedly talking about their days.

“Hi Dad.” Theo says as he passes through the kitchen where Aaron is sitting, grabbing a snack and leaving the room almost immediately. “I’ve got loads of homework, back in a bit.”

“Hi Theo.” He says, a small smile on his face as his ever studious 18 year old is already out of the room, his mind clearly on whatever work he was assigned that day.

“Dad, do we have any antacids?” Amelia asks as she joins him in the kitchen, grimacing as she walks in with her arms wrapped around her stomach.

“Are you ok, sweetheart?” He asks, frowning, pulling her into a quick hug she only protests slightly as she walks past.

“Yeah, just a bad stomach.”

Before he can ask any more questions the front door opens again, and Emily’s voice soon follows.

“Hi.”

“We’re in the kitchen, Em.”

She joins them, a wide smile on her face as she kisses his cheek.

“Everything ok?”

“Everything is fine.” Amelia answers far too quickly.

“Mills has a stomach ache.” Aaron says, and he can’t help but smirk at the way she narrows her eyes at him.

“Traitor.”

“Amelia.” Emily says, her hand gently grasping her daughter's chin to tilt her head, sighing when she sees the hives on her neck. “You had the cheese fries for lunch again didn’t you?”

The 12 year old sighs, knowing lying to her mother, to either of her parents, is pointless. “Yes.”

“Baby, you’re lactose intolerant.” Emily chastises as she tucks some of Amelia’s hair behind her ear.

“Mom, it's cheese fries. Totally worth it.”

Emily sighs, knowing that the slight grimace on her daughter's face is nothing to do with her rebuke, but the discomfort she knows she is in.

“There is some Pepto in the medicine cabinet in our bathroom. Go take some and go lie down.”

Amelia smiles gratefully and starts to make her way out of the room before she turns back. “I’m not going to find anything gross in there am I?”

“Amelia.”

“What?” She says, throwing her hands up. “I’ve caught you guys making out way too many times not to check. I’ve been burned before.”

Emily raises an eyebrow at her. “Go. Now.”

“I’m going.” Amelia says as she leaves the room, something a bit too close to a curse word muttered under her breath.

“That girl will be the death of me.” Emily says as she turns to Aaron, his silence throughout her exchange with their daughter, the lack of quips about how similar they were, now only striking her as odd as she takes in the look on his face. His gaze fixed in the distance, not focused on anything in particular. She frowns and takes a step closer to him, placing her hand over his on the counter. “Honey, are you ok?”

He looks at her, his eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “Sean called me.”

Emily doesn’t cover her shock, her hand tightening over his. It had been years since they had heard from Sean. The supposed truce the brothers had come to in New York, when a rare family vacation had turned into a case, had fallen apart as soon as Sean was formally sentenced. Aaron had tried reaching out at the beginning, attempting to visit his brother, but it had always been radio silence on the other side.

Over time he stopped trying, his attempts at calling Sean getting further apart. His requests to go see him stopped. To anyone else it would look like Aaron had accepted it, that he simply was no longer going to be a part of his brother's life. Emily knew better than that.

“What?”

“He called from prison. He wants me to go see him.”

“Oh.” She replies, taking a second before she joins him at the kitchen island, linking their fingers together properly as she settles next to him on one of the stalls. “Are you ok?”

“I think so.” He answers, looking at her, uncertainty all over his face despite his answer. “No.”

Emily places her spare hand on his thigh. “What do you want to do?”

“I want to see him.”

She nods, squeezing his leg in comfort. “Then we’ll go.” She smiles when he turns to look at her, his brows furrowed.

“You don’t have to come with me, it’s fine. I know work is busy.”

“Aaron.” She replies firmly, leaving no room for argument as she moves her hand from his leg to cup his cheek. “I’m coming with you.”

“What about the kids?”

“We’ll be gone one night. Theo is sensible enough to look after Amelia, and Jack lives 20 minutes away if they need him.” She pulls him towards her for a kiss. “Stop arguing with me, it never gets you anywhere.”

His lips twitch, a brief smile taking over. “You think I would have learnt that by now.” _______________

It takes a couple of weeks for them to get things lined up, so that the quick trip to New York wouldn’t disrupt their day-to-day lives too drastically.

Amelia was unimpressed when they told her that Theo was in charge, rolling her eyes at the thought that she needed babysitting, but when they come to leave her attitude fades when she sees how stressed her father was, how on edge he seems as he checks they have everything before they set off on their drive.

She doesn’t remember her Uncle Sean, she had only met him once when she was 3, and she knew enough from what her brothers and parents had told her about that trip to New York to know why she had never seen him again. Another seemingly life changing moment they went through as a family that she had no memory of, relying on hearsay from her brothers and the toned down version she knew her parents told her.

“Please behave for your brother, Amelia.” Emily says as she hugs her daughter.

“I always behave.” She replies, rolling her eyes when she sees her mother raise her eyebrow. “Ok fine, I’ll be good.”

Aaron hugs her next, and Amelia doesn’t miss how he holds her a little tighter than usual. She hugs him back, smiling when he kisses her forehead as they pull apart.

She feels bad for her dad, knowing how much he values his family tells her how much it would hurt him to not be in touch with his brother. Amelia considers how it would feel to not be speaking to Jack or Theo, and despite how much they both annoy her frequently the idea makes her heart clench.

“Call if you need anything, ok?” Aaron says and Amelia nods before pulling him back into a hug.

“I love you, Daddy.” She says, using the moniker she dropped a couple years ago and it makes her chest fill with happiness when he smiles into the top of her head.

“Love you too, Amelia.” ________________

The drive is long, and quiet, and by the time they pull up to the prison Emily is grateful to see it. Aaron had insisted on driving and she’d let him, knowing it would ultimately be worse for him to not be occupied on the trip here. She was planning on taking over when they left for their drive back to the city, but she hadn’t mentioned it yet, knowing that he would already try and argue that point.

They get through security and are shown to the visiting room. They take a seat next to each other and Emily turns to him, trying to read her husband’s face.

“Are you ok?”

He chuckles. “Ask me later.”

A buzzer sounds and a door opens, prisoners walking out and greeting their family and friends. Towards the back is Sean. Emily thinks of the first time she met him. He wasn’t much older than Amelia was now, and already damaged by the things he had been exposed to in his young life. She remembers how he had been nervous around her, a crush on her that he barely concealed.

“Aaron, Emily.” He says as he makes it to the table. Aaron stands and hugs him, and then Emily does the same.

“Sean, how are you?” Aaron asks as they sit down.

“As good as I can be considering I’ve been here nearly 10 years.” He says, his eyes fixed on his brother. He looks at them both. “You guys have hardly changed. How are the kids?”

“I have a picture.” Aaron says, pulling out his wallet and removing the photo of his family that he keeps in there. It was taken on Emily and Theo’s birthday the year before, her 50th and his 18th, all five of them and Sara together and smiling. It was one of his favourites. He slides it across the table to let his brother look at it.

“Wow, they look grown up.”

“It’s been a long time.” Aaron says, the conversation stilted. The awkwardness cloying, making the air around the table feel thick.

“Jack is 28 now, and married. That’s his wife, Sara, in the picture with us” Emily says, trying to break the tension. “Theo is 18 and Amelia is 12.”

Aaron is staring at his brother, profiling him as he listens to Emily talk about the kids. He watches as she explains that Jack is a resident at Georgetown, and that Theo was going to Cornell in the fall. He watches as his brother listens to her stories about Amelia, their wild thing of a daughter who kept them both on their toes. He recognises his brother's expression, it’s one he perfected when they were young, a way to get what he wanted from their mother. It clicks in his head, and he wonders why he didn’t think of it sooner.

“What do you want Sean?” He asks, interrupting the conversation between his wife and brother.

“Aaron-” Emily begins to say, uncertainty in her voice.

“He wants something. That's why he asked me to come here.” He looks back at his brother, and Sean chuckles slightly.

“You don’t miss anything do you? I’m up for parole soon.” Sean explains. “My lawyer said it would be good to have someone upstanding talk at my hearing, and I don’t know anyone more upstanding than you.”

“You want me to talk at your parole hearing? That’s why you got in touch?”

Emily feels how tense her husband gets next to her, the disappointment he clearly feels at Sean only getting in touch because he needed something palpable. She grabs his hand under the table, providing the best support she can in the moment. He lightly squeezes her hand in a silent thank you.

“Yeah. I told my lawyer what you do for a living and he said it was perfect.” Sean says, missing the way his brother sighs, the brief closing of his eyes as he tries to cover his disappointment. “So will you?”

“Of course.” Aaron replies, clearing his throat as he does. “Get your lawyer to send me the details.” He turns to Emily. “Excuse me for a second.”

He gets up and walks towards the bathroom. Emily turns her attention back to her brother-in-law.

“Are you kidding me, Sean?” She says, exasperated.

“What?” Sean asks, his face screwed up in confusion.

“It’s been 9 years.” She explains. “9 years and you reach out because you want something.”

“It’s thanks to him that I’m in here in the first place.”

“You know that’s not true, Sean.” Emily implores, and she stares at him until he relents and nods. “He’ll do it for you because he’s your brother and he loves you. But when you get out you will work on your relationship with him. I won’t let you use him for this and then disappear from our lives again.”

“Are you...threatening me, Emily?” He asks, an eyebrow raised at her in a way that reminded her of Aaron.

“Very much so.” She says seriously, before she smiles. “I’d also like you to get to know my kids better.”

“I’d like that too.” ________________

When they get to their hotel in the city he barely looks around the suite they have for the night before he goes into the bathroom. Emily sighs as she puts her bag down and goes to the mini bar, grabbing a drink for each of them.

She feels his arms wrap around her from behind, his chin resting on her shoulder.

“Did I ever tell you that you’re my favourite wife?”

‘I’m your only wife.” She chuckles, turning to give him his drink.

“That works out well then.” He leans down and kisses her. “Thank you for today.”

“You don’t have to thank me.” She cups his neck, and strokes her thumb over his jawline. “My place has always been by your side.” Emily kisses him quickly. “Lets go sit down.”

She leads him over to the couch in the room, leaning against him as they get comfortable. They sit in silence for a while, having their drinks whilst his fingers trail up and down her arm.

“I let him down.” Aaron says eventually, making Emily turn to look at him, a curious look on her face. “Sean. I’ve been letting him down since we were kids.”

“Honey, you know that's not true.”

“It is. I left when he was young, I left him in that house with the ghost of our father and our shell of a mother.” He says bitterly, throwing back the rest of his drink.

Emily stares at him for a second before she takes his glass out of hand and places it with hers on the table next to the couch. She settles herself over his lap, straddling him in a way that makes him raise an eyebrow and place his hands on her hips. She cups his face in both her hands.

“Listen to me, Aaron. You are not to blame for any of this. You were a kid yourself, Theo’s age, and you wanted to start your own life. You are not responsible for your parents and what they did or didn’t do. Or for the decisions that Sean has made that has led him to where he is.” She looks directly into his eyes, looking for some understanding or agreement. “Ok?”

“Ok.” He nods his agreement, and she can tell he isn’t completely convinced, but it’s enough to placate her for now.

She still wants to cheer him up, so she changes tactics, moving her hands so she’s cupping the back of his head instead before she leans down to kiss him. She presses herself closer to him, signalling her intent, she smiles against his lips when he pulls her closer, his grip on her hips tightening.

“Let's go to bed.” She says, slightly breathless as she pulls away.

“I like the way you think, Mrs Hotchner.”

[dark128]

KNOCKOUT - CHAPTER 11

“Do you want me to?” 

Bo nods down at the condom Harry’s stiffly holding onto. He’s coiled up so tight that it would be a bad idea to let her undress him. He’s having a difficult enough time as it is just toying with the inevitable of her touching him, let alone below the waist. 

Bo had watched in fondness from her spot lounging on the bed as Harry moved from candle to candle, lighting as many as he could before the flame on the match got too low. She’d laughed at his explanation for not striking a second match, claiming there was a fine line between romantic and sacrificial. 

But now in this soft, flickering room, she smiles at him and he almost loses his nerve. 

“No, it’s alright, I’ve got it.” Kneeing closer to her across the mattress, “just lay back,” Harry encourages softly.

On second thought, that’s probably the worst thing he could of suggested because now Bo’s laid beneath him and he’s acquired an audience to a process that makes his hands shake. Hair splays on his pillows and it’s been so long since he’s had something so pretty occupy his bed. 

She’ll linger on his sheets. The smell of her perfume and the fleeting heat of her body which escapes once the covers are peeled back, both temporary, both are not enough. He craves so much more. But the memory will be permanent. 

Harry doesn’t think he’ll ever forget the way she’s looking at him now, like he hung the moon and every star in the sky. 

He swallows before going through the motions of unbuttoning his jeans and sliding the zip. The full weight of her gaze lands on his stomach as the bottom of his t-shirt is taken between his teeth to hold it up and out of the way. Fingertips unwittingly tickle as Bo traces his hip and on towards his belly button. And he sort of hopes she misses the goosebumps it raises on his skin.

As Harry gently presses to widen her legs, the winsome charm she led with earlier seems to escape her. He’s left feeling fully endeared by her absent fiddling of his belt loop.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong.”

There’s a smile but it lacks prowess and so Harry removes himself from looming over her and comes to lay beside her. Bo shifts into him.

“We’ve had sex before.”

It’s quiet because he doesn’t want to disturb the delicacy they’ve slipped into. Facing each other, it’s still a little difficult to comprehend that he’s with her now. She’s in his tiny basement flat where the hot water is temperamental and the floorboards creak in odd places along the hall. 

“I know. But it feels new,” she softly smiles, thumb lightly rubbing at the tattoo on his hip. 

Her beauty has become more refined in the five years they’ve known each other, more of a classic look that has Harry pinned every time she holds his eye contact. Despite her wishes for a growth spurt, Bo stands at the same height against Harry’s shoulder. But now there’s a confidence in the way she holds herself, filled with achievements and future aspirations. 

He can’t really imagine what she’s seeing. He’s been greeted by this image of tattoos and damaged eye every morning for years whilst he brushes his teeth in the bathroom mirror. So perhaps this intimacy does feel new to her now. 

He’s pliantly patient as he waits for Bo to initiate further contact between them. They talk quietly, muffling laughter into the pillow as Harry recounts one of his mishaps in the kitchen. It’s not long before she’s bashfully rubbing her nose to his and Harry’s sighing into the sweet kiss they share. 

He welcomes the palm warming his side and it’s when she gets a little more handsy that Harry encourages Bo to seat herself upon his lap. Sat with his back to the coolness of the wall, there’s a heavy clash in temperature between the brickwork and the woman he holds close. And whether wilfully calculated or involuntary, Bo’s hip movements are progressing the thoughts in Harry’s one-track mind. The longing of experiencing another person so intimately is finally being quelled, soft mouths and testing fingertips reaffirming to the both of them. 

But it’s the tug to Bo’s hair that sharply clears the heavenly ascent, lacking in any sort of lustful passion and is instead leaning more towards unintentional pain. She breaks the kiss, fingers wrapping Harry’s wrist.

“AaaaAA,” Bo’s pitch escalates as he attempts to remove the hand riddled with silver rings from her hair. 

“Shit, I’m sorry,” Harry fusses. 

She’s instructed to hold still, huffing out a sigh, whilst Harry sorts the situation out with a commentary of swears. Looking like she’s sucking on a lemon, Bo obediently follows Harry’s lead as he adjusts so he’s not working in his own shadow. Once she's free, her hair is tangled enough to make drawing her fingers through it bit of a pain. 

Harry twists the rings off his fingers, throwing them in irritation to the bedside. Another colourful curse falls from his mouth as he shuffles them both down the bed before flopping backwards onto the mattress. Bo watches as he rubs his eyes with tightly clenched fists. 

“I’m sorry,” Harry sighs through his hands that are currently covering his face.

“Don’t be silly.”

“I cocked that up.”

Still currently residing in Harry’s lap, she’s not quite sure if she should remove herself given that the mood has taken bit of a nosedive. Bo’s answer is given moments later as Harry’s knees come up behind her and palms splay out on her thighs.

“Don’t. Feels good.”

“You ok?” 

“I’m fine, are you alright?” he tightly replies. 

“You just seem a little tense,” she warily suggests. 

“It hasn’t exactly gone as smoothly as I’d hoped.”

He doesn’t quite meet her eyes, the action weighing heavy on her chest. 

“You been thinking about this a lot then?” Bo teases, eyebrows suggestively raising as she tries to lighten the tone. 

“‘Bout what?” he fires back, palms softly squeezing where they’ve remained. 

Harry loves the flirting, and is more than thrilled to have it reciprocated, to have her play with him in this back and forth. Suggestive tones that are made even more fun because he knows there’s a depth to it. 

But he sort of also wants to hear her explain their situation. Explicitly. 

“What do you think?”

“Couldn’t say,” he goads. 

“About having me under you,” Bo simply replies, not missing a beat. 

Prayers answers. 

“Maybe, but it’s mostly been about the cuddling and kisses on the cheek.” 

“Liar,” she accuses, lightly pinching at his side. 

“Ok, ok!” he jostles her as Bo’s fingers find a particularly ticklish spot under his arm. “I might have thought once or twice about getting you in that window seat.”

“You said you were kidding about that,” she implores, batting him across the arm.

“A guy can dream.”

“Well, you’ll be dreaming for an eternity.”

“Shame, any thoughts about the same activity in the shower?”

Bo laughs, rearranging herself out of Harry’s lap.

“Maybe we should concentrate on the current situation,” she motions, “lay back."

Harry’s on his back and he feels like a fucking lemon because his hands don’t know how to play it cool and his heart is hammering like it’s his first time. He can’t be sure what Bo is doing until she appears with her hair tied back from her face. She’s assumed the odd position of straddling his knees. And Harry watches her crawl up his body before a kiss between them only has four inches to make contact. 

“Hey,” Bo hushes with a smile. “How ya doing?”

“Fine.”

“Just fine?” Bo lightly tests, her fingernails running across his stomach.

Harry lays with his brain between his legs and his bottom lip between his teeth. He enjoys the lingering tingle as nails drag just that little bit too deep; done it to himself when the occasion arises and he’s in the mood to get off. But this is different because for the first time in a while it’s not Harry’s own hand palming over the seam of his jeans. And it’s the partially choked sound he makes that sets her smile. 

Her touch is gentle, easing his jeans down until another tattoo is uncovered. She gives it some consideration, thumbing over the patch of inked skin. 

“Is this a tiger?” she asks, grinning up at Harry.

“Thiger.”

Bo snorts before clamping her hand to his thigh to lean in for a kiss, which ends up being a clumsy kiss to his chin when Harry moves his head at the last second. They laugh again. 

“Please tell me you didn’t just get that tattoo so you could make that joke,” she scorns him whilst edging his underwear down. 

“It did make you laugh thou-“

The sentence is choked off as Bo takes him into her mouth. All thoughts evaporate from his mind, only ones of pleasure and utter desperation remain as she licks around the tip.

“You’re gunna have to bear with me, it’s a steep learning curve.”

And Harry thinks she almost looks smug as her index traces the curve of him from base to head. Even more so as his cock is laden with chaste kisses, an innocent gesture for such an erotic setting. And apparently mirroring his dilemma between either wanting to take Bo sweetly or just nail her into the mattress. 

He only realises how pent up he is when his fists loosen in the sheets once she’s finished with her little display. He’s hardened fully and he’s having trouble with digesting the image of her laid between his legs. 

Even with a mouth full of cock she’s trying hard not to smile. 

“You’re gunna kill me,” he pants, eyes rolling back.

She huffs a laugh around him which proves to visibly tighten the muscles in his thighs. And it’s only now that Harry thinks, she tied her hair back to suck me off. He may have transcended to a higher plain of existence as her hand begins to work him over - deliberate with her strokes and squeezing just slightly to keep him coiled up.

Harry’s own hands have returned to the sheets, balling them in fists as he endures what’s panning out to be the most long-awaited oral of his life. He’s a little embarrassed to say that he can already feel the muscles in his stomach tightening. It’s a hot clench that only burns warmer by the second. Harry’s approach is a little haphazard, but the hand he brushes to Bo’s cheek hurriedly catches her shoulder to encourage her away. 

“I-I think I’ll be alright now.”

Or maybe not, Harry swallows as Bo passes the back of her hand over the corner of her mouth. 

“Spoilsport,” she teases.

***

“I always loved your thighs,” Harry comments, warming his palms to the inside of Bo’s legs. 

He’s going to satisfy that heavy ache she feels low in her belly. It only intensifies as Harry looks up at her through his eyelashes. He’s going to bewitch her senses and leave her wanting him again and again. It’s been so long, Bo would forgo sleep and forfeit any sort of productiveness the next day just roll in the serenity of candlelight and a lover’s warmth. 

She’s still sporting her bee-saving t shirt as she watches the muscles in his chest and shoulders transform with his movement. An ungainly squeak is produced on account of Harry sharply dragging her a little further down the mattress. Something which he finds highly amusing judging by the crinkle to his nose. 

“Brute.”

Harry laughs. 

He murmurs a quick apology, brushing his fingers to her cheek before retrieving a condom. The process is smoother as his hands refuse to quake and now Bo’s onlooking makes his blood rush in electric excitement. He’s practically thrumming with it as his touch leisurely slips between the apex of her thighs. She clamps his hand there with the forgotten feeling of someone else’s kind fingers. Harry’s treated to a series of spectacular little sounds, whisperings and then small startles that are muffled into Bo’s arm as she hides her face. He’s being brazen with it, not just the fact that his fingers play but knowing that this is what she wants, she wants him. 

There’s a look of wild revelation as his fingers dip into wet warmth. The couple hold eye contact, Harry’s movements gentle and without haste in the knowledge of acts to follow. There’s an actual throbbing between Bo’s thighs, making them shake in the effort to keep them from falling completely open. It’s barely a whisper, but Harry hears it, the “please” that tells him she’s barely keeping it together. 

She’s ethereal laying below him, all soft features and devout gaze as he lines up and finally pushes in. It’s almost jarring the way she feels around him again, giving him that pliant smile, the one he recognises, the one that means she’s not completely with him. That is until he starts to move and it’s like she’s a drowning woman breaching the surface. Her back arches from the bed, arms around his neck as she pants into his, clinging to him like he’s her saviour. 

“Harry.’

His name is spoken in a raging half whisper. 

“I know,” he replies because he can feel it too.

Rapture. She’ll be his undoing and his sexual reawakening. Harry welcomes that warm pull in his belly as he angles his hips to draw new, breathy sounds from his lover’s lips. 

Bo’s an honest delight beneath him. The way he can feel her toes curling against his calf, her fingers gripping his nape to encourage him further on top. As if he could get any closer, they’re already sharing breath and fumbling kisses. 

Harry’s pretty sure a bottom corner of the fitted sheet has sprung loose with the way they’re contorting to keep damp skin close. His skimming hands have pushed her t shirt up, deft fingers hooking the right cup from her bra down so he can kiss at her breast.  

She’s more fussy than he remembers, especially when he leans away and takes a heady breather. Her huffing is a tad undue but Harry thrives in it, noting her disgruntled expression as he slips from her entirely. There’s a flash of an unpleasant second when Harry’s mind tells him he’s going to be booted in the face. 

But Bo’s brought her feet up to lightly drum against his chest and Harry can’t help but laugh at the playfulness, grabbing at her ankles before she has a chance patter against him again. 

“Come on,” she almost whines. 

His hands move of their own accord, sliding down her calfs to press his thumbs into the back of her knees. 

“Impatient little thing, aren’t you,” Harry replies, leaning into her whilst spreading and gently bearing down on the back of her thighs. 

There’s pink blooming on her cheeks, and Harry can’t be sure if it’s the temperature in their duvet fort, or the fact that Bo’s ankles are now resting on his shoulders. 

“You promised me a whole evening.”

Harry thinks her chide lacks the lustre needed to fully penalise him, especially when he can feel her wriggling to meet his hips. 

“And I wouldn’t want to go back on my promise.”

He lightly kisses at her ear, unworried about hiding his smile. 

“Because that would make you a shitty person.”

He’s not expecting the pinch to his hip, so the growl he produces in response is a surprise to both of them. 

“I don’t remember you being so boisterous.”

“Maybe it’s because you’re practically bending me in half.”

Harry lets Bo unfurl, her legs slipping down to rest beside his hips once more.

“You’ll have to forewarn me next time so I can stretch beforehand.”

“Next time?” Harry curiously enquires. 

“I’m not just having you once,” Bo breathily promises in his ear, the tone making it seem like that fact was obvious.

Harry plays along with their distracted conversation, leaning over her with an elbow propped and his thigh between hers. 

“Tonight?”

He’s not ready for the shove to his shoulder or the dominating role reversal, so when Bo’s sat astride him Harry’s sure she feels him twitch. She doesn’t play at coy, but there’s definitely something more bashful in her movements as she delights in the feel of him again.

“Forever.”

That promise sets his heart soaring. 

She reaches behind for him, shuffling back to seat herself fully down with a flutter of eyelashes and somewhat of a startled whimper. And Harry can’t help but grunt at this all-consuming feeling; this time with the added pressure of hands splayed on his chest as he’s halfheartedly held down.

“Was that a bit cheesy?” Bo asks once she’s chased her breath. “It sounded romantic in my head.”

“A bit, but I think it worked in the moment.”

“Good, because I meant it."

He doesn’t want it to sound insincere whilst she’s riding him, so Harry bottles up the ‘I love you’, and saves it for when he can confess with a clearer mind. Instead, he grabs at her hips, eyes devouring the way her body moves against his and he’s delighted with the repeat image of her bouncing, slack jawed. And because he’s a tease, Harry delights further in the sounds she creates when his hips come up to meet hers. 

She wants him every way she can, but that wish may have to wait. 

“Lean forward,” he pleads.

Bo’s forehead comes to rest on Harry’s as his feet plant to the mattress and his knees come up behind her. With the strength of his tattooed hips, he meets hers at a toe-curling rate. Bo succumbs, allowing Harry to take the lead and guide them both, her face finding the crook of his neck and his arms wrapping around her back. He cradles her into completion, hearts hammering as Harry chases the rapture that Bo blissfully makes peace with. It’s only with the last few stuttering thrusts that Bo pushes up, taking his face between her hands to kiss away the curses that slip free from his smile. 

***

“I like them,” Bo admires, fingers running over twin inked dates on his shoulders. 

She shifts a little to sit back on his thighs, taking his forearm with her as she intently inspects all the splashes of black ink she’s unfamiliar with. It’s all Harry can do to give Bo a soppy smile whilst she carries on, giving each design her attention. They’re partially dressed again, Harry only decent enough to have taken delivery of their pizza before returning to the bedroom. 

“Who’s this?”

Harry’s arm is raised as Bo taps a finger to the tattoo in question. It’s a delicate gesture that challenges her comical disapproval. 

“My mermaid.”

“She’s cute,” Bo says, finger following the swish of dark hair. “Why’d you get her?”

“Dunno, I’ve always liked swimming.”

He’s met with a surprised laugh. 

“So, of course, logically you got a mermaid permanently tattooed on your body,” she chides, shaking her head. 

There’s a small “B” inked just below the inside crease of his elbow. She tilts her head, smoothing over the skin with her thumb.

“That one’s yours,” he says simply, like it couldn’t be anything else. 

“Mine?” she asks, eyebrows shooting up. 

Harry presses a kiss to her forehead. 

“Yep, “B” for Bo,” Harry tells her quietly. “Beautiful.”

She licks her thumb, rubbing at the letter.

“You really got it tattooed?”

“Yeah,” he laughs.

“That’s permanent.”

“I’m aware,” Harry smirks, biting at her neck. “Just like my mermaid.”

“Yeah, just like her,” Bo thoughtfully rephrases. 

It’s a few moments before she replies, still rubbing at the small letter. 

“Why’d you get it?”

“You’re important to me, you’ve helped me through so much, it just felt right.”

She doesn’t say anything in return, not sure that she actually can. Pouting in contemplation, Bo shifts a little in Harry’s lap. 

“Maybe I should get your name tattooed on me.”

“Oh, really?” Harry smirks. “Where? Hopefully somewhere only I get to see?”

“Hmmm, I was thinking more of a chest piece,” she leans away, gesturing to a band of skin above her breasts.

Harry appears a little horrified for a moment but his composure cracks before laughing and grabbing for her hands. 

“I’m not sure that’s your best idea.”

She slumps back to be cradled into Harry’s side. 

“Or maybe I’ll just get a ‘H’ here,” she hushes, voice more sincere as fingers point to the exact spot on her arm where he has her inked. “So we can match.”

Bo’s treated to a kiss to the tip of her nose. She sighs before further squirming away to continue the inspection of body art. 

“Roll over then.”

She makes herself comfortable, sitting astride his lower back as delicate fingers trace more tattoos curving around his side.

“Oh God, that one’s awful.”

Harry huffs a laugh into the pillow in response to her brash opinion and feathery touch. 

***

Harry wakes to the heart wrenching feeling of an empty bed. He sits up rather abruptly, hands skimming bed-warm sheets as the duvet slips to pool at his waist. He swallows twice, mind reeling to kickstart foggy memories from hours before. 

The bedroom door has been left ajar, just enough for a thin strip of light to hollow out the darkened room. Soft footsteps follow and Harry’s heart climbs back down his throat for it to thud against his ribcage.

His body flops back against the pillows before the door is nudged just enough for Bo to slip back through. She doesn’t think anything of Harry now sprawled out on his back, but she knows he’s awake because of the subtle inclination when she draws back the confusion of sheets. 

“Your hot tap is broken,” Bo hushes whilst climbing back into bed on the floor.

She receives a rough hum, Harry’s arm draping her waist.

“Did you hear me?”

Instead of moving himself closer, he opts for coercing Bo until the length of her body is flush to his, like he’s seeking the cool side of the pillow. 

“Broken,” he grunts.

“And you don’t have a bath mat, my feet got cold. I can go out and get you one tomorrow. Or today?” she adds, trying to lean over Harry to confirm the time on one of their phones.

He mumbles something incoherent into her shoulder, lips forming words like kisses upon her skin. With her on her back and Harry now on his side, he’s almost perfected the art of blurring the lines between them and creating one warm entity under the covers. 

“Repeat that.”

She gently catches under his chin with the tips of her fingers, prising him from the nook in her neck.

“Don’t need one.”

The raspy words catch in his throat. 

“Everyone needs a bathmat. Where will you dry your feet? You’ll just track wet footprints through your room.”

“I’ll think about it.”

No, he won’t. 

“Of course you won’t, I’ll just go and get you one,” she pauses. “It’ll be a fluffy orange monstrosity because you’re being difficult about it. Probably a matching toilet cover as well - if they still even sell those?”

The arm banding her middle squeezes tighter which Bo thinks is Harry’s silent way of getting her to hush..

“I love you.”

Oh.

Bo stills in his arms.

It’s something she’d insinuated hours before. That she would still be his in the morning, and every other morning of her promised ‘forever’. But for him to utter the words into their lengthy, soft post-sex haze - Bo was just about ready to settle into the cradle of sleep. But now she’s fully awake. 

He’s still pressed against the length of her, his hair brushing her cheek as the urgency to gauge her reaction grows. 

“I’m in love with you - still.”

Still. Like he’d never stopped. And that’s a little terrifying to know, especially in the knowledge of their separation and the years between then and their reunion. 

“I’m still in love with you,” he rephrases. “Got there in the end.”

His lips catch a soft smile which diminishes as his words rest into silence. Harry feels Bo draw in a grounding breath as though she’s trying to compose herself. Unsure as to whether this conversation should be illuminated, Harry decides against turning on the lamp. Partly because he frightened to disturb her but mostly because he can’t bear the thought of seeing Bo’s face if it’s rejection that awaits him. 

“If you’re not ready then I - well, I understand -“

“I’d like to take you out,” Bo interrupts.

“What?”

“Not fatally,” she hurriedly explains, “like on a date?”

“Oh - ok.”

“Yeah? We could go out to dinner or have cake at a cafe in one of the parks? Or there’s that cinema experience that looks quite fun.”

*** 4 Months Later ***

Harry can hear it in her voice, that she’s not prepared for his confession of undying love just yet and she certainly isn’t ready to say it back. But this is the start that they both deserve, a calm, normal beginning to their new relationship. It’s a chance to get to know each other again and to see where it progresses. And Harry’s happy with that as they lay and bounce date ideas between them, all the while Bo’s fingers have found his own. 

“Why must everything be so high up?” Bo grumbles. 

Her complaint is voiced to the glasses on the top shelf in Harry’s kitchen cupboard. Despite her irritation, he’s pleased to see her emerge minutes later with two drinks in hand and his socks pulled up nearly to her knees over leggings. 

“I see you were successful,” he grins as Bo sorts out coasters.

“Well, I did nearly pull everything off the worktop in my struggle, but it’s fine.” 

Her words are accompanied with a sugar-sweet smile that can only mean trouble for Harry. He hopes he’s forgiven with the choice of Tuesday night Bake-Off on the telly. And it’s as Bo’s laughing at some awful bread pun that the question just feels right. 

“Bo, do you wanna move in?”

She smiles, pressing into his side and rearranging his arm so it curls around her back.

“No,” he huffs a laugh, pressing a kiss to her hairline. “I mean move into the flat - with me.”

“Really?”

Bake-Off forgotten, Bo swivels to face him. There’s joy dancing in her eyes as the bun atop her head bobs with her excited wriggle to move closer. The TV is set on mute and Harry becomes confused at the sharpness in her eyes. 

“I want the left side of the bed, permanently,” she negotiates. 

“It’s yours. Even when you’re not here.”

“And you’ll leave space in the bathroom for my things?”

“I mean, there’s quite a lot of your stuff in there already - but of course.”

Bo kisses his cheek. 

“I just got my first pay from work,” Bo happily states. “I’m gunna buy some proper glasses, so we don’t have to drink wine out of mugs.”

“What’s the point?” Harry laughs. “The fact that you stick a straw in everything sort of lowers the tone of a proper wine glass anyway.’

The remark earns him a sore shoulder. 

“And we can always get you a step for the kitchen.”

She rounds on him so fast he nearly spills the drink he’s just picked up from the coffee table. 

“We will not be doing that. You’ll help me move everything down so I can reach it myself.”

“No problem.” 

“I’m gunna phone my mum,” she rambles, untangling from Harry and tripping over a charging cable. 

“Should I set up a direct debit? Or do you just want me to transfer my half to you each month? What would be easier?”

“Don’t worry,” he laughs. “We can sort it out later.”

“I love you!” she calls from where she’s peeking around the doorframe.

It’s such a casual gesture but Harry’s settling into the knowledge that the love he’s bursting with is reciprocated by the woman he adores. 

“I love you, too,” he smiles. 

[five-rivers]

Loved Chapter 5

Sort of wanted to do something more elaborate with this, but it just wasn't happening. Meh.

.

“But you aren’t really real, are you?”

Tucker’s question killed the mood fast than a bullet. Danny and Sam stared at him from their side of the blanket nest.

“You want to rephrase that?” asked Sam, glaring, arms crossed.

“Uh,” said Tucker, sweat starting to form on his upper lip. “I mean, clearly you’re real, just… maybe not entirely physical? You, it’s,” he made a sort of twisting gesture with one of his hands. “People who aren’t from here can’t see you. They can’t even touch you. That sort of implies that you’re not on the same level of reality as them.” He shrugged. “You call the other place the Dream, right? Maybe you’re in, like, a kind of daydream or something.”

Danny twisted a corner of a blanket in his hands. “No,” he said.

“Danny,” started Tucker.

“No,” repeated Danny. “I can’t—” He noticed he was breathing heavily, his eyes unfocused enough that he could see—No. “Tucker, I don’t—I don’t think I even have free will anymore.” No matter how much he Loved Clockwork and craved Love in return, no matter how glad he was that the dark future would never come to pass, that grated at times. “I need—” He gulped air.

(Before, if he was this panicked, his heart would be thundering in his chest. Now, it was far too quiet.)

Sam put a hand on his back, steadying. Tucker reached out, too, but hesitated, unsure.

“I need to be real,” he said. He needed to still exist, still be human, at least in part. He couldn’t lose that, too. No matter what else he might gain.

“You are real,” said Tucker. “I’m sorry, I—” He cursed lightly under his breath, “—I wasn’t thinking. It’s just… Maybe something you should think about. Maybe—Maybe you aren’t coming completely out of… I don’t know. Wherever you go.”

“Maybe,” said Danny, struggling to get his breathing back under control. “Maybe. I just. Not right now.”

“Okay,” said Tucker. “Yeah. What were we talking about before?”

“Who cares?” asked Sam. “Let’s watch a movie.”

“That sounds good,” said Danny.

.

Danny woke up first the next morning, which was somewhat unusual. Sam was definitely a night-owl, but Tucker woke up fairly early. He stepped over them, feet silent on the floor. Almost as if they weren’t really there.

He shook his head. Not now.

He went to the bathroom and took care of things slowly, deliberately, as if to impress upon his body that he was human.

Sam and Tucker still weren’t awake when he came back. Also, when he thought about it, the rest of the house was eerily silent as well.

No… There was music. Was that coming from outside? He closed his eyes to listen better and caught himself drifting off while standing.

That was abnormal. He knelt and shook Sam and Tucker’s shoulders. They didn’t stir.

Someone was here. And they were here without Danny knowing. That was bad. That was really bad.

He went to his parents’ room. They were asleep, too.

There was a nonzero possibility that he was the only one awake. (Assuming he had ever been awake in the first place and not, as Tucker put it, daydreaming.)

He went out, following the music. Music suggested Ember, but this didn’t seem to be her style. She preferred motion, energy, vibrance. This was quieter, subtler.

Then again, none of the others made sense.

(At least, Danny liked to pretend they didn’t.)

The music wasn’t louder outside, but it was clearer. The scent of something sweet floated on the air. Something warm. Like honey.

Was something buzzing?

Danny shook his head again, forcing himself back into awareness. Maybe he should try and figure out what was going on from inside the Dream. It wasn’t possible to fall asleep there. At least, Danny never had.

(Assuming he wasn’t always partially in the Dream, like Tucker said.)

On the other hand, it often helped to observe what was going on in the real world, on the surface of things, before diving. As messy as fights could be in the real world, winning them in the Dream was harder.

He forged on, periodically pinching himself. He wasn’t the only one on the streets, but he was the only one on the streets that wasn’t passed out. It looked like there had been some car crashes.

That’s when he saw her.

She stood in the middle of an intersection, looking away from him. She was built like a centaur, except the lower part of her body more closely resembled a massive deer than a horse. An elk, perhaps. Both her deer-portion and her human-portion had night-black skin, studded with white stars. Antlers curved and branched above her curly hair. A crown of red flowers sat on her head. She wore no other clothes.

Danny did not notice any of this at first. No, what first jumped out at him was the unmistakable chain of Love binding him to her and vice versa.

He’d never met anyone like this, so—

She turned to face Danny. But she didn’t have a face. She had a mask. A well-made mask that had both eye-holes and a mouth with lips that seemed to curve. It was also covered with pulsing, swirling, hypnotic patterns. Black and white chased each other across the mask, not respecting the mask’s physical curves.

Danny could feel his mind start to go fuzzy. Felt the ground go soft under him as he sank into the Dream. A distant part of him wanted to look away, but the rest of him could only blink slowly, captivated.

“Come,” she said in a fascinating combination of an out-loud voice and a True Voice, tugging lightly on the chain that attached Danny to her.

Danny complied, trotting out into the intersection. When he was most of the way there, she turned away again.

“Follow,” she ordered.

Danny did, vaguely noting how rapidly the sidewalks and concrete buildings of Amity Park flowed into smoothly rolling hills covered in grass and flowers. The air grew heavier. Hotter. The perfume of the flowers combined with the buzzing of the bees and the gentle music served to make Danny even drowsier than before.

Still, he could hardly nod off in this situation, walking behind her, Love connecting them.

Sluggishly, belatedly, a name came to mind. “Nocturne,” he said. The name tasted like milk and honey, like chamomile tea, like sleep. She stopped and inclined her head slightly towards him. “You’re different from before.”

“We haven’t met,” she said. Then she turned more fully, the lips on her mask curving into a smile. “Has our parent been showing you Dreams of me? Perhaps I looked more like this.” She changed, her body warping before Danny’s eyes to become an impossibly tall man completely covered in starry black robes. Except, of course, for his mask and curved, ram-like horns. “This is as good a place as any, I suppose.”

Danny nodded, not quite sure what he was agreeing to, and looked around. Amity Park was nowhere in sight. The hills were a little lumpy, as if the grass and moss were growing over oddly shaped rocks.

“Let’s sit,” said Nocturn, lowering himself elegantly to the ground.

Danny followed, movements clumsy and blurred by sleep. He blinked, and found his hands occupied by a large mug. He looked up at Nocturne. Had he given this to Danny, or…?

Nocturne smiled. Danny looked away, not feeling like getting caught in the hypnotic swirls of his mask again. There was something off about those rocks under the grass. Something about their shape…

Then he saw it and inhaled sharply through his teeth.

Bodies. They were bodies. Still breathing, but…

He looked back at Nocturne. He’d known Nocturne was being too nice to him. He was new to being other, but not new to being a younger sibling. Older siblings only acted like this when they had set up everything in their favor. When they wanted something.

Even knowing this, he struggled to keep his eyes open. Could he fall asleep in the Dream?

“What are you doing to them?” he asked. “How do I wake them up.”

Nocturne hummed. “I have an idea. Play a game with me, sibling, and I’ll tell you.”

“What kind of game?”

“You ask me a question, and for every answer I give you, I get something from you.”

“Like, an answer from me,” said Danny, trying to clarify his position, “or something else?”

Nocturne’s smile showed teeth.

“If I play this game,” said Danny, “I have to be able to say when it ends.” He didn’t want to be dancing around conversational pitfalls every time he interacted with Nocturne, after all. They were siblings.

(And though Love was not trust, it was Love. And Love was undeniable.)

“Of course,” agreed Nocturne, easily.

“Alright, then,” said Danny. He adjusted his grip on the mug.

The grass was crawling. He blinked, hard, and shook his head, dislodging two bees that had landed on his ear.

“How do I wake them up?” he asked.

“You can’t,” said Nocturne.

Danny paused, waiting for Nocturne to take what he wanted.

“You have other questions.”

“Aren’t you going to take something from me, for the question?”

“Yes, I am.”

Danny pursed his lips, realizing he had just wasted a question.

“If I can’t wake them, who or what can?”

“I could. Or they could wake themselves.”

Danny mulled over what that could mean. He had no idea where to start with the second part, but the first…

“What would I have to do, to get you to wake them?”

“You—”

The chain around Danny’s neck went taut, pulling him through the fabric of the Dream at breakneck speeds. He was in Clockwork, his sibling behind him.

You must not bully your sibling, my dear. I have enough love for both of you. You do not need to be jealous.

Danny swayed. Now that so much of the tension between him and Nocturne was gone, he was no longer able to use it to support his wakefulness.

Drink your milk, little Love. You’ll be able to find your friends.

Danny nodded sleepily and tipped the mug back. He didn’t remember what happened after that.

.

“Hundreds of Amity Park citizens are still in comas as health officials race to find the cause of the mysterious event. Some say that gas leaks are to…”

Danny tuned out the TV and glared at his cereal. He knew he had fallen asleep in the Dream and had done something, but the memory was beyond him. Maybe whatever it had been was beyond an even partially human mind.

Or whatever kind of mind Danny had.

His fingers twitched. He was going to go down again later today, to see if Clockwork would help him find everyone else. If they could be found at all. He didn’t want to. He was angry. Angry that this had happened, that it was still happening. Amity Park was his, and Nocturne had no right to try and steal and break and—

The terrible part, was that even though he was angry, his general desire to reach out to Nocturne, to lean on their Love… That had not diminished.

He looked forward to seeing them again.

The news continued to talk about the coma victims.

[justasimptm]

The Bride C7

The walk to the village he doesn’t let a moment go quiet, poking and prodding, making jokes or inappropriate comments. His favorite is to tug on the laces of my corset, never enough to undo any of the knots, but just enough to make me jump and glare at him. Everytime he does it he lets out a hearty laugh at the look on my face, puts his hands up in surrender and swears he’s going to stop, only to do it again minutes later. I try to keep myself out of his jeering, far enough ahead he can’t reach me with his hands and far enough he doesn’t see the flush that coats my cheeks as he whistles at me. As annoying as it is, he does keep it at least mostly respectful which does soothe my fraying nerves some.

“Say, sweetheart, is that a new corset? I don’t think I’ve seen you in it yet, and I definitely would remember,” He calls out, voice dipping down an octave. I bite the inside of my cheek to keep from saying something I shouldn’t, but this time he takes my silence as an invitation to continue. “If you ever need help getting into it again-or getting out of it, you know where to find me.” That pulls a sharp, quiet breath from my lungs, surprise causing me to whirl on him, jaw dropped and eyes wide. He couldn’t have behaved for a few minutes longer, we were on the outskirts of the village, so close to the end of our journey. The smirk laced across his lips tells me he is expecting me to ignore him again, to turn back and finish this.

I can’t tell which makes me boil more, that assumption, or the fact he had the gall to say something like that to me, knowing who I am and who my mother is. He steps closer, bordering on too close but far enough not to be rude, tips his head down slightly and stares at me over the rim of his glasses, waiting for me to do something. As smoothly as I can I close the gap, completely entering his space, having no more than a few inches between us. He freezes slightly as I reach up, calmly pinching the arms of his glasses and pulling them down off his face, leaving us eye to eye. I smile sweetly, tucking the arms in and then into the collar of his shirt, patting his chest with two gentle bats. I pretend I don’t notice the firm muscle under my palm, or the way his breathing hitches slightly as he tries to hold still.

“And what, exactly, makes you think I would ask you for that kind of help, hm?” I whisper, cocking my head to the side, “I’m sure that if that’s something I wanted, I could find someone more, how can I put this, experienced.” His eyes narrow, “Maybe you can find a toy in the gaggle of sad little ducklings we’re taking today. I bet if you ask real nice Mother Miranda might let you keep one.” The teasing tone in my voice is more than obvious, and I know he hears it, but he seems finally stunned into silence. Taking this as a victory I back up, grinning at him before making towards town to finally put an end to our less supervised trip. I make it roughly two steps before his hand latches onto my wrist, jerking me slightly off balance. Enough to wobble but not enough to crash down or into him. My eyes snap to his in a fraction of a heartbeat and I have no words to describe the look I find embedded in his. It’s the oddest mix between ego, surprise, and fire, and it sends tendrils of fluttering through my stomach.

“You should be careful how you use those pretty words of yours. Don’t need you getting in any trouble you can’t handle.” He states gruffly, briefly flickering his eyes down and back up before dropping my arm like I burned him. “Come on. We should get this done before your mother worries. We both know that we don’t want that.”

The rest of our walk towards the square is finally quiet. Heisenberg stopped pulling on my strings, physically and metaphorically, and part of me is wishing the silence wasn’t so harsh. It feels like it’s drowning in rejection, stinging and unforgiving. The excited chittering of our soon to be unwilling experiments helps drown it out, they keep to themselves mostly, but I can feel the way they side eye us. We don’t typically interact with them in a group like this, Mother Miranda tells them that they’ll only see us if she has something special for them. They think this is going to be an honor, and how blissful it is to be unaware of the horrors waiting for them at that church, in Moreau’s laboratory. To them Miranda is a God, my mother and the others their protectors who they only hear whispers of when we need more of them, they are so so naive of the monsters we really are.

God I envy that. The flaming jealousy streaks through my chest before I can stop it and I know my face has soured. Unable to tone it down very much I elect to keep my face forwards, walking at the beginning of the pack, a few paces in front of everyone. Heisenberg’s taken up the back, I know it’s to keep his Lycans at bay, but part of me thinks it’s because he wanted to be separated. I catch a breeze of one of the girls speaking. It’s too quiet to make out fully but she sounds so happy. What a fool.

Mother Miranda greets them all joyously, opening her arms and thanking them all for joining her. They nearly collapse to their knees at the sight of her, a flood of thanks and awe soon floods the still air. She takes a few moments with them all, taking down their names. They think it’s so she can address them, but really it’s for their labels so she knows who was the most successful. As she reaches the end of the line she tosses a nod at the two of us, as we hover by the door unsure of if she is expecting us to stay or not. She asks them all to thank us for guiding their passage, for keeping them safe from ‘the devils’.

Our murmur of praise is much shorter than hers was, very clear they’re only doing it to please her. None of them spare us another glance as she dismisses us. The air is smothering as we step back outside, just the two of us again. I hesitate for a split second and he sighs, choosing to break the silence.

“Let’s go sweetheart. Gotta walk you back up to Castle Doom.” He mutters, motioning with his hand for me to start walking. The way he says it is defeated, like he has no interest in doing it but he has no choice. Stubbornness flares up inside my chest and I have to fight a snarl as I roll my eyes.

“You don’t ‘gotta’ do anything, Heisenberg, Just go back to your fucking factory doing whatever the hell it is you do up there. I am more than capable of walking myself.” My voice is filled with anger, shaking with it in fact and he is visibly taken aback. The fact he’s acting like I’m a child that needs babysitting absolutely burns my core. He doesn’t have to watch me, make sure I don’t fall down and get a boo-boo. I have more than enough ways to protect myself.

I don’t give him a chance to argue back, to tell me that he does in fact need to escort me back, because Mother Miranda can’t risk something happening to the source of her progress. Yet another thing I have to exist for that isn’t myself or my choice. Instead I let the fluttering beats of my rage turn into the beats of wings, swarming from my full form into my mass of moths. Vaguely I recognize the sound of his cursing as I take off towards the castle. Everything feels so much calmer when I’m like this, simpler. Just move the wings, keep the destination in mind and trust in myself to get there.

I make it to the gates before I force myself to reform. Mother doesn’t like seeing me like that. Says I should use it for emergencies only because it leaves me more exposed between the fact I’m literal bugs and the time it takes for my body to set back. I push the heavy iron gates open with a resounding creak, surely announcing my presence to everyone inside that I’ve returned. My feet barely step over the barrier when I hear him shout my name from behind me. Why couldn’t he just leave, I wonder, especially if he is oh so concerned about my safety. He calls out to me again, closer this time, but I set my pace with purpose, not slowing or stopping when he curses again. Steeling my bones as I hear the gate slam back shut loudly so I don’t jump. I know my mother is waiting for me inside, ready to ambush me, to push me for every last detail to make sure I behaved appropriately. With some luck, hopefully my sisters will be off somewhere, tormenting some poor servant so I don’t have to deal with them immediately as well. Given how frayed my nerves are, I don’t entirely know how well I would be able to keep myself from doing something I would be punished for. But honestly, after all of that, it might be worth it just to blow off some steam.

@foggyturtleknightangel @beingviolentlyhappy

[agoldengalaxy]

deny, deny, deny

read on Ao3

5 times someone told Sam and Bucky they cared about each other, and the 1 time they showed it.

--

1.

“You two bicker a lot,” Dr. Raynor says, eyeing the two men who sit, fuming, on the other side of her desk. “If you won’t speak to each other, then tell me this, instead. James, why would you ignore Sam’s texts?”

Bucky grumbles something under his breath. Sam seems genuinely curious to hear the answer. Raynor glares until Bucky sighs and repeats himself, staring at the floor. “Didn’t wanna bother ‘im.”

“What? I was the one texting you, Bucky! Why would I -”

“Just drop it, Sam.”

“…Fine.”

Folding her hands on her desk, Raynor sighs. She can’t be certain, but Bucky has been her client for a few months now, and she knows it takes a long time for him to tell the truth. In this case, however, she thinks the truth is there, as a small part of it. The way that the tips of his ears redden tell her that there must be more to it.

She isn’t blind. She has a feeling she might know that answer. So she leans forward a little. “Good. Thank you for that answer, James.” Her gaze slides to Sam, whose arms are crossed over his chest as he looks toward the wall. “How does that make you feel, Sam?”

He scoffs. “After everything I’ve done for him, he still -”

“You shouldn’t have given up the shield, Sam.”

“What’s that got to do with anything?”

“Gentlemen, please,” Raynor interrupts, feeling a headache coming on. She blows out a breath. “You’re both big boys now. You can handle this -“ she gestures vaguely, because she knows that they don’t quite understand yet, “- if you just talk to each other. Emotions are powerful things, you can’t ignore them forever.”

Bucky groans. Sam huffs.

They don’t get it. She’s not sure she wants to see them flounder, but she should put it out there, anyway. She leans forward. “Emotions including love, that you may have buried deep below.”

For a split second, she is met with stunned silence, before they both erupt, loudly. Denying, denying, denying, pushing the feelings down even deeper than they had been before despite the way that they fluster.

It’s okay, she tells herself. Deep breath in and out. They’ll accept it soon, someday.

Still, she shakes her head, effectively cutting them off. “No matter what kind of love it is, you care about each other. And that’s the bottom line. Once you cross it, things’ll be a whole lot easier.”

Sam looks at his lap, blinking. Bucky’s cheeks flush pink.

Raynor needs a drink.

2.

“This is really easy for you, isn’t it? All that serum runnin’ through your veins.” John hates the man standing in front of him. Maybe, in another life, they could have been friends. But the stubbornness just pisses him off, so he goes for Bucky’s weakness. He knows Bucky can take being insulted, but there is one thing he won’t accept. “Barnes, your partner needs backup in there.”

He watches Bucky’s cold stare waver, if only for a moment. John takes that opportunity to stand his ground, glancing behind Bucky, to that open door he wants to go through so desperately. Karli is right there, and the only thing standing in his way now is Barnes, and his stupid loyalty to Sam.

Bucky thinks so highly of Sam, he doesn’t have any other choice but to use that one weakness.

So they lock eyes again. “I know you care about him. Do you really want his blood on your hands?”

Beside him, Lemar shifts his weight from one foot to the other as Bucky looks down for a split second. John knows what it’s like. He’d never leave Lemar behind, though he knows with Sam and Bucky, things are a little different. He can feel Zemo’s eyes boring into them now, clearly amused. They wait.

Bucky’s jaw is clenched, every inch of him now rigid. John knows the feeling, and knows perhaps it might have been unfair to put him in that position; he knows he would stop at nothing if it were his wife in that room. That’s almost the equivalent of what Bucky must have been thinking.

But the ends justify the means.

Drawing in a sharp breath, Bucky turns around, his shoulders still tight, and John exchanges a look with Lemar as he speaks. “You’re right. We should help him.”

John’s grip on the shield tightens. Lemar grins. “Maybe you should tell him how you feel,” he suggests as they start up the stairs.

Bucky ignores them both, readying for the fight.

3.

“Super soldiers cannot be allowed to exist.”

“Isn’t that how gods talk?” Sam asks, cool and collected as ever. “And if that’s how you feel, then what about Bucky?”

Zemo carefully removes the ice pack from his forehead, weighing it in his hand as he sits up. He doesn’t know how to feel about Bucky just yet. For now, that question doesn’t have an answer. For now, Steve Rogers is the only exception, and he can’t imagine that changing anytime soon.

Still, he has to have some kind of fun, right?

So he leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees, tilting his head to get a better look at the man sitting at the table, and shrugs. “Why don’t you tell me?”

Sam blinks, eyebrows furrowing. “What do you mean?”

“Come now, Sam, I always thought you were an intelligent individual,” he replies, only slightly teasing. He does like Sam. He’s righteous, level-headed, and doesn’t make any stupid decisions. Except, perhaps, the person he might have chosen to love. “What do you think of James?”

“Is this a trick question?”

“Maybe, maybe not.”

Nodding, the other smiles and looks down, gathering his thoughts. “I think he’s annoyin’ as hell,” he answers slowly. “But...he’s passionate, smart, a big softie deep down...and he always does the right thing even though he’s hurting, too.” He pauses, then adds, “I still can’t tell if breakin’ you out of jail counts as the right thing, though.”

Zemo smirks, leaning back a little, tossing the ice pack from one hand to the other. “You know, when I first met my wife, she hated my guts.”

“Can’t say I blame her, Zemo.”

He chuckles, somewhat sadly, then continues. “These fights that you and James have, over the small things, they are nothing more than just couple’s quarrels.”

Sam’s eyes widen and he turns to look at him fully, as if he’s lost his mind. “What the hell are you talkin’ about? Bucky and I are just -”

“Just what, Sam?” Zemo tilts his head, as if challenging him. This is exactly the reaction he had been hoping for. It isn’t often the calm and collected Sam Wilson loses his cool, and Zemo likes to know he’s one of the ones who can get a rise out of him. “Friends, partners, all these terms you both throw around…” He thinks back to that look on Bucky’s face when John had challenged him, and his smile returns. “Perhaps you ought to think about what you truly want.”

And okay, maybe it isn’t just wanting to get a reaction from Sam. Maybe Zemo has seen the good in both of them, and thinks, perhaps, they ought to be happy, for once. His own partner is long gone, but it isn’t too late for Sam and Bucky.

Sam opens his mouth to respond, but he is cut off by the heavy sound of the door opening, and he immediately falls silent as Bucky walks in, with news that the Dora Milaje are after Zemo. Although Sam recovers quickly, staring at his laptop, Zemo side-eyes him, wondering if he might be blushing.

So Zemo stands up, shaking his head. How juvenile.

4.

Sarah leans against the truck, wiping sweat from her forehead. It’s been hours, and she still can’t believe Sam has managed to pull off receiving this much help. She knows their parents did a lot of favors, but she never could have imagined it would pay off this much one day.

She’s already made up her mind. She can’t sell this boat. It means so much to her, and to Sam.

Her gaze drifts toward the dock, where Bucky is helping Sam carry some things to Carlos. She’s almost certain they’re bickering again, but as they walk, their shoulders almost touch. Sam smiles. It’s something she hadn’t realized she had missed so much.

Seeing her brother smile, and seeing the reason for that smile, is all the evidence she needs to agree to let Bucky crash on her couch. The sun is already dipping closer and closer to the horizon, and she knows people will begin returning home soon. Personally, she has to get the boys to bed. But she lets herself enjoy this moment as long as she can.

When Sam and Bucky place down their loads, Sarah whistles, getting their attention to wave Sam over. Bucky seems to think about following, but is soon distracted by AJ and Cass, excited to meet their uncle’s ‘cool friend.’ Sam chuckles as he tells them to behave, then makes his way over to his sister, a huge grin on his face.

“What’d I tell you? I knew we could make it work,” he says, spreading his hands. Just as confident as ever, she supposes. She rolls her eyes, but for some reason, she can’t stop smiling, and his grin fades a little. “What’re you lookin’ at me like that for?”

Sarah shakes her head. “Nothing. I just missed seeing you so happy,” she admits, because although they tease each other, although they bicker, she loves him. She has no trouble admitting she cares. Seeing the confusion on his face, she hops up to sit on the back of the truck, folding her hands in her lap. “You were gone. For a really long time. And that’s okay, I know what you had to do.” A pause. “When you came back all sad-puppy-dog in the rain that first night, my heart broke. I guess I’m just trying to say I’m glad my brother’s back.”

There’s another pause until Sam comes to sit beside her, so that their shoulders touch. He nods. “It’s been a rough couple years,” he murmurs, and she nods. It has been for both of them.

They gaze at the boys, who are excitedly coaxing Bucky to flex his metal arm, who has a confused look on his face as per usual. Sarah rests her head on Sam’s shoulder, just grateful to know she’s no longer so alone. And then she sits up, turning to face him.

“But enough of that sappy stuff,” she says. “Tell me about Bucky.”

He groans. “Don’t tell me his awful attempt at flirting was actually successful.”

“What?” Pulling a face, she shakes her head. “No, not that. Tell me about him. A guy that makes you smile that much is probably one worth keepin’ around.” She nudges his shoulder and he chuckles a little, his gaze returning to the man in question.

“You’re the second person who’s asked me about him recently.” He seems to collect his thoughts for a moment. “...He reminds me a lot of Riley, sometimes.”

Sarah nods, having expected something like that. “Is it the same?” Sam and Riley had always been close, but she had never seen them get physically close the way that Sam and Bucky did. Sam shakes his head.

“Some things are better. Some things are...more annoying.”

“It’s okay,” she assures, patting his shoulder as she slides off the truck to stand up. “In case you were wonderin’, I still know everything, and I also happen to know he feels exactly the same about you. He cares about you, and I know you care, too, so it’s up to you to do somethin’ with it.” She grins as a stunned look appears on his face, walking away before he can even think of something to reply with.

She hopes they can get their heads out of their asses and realize it. After all, having Bucky around could be pretty helpful.

5.

“I’m sorry for how things ended down there.” A lie. “But for what it’s worth, suit looks good on you.”

Things had gotten dangerously close for Sharon. Too close. Luckily, though, Sam and Bucky haven’t found out the truth. If they had...well, she doesn’t want to think about what she would have to do if that were the case.

But here he is, their new Captain America, standing there in front of her with a soft chuckle and a slight nod. “Thanks.”

“All right, look, can we get out of here, please?” Bucky interjects, sounding...somewhat annoyed, for some reason. Her abdomen hurts terribly, but it’s not like she can’t handle a single gunshot wound. Still, standing around probably isn’t going to do her any good, so she nods and lets Bucky guide her.

They walk in silence for a little while until she looks at him. His gaze is fixed ahead, maybe lost in thought about something. Her eyes narrow a little. “What was that all about?”

“What was what all about?”

“I mean, you basically cut Sam off. Why’d you wanna leave so bad?” Her interest is peaked when she notices that, despite the fact that his expression barely changes, his ears redden.

Bucky clears his throat. “In case you forgot, you’re kind of bleeding out here, Sharon.”

She huffs. “I told you, I’m fine.” Watching him for a moment, she attempts to piece the puzzle together. His eyes hadn’t left Sam since he returned with Karli’s body. Back at her apartment, he’d seemed almost angry when she had complimented Sam without his shirt on. It dawns on her and she smirks. “Oh, don’t tell me you have a crush.”

His ears redden further. She guessed right.

“Don’t be ridiculous. Why would I like you?” Deflecting the accusation and dissing her all in one go. She’s almost impressed.

“We both know I’m not talking about myself.” She grabs his arm, and they both stop walking. He won’t look her in the eye. “Hey, it’s okay, all right? Your secret’s safe with me.” Of course, unless he gets in her way. That’s a bridge she’ll cross if it comes to it. “For what it’s worth, I think he’s a great candidate for you.”

Bucky frowns, shaking his head a little. “...I don’t wanna talk about this.”

Sighing, she nods. “Of course you don’t. Look, you should just go for it. What do you have to lose?”

A flicker of pain flashes across his face. “Everything,” he mumbles, almost inaudibly.

“Sam wouldn’t leave you if he didn’t feel the same. You shouldn’t hide from him.” She winces, then, not quite sure why she’s giving him advice. If he knew the truth, he’d have left her to die. But she doesn’t dwell on that, feeling his hand on her arm to ground her, and they begin walking again.

Bucky doesn’t say anything else, and neither does Sharon. She might have gone down a different path a long time ago, but she still thinks they both deserve to be happy.

Unless, of course, they get in her way.

+1

It’s late when Bucky comes to Sam’s door, knocking quietly before opening it to stand in the doorway, offering a beer out to him. “Fresh air?”

Sam accepts, and they walk outside together, footsteps sounding in tandem on the empty dock. A fresh sea breeze whips past, but not enough for either of them to get cold, the smell of salt filling their noses and the last couple cries of the seagulls before they settle in for the night.

They stop in front of the boat, admiring the work they had done on it together. Sam breaks the silence first. “Thanks for helpin’ out. With everything.”

Bucky looks at him and nods. “You’re welcome.” A pause. “It’s nice here, you know. Quiet. Nothing like New York.”

“Is that a good thing?”

“Yeah, I think it is.”

They gaze at each other for a moment before turning to their bottles. Silence is filled by the quiet crashing of waves in the distance. There’s a tension there that hadn’t been there before; an unspoken understanding of the situation.

Sam looks at Bucky, noticing the way the shadows under his eyes look a little lighter than they had been before. Bucky’s jaw is clenched, showcasing the stubble he’s been letting grow out, and Sam can’t help but think he looks princely.

And Bucky looks at Sam, at the way the moonlight so perfectly etches his features, his eyes bright as they stare back at him. He remembers the way Sam’s eyes crinkle when he smiles, how he reminds him of a sunshine that had pulled him from the deep, dark abyss he had been stuck in after Steve left.

They aren’t sure how long they’ve been standing there, quietly. Two words tear from Bucky’s throat, like he has no choice in the matter. “Sam, I…-”

Instead of answering, Sam steps closer, cupping one of Bucky’s cheeks, smashing their lips together. It’s rough but sweet.  Sam tastes like vanilla. Bucky tastes like beer. And nothing has ever felt so right before.

Sam pulls away and chuckles. “I hope that was what you were gonna say.”

Bucky smiles, though his face is bright red, placing a hand on Sam’s hip to pull him closer. “Somethin’ like that. Want to say it again?”

“I like that idea.”

They suppose they can put the promise of ‘going their separate ways’ on hold for a little while.

[thedeathdeelers]

Okay just because I fucking love your writing unmm something about Julie maybe reflecting on how Luke was brought to her, by the universe or her mom etc, and just fucking soulmate fluff. I loved your religion drabble btw!!

thank you so much!!!🥰

sorry for the delay :$ but i hope you like it!! (ps it turned out to be way longer than i anticipated, so, ya)

pps: you can now find this on my AO3 🤗

——

i think i dreamed you into life

   It was a Julie & Luke writing session, just like any other. They were sat, hunched over their shared journal on the faded black couch, too absorbed by the words and notes scribbled on the pages in front of them to pay any attention to anything else.

   Julie had just had an epiphany, finally finding the right words to lead them into the chorus following the first verse. With a stiff neck and a cramping hand, Julie stretched her arms over her head, sitting up for a second before collapsing back onto the back cushions of the couch. She heaved a large sigh, looking around and only just registering the low setting sun. They had somehow managed to lose track of time, again, spending well over what she assumed was 4 hours working on this one song. She shook her head, a small smile on her lips as she looked back at her writing partner, still fully focused on the journal in his lap.

   They were so alike sometimes, it scared her a little. How could they be so perfect for each other when they were never meant to meet? Cross paths? She often found herself wondering about the way they were brought together, the reasons they were in each others’ lives. But then as soon as her mind wandered towards the mysteries of the universe and its guiding powers, she always ended up spiraling - no matter how she looked at it, Luke and her were somehow meant to be. Fated. Star crossed....whatever.

   Her train of thought would always start off innocently enough - she was part of a ghost band. She could see ghosts (well three particular ghosts, at least) - the only lifer who could without Caleb’s help (as far as Willie could tell). She had never really been one to believe in the supernatural, but she was now so intrinsically involved, that she frequently wondered whether everything about her life wasn’t just a dream. Maybe after years & years of practice, she had managed to hone in her daydreaming skills to a point that allowed her to create a world that sounded a little too much like she was the protagonist in a movie or a show. This couldn’t actually be real life, could it? Her life?

   The couch shifted, Luke reaching over to grab his guitar, testing out a line before placing his guitar back on the ground, and crossing out a whole section. No, she doesn’t think her mind could have ever managed to dream up Luke.

Don’t get her wrong, there were definitely moments where Julie felt just as normal as she used to. She’d forget that the boys were anything other than her lovable, goofy bandmates. Normal teenage boys, messing around and playing music in her mom’s studio. But then she would look up and see bright hazel eyes staring back at her, and she‘d unexpectedly be hit again by the storm of emotions that washed over her the first time she had accidentally walked through Luke. It was like nothing she had ever experienced before. She had felt cold, then warm, and then this peculiar feeling of being....whole. Like she had just come home after a long tiring trip. She couldn’t describe it properly even if she tried, but the only thing that came close to summing it up was home.

Julie closed her eyes, trying to recreate the feeling, bringing it back up to the surface.

Her logical side knew soulmates was just a term used to romanticise romance, she knows that, but whenever she remembers that feeling, just like she is now, she wonders whether she had somehow felt his soul in that kitchen - sneaked a peek before latching onto it. These thoughts made it harder to hold onto logic.

Ugh, she was spiralling again. Julie lifted her hands to her face, rubbing furiously at her eyes, trying to dislodge some of the thoughts clouding her mind. She could feel a headache coming on, and that was the last thing she needed right now. She rolled her head back, resting against the old cushions, and looked at the floating chairs on the ceiling.

Her mother. Didn’t her mother always tell her that there was more to the world than meets the eye? That it wasn’t always wise to think only with one’s mind, but to trust your gut, your heart?

It used to be comments like those that led Julie to believe that her mother was more than just her mother. Could Rose have been an angel in disguise all along? Fate, Love, personified? Julie would be lying to herself if she said she had never thought about her mother being the key instigator behind the boys’ presence in her life. She just somehow knew that Rose had handpicked these boys, and sent them to her. Sent Luke to her. She had known that Julie would need divine intervention to pull herself out of her slump, and who better to do that than the one person, the one soul in the universe that perfectly aligned with hers?

Julie rolled her head to the side once more, staring at Luke’s profile, his brows drawn, deep in thought. If he hadn’t died all those years ago, if he hadn’t eaten that unfortunate hotdog, this never would have been possible - they never would have met. Julie shuddered at the thought, her heart and soul aching in protest.

A connection of heart, mind and soul, her mother had told her. “They really do exist, mija” she‘d say, but Julie would only smile and nod, never truly believing that soulmates were real, that they were part of the universe’s grand design. But now-

Oh. Soulmates.

“Did you say something?”

Startled, Julie blinked herself out of her daze, realising too late that she was thinking out loud.

“N- no, no, nothing. Just uh- just thinking of the next verse, you know,” she chuckled awkwardly, avoiding Luke as she tried not to fidget. “Always working!” She pointed to her temple, immediately regretting the movement, cringing at her awful attempt at a cover up.

She could feel Luke’s unwavering gaze, focused on her as he sat up, pushing the journal onto the seat next to him. He shifted, turning towards her, even as she continued to face forward. Her cheeks were definitely getting warmer. Not good.

“Did you-” she saw him tilt his head to the side from the corner of her eye, “did you just say Soulmates?”

A lie was on the tip of her tongue, ready to burst, but as she reflexively slid her eyes to meet his, the words died out before they could be vocalised.

He was looking at her with a peculiar look in his eyes, a slightly awed expression etched on his face.

“I- I was just thinking...” She stuttered, unable to take her eyes off of Luke’s, even as her fingers fiddled with the loose threads of her jumper.

“About?”

“You know,” she lifted her hands, gesturing at the space around them, trying to be as vague as possible. “Life.”

Eyebrows shot up, disappearing under his orange beanie.

“Life? Really?”

“Yes. Life. Just..you know, how things change. Like the way you grow up thinking one thing but then something happens and it completely changes the way you see the world around you, the way your beliefs...shift.” She shrugged, trying and failing to seem nonchalant.

“Hm, deep thoughts for a Saturday afternoon.” He studied her for a second, before cocking his head to the side. “Any reason this led to the conclusion of Soulmates?”

Julie shifted uncomfortably, trying hard not to look away even as she felt her cheeks somehow growing even warmer.

“I...I was just thinking about my mom. And things she used to talk about and believe in with a certainty that always...confused me I guess. How could she believe in something so easily, when she couldn’t even see it? Feel it?” Julie diverted her gaze, choosing to look at her mom’s piano instead. Her voice took on a quieter tone, almost reflective as she continued with her new train of thought. “What if she wanted me to believe again? What if she had somehow found a way to not only get music back into my life, but to believe in love and fate and-“ Julie stopped short, her eyes darting back to Luke - his face was now frozen, showing her nothing of what he might be feeling.

Julie suddenly felt very silly.

“Never mind,” she laughed awkwardly, trying to play it off as just silly musings. “My mind was just wandering, but now I’m back and maybe we should just get back to that second verse...” Her voice trailed off, Luke’s face still giving nothing away.

Crap. She just made it weird - this is what she gets for letting her mind go down the rabbit hole that is the universe and its misguided mysteries. Way to go, Julie.

   Just as she was about to jump up and flee to her bedroom, hoping that maybe her floor would do her the courtesy of swallowing her up, Julie felt the couch dip further down to her right, Luke’s knee pressing up against her thigh. Resisting the urge to look at him, her eyes flickered to her fingers, to their journal and then back to her mom’s piano.

   “You know,” Luke spoke up, voice soft, almost a whisper, “I never gave fate much thought back when I was alive. I always figured a person forged their own fate by believing hard enough in what they wanted and then working even harder to get there.” He reached over, grabbing hold of her right hand, ceasing the fidgeting motions of her fingers. “Even when it came to my soul, I only ever considered it when thinking about music and the power it had over me and my life. If music was so important, wouldn’t it mean my soul was constantly connected to it? My instrument, an intrinsic part of who I am?”

   He went quiet for a few seconds, prompting Julie to turn her head back towards him, as his calloused thumb started rubbing gently against her knuckles. His gaze, which had been glued to her face the entire time, was now locked on their hands.

“So I always figured I was “fated”, I guess you could say, to follow that connection I had with music, and just see where that took me.” His fingers were now tracing little circles on the back of her hand. “But then we died, and became ghosts, and it changed the way I think about things, but at the same, my core beliefs remained the same. I’m still not sure about fate, and the role it plays in how things are dictated in my life, but I know that music is still such a major part of me. Because, I mean, if that wasn’t the case, how could you have possibly pulled me back from the dead and down to earth by playing our song? How could you, a lifer 25 years after I died, have been the one to pull me back, and make me feel alive again?” He shook his head before he continued. “And every time I ask myself these questions I just come back to the same conclusion,” he stops for a second, lifting his eyes back up to hers. “You embody music to me. You, Julie, have always been what my soul was connected to - not my guitar, not just music in general - but you, my own personal musical goddess.” His lips tilted up at the corners at his last words, his eyes boring into hers.

   “So yeah, I know what you mean about not necessarily wanting to believe in something unless you can see it or feel it. But at this stage, how could I not believe in soulmates when you’re right here, somehow a part of my life, 25 years after I’ve died?” He shook his head again, his smile getting a little sad. “We technically never should have met, would have never crossed paths, but fate....fate had other plans for us I guess. Our souls just couldn’t bare being separated, and the universe just....found a way to rectify that.” 

   Julie could do nothing but stare at the beautiful boy in front of her, her mind trying to process the prose he just recited to her. Almost as if by reflex, Julie slowly lifted her hands up, cupping his face and held onto him like he was the most precious thing in the entire world - because he was.

Luke mirrored her actions, his eyes soft, as his fingers traced her cheeks, wiping away tears she didn’t even know were there.

And just as she was about to let loose the words that had been rattling around in her mind ever since he had stumbled into her life, Luke beat her to it.

“I think we might be soulmates, Jules.”

FIN

[preciouspeterbparker]

i wish i were

inspired by conan gray’s “heather”

warnings: stepsibling incest (not yet but that’s the whole premise), underage masturbation, underage sex, angst. peter’s like 16 and a half, Tony’s almost 18

word count: 2.2k

summary: peter’s in love with his big brother. no biggie. (spoiler alert: it’s a big deal)

(A/N: okay this has been living in my head rent free for over a month. i've written more, but it's not fully fleshed out yet. 

i figured i would post this and see if anyone is interested in reading it before i put a bunch more effort in lmao. this is filth. most of the angst comes later lololol (and more filth).

i hope you enjoy and please let me know what you think / if you'd like to read more!

- bloo)

PART ONE

Peter stands at his locker, desperately trying to blend in and remain unseen as he switches out his English textbook for Physics. The school year is basically over, given that it’s the last week of May but he’s still not comfortable in the junior-senior hallway. He’s always been the youngest (and therefore smallest) kid in most of his classes, given that he’s been in the ‘gifted & talented’ track since middle school. (He’s on track to graduate next year, taking his last few mandatory classes and completing an internship for additional credit.) This year, Peter feels even smaller than usual; maybe because most of the seniors are already eighteen, while as a sophomore, he isn’t even seventeen. He doesn’t have many friends this year, because of it. Ned moved away last summer because his dad got a new job, and, well, he’d never really needed more than Ned before. 

“Hey Pete-squeak,” comes a voice from behind, making him jump. Rolling his eyes, Peter pivots slightly to face the newcomer. The infestation of butterflies that he's been harboring for the past few months begins to flutter immediately, tickling the walls of his stomach as his cheeks flush lightly.

The voice belongs to a tall (or, well, taller than Peter, anyway), ridiculously handsome boy with dark hair and dark eyes, walking towards Peter with his hands in his pockets. The cheeky smirk on his face is all but permanent, but the small, genuine smile it slips into is something that Peter holds close to his chest, something that is typically reserved for him.  

Tony, his older brother, is pretty much Peter's favorite person in the world. Technically, he’s Peter’s step brother. Maria, his mom, and Peter’s dad Richard got married when Peter was a year old and Tony was almost three. They’d essentially spent their whole lives together; neither of them could really remember anything before. They’ve always been close, but that’s changed a little bit this year.

“Hey Tony,” Peter chirps, reaching back into his locker to grab his physics binder. He tries to act natural, even though he feels anything but. His heart’s going a mile a minute inside his rib cage. He feels a little ridiculous, he has for the past few months. Swallowing, he manages to sound relatively calm. “You read the last 2 chapters of Beowulf, right? Mrs. Herrera gave us a pop quiz last period.” 

The older teen groans. Closing his eyes, he throws his head back, a metallic thunk sounding as it collides with the locker he’s leaning back on. “Fucking hell. The final paper is due in like four fucking days! Is that not enough?” It’s quiet for a moment as Tony pauses before he opens one eye, cutting it to look at Peter. “What were the answers?” 

Peter snorts in response, shutting his locker. “Not happening, T.”  He pulls his phone out of his pocket to check the time and lets the left side of his body rest against the cool metal. Three minutes til the bell rings, and Mr. Riley’s class is right across the hall. So he’s essentially got three minutes to indulge himself and the fuzzy warmth that’s running through his veins. He loves any time he gets to spend with Tony. “You’re lucky I told you at all, be grateful.” 

Tony wrinkles his nose at him. “Rude,” he scoffs in mock offense. “I know you can remember them,” comes his teasing accusation. (And he’s right. Peter can recall the entirety of the quiz, but he’s still not going to enable Tony.) Then he pauses and raises an eyebrow at his younger brother. “Is that my sweatshirt?” The garment in question is a worn and slightly faded black Led Zeppelin USA 1977 crewneck sweatshirt. Peter’s wearing it over a charcoal and white check button-up. The sweatshirt is one of Tony’s favorite pieces of clothing, he wears it all the time (hence why Peter...borrowed it...without asking).

Having mentally prepared himself to be questioned at some point, Peter’s reply is already on the tip of his tongue. “Yeah, it ended up in my laundry and once I put it on it was too cozy to take off. And it looks good with these jeans and the button-up. And my boots. Trying out a new look,” he finishes, smiling as he pushes his glasses further up his nose. Tony often teased him about the thick, clear-but-slightly-pink frames, but Peter hadn’t wanted glasses at all (he doesn’t need any more reasons to be teased, thank you), but he likes these. They make him look cute, more feminine. More like someone Tony could want. 

“You’re right,” Tony smiles. One of his hands comes up to playfully ruffle at Peter’s russet hair. “Looks great on you, kid.” There’s warm affection in his voice. 

Peter feels his cheeks go hot again, and he wills the flush to go away. He can’t take compliments from Tony, now- they make him ache and preen simultaneously. He knows that Tony doesn’t mean it the way he wants. Peter knows that Tony would never speak to him again if he knew what was really going on inside his little brother’s head. The thought makes him sick to his stomach. 

Speaking of stomachs. “Hey,” he starts as he fingers through the papers in his physics binder, attempting to find the problem set that’s due today. “Did you ever catch up on Hell’s Kitchen? I’ve been rewatching episodes trying to wait for you, but you’re taking too long. You saw the episode where Gordon-” Peter’s heart falls to his stomach and he abruptly stops speaking when he looks up to notice that Tony isn’t looking at him anymore, barely seems to be listening. 

It falls completely out of his ass when he sees just what, just who, has stolen his attention. 

“Sorry, Pete, gotta go,” Tony mutters once he realizes that Peter’s stopped talking, shooting him a hasty smile and shoving off the navy metal. He skirts past Peter, a slight skip in his step as he makes his way down the hallway. 

Peter's swallows and clenches his jaw as he watches his brother walk straight to her, the bane of his existence. The reason he and Tony don’t spend as much time together anymore. The object of Tony’s affections. Pepper. She's...everything Peter wishes he could be, honestly. Tall, somehow a perfect mix of skinny & curvy, bright blue eyes, long strawberry-blonde hair. She's perfect. And not only in looks; she's also ridiculously smart. If Tony wasn’t valedictorian, she surely would be. She even volunteers at the local soup kitchen every weekend, and Peter’s pretty sure she reads to dogs at the animal shelter once a month. He hates that Pepper is so nice; he hates that he can't hate her without hating himself for it. 

As if he didn't have enough self-loathing already.

***

Peter exits the bathroom that connects his bedroom with Tony’s after gently flicking the lock on his brother’s door to disengage it, the soft ‘snick’ ridiculously loud in the quiet of the house. He’s the only one home; Mom and Dad are at some sort of event for Dad’s law firm, and Tony went to a party at Rhodey’s house. (Tony had insisted that Peter was invited, but he had to know that the younger would never go- why would he want to be surrounded by drunk, horny, belligerent teenagers? The last thing he wanted to see was Tony and- )

There’s a dark gray towel loosely wrapped around his waist, so loose he has to clutch it in his hand to keep it from falling. He closes his own bathroom door behind him and drops the towel, digging through his underwear drawer to pull out a random pair of plaid boxers. 

After sliding them on, the brunette takes a deep breath and lays back against the pillows, arms behind his head. He tries to consciously relax his muscles, the tension of the day not having melted away during his shower like he had hoped. Time for Plan B. It’s never let him down before. Peter reaches for his phone and unlocks it before swiping through his apps to open Spotify. The sound of “Dazed and Confused” fills the air through his speakers, and he sets it to repeat on a loop. It’s a little fucked up, the way he’s conditioned himself to respond to this song, but- Peter knows the whole thing is fucked up; he’s fucked up. 

Closing his eyes, he does the only thing he’s been capable of for months: he thinks of his older brother. 

He’s growing fond of the new facial hair Tony’s trying out; he wonders how it would feel against his skin. Which areas would be the most sensitive to its touch? His thighs? His neck? Peter’s head tilts back and to the side as he imagines wet, warm lips and the scratch of stubble. Just the thought, the phantom sensation, makes a soft mewl leave his mouth. It’s a little ridiculous how easy he can get himself going, when he thinks of Tony’s touch, of his body. Of his love. In his boxers, his cock shifts against his thigh as it begins to fill out. 

The sensual, plucky bassline and wailing guitars of the song drag along, and so does Peter’s breathing as he brings a hand up to pinch at one of his nipples. He imagines the way Tony would tease him until he was whining, begging for release. He supposes it wouldn’t be dissimilar to his older brother’s typical manner of playfully taunting him. Maybe Tony would pin him down like he did when they were younger, climb on top of him and hold him there with the muscles he’s gained from boxing in the garage. The opportunities he’s had to see the older teen breathing heavy, shirtless and glistening with sweat, would be forever ingrained in his mind. The mental image sends more blood rushing south and his dick throbs as it quickly reaches full hardness, drawing a gasp from his mouth. 

Peter takes himself in hand, studying the details of his cock. He knows he’s not huge, but he’s at least on the larger side of average. It’s flushed a deep, mauve-y pink, and he traces the line of a vein on the side with the tip of his pinkie. A shiver shoots down his spine. He wonders how similar it is to Tony’s. Is he circumcised like Peter is? Is he bigger? Longer, thicker even? Sure, he’s seen him naked before, when they were younger changing or in the bath, but that stopped around the time Tony was seven or eight. 

(Tony and Peter had come home from school one day, and Peter’s head had been reeling over what he heard some older girls saying on the bus. He’d decided to ask Tony about it. His big brother knew everything. ...Mom & Dad caught them kissing in their bedroom. That was the end of bathing together, and Tony got his own room, too. Peter never forgot about the way his big brother’s lips felt against his own.) 

A bead of precum oozes out of his tip and Peter rubs his thumb over it, smearing the liquid over his cockhead. Robert Plant’s voice moans over the speaker and Peter echoes the sound as he slowly strokes himself with a loose grip, his hole tightening around nothing. Biting his lip, he hesitates before slipping his left pointer finger into his mouth, rolling his tongue around it sloppily. Once it’s wet, he reaches down and gently presses the pad of his finger against the tightly furled muscle between his cheeks. His breath hitches as the sensation; he’s only touched himself down here a couple of times before. 

The tip of his finger begins to breach his opening and a whine leaves Peter’s mouth. It stings a bit so he tries to relax, muscles fluttering, making a mental note to grab some lube next time he goes to the drugstore. He wants to be able to stretch himself out more, to imagine Tony’s fingers, Tony’s cock, splitting him open and stuffing him full. Fuck-

Tightening his grip on the base of his cock, Peter grits his teeth and grunts softly as he pulls his finger from his ass. He can’t cum yet- he’s not done. He reaches under his pillow, pulling out the balled-up t-shirt that’s taken up residence there. The black fabric has faded in some spots, and the Black Sabbath logo is cracked and worn; it’s one of Tony’s favorite shirts. Peter brings the soft cloth up to his nose, fumbling with it to find the area with the strongest smell. There are hints of Tony’s Old Spice deodorant mixed with a scent that’s distinctly Tony, a warm, masculine musk that has saliva pooling in Peter’s mouth. Delirious, fucking his hand to the beat, he wishes he had dug a little further in the hamper, pulled out a pair of Tony’s briefs. 

That’s the thought that does him in. Peter cums into his fist, gasping his brother’s name, the sound getting muddled in the maelstrom of guitar and drums. Thick ropes of jizz splatter on his stomach and chest, entire abdomen heaving with his breaths. 

He wipes the mess up with Tony’s t-shirt before tucking the fabric back under his pillow for safe keeping.

to be continued???

[waywardimpalawriter]

Could you do a Bucky/Reader fic for 16 on the smut prompts?

The intimacy of shaving

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader, Sam Wilson x Reader

Bucky Bingo Square: New haircut square

Characters: Bucky Barnes, Sam Wilson, Sarah Wilson

Setting: three months after the end of Falcon and the Winter Soldier

Rating: M (Mature), E (explicit), NSFW, +18 only please

Warnings: fluff, angst, bickering, smut, oral female receiving, yearning, pining, unrequited love, smutty dreams, broken bones, mention of torture, Bucky’s old memories,

Word count: 10,800

Summary: Frustrated with being left behind, worry taking hold after finding out just a fraction of how bad your boys are. Making you start to search your feeling's for both men. Especially with the intimacy of giving Bucky a hair cut and shave. Unexpected emotions surface on all parts.

Notes: Sequel too “My own worse enemy," filling in a bingo square for #buckybingo and also an Anon request asking for smut prompt #16 “I’m going to die if you don’t let me cum.” Hope you don't mind me adding Sam into the mix sweetie. Also for my head cannon Sam uses Delacroix LA for his base of operation. Wanting to help take care of his family while taking on the mantle of Captain America. Hope you enjoyed doll.

Tag list’s: Are open

@buckybingo

Forever’s: @jedi-mando @chickensarentcheap

Bucky Barnes list: @learisa @eclipses-and-moondust

Story list: @sammyissassy @feelmyroarrrr

Wearing a path from the kitchen to living room ignoring Sarah’s stare, thumb nail damn near nibbled to the bed with how much your chewing the poor abused finger. Cell phone pressed to your ear, listening to Sams deep baritone, “What’d ya mean three places Samuel? How the f-ing hell did you both managed to get so banged up?”

“Explanations will roll out once we touch down Y/N for now know at least he didn’t break his funny bone that’s still none existence,” glancing towards Bucky stretched out over the metal helo bench. Right arm in a sling snug to his body, thick plaster cast covering from mid bicep to mid palm, fingers still visible.

“I heard that and I do to have a sense of humor just not your brand of stupid jokes bird brain,” deep voice unmistakably Bucky’s catching a wobble in the cadence not there when last they spoke.

Swiping a hand over your face wanting to kill them both for leaving you behind. Plans to do just that forming in your mind while snarking, “Remind me again why exactly you chose to leave me behind?”

Staying home you could’ve possibly worked with, the unknown danced on your nerves more than you’d give credit to. Having grown even closer to both men over the last six months, always brushing those pesky feelings and thoughts away that surface during weak moments of worry or sleep.

“To dangerous and I’m not arguing with you on those semantics it’s bad enough cyborg got the shit beaten out of him,” quickly pulling the phone from his ear at the high pitched sound from down the line. Forgetting a moment your attachment to both men, “You finished?”

Low growl in answer, biting off the curses you wish to fling at both Captain America and the Winter Soldier. “Don’t worry you’re in for it once you get home. ETA?” Checking the watch strapped to your left wrist, “I’ll come pick y’all up, gotta stop in town for supplies anyway.”

“No worries my trucks at base I’ll get Buck and myself home.” Glancing at his watch, “Landing in about two hours, think you can grab a couple of Miss Bridgette’s pecan pies?”

Too many years working with that man not to know what he likes, “For the shit you and Barnes pulled get your own pie man.” Soft chuckles lets you know Sarah heard you. Eyes locking with her’s for a moment seeing the worry in those warm browns matching as you knew in your own. “Just bring you asses home so Sarah and I can roast them.”

Almost feeling the deep groan from over the phone line, “What did you tell her?”

“Nothing since that’s what I got,” shaking head tips to the side picking up on Sam’s easy breathing and the helo’s engines in the back ground. “Just get home dumbass,” affection in your tone. Ending the call, slipping the cell into your front pocket to flop down into the worn out but still comfortable couch.

“They get hurt?” Anxiety tainting her voice from across the room.

Peeking through your fingers at her, dropping them to your thighs to run the length of denim covered skin, “Don’t know really, Sam sounds fine but a concussion or another type of head injury wouldn’t show it’s self right away. From what I did gather they finished up the mission a little over four hours ago, in flight for the last two.”

“What about Bucky?” Meeting your eyes having confided in her years ago about the crush harbored for a certain metal armed ex-assassin turned Cap’s left hand man. Always leaving out the other part of your secret crush. “Speaking of which you ever gonna tell them how you feel?”

“Busting chops about that again Sarah?” Exasperated sigh marches passed barely parted lips, “Something’s broke in three places that’s all Sam ‘Stubborn ass’ Wilson would say. Just not which one of them or what body part exactly.” Firmly ignoring her last question and not picking up on the fact she said them instead of him. To stand hands to hips, leaning back to stretch and possibly pop your spine. “I’m going to town you wanna come or need anything.”

“And you call Sam stubborn,” head shaking with a fond smile tipping her lips upward. Picking up the subtle shift in your demeanor as relief floods your system with knowing they're coming home at least safe. Having guessed your feelings for her older brother not long ago however, keeping that little tidbit to herself. “I’ll come with, give you company and grief along the way. The boy’s won’t come home till later anyway.”

Eyes roll you reach for the car keys on the coffee table, patting your back pocket to check for wallet and the front for cell phone. “Ready to roll?”

Hour and a half later arms loaded with grocery bags, making sure to hide Miss Bridgette’s pie’s from Sam, you and Sarah set to work putting everything away. Setting to work fixing dinner efficiently dancing around each other like a well oiled machine working together in tandem getting each task done. Back door quietly trying to open, Sam poking his head around the well loved oak wood door. Showing a face littered with cuts, a busted bottom lip and dark shadow of a black eye around his left. But his smile still widens flashing pearly whites at seeing the two of you. Entering, Sam places a large locking suit case and round leather carry case not far from the door.

Soft gasp leave’s Sarah’s lips, quickly moving towards her brother to look him over, “You were ugly before now it’s just worse bro.”

Snort existed through his nose, stepping fully into the house with a limp on his right side, accepting the hug she gives him carefully. “You should see the other guy.”

“I’m the other guy,” voice slightly strained but still light almost playful unlike the Bucky of months ago. Though seeing him coming around Sam, arm cradled close in a black cloth sling. Peeks of plaster noticeable making you groan, head shaking at the very sight of him. Assortment of bruises littered his face, his own busted lip, and a three inch cut circling just above his collarbone. Seeing the storm brewing in your eyes, “No we didn’t fight and Sam didn’t cause these wonderful souvenirs.”

“Stupid ass got captured, wouldn’t listen to my plan…”

“You didn’t have a plan Sam not a logistical one…”

“Oh, so you bulldozing in like a raging bull in a China shop worked so well. Who got capture?” Pressing a finger behind his ear to lift the shell listening for Bucky’s answer. “I’m sorry I can’t hear you. You’re gonna say you right Robo soldier cause that’s the correct answer.”

Exasperated with them both, “Shut it and sit down dinner’s ready. I swear the two of you fight worse than Cass and AJ.” Authority ringing through Sarah’s tone cutting eyes at both men.

“Oh sweetheart Cass and AJ have nothing on these two bone heads, more maturity in their little bodies than both of them put together.” Rubbing your temples trying to fend off the building migraine behind your eyes. “Listening to constant bickering I wanna put them in a ‘Get along shirt.'”

Scowl in place while giving them a full once over. Cataloguing the damage you could see and wondering about that which you couldn’t. Noticing the length of Bucky’s hair almost a shaggy just falling a little over his ears and brushing the collar of the black t-shirt he’s wearing. Full beard dusting his cheeks and chin reminding you of those days long gone back in Wakanda. In contrast to Sam’s neatly kept mustache and goatee, close cropped haircut smartly framing his handsome face. Looking much like the day he and Bucky left three months ago on their reconnaissance mission. Knowing better as looks deceive and clothes cover up places eyes can’t see without stripping them naked. The very thought peeking interest but pushing those thoughts back with a frown. Of course it doesn’t stop you from wanting to hug them both mindful of injures unseen that brings a scowl to your features.

“You wouldn’t?” Traces of fear slicing through those deep russet browns. “I thought you loved me Y/N?”

Speaking over Sam, “What’s a ‘Get along’ shirt?”

Caught between wanting to roll her eyes and chuckle, “It’s a big shirt we’d put the two of you in till ya stop bickering like children and actually get along.” Dishing up dinner, Sarah looks towards both men. Trying hard not to burst out laughing at the sour look on Sam’s face nor the still slightly confused one on Bucky’s.

“I see smoke coming from his ears,” snarky quip receiving a back handing smack to his arm.

Bowel’s placed at the table, “Aim for the head next time Sar.” Taking the seat on Sam’s right offering him a cheekily smile, “Might actually knock the few brain cells he has left around and jump start the hamster running the wheel.”

“You both wound me,” clutching his chest dramatically. “With friends and family like this who can you trust.”

“Dramatic’s must come with handling the shield,” cerulean eyes rolling edged with teasing tone. Glancing towards Sam first then you beside him, going to explain for Sarah’s benefit. “Steve could put on some high melodrama back in the day. Much like Samuel here.” Scratching at his chin with vibranium fingers, a low hiss only you catch sounds when the plates catch the little hairs.

Scoffing, “Only Sarah calls me that first off, second look who’s talking Mr. Bionic Staring machine scaring off everyone who comes within two feet. Dramatics run through your veins just as well. ”

“Children,” both women exclaim hands coming down to slam the table at the same. Before time digging into dinner as the back door opens with Cass and AJ storming inside with excited chatter upon seeing both Sam and Bucky.

Each asking about what happened, how’d the mission go and why exactly Bucky’s sporting a sling and cast. All questions peeking the interested of both women with brows raised and narrowed eyes.

“Settle in first and eat dinner,” Sam intones wanting to keep most of what happened from his family. “For the most part the mission went successful.”

Very unladylike snort leaves your nose hidden behind a glass of sweet tea you sip from, “At least you came back in one piece or three in someone’s case.” Eyes narrow even farther on Bucky who has the good graces to look sheepish and divert his eyes.

“But the super serum why didn’t it help like that,” AJ snapped his little fingers for emphasis on the quickness the serum should work or so he thinks.

“Doesn’t quiet work that way AJ,” Bucky starts running a hand through his longer than usual hair. Giving a short frustrated tug before returning to the topic at hand. “Yeah the serum helps speed up the healing process it’s not instantaneous and,” pausing to side eye you not wanting to admit there’s more injures than just his arm.

Scowl returning having a feeling you know why he’s paused in explaining, “Takes longer to heal when multiple injures are involved.”

Dinner finishes with other questions, skirting the full truth about the mission, discussing the coming week with work and school. Sam’s boyish smile appears when Sarah brings out the pie, cutting out slices to pass around with Reddi-whip, coffee for the adults, milk for the kids. Silence settles for a moment the enjoyment of pie more important to savor and only once done do you raise to start cleaning up.

“I’ll,” shooting Sarah a look with a shake of your head.

“You got paperwork to catch up on babe I’ve got this, besides Sam volunteered to help. Didn’t you Sam?” Shooting a look his way, clearly speaking volumes if the answer comes back no.

Brow arched in question but thought better then to ask, though he flips the script on you, “Of course, Bucky volunteer’s.” Quickly moving away from the hand threatening to land a hard punch to his right thigh. Almost toppling to the floor in his hast to move Sam tweaked his hip a twinge of pain slicing through his features.

“Serves you right Wilson,” thought a slice of regret skates across your thoughts. Head shaking you stand gathering plates as the boys excuse themselves to play video games.

“Homework first or I’m taking those games away,” Sarah yells after them looking in your direction for a second. “You got these two?” Pointing at each of them in turn with her own frown dropping her lips downward.

“Sadly yes,” exasperation clearly written in the rigidness of you stance and narrowing to slits of your eyes. “Blissfully unaware or want to know everything?”

“Unaware I’m just happy their back whole,” nodding Sarah takes her leave, heading for the home office.

Times flown, six months in fact since Karli’s death and Sam taking over the mantle of Captain America. Going above and beyond to change how the worlds become and see’s the shield. Using Delacroix as home base to keep himself grounded and around for his family. Surprisingly enough including you and Bucky the house feels a touch over crowded but wouldn’t want things any different.

“Care to explain what that means?” Limping with hands full towards the sink, Sam places his arm load down watching you move around the kitchen. Putting leftovers up, setting to work on the dishes, the familiarity you exude warms a place in Sam’s heart. Always pushing those thoughts from his mind, your his best friend and wouldn’t see him in any other way. Especially with your heart firmly filled with Bucky.

Giving your back to both men and only acknowledging their presence when Bucky comes over with a bowel. “Thanks,” leaves your lips with a nod.

“We’re sorry for leaving you behind Y/N, but Sam and I agreed things were to dangerous neither of us wanted you to get hurt,” trying to reason Bucky leans his back against the counter beside you. Tugging once again at his too long hair that gets slightly tangled in the plates of his fingers.

“You actually agreed on something?” Catching his actions, your head shakes grabbing for the towel to dry soapy hands and help with his dilemma. “Instead you both come back looking like train wreck’s all beaten, broken and bruised. With a busted arm,” finished with untangling his fingers to point at his arm. Whirling around to assess Sam who’s trying not to put weight on his right leg, “Banged up hip and God know what else internally. Neither one of you are spring chickens for heaven’s sake.”

“Don’t know what your talking about Y/N? I’m not a day over twenty-five,” taking an aim to make you smile and ease the tension in your shoulders. Frown appearing when your countenance doesn’t change but deepens, “Talk to the resident Centurion who got his ass captured and tortured for over a week.”

Low growl leaves your lips pursed together in a grim line, “Do either of you think about the consequences of your actions? Of what’ll happen without either of you in this God forsaking world?” Tossing your hands up and turning back to dish washing, something to keep from chocking the life outta the two of them, or spilling your inner most thoughts. Afraid to loose either man the very thought making your heart clinch painfully in your chest, breathing picking up as tears gloss over your eyes. Plates clang loudly, forcefully slamming them into the drying rack making both men wince at your actions.

“Y/N,” coming up behind you large warm hands carefully rest on tense shoulders. Aware of your feelings for a certain cyborg the thought a little bitter to take but Sam resigns himself to the role of best friend. “We’re sorry really,” taking a breath and clearing his throat wanting to make amends and explain. “We thought, planned, things just…”

“Went to shit around us, it’s not like Sam or I wanted to get the crap beating out of us doll it just,” shrugging vibranium hand coming to rest on your shoulder beside Sam’s. “Got complicated.”

Taking a deep breath drawing in the scents of Sam’s citrus and cider wood cologne you couldn’t put your finger on naming, mixing with Bucky’s old world sandalwood base cologne of 4711. Eyes close for a moment blinking back the tears, and to gather thoughts, righting them in an order that makes sense. Trying to keep out the feelings currently jumbling up your brain. “I know,” body sags back against Sam’s strong chest while unconsciously leaning towards Bucky’s hand. “Neither of you will do that shit again. Do I make myself clear?”

“Not if things go dark side like this time, we’re not putting you in harms way,” feeling you stiffen Sam steps back, Bucky’s hand drops back to his side when you whirl on the man behind you. Stance ridge and firm, Sam crosses his arms adding his own glare and not backing down. “My decision is final on the matter and no amount of arguing will change that.”

Understanding Sam’s position, however the thought of staying behind, waiting to find out if… no you push those thoughts aside. “Mine, that’s who makes the choice not either of you,” heat of annoyance flaring to life as you look between the two men. “Knowing what I signed up for, choose to stick around and help put this broken blue marble we call home back together. I won’t sit out the next mission we clear on that?”

Rubbing the back of his neck, barely audible hiss leaves Bucky’s lips at having hair yanked out by the roots. Though his voice is steady when asking, “Why did you stick around? Thought once Walker handed over the shield, the Flag smashers agenda crashed and burned you’d skip out on the next train back to normal.” Not that he minded of course, in fact Bucky rather enjoyed your company, reminded him of those first months out of cryo getting to know each other. Plus his questions distracted you from getting an answer that won’t satisfy.

“I have my reasons,” giving a half hearted shrug you turn back to finishing up the dishes not really wanting to explain. Not fully sure yourself why you’ve stuck around though deep down you know it has to do with both men. “Reasons neither of you need to know.”

Sharing a look with Bucky, “Don’t pull that shit with us sweetheart you demand answers now we ask the same in return.”

Sure they still argued like an old married couple but a begrudging understanding has built between the pair, coming to an almost friendship neither would fully admit to. Both wanting to protect the small family friend’s circle patched together like grandma’s old quilt. Tattered, frayed and a few wholes but well loved and always cared for. Eyes landing back on you to watch the forward slump of your shoulders rounded inward along with your chin dropped to your chest.

“I have the two of you house broken,” idea forming to steer the conversation away. “Don’t need that headache on repeat and I wouldn’t leave the two of you bone heads alone to kill each other or drive poor Sarah crazy,” quicker than either can react you’ve scooped up hand fulls of soap bubbles to smash into both their faces. Deflecting the conversation away from having to answer and lightening the mood. Or so you hoped with the playfully murderous looks both men shoot you. Skirting Sam’s grabby hands heading to put the kitchen table between yourself, Captain America and the Winter Soldier. “Now boys that’s just all in good fun and your both hurt so I suggest you think about your actions before retaliating.”

Wiping the remains of soapy bubbles from his face, thick fingers making wet tracks over denim to dry hands. Sam edges a little closer intent on trying to snag your arm. That ghosts through his fingers, “For now but remember paybacks a bitch sweetheart.” Bright smile tugs his full lips, head shaking though he knows there’s so much more your hiding from both he and Bucky. One day he’ll crack that secret you hold so dear, for now Sam lets you cling tightly.

Watching him go you turn towards Bucky who’s smirk sets you back a moment. “I don’t think I like that look Barnes,” arms crossed mustering a half glare. “Sam’s right you really can see the smoke rising from your head.”

“Hahaha that jokes getting old,” light hearted quip falling from his lips, eyes raking your form as you near the sink. Catching you looking between finishing the dishes and making sure Bucky’s not going to retaliate. “I come in peace promise besides I’m too old for revenge I’ll leave it to you young whipper snappers,” throwing his voice to sound like an old man.

Laughter rings full and deep from your parted lips, soapy hands gripping the sink to keep from toppling over in mirth. His own chuckle exists on a grin, cerulean eyes taking in how carefree you look. Tension and worry melted away with his well played grandpa joke. Making Bucky wish he got to see you like this more often but then he remembered why he never searched. Why he left you alone and only within the last ten or so months managed to reconnect the missing dots in his life. Sure there’s still blood on his hands he tries to scrub clean with each mission, to make those amends and not just avenge. But truly help people in ways that didn’t require lead or blood.

Still wondering, so he gives voice to those thoughts, “Why didn’t you go back to your life doll?” Feeling he’s perpetuated a grave error in asking the question but a part of him wants. No needed the answer to know why you’d give up a happy life for one of danger and uncertainty with him and Sam.

Sobering, his question hitting you like a ton of cement bricks keeping you from turning to face him. Wincing when another hiss echos around inside your head from your right side. “Tell you what Buck you let me cut that hair and beard of yours I’ll answer your questions.”

“I get you don’t… wait… what?” Not sure he’d heard you right. Pain making a return to fog his brain for the moment as throbbing radiates across his broken clavicle to the dislocated shoulder, dancing along the fractured radius and painfully tingling his fingers. Soft curse exists his lips reminding himself to take Sam’s suggestions next time though he wouldn’t let the other man know. “Don’t happen to have any pain meds do ya doll?”

Eyes narrow, “Which parts did they break?” Holding up a hand to stop him from answering while you head towards your room. Grabbing up the small med kit Sharon gave you months back for times like these. Pausing to scoop up the hair scissors and trimer, along with a shaver and cream, both of which belonging to Sam. “Now you were saying?”

Placing everything on the table, unzipping the medium size unassuming black bag pulling out a small bottle to pop the top and wiggle out two pills. Handing those over to Bucky who just stares at them resting in his metal palm.

“Trying to kill me doll?” Teasing tone to the cadence of his words while popping them into his mouth and excepting the glass of water. Downing in one go and handing it back, “Never did like pills reminds me of Steve.”

Resting a gentle hand on his bad shoulder, “If I tried to kill ya Buck you’d see it coming,” snickering at the wide eyed look he gives you. Sobering with understanding filled eyes that stay locked with his, “I’m sorry it”s not my intentions to bring up the past.” Moving to put the glass down, you stay at the sink looking out over the backyard, orange and reds dancing over the rippling surface of the bayou. Sinking sun creating a cornucopia of color heralding the on coming twilight and the end of another day.

“You didn’t Y/N,” coming to stand next to you watching the golden ball of life giving light slowly sink into the horizon. On the tip of his tongue to speak about Steve, the abandonment he felt acutely with the absence of his best friend. Slowly filled by your present, that of Sam’s and his family. “I guess ‘Till the end of the line’ meant just till he could get back to who he really missed.” Anguish heard loudly through soft spoken words not meant for your ears but once uttered there’s no going back.

Out of your peripheral vision you study Bucky for a moment heart breaking for the man who’s lost so much to then fully face him. His own gaze staying straight ahead staring unseen out the window with tan lace curtains framing the coming twilight. Over head light casting shadows in the hallows and angles of his features, bringing out the bruises highlighting the cuts, making your heart ache for this man in ways you’ve tried to push aside. Ways you didn’t want it to feel in case of rejection but couldn’t help the tightening in your chest nor the want to embrace and hold Bucky close.

“Come on,” without thinking your hand slips into his vibranium palm tugging till he follows and only dropping to scoop up trimmer, combs and scissors before heading out the back door.

For a moment Bucky stood there thankful to Shuri for the ability to feel warmth and the weight of your hand in his vibranium limb. The very thoughts your simple gesture conjures damns his heart making it beat triple time. When your head pops back around the door sweet smile crossing those kissable lips. Bucky has to remind himself you’re off limits friends nothing more and to breath. Your beauty stealing the air from his lungs, making it hard to focus on anything except your present.

Catching the out of focus look in his cerulean eyes mind swirling with questions as to what he’s thinking about. “You gonna stand there taking root or get your silly ass out here,” motioning with a jerk of your head over your shoulder smile still firmly in place. Making sure he’s actually moving before existing to place a stool about middle of the back porch. Patting the hardwood barstool then reaching up to tug on the pull string as light floods the area casting a bright glow.

Transfixed for a moment in the doorway with the peek of skin allowed to his eyes. Your heather grey band shirt riding up teasingly tormenting him. Cursing internally, tongue trapped between indenting teeth to keep the sounds at bay. Till the hard slap of your palm against wooden seat draws his attentions and he robotically takes the seat. Stiffening with the fluttering of a barber’s cape hating to have things around his neck. Only to settle once you have it in place and buttoned reminding him your not there to hurt or torture him. Fingers brushing lightly over the exposed skin of his neck, creating goosebumps to dance across his flesh.

“Not too tight?” Gently running nimble fingers through his hair, blunt nails scratching the scalp. Finding it hard to keep from rubbing into your hands and fighting the urge to purr with each pass. You work the larger knots out carefully, pulling a comb from the back pocket of your jeans to run through his hair. “You with me Buck?”

“Hmm?” Simple noise issues from the back of his throat lost in the tingling sensations your fingers bloom across his body. Wanting to chase the feeling bringing peace to his mind much like the soft cadence your voice takes on with the intimacy surrounding the two of you. Sweet chuckle music to his ears and snaps him back to now, noticing you’ve paused your hands waiting for a response, “Sorry no I’m good.”

“Enjoying yourself Barnes?” Teasingly quipped while adjusting the cape to cover his back. Making sure all his hair lays over the edges and carefully combing out the smaller knots your fingers missed. Secretly enjoying the soft chestnut strands as they curl around your fingers. Massaging his scalp hoping to relax his tense posture when a particularly stubborn knot has you accidentally giving a not so gentle tug. Garnering a low moan from the man in front of you. “Sorry Buck,” working the knot out with a little more care taking the sound as one of pain.

Throat clearing, thankful his crotch is currently covered to not give away the secret he’s concealing. Praying to all the heavens you’ve taken the moan as one of pain instead of pleasure that’s surfing through his veins with a simple hair pull. “Yes, and it’s fine,” words pushed passed lips held taunt to keep from letting any sound out. Searching his mind for a topic to settle on, willing his body to stop reacting to the warmth of yours.

Each brush of fingers sends heat flaring to life along his nerves. Knowing the pain killers don’t worked through his system that quickly. Yet, the throbbing ache once present has diluted to a low annoying thump with the heat of your hands on his cotton covered shoulder. Wanting to lean back into your body but holds himself ridge from doing something stupid like enjoying the moment. Therefore clears his throat, “You’ve got me at your mercy doll ready to answer my questions?”

“Should I worry what you’ll ask?” Moving from behind him to head back into the kitchen. Grabbing the empty spray bottle to fill with warm water and head back out.

Eyes close with the first spritz of water, chin dropping to chest as you work to wet his hair. “Why?”

“Why what?” Knowing what he’s asking, your distracted for a moment putting the spray bottle’s trigger through a belt loop incase its needed once your satisfied with the wetness of his hair. “I’ll need more specifics than just why. Why’s the sky blue? Why’s it so damn hot? So many why questions you gotta stop wasting your breath Buck.”

“Cheeky doll very cheeky you know damn well what I mean,” keeping his head still to prevent you from severing an ear.

Smirking, setting to work on trimming up the top back portion of his head, trying to keep from childishly making faces. “Sure don’t Sarge.”

Groan slipping passed before he’s able to trap and swallow the sound at the off handed use of his military rank. Wondering which deity had it out for his ass today. Cursing the fact he’s let you so close to breath in the flowery scent of your body. Gentle use of those skilled fingers through his hair not making things any better for the growing problem tenting his jeans. Returning to himself when you move to his left shortening the hair over his ear. “Why’d you stay with us? I thought,” remembering those painful words back in Madripoor. “I thought you had a happy life to go back to.”

“Ear hustling Barnes?” Switching sides and glancing down with a raised brow you know he doesn’t see.

Looking up to try and catch your eye your focus on cutting his hair makes the attempt impossible. So he settles on, “Don’t know what you mean doll. Just asking a question,” trying to hold the shiver at bay when your fingers brush over the shell of his ear.

“Since your asking it means you didn’t hear everything Sam and I talked about,” thankful that’s the case or things would get a whole lot complicated. “I lied.”

Head whipping to the side so quickly you fear he’s damaged his neck with the wince taking over his handsome features. “Lied why?”

“Reasons,” ‘Ones I won’t tell you James,’ speaking the last words in your mind, careful probing fingers check for anything popped out. Garnering a hiss of pain when you’ve found the break in his clavicle. “What did you break besides the hamster running your wheel brain?”

Bitting off the curse as pain flared over his right side. Gritting out, “Clavicle, dislocated shoulder, fractured radius, you can see the cuts and bruises so take it a little easy on this old man.”

“How… Why did you get captured?” Worry fights fear both dance with anger marching through your veins as a Thanksgiving Day parade band would down the streets of New York City. The very thought of both your men hurt and so far away from home torn a hole in your heart. Thoughts you try to push away and focus on the job of cutting Bucky’s hair.

Finishing up what you could on the back of his head, Bucky feels you come around to the front. Knees spread to accommodate your body, closing his eyes to keep from staring at your breasts. Licking suddenly dry lips with having you extra close, he tries to gather an answer to your question. “We needed an in so I made a decision.”

“One I’m sure Sam disagreed on,” carding your fingers through the top, snipping pieces checking length. Jealous over how soft his hair feels between your digits. Woodsy pine scent reaching your nose that twitches in pleasure at the fragrance matching what you always thought he’d smell like.

“Yeah well we ran out of time doll. Couldn’t let what remains of LAF get away,” eyes quickly open only to slam shut again with having you still too near for his own good.

Every brush of your fingers, thighs brushing against his with every move, your flowery scent wrapping around his heart to squeeze tight. Breath punched from his lungs when your knee makes slight contact with his erection. Shooting pleasurable fireworks off behind his closed lids. Wishing for your hands on his body, wondering what they’d feel like over bare skin. If you’d shy away from the scars littering his flesh or… he wouldn’t, didn’t need to think about the alternative.

Unsure why he gasped you move from between his legs and look upon his face confused as to his ridge posture eyes held tightly closed. Insecurities rushing through your mind, setting up shop to remind you no man let alone someone as handsome as Bucky would ever want to look at you. Shoving back those thoughts to ask, “You okay Bucky?”

“Fucking fabulous doll,” bitting out the words while trying to reign in the need to grab hold of your hips, bringing you back against him. Wanting to find out if you’d fit as good or better than what he’s imagined during those dream filled nights he doesn’t talk about with anyone. “Finished?” Praying you’ll say yes, the temptation becoming almost unbearable.

Unconvinced by his words but pushes that aside and stepping farther back to round him, grabbing up the trimmer on the way with a numbered comb. “Almost but then I still have your beard to do.”

“Fuck,” low gravely voice intones the single word hoping you’ve not heard and cursing the heaven for this test of his will and desires. In another life Bucky wouldn’t have hesitated to ask you out, wine and dine with dancing till midnight. Taking you home with a simple kiss of promise with more to come. But he’s different now and you don’t deserve to have a broken man on your hands.

Swallowing harshly to cover your growing need to escape and bury yourself in another program or book to distract from those awful thoughts running around in your mind. Replaying all the brush offs and look aways as rejection shattering your heart. Pushing you to finish his new hair cut that much quicker. “Done, now how short you want your beard?”

“Gone,” knowing exactly what he’s saying and damning himself to the torture of a different kind.

Coming back in front of him, you slip between his parted knees so easily a thought you try to push away while switching the trimmer combs and flicking the on button. Carefully cupping his left cheek while shortening the right for a closer shave once your done. “Surely you didn’t just let them capture you.” Returning to a safer subject other than how good his bearded jaw felt in your warm palm. Wondering how it’d feel in other places.

“Offered myself up for a little bloody torture and a few broken bones. I’m here to tell the tale instead of those guys Y/N. They're off the streets and we have the information needed to finish taking down LAF.” Teeth gritting to keep from rubbing his jaw into your palm, from turning to kiss the center and devour you with his mouth.

Pausing a moment, “But you could’ve gotten killed James.” Sorrow coloring the cadence of your tone, eyes filled with fear at what could’ve happened. “You should’ve called me, I could’ve helped.”

Heart stopping, never had you spoken his first name, always Bucky or Buck, Barnes when your angry but never James. Opening his darken cerulean orbs breath trapped somewhere between lungs and mouth at the sorrow written deep in those eyes he never could not stare into. Heart hammering back to life with the subtle brushing of your fingers over his cheek, “Would it have matter?”

Confusion tips your head to the side, “What you dying or me helping?”

“Dying,” single word dropped like a bomb destroying everything in the path.

“James,” softly spoken with so much emotion held within the countenance of your features. Watching the ghosts float through those beautiful cerulean eyes, memories of a time he couldn’t control, of deeds done to people who didn’t deserve the pain and death he dealt out as the Fist of Hydra. Tears gloss over your eyes once again trying to blink them away to keep them from clogging your emotions filled throat. “It matter’s Barnes, matters to a lot of people you’re just too stubborn to realize that.” Shaking your head to clear the fog and get back to work.

Speechless Bucky just sits there letting you finish up trimmer the hair away as if trying to erase the past months, the torture he let happen with no regard to his personal well being. During this time your words chase around his mind, combined with Sam’s out right demand of him to never put himself in harms way like that again. Adding more questions added than any true answers. Delicate fingers brush over trimmed facial hair bringing him back to the present right as you move to take the barber’s cape from around his neck. Missing the warmth of your touch, heat radiating from your body, your scent filling his nose and making him drunk on you.

Folding the cape to drape over your arm, “I’ll shave you as well come back inside.” Voice slightly rough with unshed tears avoiding looking directly at Bucky and missing the longing written in the ocean pools. Mistaking his lack of response for rejection of your words and feelings. You enter the house placing the small hand load down and moving a chair over towards the sink. Returning to grab up the shaving cream and razor, pulling a fresh wash cloth from the draw by the sink too wet it hot.

“You don’t have to,” entering and closing the back door with the heel of his boot. Bucky leans against the counter watching you with a closed expression. Pain dull but still worming its way through his veins along with so many thoughts.

Glancing his way, “I know,” motioning with a wave of your hand, “but if I don’t that beard’ll come back in short order and we’ll have to do this all over again.” Going for playful to ease the tension built from the lingering words of out on the porch, “Bring your ass over here Buck.”

Your change in mood has a confused frown pulling his mouth down but complies with the order. Taking up the seat with spread legs and turned up face watching you wring out the wash cloth. Using your elbow and tipping his head back to gently place the hot cloth around what’s left of his beard to soften the hair and wake up the pores. Catching the small muffled groan, “To hot?”

“No, perfect,” faintly hearing the two simple words you grab up the shaving cream to put a generous amount in your palm before pulling the quickly cooling cloth from his face. Tossing it towards the sink and applying a layer of cream to his skin. Left overs rinsed from your hands quickly before drying and grasping the razor with steady hands. “Just a little off the top if you please,” boyish smirk slips over his lips tipping cream covered cheeks up while trying to be funny.

Eyes rolling, “To late for that one top’s already taken care of.” Using the pad of your thumb to push the skin of his cheek taunt. Carefully dragging the razor over his flesh intending to keep your gaze directed towards working the blade over his check. However, you’re unable to do so while cleaning the razor as your eyes dart up catching the fact Bucky’s gaze firmly rests on your face. Heat blooming across your body, eyes drop back to his cheek intent on getting finished quickly to avoid any farther embarrassment.

Meanwhile Bucky maps every feature of your face, the slant of your nose, set of your eyes, cupids bow of your top lip. Visions of drawing the plump flesh in for a bite and pull before letting go with a wet pop, filter through his mind. Finding himself in a rather precarious predicament, thighs spread to accommodate your body, his palms itch to grasp and tug you into his lap. Bitting back a moan each touch brings, the gentleness tearing a new hole in armored covered heart. Wanting to keep you out but finding it harder to do every time you show the kindness his life lacked for decades.

Minds eye drawing the curves of your cheeks, lips twitching to caress, fingers tapping trapped in plaster and cloth against his body. Wanting to brush his knuckles over your throat to gently grasp the back of your neck and bring your lips against his for a slow sweet drink of the tempting cavern of your warm mouth. Only snapping back to reality with the soft brush of your fingers along his jawline.

Searching for any hairs left behind, soothingly palming his cheeks with cool hands desperate to taste his skin. Drag your lips over the same spots the razor just graced. Teasing the tip of your tongue along the hard edge of his jaw to place a kiss just below his ear. Tempted to even suck a mark for everyone to see. You swallow harshly removing your hands from his cheeks to rinse and warm up the cloth to clean off any residual shaving cream from his face.

“Finished,” clearing your emotions clogged throat, stepping towards the sink, your profile the only side Bucky sees as you work to clean up the mess.

Feeling rather than hearing him stand heat radiating of his body just a few inches shy of brushing against yours. “Thank you doll,” impulsively leaning forward to brush his lips over your cheek. Lingering longer than he should but unable too stop himself from pressing soft slight chapped lips to the corner of your mouth. “Next time I need shavin’ I know who to come too,” breathing the words before pulling away, taking his leaving quickly to keep from doing something even stupider. Like wrap you up into his arms and actually kissing those pillow soft lips. Backdoor swinging closed a little harder than he meant in his bid to get away from your warmth and tempting body.

Frozen in place, skin tingling from just that slight press while your heart beats almost out of your chest. Pounding against your rib cage so hard fear it’ll crack a rib any second now. White knuckles grip the sinks edge, heat flaring across your body to pool low and throb through your lady parts. Thighs unconsciously rub together needing friction to alleviate the ache growing between your legs.

“Did you cut him or take a hunk of hair out and now he looks like Frankenstein monster?” Teasing tone to his quip, Sam enters the kitchen still staring at the back door. Having watched the exchange from the darkened hallway. Reverting his eyes to your back, taking in the ridge posture of your spine with a slight very subtle shake. “Y/N what’s wrong?” Swiftly coming up behind you, hands gripping your shoulders to turn you around. “Did Bucky say or do something wrong?” Worry creasing his brow the want to hold you close growing with each second your not in his arms.

Looking up into the kind russet eyes flashing with concern and worry, “No,” head shaking, “no he didn’t Sam just…” unable to stop yourself from burying your body against Sam’s firm chest. Trying to figure out how to explain what’s running around in your head. The indecision, thoughts you know shouldn’t roll through your mind doing just that as your arms wind around his trim waist.

“Just what sweetheart?” Wanting to help smooth things over between his two best friends even if it meant swallowing his own feelings.

Keeping your eyes closed, breathing in his cedar wood and citrus scent, burying your nose against his collarbone. Always able to calm the raging storm of emotions boiling through your veins. Confusion setting in with those same tingles you feel when Bucky touches you now dances across your body at the warmth of Sam’s arms cradling you close. Reminding you of earlier when his chest pressed to your back strong hands gently placed on your shoulders. The shiver you suppressed at the touch of both men. At the memory your eyes pop open and you quickly push away from Sam as if he’s burnt you. Needing to escape and figure out what’s going on.

“Nothing, it doesn’t matter, I’m sorry,” feet quickly taking you from the kitchen into the safe arms of your bedroom.

Missing the confused look marring Sam’s face that turns into hurt at the way you’ve shoved him aside. Body sagging against the counter, hand rubbing at the back of his neck searching for what’s changed in such a short period of time.

“Men, blind and just plain foolish,” landing a hard hit to his shoulder, which he rubs to alleviate the pain. Sarah comes up beside her older brother with a raised brow. “Still don’t get it? Searching for exactly why she reacted so strongly? Think Samuel use that big brain you have and actually put it to good use.”

Frown creasing between his eyes and drawing his lips down, “Left behind sucks Sarah that’s all it amounts to. But we… I couldn’t have her along, wouldn’t risk her life like that.”

“Has nothing to do with leaving her home Sam,” giving him a meaningful look that still bewilders him. “Why didn’t you want her along but you took Bucky with you?”

“He’s a super soldier Sar he can take the hits not that I want him hurt either. Shit when he let himself get captured,” moving towards the abandoned chair to plop down heavily. “He scared the living shit outta me, I thought…” hard to swallow the memories of watching those men pulling an unconscious Bucky into a van. Driving off before he could plant a tracker and barely able to get up with bruised ribs making breathing painful. Sam runs a hand over the short hair unsure when things got so complicated between the three of them.

Pulling up a chair in front of Sam, “You’d lost him?” Seeing the nod Sarah’s features softened knowing from the tell’s she picked up watching the three of them for so long. “You love them?”

“What?” Head whipping up so quickly making Sam wince. “Of course I do but not like that I mean their family, you know I’ll do anything to protect my family.”

Hand resting on his shoulder, “You keep telling yourself that big bro maybe one day you’ll actually believe it and able to push those feelings away good enough to keep them at arms length.” Looking up at her, “Just a word of advice,” seeing him nod, “don’t push those emotions away, you deserve that love they both would readily give you.”

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

Softly closing the door behind you heading towards the ensuite bathroom for a nice cold shower, preforming your nightly routine, and shutting off every light except the one beside your bed. Falling into the soft mattress with your current book keeping you company for the rest of the night. Eyes start to droop, words blur and you read the same sentence half a dozen times. Book falling against your chest as a yawn takes over your features.

Body stretching out against cool sheets jumping when a soft knock echos around your room, eyes darting towards the clock to see its just a little passed mid night. Slowly getting out of bed, pulling the extra long dark blue with little pink flowers dotting the sleep shirt down to cover your ass and thighs. Thinking its Sarah checking on you, eyes shocked wide with the small crack you open the door to spy Bucky standing there fidgeting.

“Everything all right Buck?” Opening the door wider to lean against the casing arms crossed just under your breasts.

Swallowing, glancing from your eyes to lips repeatedly. Trying to form the words he wants to speak when the decision makes itself clear and Bucky surges forward. Gently wrapping vibranium fingers around the back of your neck and bragging you against his strong chest. Slanting his lips against yours, nipping your bottom lip to make you gasp and slipping his eager tongue passed into the warm depths of your mouth. Leading the kiss and praying he’s not wrong.

Rewarded by your arms winding around his neck careful of his injures. Fingers tugging at the now shorten strands thanks to your expect hands. Garnering a low moan from the depths of his chest, one that rambles with a pleased hum as you return the kiss. Tangling your tongues together making nothing soft nor gentle about this melding of mouths. Only breaking apart for both of you to gasp for air.

“No, nothing’s all right doll. I can’t stop thinking about you,” resting your foreheads together sharing common air. Fingers at the base of your skull massaging the tension with surprisingly easy pressure. “I’d done fighting, done pushing you away, I need you Y/N.”

“James?” Lips tingling from a kiss you’ve only dreamt about as confusion marring your tone, eyes blinking a few times to make sure you’ve pushed the sleepy haze from your mind.

Soft groan issues at hearing you whisper just first name, hand slipping down to wrap around your waist and pull your taut to his body. “If…” trying to push the next words past his lips, “if you don’t want…”

“Us, we need to know now sweetheart. We won’t push you into anything you don’t want,” Sam’s voice full of desire and longing cuts across Bucky’s for a moment.

Making you look up from eyes locked with Bucky to stare at Sam trying to process his words, the look in those beautiful russet eyes you can’t pull yours away from. Till Bucky presses a kiss to just below your ear, “We know it’s a lot to take in doll and you can say no…”

“I,” gulping like a fish out of water, heat thumping through your veins at the unspoken promise both sets of eyes show. “I don’t know what to say.”

Stepping forward to push you back a step so Sam can fully enter your bedroom and close the door. He comes behind you sandwiching your body between two walls of muscle and masculine warmth. Pressing a kiss to the opposite cheek, lips brushing over the shell of your ear, “There’s no going back sweetheart you’re ours if you say yes. But if the answer is no I’m not going to lie things will change. Awkward as hell yes especially at first but I,” Bucky clears his throat to which Sam nods, “we would work through that with you. Loosing your friendship can’t happen no matter what.”

Removing yourself from between their warm bodies to collapse at the end of the bed, head in your hands. Mind so confused, a jumbled mix of desire and lust touched with a heavy dose of love that scares the living shit outta you. Feeling the bed dip on either side, removing your hands to glance at both men. Seeing the reassurance in those cerulean and russet orbs you swallow to wet your parched throat. Gaining strength to finally speak, “I don’t want to loose either of you,” looking between both men. Taking each hand within your own, “But this last mission taught me I don’t want to deny my feelings any longer.”

“What feelings doll?” Giving your hand an encouraging squeeze.

Looking into Bucky’s cerulean eyes, “I’m in love with both of you.” Switching to Sam’s russet orbs seeing the blatant want shining only boosts your confidence to lean over. Cupping his jaw and bringing your lips against his. Different from the kiss you shared with Bucky. Who’s bottom lip begs for a nibbling, Sam’s fuller lips press against your own in tender caresses.

Gentler too, a soft slant of his mouth against yours, pressing twice at different angles before tracing over your bottom lip. Gaining entrance on a sigh of need to check in with your tongue before tangling together. Heated palm cupping your cheek, thumb brushing over the apple twice while he artfully pillages your mouth. Drawing out a low moan squeak following when a set of lips slide over the side of your neck nibbling a short path to suck a mark behind your ear. Making you weak and boneless against Sam, who releases your cheek and hand to grip your hips, having you straddle his thighs.

Kiss breaking for air, “I’m to heavy Sam, your hip.”

“You’re prefect baby girl no arguing understand?” Cupping your ass in both hands to roll your hips against the hard bulge of his erection. Teeth gritting at how good you feel in his arms, the damp heat of your core only serving to make him grow harder with each brush against your cloth covered pussy. Sam reclaims your mouth, this kiss much different. Desperate and demanding taking no prisoners this time as he immediately slips his tongue back into your mouth. Pulling a groan from deep within your chest, arms going around his neck to help move your body against his. The delicious friction sending jolts of pleasure radiating out over your body, clit throbbing with a need you’ve never felt before.

Hissing at the cool sensations of Bucky’s vibranium fingers drawing circles across your back. Pushing your sleep shirt off your body arms raising, breaking the kiss to accomplish the task. Looking over your shoulder at the bare chested Barnes, mouth salivating at the sight eager to touch and kiss every inch. Brought back to Sam with the heat of his mouth connecting to your pulse, adding his own mark to your body while his callused fingers dances across your back.

Cursing his rotten luck for not having use of one hand, Bucky steps forward lowering to his knees carefully. Brushing his lips along your spine while cool alloyed fingers sweep around your body between you and Sam to trace a line between your breasts. Head dropping back to Bucky’s shoulder and baring your breasts to Sam’s hungry glaze and Bucky’s questing fingers.

“So beautiful,” words whispered reverently from Sam’s lips against the damp column of your throat. Mouth tasting each inch of your skin he can reach. Till moist heat circles your nipple, wet tip of his tongue coming out to flick the tightly budded peak before sucking harshly. In contrast to the cool patterns Bucky draws, taking the time to tug before pinching just hard enough that your back arches into Sam’s mouth.

Pushing into Bucky at your back a whimper parting your gasping lips. Needing more of both men surrounding you, slick coating your trembling thighs as you clinch around nothing. Dragging a whine of desperation from you soul,“Please,” single word escaping your mouth.

“What doll? What do you want?” Drawing his lips up to your ear, nipping the lobe bringing it between his teeth giving a sharp bite at the same time Sam flicks his tongue over your nipple.

Letting go with a wet pop, smiling at the whine exiting your heaving chest, “I think out girl needs more Buck. Any thoughts on how to please her?” Brow wiggling over your shoulder at Bucky who just smirks.

Fingers sliding down then under the band of your panties to find you soaked and pulsing. Cool metal meeting heated flesh makes you jolt in Sam’s arms. Grinding down into those wonderful fingers and against the thick ridge of Sam’s cock.

“Don’t stop please,” gasping head lolling back, your eyes close as sensations crash through your veins. Tight coil starting to form with just the brush of his fingers.

Maneuvering closer to slip two fingers into your clinching channel. Deep groan vibrating through his chest and into your back, “Fuck Sam she’s tight and so wet for us. I bet she tastes just as good as she feels.” Rocking your hips, fucking his fingers desperate for that high traveling up from the bottom of your spine. Tickling your tummy with jolts of pleasure only to have it diminish when Bucky pulls his fingers out.

Frustrated whine leaving your lips only to choke on air when Bucky offers one of the fingers perviously buried inside your cunt to Sam. Who doesn’t hesitate to wrap his lips around the single digit, groaning at the very taste of your essence. Circling the tip with his tongue, making sure to clear every drop off while keeping eye contact with Bucky. Mimicking with his mouth how he’d suck Bucky’s cock, garnering a growl from deep within his chest. Letting go with a smirk, “Even better Buck and I bet from the source it’s simply heaven.”

“Only way to find out,” answering grin firmly in place he raises from the floor. Helping you stand on shaky legs turning you to face him. Capturing your lips in an open mouth kiss, flicking his tongue against yours, teasing your bottom lip and drawing out another frustrated groan making him chuckle. “Don’t worry doll we promise you won’t go unsatisfied we’re going to take care of your every need.”

“Don’t tease her Buck it’s not fair,” glint of mischief sparking through those russet eyes that only Bucky catches since your still face him. Sam comes up behind to pressing his bare chest against your back, hands resting on your hips, tugging and letting the band of your panties snap back against your skin. “You can still say no.”

Wiggling back against Sam then pressing forward to feel the hard line of Bucky’s erection against your lower tummy. Knowing why he’s asking, seeing the same sentiment mirrored in Bucky’s eyes that warms your heart filling with love for both men. “Now who’s teasing Samuel,” reaching behind you to slide your palm over his ridged cock giving a squeeze at the same time you palm Bucky. “I’m sure my loves,” enjoying the answering growls from both men. Before another word leaves your lips Sam tugs down your panties letting them pool at your feet as Bucky moves you towards the bed.

Swiping the book from the mattress to lay on the nightstand, smile on his lips at finding the well loved copy of The Fellowship of the Ring. Bringing you to sit then lay back against the cool sheets, trailing his vibranium fingers from your cheek down between your breasts. Circling each nipple, giving the right a light pinch that has your back arching and a gasp existing your paired lips. Distracted till Sam gently grips your left ankle, spreading you open to slide between your legs. Pressing kisses alone the inside of your leg towards your thigh. Soft bread tickling your skin making giggles erupt from your mouth.

“I think she likes that Sam,” the comment spoken against your ear. Placing a kiss to your cheek, “Have to remember to let my own beard grow back out.”

Whimpering softly at the thought one hand fisting the sheets as Sam draws his tongue over the crease between thigh and groin. Purposefully avoiding the spot you want him most, “Payback is a bitch boys,” words growled out right as Bucky envelopes your left nipple into the heat of his mouth.

“Teasing half the fun sweetheart have patience,” looking up from between your legs. Stiffen tongue drawing up from your entrance to clit, circling the little throbbing nub and making your back arch, gasping for air.

“Fuck,” single word breathed from deep within your body. Sweat starting to bead across your forehead. Head tossed back into the pillow free hand carding through Bucky’s chestnut hair tugging the strands harshly till he lets your breast go with a wet pop. You guide his mouth up to yours, demandingly taking the kiss over, slipping your tongue into his mouth this time. Swallowing your moans of delight with each thrust of his tongue. Matching the pace Sam sets against your dripping cunt.

Rutting into the mattress to find the prefect friction hoping to ease for a moment the throbbing of his cock. “Stop stealing all those pretty noises Barnes I wanna hear our girl,” reaching up to smack the other mans thigh hard enough to break the two of you apart.

“Sorry not sorry,” giving him a smirk while licking his lips from the heated kiss.

Filing away the fact Bucky knows what means only to have any thought fly from your mind as two thick fingers enter your quivering channel. Slowly thrusting, his mouth suctioned onto your clit, drawing little short patterns making your thighs shake around his head. Slacking off to lazily place kisses over those thighs but still pumping his fingers, crooking them into a come hither motion to brush over that special spongy spot.

Blooming stars behind your tightly closed eyes, “Watch him doll, see how much you loves devouring that pretty cunt.” Voice rough with arousal against your ear, Bucky’s metal fingers dancing over your chest only adding to your heighten state of desire.

At his command you eyes open to lock with Sam’s passion blown blacken eyes. Moaning at the picture he presents you with, panting breath as you keep drawing closer to your orgasm. Only to have Sam back off creating frustrating tension in your body. Gritting out, “I’m going to die if you don’t let me cum.”

Smirk showing in those beloved eyes as he doubles down on your clit. Lips puffy but forming a perfect O too suction and flick his tongue over the engorged nerve bundle. Fingers, third added to stretch you open and picking the pace up as your mouth drops wide in a scream Bucky devours with a deep kiss. To keep from waking the kids or Sarah, his own body on fire with a need to have you both.

Tingles quickly dancing through your veins, breath panting as you break from Bucky’s mouth, one hand gripping the sheets below the other still buried in his hair. Body on fire as you near that perfect orgasm Sam’s intent on giving you.

Denial’s not just a river in Egypt as your eyes pop open at the knock on your door. Reminiscent of what your sluggish brain comes to understand as just a very vivid dream. One that makes your heart drop with the book that’d lay on your chest now face down on the carpeted floor. You stand checking the time of mid night before heading to the door and finding Sarah on the other side with ice cream in hand.

“Figured you might need some cheering up,” letting her in and taking the bowl of your favorite ice cream.

Vivid dream lingering though you don’t share feeling a TMI moment she doesn’t and most likely wouldn’t want to know about her big brother. You steer the topics away from the non existent love life to plans for tomorrow and the coming weekend.

[blkmxrvel]

Haven’t Forgotten My Way Home (21)-[CONVERTED]

Pairing: Kara Zor-El x Female!Reader

Summary: In the D/s society of National City, men and women abandoned by their Dom/mes or otherwise deemed unfit for life “outside” end up at the Mount Overland House for Orphaned Submissives. It is here that Kara Zor-El finds Y/N Hastings, broken and fearful from mistreatment at the hands of her former Dom. Can Kara coax Y/N back into the world that once so terrified her, and show her the true meaning of care and submission?

Warnings: Domestic Violence (Flashbacks, Mentions and Descriptions), Misogyny, Domination/Submission.

A/N: Hi, everyone! I know it’s been an EXTREMELY long time and I apologize for that. Life got in the way. But I won’t be giving up on posting this! I’m going to be posting chapters 21-28 daily over the next week, as i’ve already had them converted. As for the last 3, they should be up in rapid succession. Thanks for not giving up on me lol, love you guys and enjoy!

Kara liked the freedom of living on her own. She liked being able to leave her clothes lying around if she wanted to – which she didn’t. She liked being able to have dessert first sometimes – which she did, frequently. And she liked being able to decorate her house the way she wanted to, stay up as late as she wanted, play her music as loud as she wanted and sing along with anything and everything, even the television commercials.

Which she didn’t do.

Not often, anyway.

But every now and then… sometimes it was nice for Kara just to go home. To the place she was born, where she was raised. The place where Kara Sophia Zor-El first discovered just who, exactly, she was.

David Zor-El threw open the door and immediately wrapped his arms around Kara, pulling the girl inside. “I’m not letting you go,” he said, hugging her tightly. “I haven’t seen you in forever.”

Kara rolled her eyes and carefully disengaged herself from him, returning the hug nonetheless. “Thanksgiving was just three days ago, Daddy,” she said happily. “I don’t think that constitutes forever.”

“It does in Daddy-time,” he said, then looked past Kara, above her head. “And who’s this?”

Kara half-turned, extending her hand with a smile to the Y/H/C-haired, nervous submissive hovering just behind her. Y/N took it and offered her own, albeit smaller, smile. “This is Y/N, Daddy. She’s… my friend. I told you, remember?”

Y/N looked at Kara’s dad shyly, but didn’t say anything, and Kara squeezed her hand...

“That you did, that you did,” David said, stepping over to study Y/N, looking warmly at her. “But you failed to mention that she’s beautiful, Kara. It almost hurts to look at her; it’s like staring at the sun with no sunglasses.”

“Daddy, stop, you’re embarrassing her,” Kara said, lightly punching him in the arm. “And you’re going to make Dad jealous.”

“Yes, stop, my boy,” Randy said, coming into the living room and standing beside his husband. “You’re giving me a complex.”

“He forgets I only have eyes for him,” David said to Y/N, who rewarded him with a grin and a blush. “This is Kara’s friend, Y/N, Sir.”

It was only now that Kara was grown and out of the house that her fathers were more comfortable with their dynamic in front of her. As a child she’d known it existed, because it was the way things were. But her fathers were intensely private, and so their dynamic was often revealed in more subtle ways to their daughter. It was through her fathers that Kara learned a dynamic could be established with just a single word. The raise of an eyebrow. The fact that her Daddy was always the one who made dinner and that Dad was the one she had to ask about a raise in her allowance.

The full force of her fathers’ dynamic, and their love, had become apparent when Randy had gotten sick. Used to Randy making the rules, David had nevertheless become the rock of the family, holding his Sir and Kara together as he cared for the man he loved. Their rules had all but gotten thrown out of the window, and it was interesting to see, if only for a short time, the dynamic shift, in a way. Randy had had difficulty giving up some of his control, especially since that was even out of his control. And it was Randy who had the biggest problem with Kara giving up the New York Academy of the Dramatic Arts to help take care of him, but David was the one who voiced it, resulting in the biggest argument Kara had ever had with her fathers.

Every now and then they would bring up NYADA, but it was very easy for Kara to push away that conversation by telling them that she had work to do in National City, and that if she didn’t do it, no one else would. Kara knew that her fathers were proud of her, but she also knew that there was sadness that she hadn’t yet realized her dream, and probably no small amount of guilt from Randy. Kara had repeatedly told him that she didn’t blame him, and she didn’t, but she knew neither of her fathers would be truly happy until she was in New York.

Randy regarded Y/N seriously before smiling just as warmly at her, even as his eyebrow rose at Kara. She felt herself flush and shrugged slightly; her father was always able to see right through her.

“Welcome to our home, Y/N,” Randy said, stepping back and leading the girls more fully into the house. “Do you want anything to drink, something to eat?”

Kara watched Y/N carefully, then practically beamed as Y/N said, “I wouldn’t mind a drink if it’s not too much trouble, Mr. Zor-El.”

Y/N’s eyes were wide and inquisitive, almost like a child’s, as she took in her surroundings. The Zor-El house was small, smaller than Kara’s even, but it was comfortable and it was clear that, unlike Y/N’s childhood home, Kara was sure, that people lived and loved there. Everywhere in the house was evidence of a happy family: from the pictures of Kara and her fathers on the wall, to Kara’s numerous singing awards as a child, and both Randy and David’s work accomplishments. David was chief of staff at a hospital outside of the city, and Randy’s skill as an accountant kept him in high demand at tax season. Kara was proud of her fathers, and proud to be their daughter.

“Please, call me Randy,” he said, before tipping his chin at his submissive, who quickly went to the kitchen to fetch drinks. “And as gushing as my David is, he’s also right. You’re absolutely beautiful.”

They sat on the couch with Y/N close to Kara, who briefly touched Y/N’s knee reassuringly. The gesture didn’t go unnoticed by Randy, who seemed to have been staring at his daughter ever since he’d entered the room. She felt exposed under his gaze; she knew he could read her like an open libretto, and that he’d no doubt start asking her questions as soon as they were alone, but she wasn’t sure she was ready for that, at all. She didn’t have to answer to her fathers when it came to her personal life, Kara knew, but she also knew that they were used to her tendency to leap without a parachute.

“Thank you, Mr.- Randy,” Y/N said softly, losing some of the tension in her muscles as David brought her a drink and handed it to her with a smile. “It’s really nice to meet both of you.”

“Speaking of meeting,” David said, snuggling up to his Sir on the couch, “How did you and Kara meet?”

“Oh, I-I, um…”

“Through work,” Kara said, gently squeezing Y/N’s knee. “I saw her across the room, said hello, started talking—“

“Wouldn’t shut up…”

Kara blinked, looking at Y/N, who smirked at her.

David grinned. “That’s our Kara,” he said. “She’ll talk your ear off if you’d let her.”

“Oh, I’m sure the ears are just the first things to go.”

Kara gaped and as David and Randy laughed, Y/N leaned into her to whisper.

“No rules outside the house, Miss Kara.”

“Might have to rethink that,” Kara muttered in return, but she wasn’t annoyed. No, the reaction she was having at Y/N’s smart little moment of defiance was… inspiring a completely different reaction in her. She coughed and took a sip of her drink to distract herself from thinking about it.

… Was this why Lena liked it so much when Sam was a brat?

But it was dangerous, too, this game Y/N was playing with her, in front of her fathers. Kara had told her before the visit that they would have to be careful.

“Are you ashamed of me?” Y/N had asked her, and the question had cut Kara to the core.

“Of course not,” she’d hastened to reassure the girl. “But little one, I don’t want to jump into this too quickly, and you know why it’s important not too many people know about us right now.”

“Because you’re still scared,” Y/N had said, and Kara hadn’t been sure she had an argument against that.

But there would be no way she could be ashamed of Y/N. It had been a week since they’d made steps towards setting up their dynamic, and slowly but surely both she and Y/N were making progress in discovering what they both liked, and what neither of them wanted. Kara was quickly learning that Y/N craved instruction almost as much as she craved reassurance. It was a delicate balance, for Kara to tell Y/N things like “go get this,” or “bring me that,” and have it be within the context of their relationship and not just her being overbearing or controlling. But Y/N seemed to be thriving with it, and even Nia had remarked that Y/N acted much happier than she had before. Kara had declined to give Nia a reason for it.

For herself, Kara was discovering that one of her favorite things was just to cuddle with Y/N at the end of the day. She’d been worried about having Y/N on her knees so much, but it didn’t matter if she insisted Y/N sit next to her on the couch; inevitably Kara would find that Y/N had slipped to her knees at her feet, and her head was resting either on Kara’s lap or against her side. And Kara would just hold her, stroking her hair, and watch for that quiet look of contentment to appear on Y/N’s face.

That was the one thing that Lena had repeatedly stressed to Kara during her training: watching was a necessity. Watch for happiness, for pleasure. But more than that, watch for any sign of hurt, any sign of discomfort, any sign of loneliness. And it didn’t matter if Y/N was curled up to her or stuck with her nose in the corner, Kara wouldn’t stop watching, guarding against any misstep, terrified to make a mistake. Because for Kara it was a huge thing, finally having a submissive.

And having one that had been completely broken before, at the hands of another? Delicate wasn’t a word Kara would use to describe Y/N, but it was the only way she knew to treat the girl. There was a danger in that, too, Kara knew, though she didn’t think Y/N would ever be one to take advantage of it.

Even if she was a brat.

But her fathers were asking Y/N more questions, much like Alex had that first time, and Kara quickly turned her attention back to them. She was content just to sit and listen to Y/N’s voice as the young woman described everything from her parents to things she liked to do in her spare time… describing anything but how she and Kara had really met, how she had been promised to an abusive boy at the age of 16, the fact that she had ended up at Mt. Overland House.

And as much as Kara remained ever watchful of Y/N, even as they sat there with her fathers, she knew that Y/N was also watching, watching the interactions of Randy and David. It was only the second time she’d seen the way a positive relationship worked, and Kara thought it was cute, the way her eyes were wide and taking everything in. And there was a lot to see; Kara’s fathers, while not outwardly affectionate like Alex and Maggie, were very much in love. It was evident in the way they looked at each other, in the way David refilled his Sir’s drink without even being asked, in the way that Randy offered his hand to help David off the couch. Kara had giggled quietly to herself when Y/N’s mouth had dropped open a little, the first time Randy had said “thank you” to his submissive for bringing him something.

“I’ll be right back,” Kara said, when she felt her phone vibrate in her pocket for the third time that evening. She was worried that it might be something for work; even though she had prescribed hours during the day, she was always technically “on-call” at night, and she knew all it would take is one case like Y/N’s, and she’d be out the door and on her way to Mt. Overland House.

But she furrowed her brow when she saw that the calls were not from work, but from Alex, and she hadn’t left a voicemail.

“Huh,” she said quietly to herself, just as Y/N slipped into the kitchen.

“Everything all right, Miss—“ Y/N caught herself and cleared her throat. “Everything all right, Kara?”

“I hope so,” Kara said. “Alex’s been trying to reach me, I’ll have to call her in a little bit and make sure nothing’s happened with Maggie.” As much as she loved her best friend it was always in the back of Kara’s mind that she’d get a call like this, that Maggie had done something to hurt herself, or worse, Alex. She knew Maggie was working hard to escape the demons of her past, but she also knew how easy it was for the demons to catch up.

She turned back to Y/N, and, noting that her fathers were talking together in the living room, reached out to cup her waist, pulling Y/N to her. She kissed her gently, and then whispered, “You’re being an absolute brat right now. I can’t believe you told them I snore louder than Theo when I’m napping!”

Y/N giggled, a blush spreading over her cheeks as she tucked her head on Kara’s shoulder. “But you can’t put me in the corner here,” she teased. “Remember your rule? The only place you’re Miss Kara is in your home.”

Kara rolled her eyes, running her hand through Y/N’s hair. “Am I only Miss Kara at my house, though?” she asked softly.

Y/N shook her head, her breath tickling Kara’s neck, and Kara shivered. “No. You’re my Miss Kara no matter where we are.”

She didn’t know why that made her arms tighten around Y/N, but it did, and Kara gently kissed the top of Y/N’s head. “Then maybe we ought to reconsider that rule.”

Y/N pulled herself up and met Kara’s eyes. “I could be okay with that,” she said, and her gaze was steady, clear.

“Even if it means you’re going straight to the corner when we get back, my little obnoxious one?” Kara said with a grin.

Y/N smiled, flushing an even deeper shade of pink. “Even if it means that, Miss Kara.”

From behind them Kara heard her father clear his throat, and she and Y/N jumped apart. Randy smiled at them both, though it was strained even as he politely said to Y/N, “David is breaking out the family photo albums, I imagine you might want to see them?”

“I- yes,” Y/N said, seeming reluctant to leave Kara. “I want to see just how cute… Kara was as a baby.”

Kara groaned and covered her face with her palm, shaking her head, as Y/N headed into the living room. She grinned at Randy. “Photo albums are things you show girlfriends, Dad.”

“Which is maybe why David wants to bring them out, Sophie,” Randy said, leaning against the counter with his arms crossed over his chest.

Kara sighed.

“Want to tell me where you really met Y/N?”

She should’ve known that Randy would see everything, from the way she looked at Y/N to the little touches they’d both shared, here and there throughout their conversation with Kara’s dads. For Kara it was the casual affection that was easy with Y/N, for Y/N it was the constant need for reassurance but also, Kara was beginning to learn, the desperate need for her. Kara should’ve known that something like that wouldn’t be easy to hide.

“I did tell you. We met at work. I just didn’t tell you… that she lived at Mt. Overland House.”

Randy shook his head. “Mt. Overland House? Kara…”

“I know, Dad, all right?” Kara snapped, and then took a deep breath, moving to stand next to her father. “I know.”

Randy slipped his arm around his daughter’s shoulders and hugged her close. “So some jackass was mean to her, then. It’s a shame; she’s clearly an amazing young woman.”

Kara smiled to herself, nodding. “She’s not perfect, but she’s the closest to it I think I’ve found. With the exception of yours truly.”

“Is she good to you?”

“I don’t think that you and daddy could choose anyone better for me, if you were into that sort of thing.”

Kara spilled it all, then, hoisting herself up onto the counter like she used to do when she was little and she’d watch her Daddy cook while her Dad sat at the table poring over his work. How Y/N had grown up, how her claim had been arranged. Her dad made all the right gestures, all the right sounds of anger and indignation as Kara described Y/N’s abuse at the hands of James, and how she had ended up at Mt. Overland House that fateful night. She could hear Y/N laughing in the living room, no doubt giggling at the picture of two year old Kara in the bathtub with a soap beard and a plastic microphone in her hand, and it made Kara tear up.

She’d had so much happiness in her life, despite her father’s illness and the lack of NYADA. And even though Y/N had had her grandfather, she deserved so much more…

“Is she submitting to you?”

Kara hesitated. “Yes.”

“Are you being good to her?”

“Dad!” Kara said indignantly, and Randy held up his hands.

“I love you,” he said, “and you’re my daughter. I know you’ve seen the way your father and I act with each other, and I know Lena trained you well. But I also feel just a little protective towards that young lady in the living room, and just as much as you deserve someone to be amazing with you, she does too. Maybe even more after everything that’s been done to her, Sophie.”

Kara nodded and hopped off the counter to lean against her father, who automatically wrapped his arms around her. “I try,” she confessed. “I really care about her, Dad, and I-I want to be good for her.”

“Do you love her?”

“I think… I’m starting to.”

“But you’re scared.”

Kara shrugged. “Everyone seems to know me better than I know myself.”

“I’d be scared if I was you,” Randy said, “And all David and I had to contend with were his parents thinking he should be with a woman instead of your old dad, here.”

Kara nodded again, remembering how her Daddy’s parents had never met her, never made the effort to contact her or her father. She thought they were somewhere off in California now, but she couldn’t be sure. Daddy didn’t like to talk about them.

“But I also know that if Y/N deserves anybody, she deserves my sweet, compassionate, occasionally loud and very opinionated Kara Sophia.” Randy cupped Kara’s head in his hands and kissed her forehead.

“I always knew you’d make a good mistress,” Randy said, then tilted his head. “Is that an awkward thing for a father to say to his daughter?”

“Very,” Kara declared, laughing, then hugged her father fiercely. “But thank you, Dad.”

“Why didn’t you want to tell us?” Randy asked. “You’ve never hidden anything from us before.”

“I know,” Kara said, feeling guilty. “But it’s just… work, and I’m trying to be careful for Y/N.”

“You haven’t technically done anything wrong, Sophie,” her dad said, and Kara shrugged again.

“She wants me to go to New York,” she said suddenly.

“In that case, how soon can we make her a part of the family?”

“I-is everything okay?”

Kara moved to once again reassure Y/N, who was standing in the doorway looking like a deer in the headlights with one corner of her cardigan twisted in her hand, but Randy beat his daughter to it as he asked Y/N, “Y/N, would you mind if I hugged you?”

She paused, giving Kara a strange look, but when Kara smiled, Y/N nodded. Randy hugged her quickly, gently, before drawing away and holding her at arm’s length.

“You’re a beautiful young woman, and you deserve to be happy,” he said seriously, then looked back at Kara. “I hope you two take care of each other.”

“He knows?” Y/N asked when Randy left for the living room, and Kara could tell his subtle warning about taking care of his daughter wasn’t lost on her.

“He knows, little one,” Kara said; when she took a deep, shaky breath Y/N came to her immediately, wrapping her arms around Kara and holding her close. Kara closed her eyes, absorbing Y/N’s comfort, her strength, before reopening them and smiling faintly at her.

“And surprisingly, he’s okay with it. I think as long as I’m happy, and you’re taking care of me, and I’m taking care of you…”

“Good,” Y/N said, and surprised Kara by kissing her, deeply, right there in her fathers’ kitchen. It left Kara feeling dizzy, and she had to put her hand back on the counter to brace herself. Y/N’s own eyes widened, and Kara saw her swallow hard.

“W-wow,” was all Y/N said, and Kara grinned a little.

“Wow is right,” she agreed, trying to force out all of the images that had rushed into her head with the ferocity of Y/N’s kiss. Images that involved a bed, restraints, and the two of them, very, very naked…

“Do you want to go back into the living room?” Y/N asked. “I think your dads have more pictures they want to show me.” She stuck her tongue out at Kara.

“You are definitely going into the corner when we get home,” Kara said, and thought that the living room was the last place she wanted to be at that moment. The bedroom would be much nicer… Her phone vibrated again.

Kara looked down at it. Alex.

“Let me just answer this, little one,” she said, “Then we’ll go back so that I can be humiliated some more.”

She pressed the button on her phone. “Alex?”

“Maggie,” she said.

Kara furrowed her brow. “Maggie? What’s going on, why are you using Alex’s phone?

“Well… let’s see, how do I say this? Ma’am’s, uh, terrified to talk to you right now, Ma’am.”

Now Kara was even more confused. “Terrified to talk to me? Why? Put her on the phone, Maggie.”

“Can’t do that, Ma’am, she’s working on a case right now. That’s kind of why I’m calling.”

Alex had been promoted to Advocate within SETS, a liaison of sorts between Dominants and their submissives or former submissives. She wasn’t a lawyer or a counselor, but she did act to ensure that her clients received the fairest treatment under the law and the government. Her promotion was to defense advocate, helping to defend those who were accused of abusing or mistreating their partners, a decision that Kara had found distasteful, and she’d told her so.

“It pays more,” Alex had said honestly, “And you know as well as I do that sometimes the ones getting accused aren’t at fault. Look at Maggie.”

“I’m not really sure why you have to call to tell me about Alex’s case? Y/N and I are my dads’, and we’re kind of busy right n—“

“I know,” Maggie interrupted, and Kara would’ve been angry at being interrupted, if she’d given her a chance to, but instead she kept speaking. “And that’s also kind of why I’m calling, because Ma’am has a new case, it starts next week, and I really think you need to know about it. And you should also know that she’s really, really sorry.”

“Sorry?” Kara said, exasperated. “Why on earth does Alex need to be sorry?”

“Because she’s defending James.”

[hes-writer]

Insecurities (2)

Summary: Harry is good friends with Camille and Y/N is insecure

Warnings: angst (ish)

Word Count: 2.6k

Read part 1 here

Y/N did not have the best body but it was ‘good enough’. She didn’t have the brightest personality but it made her who she is. Her style wasn’t extravagant—it was simple and casual. And she wasn’t the best at anything. In fact, everything she knew was at the surface level—she couldn’t delve too deep into a conversation about politics, argue that Socrates was the better philosopher to Descartes or discuss how writing a song in F major gave off a happier vibe than a minor key. 

All these proved that she can fit in but she cannot necessarily stand out. Maybe that was the problem. Y/N didn’t know much but she knew enough. 

She knew that her insecurities were getting the better of her because she had never ended on friendly terms with an ex. Nor did she fall so deeply in love with anybody else aside from Harry. It was causing an inner turmoil in her tummy that made Y/N sick to her because something was wrong and she didn’t know how to fix it. 

Y/N was aware that it would be unfair to him to say that he couldn’t communicate with Camille again. So what was she to do? Wallow in the depths of self-pity, hoping that Harry would magically read her mind and do it himself? Of course not.

Y/N bit her lip, hearing the door open and close as Harry exited her apartment. He said a quick goodbye to her, informing her of his whereabouts before leaving with a peck to her head. Harry assumed she was resting a bit—as she often did while she was studying. She could get moody most of the time too and maybe that’s why he didn’t think much of it when she hummed in response. 

Alone with her thoughts, Y/N felt a tear drip to her hairline, cooling her skin with the path it took. Her chest crumbled with a shudder as a small sob managed to rip through her throat. The sound reverberated in the barren room to echo back in her ears and it reminded her of how weak she was. Very weak that she was doubting her self-worth for a man that was so stable, so sure, and completely unapologetic for being himself. 

Y/N compared herself to a lot of people she deemed better than her. She didn’t predict that she would compare herself to Harry. To be so insecure and shaky with herself—unsure whether she was enough or not. It wasn’t right but she couldn’t help but feel unworthy of everything. Jealousy directed to Harry for having something that she wanted—confidence. Insecurity projected to Camille for being someone that she wanted to be because sometimes being yourself isn’t enough. 

It was the sad reality of having a mind like Y/N’s and she so badly wished that she could specifically rewire her brain to not think like that. She should be happy with what she’s got. Her body, her mind, her little quirks that Harry absolutely adored but she despised. Not once did Harry explicitly cross-sectioned her and Camille to each other but it felt like his friendly words and supportive actions towards her told enough. 

She can never be Camille and Y/N was disappointed in herself because of that. 

------

When Camille answered the door for Harry, his mind was figuring out ways to comfort her as a friend. She greeted him with a small smile, wiping the grin off of his face, fully knowing that it used to be much wider, brighter in a sense that it made her face more angelic. He really did love her with the fullness of his heart. It made him frown a bit, toeing off his Chelsea boots beside the closet nearby. His socked feet pattering against the cold marble of her house, sending a chill down his spine.

“Want some tea?” Camille asked, noticing his shiver. She plugged in the electric kettle having been already filled with water beforehand despite his retorts. Camile never really listened to him. Regardless, he stretched his arms over his head, puffing his cheeks out as he situated them on his slim hips,

“How are you?” His quirked brow caused her to pause, slowly shutting the drawer that held the various teas she could offer. Her demeanour put him off--she used to be more lively. 

“Better now that you’re here,” Camille responded, seeming to float on her feet to grab two mugs from the cupboard. Her feet tiptoed to the high shelf, failing to get the object and causing her to huff in frustration. A warmth behind her back and a small touch to her elbow made her freeze, Harry’s tattooed arm passing in her peripherals to help her out, his height easily becoming an advantage. 

He took a couple of steps back, watching her turn around hesitantly, “T-thanks,” She ducked away from him to pour the boiling water in the mugs. She gulped, shaking her head softly to try to get rid of her thoughts. Harry had moved on from her-- that she knew for sure, but Camille couldn’t help the persisting thoughts overtaking her mind. She still wished that he held feelings for her. They were together for quite some time and she just couldn’t believe that feelings could disappear that quickly. Hers was still lingering around, like the ghost of a smile that he showed her right now. A relic of what they had, soon vanishing from her grasp and existing only her memories.

“Are you really okay? The tabloids can be a bit tough,”

The more she thought about it, the more she was sure of her answer and the problem that arose with it. The fact was she was okay, and frankly, she felt a bit guilty having Harry come over all the way here for a dilemma that he thought was about the media. She felt as though she tricked him just so she could see his built frame, hear his raspy voice, and fill her senses with his natural scent--just like she used to before they broke it off; before she let his good nature slip between her thin fingers to replace him with who she thought was better. Camille missed him to the point of desperation, a little white lie that had him caging her in a corner to help her alleviate the pressure of the outside world. 

He spun slightly on the stool, pausing when he saw her lips stutter around her words.

“The media doesn’t bother me,” She admitted, lashes casting downward to the floor. His heavy hand cradled her shoulder, shooting her a gentle smile.

“Hey, you don’t have to lie. It’s me,” His voice was soft, piercing her insides with remorse. “Just Harry. You and me, remember?”

She stared at him longingly, yet he failed to notice the heart eyes she was currently oogling him with. It used to be her and Harry. Camille and Harry, together against the world. He used to say it when things got too rough; when the pressure of everyone drowned them from what was important--each other. 

“Not anymore. It’s you and Y/N now,” Despite hating the fact that the curly-haired man wasn’t hers anymore, Camille couldn’t spit the couples’ name out in spite. Although her heart ached to have him back, the logical part of her knew that he was happier in the arms of someone else.

He furrowed his brows in a confused manner, wondering why Y/N was suddenly in the picture, “What was that?”

Camille swallowed harshly, deciding to rip the words from her throat, “I still love you, Harry.”

Harry dropped the hand from her should, eyeing the steaming cup of tea wafting in the air. He was taken aback by her words, not knowing what to say but aware that his feelings for her were nonexistent.

“C-Camille, you know I’m with her,” He began, hoping that his words did enough to comfort her. “I love Y/N.”

She blinked, a tear splashing on the counter, fully prepared of his response but it did not come any easier. It still hurt to hear him admit that what they had was in the past. “I know,”

“I’m sorry,” He pulled small body towards him, wrapping his arms around her in a hug, his chin resting at the top of her blonde head. Camille let herself be cradled for what she knew was the final time, savouring the moment that his strong arms protected her from anything that could ever hurt her, even though she hurt him first. 

Harry felt a push to his chest, the blonde woman wiping away a few stray tears, chuckling at the situation, “You should probably go back home to her now,”

He admired her bravery, putting up a strong front for his happiness, unlike his petty self. “Friends?”

She nodded in agreement, pushing him towards the front door, “Yes. Now, go!”

---- 

The door creaked open, Harry’s head peeping out of the crack before carefully pushing the barricade to let his slim body through. His head whizzed in confusion as he saw the living room lights switched off, just as he’d left it, not seeing his love sitting on the carpet engaging in her studies. Usually, he’d be able to hear her before he saw her but silence met his ears tonight, leaving him scouting for an explanation in curiosity. 

Small sniffles echoed from her bedroom door as he took timid steps, the floorboard weeping with each movement. He twisted the knob, gently revealing Y/N’s slouched body, back against the headboard. Her eyes widened at his presence, quickly palming her damp cheeks to her hairline in an attempt to hide her tears. The tip of her nose was blush pink and a little runny, but he couldn’t care less about her appearance. What matters the most to Harry right now was his little honey crying and he didn’t know why-- so he asked. 

“And don’t say it’s nothing. You’re crying.” His lips were set in a thin line, turned down at the sides. 

Y/N peeked at him through her wet lashes, hesitating with her words, leaving her mouth agape as they stared at each other. Harry’s face was mounted with worry, brows furrowing as if to weigh out the possibilities.

“Where did you go?” Y/N asked with a tone that Harry could not quite comprehend. 

He strode to the side of the bed, shifting his bum on the soft mattress. She didn’t move farther away, yet she did not scoot over to his body like she usually would. “I went to see Camille,”

“Why?”

The moisture in his throat managed to vanish in the short time span-- he swallowed heavily. “S-she needed me,”

Y/N’s breath hitched, snapping her head down towards her hands fiddling with a minute stain on the bedsheet while Harry’s head flopped to try to catch her stare. He could always affirm what she was thinking off just by a glance at her eyes. 

“Hey, hey, what’s this about?” Harry hummed mildly, caressing an arm across the expanse of her shoulders. “Need’ to tell me so I can fix it,”

And his words hurt, despite the meaning behind them because he was Harry and he is nice and kind to everyone he meets. Y/N’s clouded mind couldn’t help but think of the worse--what made her so special? Did she even stand out to him or was she just like everyone else? Before, she felt on top of this world special but to know that he could do the same for anyone else was a slap to the face. 

“You come running every time she needs you?” She shrugged his arm off, moving her legs in a criss-cross position under the sheets to feel more stable. Harry tilted his head in surprise at the sudden change in her mood.

“She was sad about the tabloids, I had to go. She called me--,” 

“I know. I heard.” Y/N snarked. Looking out to her window, she could see the sun slowly setting across the horizon--she couldn’t wait for this day to be over.

Harry didn’t know what to say, his eyes held confusion and wonder to what she was pertaining to. Was Y/N jealous?

“‘Said she was the ‘kindest, sweetest person’ you’ve ever been with’. I wonder where I’ve heard of that before--oh wait,” Y/N zeroed in on his figure, a crease was firm on her forehead. “Is that just something you say to everyone?”

The staredown she was giving him had him shaking in his boots; his mistake fluttering in every corner of his brain, alarm blaring that he truly fucked up. He didn’t even realize the gravity of his words, knowing that deep in his heart, he only wanted to make Camille feel better. 

“Did you even mean it when you said it to me?” Her voice cracked a bit during the duration of her question, reminiscing the context to which he let the words slip past his pink lips. It was the first time he professed his love for her, complimenting her with butterfly-inducing graces that had heart thumping through her chest. “Did you mean it when you said that you loved me?”

“Of course I did,” Harry responded right away, shaking his head in rejection at her accusation. “Don’t you dare question it. I love you. Always,” 

She breathed in deeply, letting his response sink in her bones, left to wonder where this conversation would go.

“I-I didn’t realize I said that to her,” He started off, scrambling for words without getting tongue-tied. “I swear I didn’t. I was only trying to make her feel better..”

“But you hurt me instead,”

“I didn’t mean to!” He almost yelled in frustration, voice dwindling when she moved away from him slightly. “I’m sorry I hurt you.”

He took her hand in his, grazing his thumb against her silky skin. “I love you, Y/N.”

She didn’t move an inch, trying to categorize what was real and what was a shadow of her doubtful thoughts against him. 

“Camille used to be that person but she’s not anymore--you are.” Harry stuffed a hand in his hair, tugging at the roots as he chuckled humourlessly, “I was blinded by love but not anymore. She didn’t feel the same way a-and she cheated on me.”

Y/N tightened her fingers around his, making him smile subtly, his dimples concaving against his cheek. He returned the squeeze back to her, “And then I found you. You showed me how to love again and what it’s like to be loved.”

His unoccupied fingers lifted her chin up so that he could gaze into her lovely eyes while he dictated honest words from to bottom of his heart, “I love you.”

Sometimes Y/N couldn’t help but let her insecurities drown her in distasteful thoughts. Words created by her saboteur to tear her down because she believed she didn’t deserve the love she shared with Harry-- because she was too plain, too broken to be given a love’s miracle that she forgot how much he did love her.

And at this moment, observing the emotions that flooded his eyes, his face and the aura he was presenting as if he would be lost without her---she knew that look. It was the same loved up gaze that he gave her across the console while he thought she was too distracted by keeping her eyes on the road. She felt it burning her cheek as she read the materials for her courses, deeming her too engrossed in learning that Y/N wouldn’t notice the admiration he held for her. The look that draped over her naked body when they made love, her hair acting as a curtain from the ministrations of the outside world while she rode him with passion. Harry stared up at her with ardent, her eyes blissed out and pink lips damp with their heated kisses--a look of love that she noticed despite the pleasure overtaking her body.

He loves her and only her. 

——

hello! I’m not sure if you guys are liking the content I put out or if tumblr is just being weird 😩😫

anyways, I hope you enjoyed this!

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Insecurities (2) Taglist: @littlewolfieposts​ @zavidzobrik rik​