#she wouldn’t even meet with the uncommitted movement

[robo-ruby]

So many of the same wrong and tired takes are out in full force now in the run up to the US election and it’s only going to get worse in the weeks ahead.

One of the worst is about voting for the “lesser of two evils.” It’s exhausting just to type. But I’m not convinced people who trot that out are trying seriously to win anyone over: It’s about shutting down dissent and criticism.

But voting in the US has only ever been a short term solution, particularly for marginalized communities whose lives are constantly under threat every 2-4 years.

Notice I said short term though. Because voting doesn’t even remove the threat for these communities, not when lives are being lost to the violence it takes to maintain the system year round. The US is built and maintained by imperialism, racism, bigotry, exploitation, and genocide. None of that is going to change no matter who is in office, which makes advocating on behalf of the ‘lesser’ evil a defense of the status quo. There is not and will never be a candidate who will change that dynamic at the national level as it exists now. The lesser evil is evil because they operate within and maintain the system. ACAB - and the head of the executive branch of government is most certainly a cop.

All that said, voting is important. But you have to go in knowing what you are voting for: what is on the ballot.

You have to cast your vote based on what you can actually get from the candidate. Not what you want or what you think they can be persuaded on. The below are examples of what I mean.

What is on the ballot: Supreme Court seats.

Chief Justice John Roberts is 69. Sam Alito is 74. Clarence Thomas is 76. If any of these men want to retire and avoid dying on the bench, they will likely want to within the next 4-8 years.

Similarly, Sonia Sotomayor is 70 and the same goes for her. Elena Kagan is 64 and will likely hang in there for a while.

What is not on the ballot: genocide.

Both parties support it. Neither candidate is willing to compromise. BUT that is not the same as saying ‘nothing can be done.’ It means there is no vote you can cast as a US Citizen in this election to end the genocide in Palestine.

Recognize liberation is a multi-generational struggle and your place in that tradition. Neither the Democrats and certainly not the Republicans are going to grant it on their own. It takes sustained organizing and resistance to make it happen. The Civil War Amendments did not happen in a vacuum. Neither did any of the Civil Rights Acts and those fights are still ongoing.

Do not vote for anyone because they are the lesser evil. Understand that voting for evil will only bring more evil. Protect marginalized communities no matter the time of year or whether or not there is an election.

Vote for what you are going to get and be ready to fight for the rest.

[thatstormygeek]

When Harris did meet with Bibi, she didn’t embrace him with Biden’s “bear hug,” but instead exchanged a terse, professional handshake. Afterward, Harris told reporters, “What has happened in Gaza over the past nine months is devastating—the images of dead children and desperate, hungry people fleeing for safety, sometimes displaced for the second, third, or fourth time. We cannot look away in the face of these tragedies. We cannot allow ourselves to become numb to the suffering. And I will not be silent.” This brief display of empathy was considered progress, because the bar was set so low that it was in hell. Although Harris vowed not to be silent, she conveniently forgot to mention that the Democratic establishment would have no problem silencing the Palestinian people, which was evident at the raucous Democratic National Convention (DNC) in Chicago, in August. There, the lineup of speakers reflected the diverse, big-tent coalition that Democrats vowed to represent in a Harris-Walz Administration. Democrats welcomed everyone—except Palestinians. One of the most powerful and sobering moments of the DNC happened when Jon Polin and Rachel Goldberg, parents of Hamas hostage Hersh Goldberg-Polin, shared their son’s story and preached a message of compassion and humanity. Goldberg-Polin has since been killed by Hamas. “There is a surplus of agony on all sides of the tragic conflict in the Middle East. In a competition of pain, there are no winners,” Jon Polin told a tear-filled crowd. Wouldn’t it have been more powerful and inspiring if a Palestinian American family had stood next to them, side by side, and echoed a similar message while sharing the story of their pain and heartbreak? Alas, we’ll never know.

The Uncommitted National Movement, which represents tens of thousands of uncommitted Democratic voters from critical swing states, was aware of this reality and came with legitimate and pragmatic demands. In addition to a speaking slot, they urged Democrats to commit to a ceasefire and an arms embargo against Israel—popular positions with Democratic voters. They even submitted a three-minute speech by state Representative Ruwa Romman, the first Palestinian elected to public office in Georgia, who could have been the first Palestinian to speak at the DNC. Yet over four days, they couldn’t manage to find three minutes to fit in Romman’s speech.

[infernal-fire]

five types of love.

what to expect: smut, swearing, friends w/ benefits arrangement, mention of Imposter syndrome, fluff, angst, heartbreak, overstimulation, implied creampie, rough sex

a/n: a little warning; you will be choosing your ending - there is a happy one and a sad one. a huge shoutout to @mollygetssherlockcoffee​ and @angrybirdcr​ for talking to me about the fic and offering such amazing advice! and @tuiccim​ was so damn lovely, even offered to beta this (though all mistakes are my own).

summary: you once heard that there were eight types of love. you only knew of five; the five that caused you to fall for one, blue-eyed menace.

Ludus: uncommitted, casual love that can attribute to a flirtatious and fun conquest. Not to be mistaken for Eros.

“I think we’re forgetting the reason why the mission failed in the first place. If the older fellow took a suggestion once in a-”

“-Tony, you know damn well that there were civilians in there.”

Steve and Tony glared at each other from across the briefing room. The tension in the room was exorbitant, but then again, it had been that way since Bucky joined the team. 

“This is exactly why we need the new girl. You super-soldiers and billionaires are getting tangled up in each others’ asses and forgetting about what it’s like for the normal people,” Rhodey sighed.

“The last thing we need is another trainee fucking up orders,” Tony snorted and began messing with his tech. The projector flipped through random screens, FRIDAY most likely filtering out the irrelevant news. 

“If you have a problem, maybe you should say it to his face,” Steve seethed, now standing up to match Tony’s stance. Usually, this type of jab at Bucky wouldn’t rile him up, but the super-soldier was at his wit’s end following the events of the latest mission.

Beside him, Bucky lightly tugged on his friend’s hand, signalling him to disengage.

“You’re with them?” Tony incredulously questioned Rhodey. 

“I’m with the idea of calming this room down.”

“Besides, she’s already been prepped for her first mission,” Natasha piped up. “We’re supposed to have a sit-down in 5 minutes... that is, if you boys can get your shit together.”

The room broke out into a chorus of muttering and everyone settled in their seats again. Captain strode to the front of the room and pulled up his game plan, fiddling with the map FRIDAY was projecting. 

You, on the other hand, could not decide how to act in front of the Avengers: Laidback? They wouldn’t take you seriously. Know-it-all? No, that was Stark’s play. Timid Tiffany? If you wanted to seem secretly conceited? Sure. That would work for now.

When Vision floated out to bring you in, you didn’t even flinch at the unforeseen phasing. Impressed at your lack of a reaction, Vision faltered before ever-so-courteously introducing himself. 

Could this sentient being laugh of his own volition? You gave him your name and dramatically curtsied to test your theory; he could laugh, and you were pleasantly surprised to find that it was not at all robotic. 

You felt the room intently eye you as you ambled to your seat beside one, blue-eyed menace. You half-expected the team to introduce themselves, but who were you kidding - anyone could hear the argument from three corridors away. There was no point in pretending like they wanted you here, but that wouldn’t deter you.

You glanced at your neighbour, met with the pleasant face of the one and only. James Buchanan Barnes was known to be a handsome devil, but the reputation of the Winter Soldier often precedes him; that, unfortunately, does not stop you from eyeing him. 

When he caught your stare, you scolded yourself. You’re such a creep. 

When he smirked at your ogling, you praised yourself. Oh, hello there. 

This is gonna be fun.

Eros: sexual, passionate love that is fueled by lust.

It didn’t happen after the first mission; he had the decency to wait until the fourth mission to knock on your door. 

You had been putting away the last of your belongings, finally adjusting to the grandiose living conditions the Avengers Tower provided.

As soon as you unlocked your knob, the door flung open; Bucky's stare was partially inhibited by his hooded eyes. He hadn’t always looked at you like that. 

Like what?

With unadulterated craving. 

That day, he strode in like he owned the place. You didn’t expect the shove that caused you to land on your bed with an oomph. Bucky wasted no time, climbing onto your form, straddling you. By the time you understood what was happening, a single finger was pressed into your lips.

“Either tell me you don’t want this right fucking now,” he leaned in, close to your face, “or shut the fuck up and let me use you.”

You whimpered in response.

“Not good enough.”

“Use me.”

That’s all the affirmation he needed. 

You pushed off the bed to try and meet his lips but he firmly pinned you down by your shoulders. Bucky reached into your panties and circled your clit without hesitation. It only took some swivelling, his intense gaze and the unexpected plunge of his fingers in your channel to make you see stars. Bucky had made you come before kissing you.

When he finally slotted his lips against yours, it was nothing short of all-consuming; you hadn’t even realized the absence of clothes on your body. Had it been ten minutes? Or thirty? It was hard to tell when you were being ravaged by another.

He made you come twice more: once with his fingers’ repeated dipping and pressing into the soft, spongy part of your cunt. The second time was with the talented sucking and flicking of his tongue. Technically, it was the third time.

None of your past partners had been this steadfast in their duty to pleasure you. You were already putty in his hands, ready to be moulded according to his needs. Part of you was ready to tap out, unable to fathom the likelihood of coming over his cock again, but the better half of you needed it.

In your orgasmic haze, you failed to notice that his clothes were being discarded - if you did, it would have given you the opportunity to gawk at the body that you so desperately wanted to see shirtless. When you finally registered his naked person, your hand involuntarily traced the connection between the metal arm and flesh. He threw his head back and groaned before kissing you again. 

He pulled off, just enough to get a good look. 

“Look at you, all fucked out. I didn’t even put my cock in.”

He pumped his shaft with fervour before pushing the blunt head against your slit. You winced at his attempt to put it in.

“Made you cum three times and you’re still too fucking tight,” he muttered and ran his length up and down your folds. Once he had accumulated enough slick he tried again, this time, successful.

You moaned as he slowly sunk in and buried his cock to its absolute limit. If the walls of your pussy had a voice, it would be absolutely hoarse. You also realized that he only bestowed the three orgasms in hopes of reprieving the pain of the stretch. Without the preparation, he might have torn you in half.

When he began moving, the only thing that was slow or soft about him was his lips against your skin. The thrusts were punishing; if it wasn’t obvious that he was angry before, this made it clear as day.

You screamed and moaned, alternating between keening and arching your back; the pleas did nothing to falter his furious pace. The smacking of your skin was only heightened by the slick that your cunt produced in attempts to accommodate his length. Every time he pulled out, his balls were connected to your sex with a string of come.

If someone told you that you could come five times within forty minutes, you would have face painted and dressed them up like a clown.

Now you laid in bed, being used like a rag doll, begging Bucky to stop you from coming a sixth time that session. It was usually the dirty talk that got you off, but he hadn’t said anything aside from the occasional ‘shut up’ or ‘shhh’. His movements alone had you convulsing around his length.

His thrusts didn’t get sloppy. Rather, they increased in force, as his cock sought space beyond your cervix. You tried to scream, but all that came out was more broken tears and cries. At last, he let out a pornographic moan as his load flooded your insides. Sure, you had let past boyfriends come in you, but you never actually felt the liquid shoot up inside you, until today.

Following the pop sound that his cock made as it pulled out, you whined again. You could feel your heartbeat throb down there. 

He flipped you onto your stomach and smacked your ass, laughing at the way you sobbed in pain before disappearing from your room altogether. 

He was gone as fast as he showed up. 

And he ruined everyone else for you.

In all fairness... you asked for it.

Philia: the deep, virtuous love that is formed in a good friendship. Lovers share a strong bond when Eros and Philia feed into each other.

What started as a release from the frustrations that accrue on the battlefield turned into a deep connection that neither of you had anticipated. Sex had only been used as a tool in the act of psychological detachment until that day. 

It was a failed date of some sort: either you had been stood up or the guy was a total moron. You could wrack your brain for the memory, but in any matter, it was all irrelevant now. 

You were upset, not just at your lack of a love life, but at the imposter syndrome that had weaselled its way into your liveliness. Feeling like you weren’t enough was catching up to your daily life and even Bucky had noticed the hesitation during your post-mission escapades. 

Before you knew it, your hand was knocking on Bucky’s door at the ripe hour of 1 AM. 

You heard the muffled thumps of his footsteps and considered booking it out of there, but before you made up your mind, the door opened.  As you had predicted, Bucky was wide-awake. 

“What?” 

You had wanted to sass him for his tone but decided against it since you were the one who interrupted his 1 AM activities. You shook your head from the clouds and mumbled incoherently, starting to walk away. The coldness of his metal arm abruptly gripped your wrist.

“Are you okay?”

You hated that question. You could be doing so good, holding in the burden of a horrible week, but the moment someone asks you that question, the dam would disintegrate into dust, only to be washed away by the inevitable waterworks. 

The sob you let out didn’t loosen his hold. He let you cry and watched as you tried to wipe away the unrelenting tears, still refusing to close the gap between your bodies. Finally, you shuffled into his arms where he bear-hugged you, cupping the back of your neck and holding it to the junction of his neck. 

"You smell nice,” you sniffled. 

He lightly chuckled before dragging you into his room and seating you on the bed. He ordered you to stay there and rummaged around his cupboard before pulling out a bottle with red liquid sloshing around. 

“You keep that in your room?” you snickered, wiping your nose with the back of your hand, before blanching at your state. Hell, he had seen you naked, how you look right now is the least of your concerns. 

“In case of emergencies,” he winked. “This seems like a real emergency.”

A fresh wave of tears pooled in your waterline as you peered at your hands that were picking at each other. 

“I don’t have wine glasses, so we can just chug.”

Bucky stuck out the bottle and you grasped it firmly before gulping one-fourth of it. That’s all the coaxing it took to get you to spill. 

You don’t even remember what you talked about, but before either of you realized, 3 AM blinked on the digital clock that hung above the bed frame. You were almost asleep, now resting on Bucky’s lap while he occasionally hummed or offered his two cents. Right before you drifted off, the super-soldier lifted you, placing you under a cover. He climbed in from the other side, one hand cupping your face, the other snaking around your waist.

“Thanks, Buck.”

“It’s gonna be okay. You’re okay,” he whispered.

Your eyes drooped but swiftly opened as Bucky leaned in, resting his forehead against yours. His lips barely touched yours, grazing their presence, but you moved, tenderly catching them. He returned the movement, the delicacy of his actions reflected in the softness of his eyes. 

You pulled away and the two of you wordlessly bore into each other’s eyes. At last, you succumbed to the fatigue, as did he; both of you resting in the others’ possession. 

Mania: an unhealthy, obsessive love that plagues the mind.

It was the third time Bucky didn’t show up at your door after a mission. Three missions, each of them ending in something that would have indubitably pissed him off - after all, they were HYDRA bases. That’s when you first suspected it.

The second was when you noted his intentional avoidance of your presence. Whether it be the kitchen, the gym or the hallways, the stealthy ex-assassin didn’t have trouble actively dodging you. Initially, you chalked it up to wanting space or simply taking a break.

Then you heard it.

Why was it that your gut told you to go right then? All this time you had been biding, yet it was at this precise moment that your hunch asked you to speak to him. It could’ve been the duration of the month that it took you to prepare yourself, but it had to be now. You raised your hand, prepping to knock on the door, but stopped.

Your hand froze mid-air. The elegant laugh of another girl sounded behind the door. It was faint, the noise slightly suppressed by the wall between you. 

It could be anyone. 

But it wasn’t. Your intuition, the one that told you to come here right now, was wise enough to know that this wasn’t just anyone. It was her. 

You cupped your mouth to stop the sob that threatened to liberate itself from the confines of your constricted airway. You fell forward, onto your knees, as if to pray to the gods to not let it happen. But it already did.  You let go of your mouth, gasping for air from holding your breath all this time. 

Shoulders sagged and spine bent, you stalked back to your room like a zombie. Face devoid of all emotion, you fell onto the corner of your bed and crumpled into a ball.  For twelve hours, you laid there. Sometimes sleeping, other times letting the tears leak out of the corners of your eyes. Memories of his fingers weaving through your own, the pleasures that chilled you to the bone. Most of all, the way you held his head to your chest as he whimpered about the nightmares that invaded his nights. It felt like those things happened to someone else. Nothing more than a distant memory.

Your heart clenched, tugging on the heartstring that you once thought was connected to him.

-

It was as if he knew you stood outside his door that day. There was an unspoken agreement to never speak of it. Yes, yes, don’t ever speak of it. The dam that you built so carefully will come crashing down.  He stopped avoiding you, but you wished he didn’t; it was crueller to be reminded, easier to pretend he didn’t exist. 

Be honest with yourself.

You didn’t pretend like he didn’t exist. 

In fact, the first thought after waking up? Bucky. Last thought before going to sleep? My Buck. Every time he wasn’t around? James Buchanan Barnes.

Please, don’t act like every waking moment isn’t spent loving him. Because deep down, you know what’s true.

He never did introduce the mystery girl to anyone at the Tower, but you knew his disappearance after missions could be credited to her. Did he take out his anger on her as he did to you? Or were you nothing more than a toy?

Guilt was one of the few emotions you could make out from the rare occasions you caught his stare. Longing was there too, but you couldn’t be sure that you weren’t projecting.  Months went by, waiting for thoughts of him to abandon your disturbed mind. The time never came.

As promised, he ruined anyone else for you. 

Pragma: the type of love that endures all shortcomings. Committed relationships that stay in love have an element of significant Pragma to them.

a happy ending.

That relationship may have ended but it didn’t mean he would come back to you.

He did come back. But he wasn’t yours.  Bucky made that clear when two more relationships ensued the last. Each time, the buffer period between them was filled by you. 

His back-up plan. That’s what you had been reduced to. 

After the third time he brought a new girl, you’d think you would be used to it, maybe even uncaring. Unfortunately, the opposite would always prevail.

Steve caught your fist and tutted, commenting on the bad form. You stopped, shook your shoulders and began hopping on the balls of your feet again.  Jab, jab. Swing.  At first, you’d imagine the faces of those girls. Nowadays, it was easier to envision the pads Steve held as his best friend’s face. 

“Bucky’s girl broke up with him.”

“Oh,” you made out, focus slightly wavering. 

“You know what happened?”

“Are you asking me ‘cause you wanna know or because you already know?”

“I already know,” he sighed, lowering the hand pads. 

He exhaled your name, shaking his and rubbing the bridge of his nose. “When are you two gonna stop playing around?”

“I really don’t understand, Steve.”

“You know why she broke up with him?” You blinked, tongue poking the inside of your cheek in anticipation of an answer. 

“He moaned your name during sex.” 

“God, that’s so corny,” you huffed, now beginning to make your way out of the boxing ring. 

“So what, you’re gonna do nothing? Keep letting him use you?” Steve jogged to catch up to you.

“No,” you faced him, “I’m not letting him use me as a fallback anymore. I’m putting an end to it.” 

Steve pursed his lips and shot you and exasperated look before shaking his head.  “Don’t let something good go to waste.”

It used to be something good.

You wondered if you could hold up the promise you had just declared to Steve; in the past, you failed every time he showed up at your door. Bucky knew exactly how to play into your emotions, how to say the right things every time. And just like that, the next morning you’d end up in his arms. That stops today.

Determined, you practically punched the button to go up on the elevator and impatiently tapped your foot. As the doors slid closed, you took one look at yourself and turned away, fighting the urge to fix your appearance for him. The doors opened again and you check the floor number, ready to step out, but stopped at the sound of your name.  His ex. You almost ran off, unwilling to put up with an angry ex, but she called on you again. You sheepishly stood there, as if you were the one who did something wrong, until she stepped in and pressed the button to go to the lobby.

The silence stretched on, much like your patience. Does she even know who you are?

“We were both fooling ourselves.”

You turn to check if she was speaking to you. Her stare was unwavering and she maintained eye contact that almost made you squirm.

“We both love different people.” She smiled, an obvious melancholy tainting her face. You stood there, absolutely clueless as to how you should respond.

“It’s too late for me, but it’s not for the two of you. Just... don’t let him go. He’s one of the good ones.”

You turned again, now looking down at the ground. Even if she expected you to say something back, it was impossible, at this point. Your mind was in shambles, everything she said contradicting the choice you made five minutes ago. 

After what seemed like an eternity, the doors opened and she stepped out. She turned one last time and nodded as if you knew what to do now. 

Bucky’s door was unlocked. You called out his name, barely above a whisper and sauntered with hesitation lining your every step.  Nothing. Empty. He wasn’t there. 

It was a sign. You almost ignored the advice his ex gave, ready to walk into his room and end things. Your shoulder slumped as if your bore the weight of the world on them as you slunk back to your room. Now it would take another outburst or another month to prepare yourself to talk to him again.

As the days went by, you barely saw him around. It reminded you of the times he intentionally ignored you, except this time, you weren’t sure it was intentional. When you did see him, it was clear that he wasn’t doing good; his beard was unkept and scraggly, the bags under his eyes heavier than any trauma he carried. You pretended as though you didn’t notice and went about your routine. 

1 AM

A knock sounded at your door. You knew who it was, how could you not, but hoped it wasn’t him anyway. The encounter would most likely end with tears or sex and you didn’t favour either outcome. 

You waited a minute. Maybe he would leave if he assumed you were asleep. The knock sounded again.

You cracked the door open.  Whatever you were expecting, surely, it wasn’t this. Eyes red and puffy, it was clear he had been crying and most definitely not sleeping. 

He held up a wine bottle, and chuckled pathetically at himself. 

“Maybe this is bad idea,” he sniffled and wiped his nose with the sleeve of his left arm. 

It didn’t feel right to say anything. Rather, you opened the door wider and beckoned for him to step in.

“Emergency?” you asked with a little smile. God, you were so close to crying and he hasn’t even said anything.

“Oh yeah. Big emergency.”

He sat on your bed and felt the sheets, trying to remember the feeling of it on his knees. The days he would buck into you while you clutched them like a vice. The soldier pursed his lips and watched as you settled beside him.

“You don’t have to talk... if you don’t want to,” you said. Your voice cracked and you almost smacked yourself for being so weak around him. 

“But I do. I should talk. I have so much to say... Can I explain?” He turned to face you, reaching out for your hands, holding them in his own. You didn’t say anything, opting to return his request with a pleading look in your eyes. He knew what the look meant: just don’t break my heart. Again. He took a deep breath in acknowledgement, trying to form the words that would help you understand. 

“I can’t believe I hurt you. I swear, I didn’t know I was doing it, at first.” You mustered your best unbelieving look, almost scoffing for good measure. “No, really,” he hastily added. 

A few tears streamed down your face and you frantically tried to wipe them. Bucky took one look at you before he began breaking down, tears slipping down his face.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to cry... I just- I don’t understand? I thought things were good?” you questioned. You had given up on trying to wipe your tears, as did he.

“I wasn’t supposed to fall for you. And by the time I realized, we were so far in. Then I found a distraction... and I really thought I was over you,” he paused, wondering if he should continue or not. You showed no sign of speaking up, so he went on.

“I didn’t think you cared. I didn’t think you felt the same way. I was so convinced that you wouldn’t blink twice but then... but, I-... I heard you at the door that day. I wanted to kick her out and hold you, but I-...”

“But you what? You what, Bucky?”

“I thought it was too late for us. I thought I ruined everything.”

“Then why are you here now?”

“Don’t be mad,” he murmured, retracting his hands and fiddling with his fingers.

“I don’t think anyone can ever replace what we had. Maybe... still have? Because you’re it for me. I’m sorry it took me this long to realize that. I was on the brink of losing myself.” He looked up at you, eyes brimming with a new wave of tears. He mumbled your name weakly, croaking out a please at the end.

You curled in on yourself and fell into his arms, hoping that was enough of a answer.

“I can’t promise you that everything will be back to normal by tomorrow morning... but with some time, I can learn to trust you again.”

Above you, Bucky hurriedly nodded. At the state he’s in right now, you suspected that you could ask him to sell his soul and he would agree.

“And if you ever break my heart again-,” 

“-I would die before that happens,” he finished for you, kissing the top of your head for good measure.

“I love you,” you whimpered, “so fucking much.” 

“I love you too. I really love you too,” he affirmed and encased you with his arms again.

Though there had been some rough patches on the road to happiness, with Bucky by your side, you felt as though you could make it through anything; for that, is the power of pragmatic love.

an unfortunate ending.

The tears that would’ve been shed during the ceremony have dried on your pillowcase about five hours ago. Now, you sat beside the team, waiting for her to walk down the aisle. 

Bucky looked nervous, as if he were reconsidering his life decisions. The little devil on your shoulder was holding onto every little thing he did: the wrinkle of his forehead, his repeated tugging on the suit and his flustered glancing around. Oh lord, and when he accidentally locked eyes with you? You may have bitten your lip and looked away in contempt but the shoulder-devil was as persistent as ever.

He secretly still wants you.

Shut up.

He wants to call it off.

Get a life.

At last, the lucky girl stood at the end of the winding path and you couldn’t help but sneak a look at the groom. His tension and nervousness crumbled at the sight of her; it was difficult not to feel happy that he had found the one that made him feel this way. 

It may have been him for you, but that notion was long forgotten, a nuisance of memory at most. Your love for him, regardless of the storms it has endured, is no longer respected or wanted by either party.

If he loves her, why does he come to you when things get bad?

You shook your head at that, having no answer for the nature of his secret infidelity. It was nothing more than taking out his frustrations on you - much like the old days.

Your reminiscing was cut short when a voice asked everyone to rise for the bride. You stood and straightened out your outfit, flicking off the little white petal that clung to your maroon dress. A hand grasped your own, and you turned to see Steve smile reassuringly. You squeeze his hand in appreciation and turned your attention to the white-clad figure walking down the aisle.

And that’s all you remember. You wish you could recall the rest of the wedding. You really do. Too preoccupied with what was going to happen after the event, you disassociated from the ordeal altogether. No matter how hard you grilled yourself, nothing would come to mind - dissociative amnesia only occurs as a protective coping mechanism during traumatic events; was that what Bucky’s wedding was to you?

What type of question is that?

For once, you agreed with the little red beast that sat on your shoulder. Long ago, the first time you saw someone else Bucky’s arms, the devil pierced the pitchfork right through the angel’s heart. These days, it was all you could think of. 

After the bride and groom exchanged ‘I do’s’, you willed yourself to stay a while longer. Your only companion, Steve, slow danced with you in silence, knowing that whatever he says would be of no consolation. Bucky did have half a mind to ask you for a dance, but he saw you leave. You didn’t think anyone did. He waited for you to turn and look at him one last time, but you never did. It’s okay, he thought. I didn’t deserve her anyway.

No one saw you after that.

On your bed, Steve found a single note that didn’t explain anything more than what he already knew. If anything, it simply affirmed that you were gone for good. Your things packed up, no trace of a person ever having lived there. Even if he pulled some strings, it would take years to find you again. 

After all, you had already been lost for quite some time.

hey folks. i know this seems a little desperate-sounding but i would really appreciate reblogs and would absolutely love to hear your thoughts on the story. what was you favourite part? which part made you feel some way? i really love knowing these things. love each and every single one of you.

Masterlist

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[heyiwrotesomethings]

Lepidoterophobia Prt. Three (Finale)

Shinobu Kochou x She/Her Reader

A/N: A couple of y’all asked real nice for kisses and you know what, that’s valid. Shinobu is such a tease though so she’s gonna make you work for it! Just not in the way you’d expect. It’s all fluff but get ready for some loving caresses and a massage at one point! It gets a little frisky, but nothing too explicit and sorry for the sub bottom energy but, come on, its Shinobu. I think this will be it for this little series. Thanks for liking it so much! <3 (Part One) (Part Two) Word Count: 4,977

(Y/n) had been recuperating within the Butterfly Estate for only two weeks before she felt as if she was about to lose her mind.

She still hadn’t been allowed to leave her bed. Only limited movement and changes in position to partake in very simple exercises and to avoid bed sores were permitted. What made it even more depressing was how the small movements would take the little energy she had right out of her. Then there was that disgusting medicine as well. (Y/n), quite literally, almost threw up the first time Aoi had given it to her. Aoi had scolded her good after that, going on about a special brewing process and rare ingredients; how Shinobu had worked tirelessly to make it for her.

Shinobu... Now, if (Y/n) had to assemble a list of reasons for the impending mental breakdown she felt coming on, Kochou Shinobu would be at the tippy top of that list.

She was an absolute tease! Lingering touches, no regard for personal space whatsoever. Then there was her downright devious way with words that could make (Y/n)’s skin heat intensely and her brain short circuit, leaving her completely out of commission for the rest of the day in some cases.

That was to be expected though, especially since this was Shinobu they were thinking about, and (Y/n) was fine with that. She wouldn’t want her any other way. However, despite all of the teasing, or because of all of the teasing rather, Shinobu and (Y/n) had yet to kiss, unless one counted nose and cheek kisses of course. There was no shortage of those sweet affections.  And it wasn’t like (Y/n) hadn’t attempted on quite a few occasion to initiate a kiss herself, but her attempts had always been thwarted. If not by the sweet little girls of the estate interrupting the moment, then by Shinobu herself turning her head so (Y/n)’s lips would meet the soft skin of her cheek instead.

There were a few close instances, such as last night when Shinobu had come by to bid (Y/n) goodnight. She hovered over (Y/n)’s face, close enough that (Y/n) could feel the air leave Shinobu’s lips and wash over her own as she spoke. Unfortunately, (Y/n) had forgotten to actually pay attention to what Shinobu was saying, which led to more teasing.

After Shinobu had thoroughly roasted (Y/n), she delicately cupped the side of (Y/n)’s cheek, her cool and calloused thumb had skimmed over her lower lip, pulling it to the side slightly as Shinobu came closer still. Their noses brushed and (Y/n) almost forgot to breathe, her head muddled with the dizzying wisteria scent that clung to the other woman. (Y/n)’s eyes slid shut and her heart beat pounded in her ears. The feeling of Shinobu’s thumb as she made another pass over her lip was electric, fire, leaving a tingling feeling in its wake over the trembling flesh.

And then, a sweet yet chaste kiss to (Y/n)’s hairline and Shinobu rose back to her full height, an undisguised smirk and gleaming, mischievous eyes filled (Y/n)’s vision as her own eyes snapped open to look over the Hashira with a barely contained sense of betrayal. Shinobu’s pigeoned laughter rang in (Y/n)‘s ears for hours after the Hashira had retired to her own bedroom and (Y/n) awkwardly maneuvered herself in her own bed to yell into her pillow.

“(Y/n)? (Y/n), are you sleeping with your eyes open? What an unsettling habit.”

“Hm?” (Y/n) blinked, turning her head to see the devil herself smiling down at her. She looked unfairly angelic in the soft sunlight that was streaming through the window. “Sorry, I was just thinking.”

“Thinking about what?” Shinobu asked, taking a familiar perch on the edge of (Y/n)’s bed.

“Meh,” (Y/n) shrugged, willing the beating of her heart to not betray her, “Nothing. What were you saying earlier?”

Shinobu leveled a look at (Y/n) that could be clearly interpreted as saying something along the lines of, ‘I could easily grill you for the answers I want, but I’m feeling merciful at the moment so I’ll let it be’. “I had said good morning and asked you if you were ready for your light exercises. It was strange to see you look so focused. I’ll admit, I didn’t know your brain could work so hard. Don’t strain it too much though, okay?”

“Shinobu!” (Y/n) huffed, pursing her lips while Shinobu laughed at her cute expression.

“Oh don’t take it too hard, (Y/n). You know I’m just teasing. I think you’re quite intelligent,” Shinobu praised, leaning over to land a quick peck to (Y/n)’s forehead before pulling back up. “Now how about we sit you up, okay?”

“Okay,” (Y/n) couldn’t stop the small smile tugging at her lips in response to Shinobu’s affections, “I’m ready.”

(Y/n) strained her core, and with a little help from Shinobu pushing at her back, she managed to sit upright in bed without much fuss. Still, (Y/n) felt a little light headed from the excursion.

“Take a moment to focus on your breathing.” Shinobu said. She had noticed (Y/n) swallow thickly and rubbed her back in soothing circles. “Let me know when your ready to move to the edge of the bed.”

After a minute passed, (Y/n) nodded at Shinobu and slowly but surely they worked together so that (Y/n)’s legs dangled off of the side of the bed and her arms hung loosely at her sides. It had really surprised (Y/n) how quickly her health had deteriorated in the wake of the butterfly demon’s attack. Even her legs which had been her best asset to her survival that night, felt like lead now. Heavy and weakened like the rest of her body as her energy was sapped away to heal the most damaged areas.

“Let’s begin with your arms, shall we?” Shinobu spoke almost in a whisper, her mind undoubtedly returning to that hard night as well. “Can you lift them for me?”

(Y/n) fought against the heavy feeling in her arms. Thanking the gods for the absence of the snug slings she no longer had to wear constantly. Though she had to fight hard, the burn she felt as she raised her arms felt kind of good, like stretching a sore muscle. She only managed to raise her straightened arms so that her hands were about level with her navel before they started to tense and shake.

“Good, Just hold.” Shinobu coached. (Y/n) held the position for almost fifteen seconds before she let her arms fall back to her sides in a sharp exhale of air. “Well done. Take a couple breaths and try another rep, okay?”

(Y/n) made it through three more repetitions. Blood thrummed in her ears and a light sheen of sweat covered her forehead but she had done better than yesterday and that was all she could ask for. Next were the wrist rotations which were a welcome relief despite the slight discomfort (Y/n) felt reverberate in her elbows. Then the finger flexes and shoulder rolls solidified the poor slayer’s exhaustion, but at least that signified the end of her light stretches. Or so she thought.

“We should really stretch your legs a bit. They feel stiff, don’t they?” Shinobu inquired, inspecting (Y/n) from where she stood in front of her, a finger tapping against her chin as she spoke.

“They have been feeling rather stiff,” (Y/n) agreed, “but I’m sure if I tried to stand up right now I’d buckle over like a sack of rice.”

“No need to stand. Usually I’d get the younger girls to help with such things but it won’t take long, lean back,” Even as Shinobu spoke, she didn’t give (Y/n) enough time to move on her own, pushing her flat on her back with a gentle hand pressed firmly against (Y/n)’s chest near her collarbone.

“Wah- wait. Aren’t you going to talk me through it or— eep!” (Y/n) choked on her words as Shinobu worked her hips between (Y/n)’s legs which still dangled off the bed. (Y/n) felt her blood pressure skyrocket as the space between them completely disappeared.

One of Shinobu’s hands moved slowly, excruciating so, over (Y/n)’s thigh in a way that was entirely unnecessary.

“Are you alright, (Y/n)? I’m not hurting you am I?” Shinobu cooed while her hand disappeared under the backside of (Y/n)’s thigh.

“No!” (Y/n) squeaked, cursing the way her voice rose another octave above her normal cadence.

“Good, I hope we can keep it that way. Let me know if it gets to be too much, okay dear?”

It should be a crime to have a voice that can hold such power over a person like that. Shinobu could have told (Y/n) to climb to the top of Natagumo Mountain and jump off and she’d have done it, no questions asked. (Y/n) released a shuddering breath and nodded her response, unable to trust her own voice to reply without risk of further embarrassment.

Shinobu hummed and pushed up on the back of (Y/n)’s thigh, her hand naturally sliding up to the crook of the slayer’s knee as the leg rose up. Slowly, she began to push the knee inward towards (Y/n)’s chest. (Y/n) winced slightly at the stretch, but it hardly registered in comparison to Shinobu’s extremely close proximity.

Shinobu placed her once idle hand over (Y/n)’s knee cap, her other hand sliding further up to cup (Y/n)’s calf, gently squeezing while she raised the rest of the leg and began to slowly stretch it over (Y/n)’s torso as far as she could get it to go.

(y/n) sucked in a breath, “Okay, that burns a bit!”

Shinobu paused her movements and held the leg in position, “Not bad flexibility, (Y/n). With a little bit of work I bet you could go even further. I think I’d like to see.”

What was (Y/n) supposed to say to that? She made some uncommitted sound and tried not to think too intently about how Shinobu was pressing into her. After a few more moments of holding the position, Shinobu moved the leg outward to stretch it from another angle. The limb cracked near the base of her hip and (Y/n) sighed with relief. This was a lot more gentle than what the younger girls put her through during recovery training all those months ago.

“Oh? Does that feel better, (Y/n)?” Shinobu asked, her voice like honey and silk. Her hands slowly massaging the muscles of (Y/n)’s calf and thigh. (Y/n) nodded, her eyes nearly closing as she focused on Shinobu’s ministrations. “I’d like to hear you say so, just to make sure.”

“Yeah, it feels awesome.” (Y/n) sighed again, unabashed. Shinobu giggled.

“Wonderful, let’s move on to the other one then, shall we?”

“Gods, yes please!” (Y/n) responded eagerly, rubbing her free leg against Shinobu’s side until Shinobu took hold of it and gave it the same treatment as the other leg which was now hanging loosely over the edge of the bed.

By the time Shinobu had brought (Y/n)’s other leg back down, (Y/n) was trying to fight off sleep. However, the loosened and relaxed state of her muscles after the stretches clearly were beating out her efforts.

“Wow, (Y/n). Tired already? You haven’t even eaten breakfast yet.” Shinobu commented while she absently ran her hands over (Y/n)’s thighs, the motion felt comforting.

“I know,” (Y/n) groaned, “It's your fault for being so good at your job. I feel like a limp noodle, a very sleepy limp noodle.”

“Oh?” Shinobu chuckled. Sliding her hands purposefully upward until they rested at either side of (Y/n)’s ribs. The shift in her weight had her resting on her elbows, her chest resting just below (Y/n)’s. “Perhaps I could find a way to liven you up.”

“What do you have in mind?” (Y/n) asked slyly, hoping Shinobu couldn’t hear how fast her heart was racing. She wrapped her legs over Shinobu’s hips, locking her in, in hope to distract her, but also to egg her on.

Shinobu grinned at (Y/n) and shimmied closer. One of her hands came up to cradle (Y/n)’s jaw. She leaned even closer and landed a quick kiss to (Y/n)’s chin, then she pressed another one in the crook of (Y/n)’s neck, making the injured slayer laugh as she nuzzled closer.

“Oh!” (Y/n)‘s eyes shot wide open as the feeling of teeth grazing the sensitive skin of her neck.

“Hm? What is it, (Y/n)?” Shinobu asked, smiling against (Y/n)’s neck. “You seem to be perking up already.” she added, punctuating her words with a quick swipe of her tongue over (Y/n)’s neck, making the girl beneath her shiver.

(Y/n) whimpered quietly, much to her embarrassment, while Shinobu lavished her neck with attentions. Shinobu slowly worked her way upward, kissing her jaw and cheek before connecting her line of vision with (Y/n)’s.

The lovestruck look in (Y/n)’s eyes quickly morphed into an indignant glare as she perceived the familiar, mischievous glimmer in Shinobu’s plum colored irises.

“No.” (Y/n) said, her tone disbelieving. “No.” She said again, this time with a little more force behind it, shaking her head while Shinobu grinned down at her. “Shinobu!”

“I’m sorry (Y/n), but my meeting is starting soon so I must be off. Aoi will be by with breakfast soon. Make sure you eat it all so you can get stronger, okay?”

“But—!” (Y/n) tried to hold Shinobu to her body by tightening her legs around her but they did nothing to help her in her weakened state. Shinobu easily slipped free and (Y/n)‘s legs dropped back down over the edge of the bed in defeat.

“No buts! Let’s get you turned around quick, alright?” Shinobu grunted as she hoisted (Y/n)’s lower half and twisted (Y/n)’s body to lay fully on the bed with very little help from the dumbfounded, disgruntled girl. Then with a quick, teasing squeeze of (Y/n)’s knee, she was gone.

(Y/n)’s arm shook as she painstakingly pulled one of the pillows behind her free and pressed it as hard as she could over her face. “What the fuck?! AHH!” (Y/n) screamed, her voice muffled by the dense material.

***

The next time Shinobu walked into her room, (Y/n) had decided that was going to kiss her. She was going to kiss her full on the mouth or die trying because if she knew one thing, it was that she couldn’t play Shinobu’s games any longer.

For the rest of the day (Y/n)’s head was filled with thoughts of Shinobu getting a taste of her own medicine. (Y/n) had it all planned out. First, she was going to tease and flirt. How hard could that be? Shinobu made it look as easy as breathing. Then, once Shinobu had been thoroughly charmed, she would be practically begging for (Y/n) to sweep her off her feet, metaphorically of course, at least until (Y/n) wasn’t on bed arrest anymore. Then she’d kiss her and it would be Shinobu who would short circuit, Shinobu who would be at (Y/n)’s complete mercy! A foolproof plan!

(Y/n)’s chance came around midday four days later. Shinobu had been sent away on a mission soon after her meeting, giving (Y/n) plenty of time to think of how to execute her plan of action. The slayer sat upright in her bed now that she could do so herself without too much strain. She stared the door down with a determined gaze, gently scratching behind Mochi’s head while the bird stood in her lap. Any minute now she would come through that door. Prepare to be seduced, Kochou Shinobu!

A knock resonated off the door before it slid open a moment later and Shinobu glided in. Mochi cawed happily, flapping off of (Y/n)’s lap to fly around the Hashira in greeting. Shinobu simpered at the overly enthusiastic raven and told the bird about a fresh meal worm cake with his name on it. Mochi screeched and Shinobu laughed, ducking her head as Mochi flew out the door and towards the garden at mach speed. Then Shinobu closed the door behind her. Then, when she turned back and smiled a most dazzling smile that was all for (Y/n), every suave thing (Y/n) had thought to say flew right out the window. Four days of planning, completely down the drain. And all that remained was one lovestruck idiot.

“H-hey... you.” (Y/n) greeted, returning Shinobu’s smile although she was definitely screaming at herself on the inside.

“Hey yourself. You already look so much better than the last time I saw you! You’ve been keeping up with your medications and stretches, right?” Shinobu sat herself down on the edge of the bed. Her back was tilted away from (Y/n) and one leg was tucked and bent over the bed sheets while the other swung off the bed. (Y/n) also noticed that curiously, Shinobu had one hand hidden behind her back.

“Of course I have. I want to get better as soon as possible.” (Y/n) nodded resolutely. “Now,” (Y/n) tilted her head and eyed Shinobu warily, “what have you got behind your back?”

“I have something I want to test with you, a game of sorts, (Y/n).” Shinobu grinned devilishly.

“I have a feeling I don’t want to play this game if that look on your face is anything to go by.”

“Oh don’t be like that, (Y/n). I think it will be good for you. Won’t you please do this? The reward should you succeed will be very sweet.”

“Hrrrmmmm,” (Y/n) winced as she adjusted herself on the bed to sit a bit straighter and looked at Shinobu suspiciously. The Hashira’s eyes gave nothing away and (Y/n) sighed. “I suppose I could humor you. I’ve missed you after all.”

Shinobu simpered, and bounced a bit closer to (Y/n) on the bed, jostling her somewhat. Her hand was still behind her back as the other one lovingly brushed at (Y/n)’s hair. “(Y/n), you’re too sweet,” she cooed, “I missed you too.” She came even closer and nuzzled (Y/n)’s nose with hers, giving it a quick peck before withdrawing. Her face appeared to have morphed into a more serious disposition that had (Y/n) feeling both confused and filled with a sense of apprehension.

“Uh, I don’t usually associate such serious expressions with games.” (Y/n) laughed nervously.

“Perhaps I misspoke earlier,” Shinobu amended, a bit sheepishly, “It’s not a game, I should not have phrased it as such. I’m sorry. I was belittling you without you even knowing, without me realizing. I didn’t mean to, I-“

“Shinobu,” (Y/n) covered the Pillar’s free hand with her own, “it’s okay. What is it?”

“Remember what I said about exposure therapy a while back?”

“Shinobu, no.” (Y/n) backed as far as she could against the headboard, her heart beat picking up pace.

“(Y/n), I think it would be good for you. I’m not saying you have to love butterflies, I just want to help lower the distress and anxiety you feel when they are near.”

“Maybe you should focus on your own fear of furry animals before you start trying to fix my problems.” (Y/n) shook her head, her eyes flickering between Shinobu’s own and the Hashira’s hidden arm.

“I told you, it’s not a fear. I just can’t stand the mess all that shedded fur makes. Need I remind you that I’m allergic to the dander left by most of those furry beasts?” Shinobu easily countered.

(Y/n) thought back to earlier last week when Naho had smuggled in a stray dog to feed it. Kiyo and Sumi had gotten an idea in their heads that if they could hide the dog from Shinobu, they could keep it. Unfortunately, they were not very good at keeping their excitement to themselves. They had already led the dog through most of the estate, including the infirmary just before Shinobu made her morning rounds. By the time they reached (Y/n)’s room to show her the sweet pup, Shinobu was already there, trying to find some solace from the irritants that ransacked her senses. Her eyes were irritated, puffy and watery. Loud, unrefined sniffles and sneezes practically had the poor Hashira gasping for air. (Y/n)‘ s heart went out to her, but the way Shinobu’s voice sounded while she was so congested was insanely adorable.

Shinobu had admonished the girls as gently as she could between ferocious sneezes that seemed impossibly loud coming from such a small woman. (Y/n) felt bad for the girls, for the dog, but at least the dog hadn’t been a stray after all.

Fortunately, it had belonged to the Wind Pillar of all people. Giyuu had apparently been charged with watching the dog while he was away on a mission. He had lost sight of it and had been looking for the fluffy white dog all morning. (Y/n) couldn’t help but chuckle as she recalled how Shinobu shit talked Shinazugawa and Tomioka while sitting at the desk in (Y/n)’s room while she mixed herself some medication between wiping her nose and dabbing tears from her eyes.

“You were so cute!” (Y/n) thought gleefully.

“There was nothing cute about it. I felt disgusting.” Shinobu disagreed, the vein in her forehead pulsed faintly. “Now, back to the subject at hand. (Y/n), behind my back I have a specimen jar. In this jar is a butterfly that is so small, it’s wingspan is only about half the size of my pinky finger,” Shinobu slid her free hand out from under (Y/n)’s and stuck out her pinky finger, “See how small that is?”

(Y/n) had wanted to say something snarky, something along the lines of every part of Shinobu being small, but she smartly kept that comment to herself and simply nodded instead. Shinobu put her hand back down over (Y/n)’s.

“The butterfly can’t get out unless you untwist the lid. All I want you to do is hold the jar for a minute. This is a completely controlled, safe environment for you to explore your responses to butterflies. If you really don’t want to try, I won’t force you. I’m only suggesting because I really wish for you to be more comfortable here, to feel more at home.”

(Y/n)’s heart warmed at Shinobu’s admission. Yes, Shinobu had an air about her that (Y/n) felt powerless to deny, but Shinobu would never want to take advantage of her nor anyone else. Though she provoked and teased like a demon, Shinobu was endlessly kind and compassionate where it mattered.

(Y/n) gave the Hashira a nervous smile and shakily presented her hands over her lap, “Don’t mess this up Kochou. I’m only doing this because I like you so much.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it.” Shinobu said, sincerely. Finally, she produced the specimen jar from behind her back, cupping the bottom with her opposite hand while the other held firmly from the side. She gauged (Y/n)’s expression and observed for any intense discomfort in her body language as her hands made their approach.

(Y/n) immediately locked on to the small butterfly fluttering against the glass and swallowed hard. Her throat suddenly felt unbearably dry. Despite this, she kept her palms, now slightly sweaty, upturned in front of her, waiting.

(Y/n) jolted, feeling Shinobu’s knuckles slide against her palm. The only barrier left between the glass and her skin was slipping away.

“Oh gods!” All too quickly Shinobu’s hands were gone, hovering at either side of the glass, and (Y/n) was left holding the jar. “WhoooeeeEEAH! nooo nonono fuck-!“ (Y/n) scrambled to adjust her hold, only allowing the very tips of her fingers to hold on. Of course she realized that there was a layer of glass between herself and the insect, but she couldn’t help but hastily adjust her fingers every time the small insect fluttered too close. “Shinobu!”

“It’s okay, you’re doing great!” Shinobu encouraged. “Try focusing on telling me what you notice about the butterfly.”

“It looks like it’s out for blood!” (Y/n) exclaimed sharply, not taking her eyes off the specimen jar. Her fingers still dancing clumsily around the glass.

“How about you tell me about what you can physically see that is scientifically sound.” Shinobu tried again.

“It’s blue with black edges that have little white dots and it’s fast as hell! I think it’s tongue thing is flexing at me! Why is it doing that?!”

“That’s the proboscis, (Y/n). Butterflies use it to drink the nectar from flowers.” Shinobu provided helpfully.

“I bet it would drink my blood like a mosquito if it had the chance!” (y/n) thought bitterly.

“It physically can’t, (Y/n). The proboscis is too weak too pierce skin.”

“Is that true?” (Y/n) asked skeptically, “There’s not a single butterfly that would suck me dry if it could?”

“There is not a single butterfly in all of Japan that could do that to you, (Y/n).” Shinobu assured. Of course, she had read about some species of butterflies and moths overseas that did have the capability to drink blood and even presented the salty nutrients to their mates. She wasn’t going to tell (Y/n) that bit of information anytime soon though.

“Okay, that’s actually kind of reassuring, but it still freaks me out!” (Y/n)‘s fingers had finally found purchase on the rim of the metal lid. The butterfly inside had finally calmed down and settled at the bottom of the jar, it’s wings flapping intermittently.

“That’s okay, do you think you can tell me anything else about it? Our time is just about up.”

“Its legs bend weird. Its eyes are soulless. It looks like it’s resting now but it’s just biding its time.”

“Biding it’s time before I let it back out into the garden perhaps, but it has neither the desire nor the means to harm you.” Shinobu assured.

(Y/n) pursed her lips. She was staring so intently at the insect that she hardly registered Shinobu’s movements until she was fully straddling her thighs.

“What are you doing?” (Y/n) mumbled, not taking her eyes away from the jar despite Shinobu’s change in position. The Insect Pillar did not speak, instead lifting (Y/n)’s chin up. “Hey!” (Y/n) exclaimed. She tried to keep her head down, unwilling to let the butterfly out of her sight lest it suddenly disappear. Yet, Shinobu persisted, taking either side of (Y/n)’s head in her hands, drawing closer until all (Y/n) could see was purple. “Shi-“

(Y/n)’s mind went delightfully numb, filled with a fuzzy warmth that radiated all the way down to her toes. She leaned further into the kiss, reveling in the softness of Shinobu’s lips nipping against her own. After a few more moments, (Y/n) could feel Shinobu’s lips part into a smile against her own and (Y/n) couldn’t help but do the same, resting her forehead on Shinobu’s.

“What was that for?” (Y/n) giggled breathlessly, her hands had somehow made their way to Shinobu’s neck, her fingers laced behind her head threatening to pull the Hashira back in at a moment’s notice.

“Hm? Can’t I kiss my girlfriend?” Shinobu teased, landing a quick, a more chaste, kiss to (Y/n)’s lips.

“You can, and you have, but never on the lips. What changed? I thought you were going to tease me about it forever.”

“As entertaining as that sounds, I was actually trying to do you a favor.” Shinobu grinned.

“How do you figure that?” (Y/n) asked, looking at Shinobu incredulously.

“Because now that I’ve got a taste of you, I don’t think I’ll be able to stop.”

“Mm!”

Another kiss more fiery and involved than the last. (Y/n) actually had to slip her hands down Shinobu’s chest and push her away so she could catch her breath.

“Not that I mind, and I really don’t mind,” (Y/n) spoke between breaths, “but what changed, why right this minute?”

“It was your reward.” Shinobu stated plainly.

“For...?”

“Oh my, you really did forget already, haven’t you? I’m sorry, I hadn’t realized I had cut off the oxygen supply to your brain so effectively.”

Suddenly (Y/n)’s eyes snapped down to her lap and yelled loud enough for Shinobu to wince and lean back a smidge. How had (Y/n) forgotten? She picked up the discarded specimen jar by the lid using her index finger and thumb and scanned the inside, shivering once she found the butterfly still inside. Then she reached to place it on the bedside table, it made a little clattering sound as she quickly removed her hand as if the glass had burned her. Pulling Shinobu closer, (Y/n) buried her face in her chest and groaned while Shinobu laughed and patted (Y/n)’s head.

“You distracted me.” (Y/n)’s muffled voice accused.

“Perhaps, but didn’t it feel nice? And look, you are no worse for wear. In fact, I might even say you looked even more relaxed than before we began.”

“So what, are you going to kiss me every time I see a butterfly? Hardly seems practical.”

“Mmm but what a lovely idea. There are certainly enough around that I could get several kisses every day. If we make a habit out of it, sooner or later when you see a butterfly, your first reaction will be to pucker up rather than screaming.” Shinobu mused.

“Can’t you just be satisfied knowing that you’re the only butterfly I have ever, and will ever like?” (Y/n) paused, “Well, you and Kanao, Aoi, Naho, Kiyo, and Sumi.”

“I’m so honored.” Shinobu smiled and rolled her eyes, still stroking (Y/n)’s hair.

“You should be. It’s a very exclusive list. But there is an even more exclusive list that only you have access to.” (Y/n) said, returning to an upright position to face Shinobu once more.

“And what list would that be?”

(Y/n) tilted her head and stole another kiss from Shinobu who eagerly reciprocated, chasing (Y/n)’s lips even as she pulled away, giggling.

“The list of butterflies that I could not be happier to kiss.”

[septiembrre]

I'm not mad for the three word prompts pls xx

“I’m not mad”, 3 word prompts

I couldn’t sleep last night and instead of writing the prompt that has an actual deadline and due in a few days, I decided to write this because @sothischickshe is so nice and keeps giving me internet kudos, and I wanted to answer their prompt. <3 This is kind of a weird, nonsensical conversation. I know I’m not selling it, but truly I wrote it at 3 in the morning. Also yes, there’s lot of endearments in this that haven’t yet been used this way in the show, don’t @ me. 

On Ao3, too. 

Set: One day in the future when Brio is an item. 

-

Beth had made a mistake. She had started the bread late, off schedule.

The meet with their new contact was pushed back from a blithe afternoon meet and greet at Rio’s bar to eight in the evening semi-dinner that wasn’t incredibly tense but not really the kind of thing you actually wanted to eat at. But, regardless of business woes, she was still committed to making walnut bread whether she liked it or not. The parent group for Emma, Jane, and Marcus’s soccer team organized a bake sale for the team. Despite the ever-present shadiness of upper-middle-class, overly prideful parents, she had happily committed herself to three loaves - one for each of the children. It could be worse. At least she was no longer at a stage where all of her babies were elementary school-aged, and running ragged trying to room mother and volunteer at games.

Successful as the day was with their new connects, her whole bread-making schedule had been thrown off. By the time they had gotten home it was after eleven and she just had time to start the bulky second prove before she collapsed in exhaustion from the long day. Rio had tugged her zombie-like to bed.

But that was then and this was - now. Her over-disciplined mind had woken her up at an hour that still qualified as the middle of the night to shape the bread. Beth tried to undergo the mental gymnastics of which floorboards to avoid, to make it all the way to the kitchen without stirring Rio, but damn if she was still tired. He who must not be disturbed was snoring softly at her shoulder. Beth could already hear him, but she would just take it slow. She started first with one arm, and then the next. Limb by limb she freed herself from his all too enticing warmth and peeled away the blankets.

Slowly, she shifted her weight out of the bed, as a hand emerged out from under the piles of blankets to snag her own wrist.

Fuck. She moved two feet and she already got caught.

“Where you goin’?” Rio says it slow, rolling like molasses through his exhaustion and the fog of sleep. Rio always collapses into slumber, chronically under-rested. He took the luxury of rest where he could. It meant he slept heavy and he was always fussy to be interrupted. Beth leans back into the bed and kisses his temple, then his cheekbone.

She leans into his ear to whisper, “I need to go check on the dough.”

Beth strokes the scrunch of his brow, kisses the bridge if his nose. She’s pulling out all the stops.

“Go back to sleep, baby.”

He groans. The sound is loud in the darkness of their bedroom. Beth loves it, she loves him sleepy but holds her ground.

There’s a short pause, as she continues to stroke his temple. She’s hoping he decides to go back to sleep, he’s waiting for her to get back into their bed. For a moment, it’s a stalemate. Then, he gives.

Another groan - a purely theatrical protest, he certainly could answer a work text at any hour of the night.  He runs his hands over his face trying to clear the sleep and then continues to make his little show by lumbering out of bed as if this asshole ever had an ungraceful day in his life. “I’m goin’ wit you.”

She huffs. “I’m fine.”

“Nah, you want to do this now. So we’re gonna do it.”

“Go back to bed.” Beth sternly whispers, trying to keep her voice down. For who she isn’t sure. They’re alone, the kids at their respective parents for the week. Maybe she does it to maintain the decency of the hour.

“You go back to bed.”

His fingers reach out to her, curling under the top of her pajamas, and pulling her closer towards the mattress. Rio’s hands are warm and big against the softness of her skin there. She considers relenting, inviting his body to curl back around her, knows she could probably get an orgasm out of this. But, the children!

“Let’s just buy it tomorrow.”

A year ago she would have scoffed, offended. Now she just rolls her eyes at him the dark. Maybe he can’t quite see but she knows that he knows.

She catches his hands. Slaps him on the wrist.

“If you’re coming with me you have to behave.”

“No.”

“Christopher.”

“Fuck. You sound like my middle school math teacher, Mrs. Ramos-“

“Or like your mother.”

“Or like a really mean librarian. Mrs. Castillo-“

“Oh my god. Let’s go.”

-

Rio collapses on a chair at the island, blearily keeping an eye on her. Beth turns on one of the lights in the kitchen. Halfway through her checking unearthing the proved dough, he starts playing Animal Crossing on his phone. She recognizes the app jingle.

“The kids play that.”

“E’rybody plays it.”

“I mean kids do.”

“Sweetheart, it was on the GameCube in ‘01.”

Beth scrunches her face at him. It’s an ungodly hour, he’s pouting like her youngest, who is for the record an eight-year-old who plays Animal Crossing, and watering his fucking crops or fishing or whatever. She lets herself digress because certainly, she wouldn’t be the first to indulge in childish behavior. Also, the fucking GameCube? This guy. “How old are you again?”

“Four years younger than you.” This is a pattern they’ve fallen into, a refrain. The other day he finally showed her his license but then she reminded him, it could be fake for all she knew.

“No one our age played the GameCube.”

“Your age maybe. My age they did.”

Fuck him.  She glowers.

“What, your old hubby never played Galaga? Or whatever the fuck boorish white dudes played in the 90s? Bet he was a Tetris guy.”

“First of all, Tetris is fine. I’ve seen you play Tetris! And white people play Animal Crossing.” She ends a touch snidely.

“Yeah. Like I said, everybody plays it. Nintendo is the shit.”

She would know. All of her children, and her pseudo-eldest, Annie, cannot remove themselves from whatever the Nintendo calls itself these days. All of Annie’s social media updates have been about her virtual island. And then Ruby had started using Sarah’s console, and joined Annie there - on that island. They took kind-of cute cartoon pictures wearing matching hot pink outfits with what they adamantly claimed was “juice” but was definitely a daiquiri. Beth was just feeling a little left out is all.  

“I thought you said you didn’t like the phone game.”

“It’s not good like the Switch, but it’s a fix.”

“Uh huh.”

“Besides your sister is blowin’ shit way the fuck out of proportion on New Horizons. I already visited her damn tacky island three times this week. She bought a fuckin’ port-a-potty and put it in her house. It’s fuckin’ weird. She kept insisting we take screenshots by it-“

Beth stops listening, distracted as an image of a cartoon Rio drinking mimosas with Annie and Ruby on stylized furniture flashes in her mind's eye.

“Don’t pout, darlin’.”

She scoffs and then her lips purse a little more.

“It ain’t becoming’.”

The bowl she’s working with clatters a bit as her movements become more vigorous.

“Did you just tell me to ‘smile’ at four-thirty in the morning?”

He opens his mouth as if to answer her, shuts it, and pointedly continues tapping on his phone. After a minute he lowers the volume. All that can be heard is the jingle playing softly.

She continues shaping the bread. Rio migrates over to the living room and Beth hears him collapse on the couch. She stores the bread, tucking it back into it’s proving spot, and sets the timer so she can wake up and bake the dough later in the morning.

“Elizabeth.” It’s not lush, weighty like he usually says it. He lets sleep curl around it and soften the syllables. She comes to perch against the open entrance of the living room. Rio’s pulled a blanket down with him on the couch and is being purposefully charming. It works but god is it annoying.

“Sweetheart, c’mere.”

She stares at him.

“Don’t be that way.”

Beth lofts her head. “I’m not mad.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Let’s go to bed.”

“C’mere, please.”

He lifts the blanket. She glimpses his hoodie-clad body underneath and she knows the toasty warmth of his body and she knows she’s mad for no reason, so she tries to get over it, and goes to lie with him on the couch.

They wrap themselves around each other. He kisses her forehead. “You just feel old because it’s five in the mornin’ and that makes everyone feel like shit.” He dips down to kiss the grooves under her eyes. “You interrupted our beauty sleep.”

His kisses travel the frame of her face and then he continues.

“Also, your girlfriends and I aren’t going to decide we all like each other better and un-invite you to the party.” He pecks her lips. “Besides your sister’s a freak and there’s no way she’s replacin’ you as my best friend. No way anyone is replacin’ you.”

“Not even Mick?”

She notices that he makes an uncommitted noise, but allows herself to melt further into their embrace, kisses his shoulder. She lets herself be soft.

“I love you.”

His hands dip lower to the swell of her ass. She can tell he’s eyeing the way her boobs swell up pressed against his chest.

“Yeah, darlin’?”

“Either say you love me back or go to sleep, Christopher.”

He chuckles and whispers a quick I-love-you into the shell of her ear and then a nip, “How much time we got before you check the bread again?”

Now she’s laughing. Fuck it. They’re up anyway. She kisses him, dips down to suck a mark into one of the wings at his neck.

“Plenty of time.”

[undergroundbandimagines]

Disillusionment: It’s What’s Killing Middle-Aged Dating

Let’s try treating our dates as potential life partners instead of bottom feeders

Image: Pintera Studio Pixabay

Several middle-aged men have asked me recently why the women they’re meeting aren’t interested in them. On my blog, I keep hearing from widows who’ve given up on men.

Let’s start with the over-arcing problem:

Our disillusionment is killing us.

When we’re young, we fall in love and we want to build lives together, to comfort our beloved when they suffer losses and cheer for their accomplishments. Perhaps we feel more than we do at middle age. More attraction, more passion, more lust, but also, over time, more caring, more hope and more attachment.

By the time we’re middle-aged and we’ve suffered through a few failed relationships, we’re numb. We tamp down our expectations. Now we just want someone to have emotionally distant sex with every other Thursday night after our fantasy lacrosse team disbands. Tending to our romantic relationships has become our last priority, perhaps something to think about after fixing that long leaking toilet in the guest bathroom.

Having given up on finding love, we middle-aged idiots stop expecting it. We settle for so much less. Our emotional playbook is reduced to fulfilling our bodily needs with people we don’t really care about.

It’s an untenable way to live. Like seeing only grey when the world is saturated with color.

I recently learned a depressing new word: situationship. It’s a dating relationship that’s undefined or uncommitted. It’s basically when you and another person are doing coupley things, but you’re not actually a couple. In between a hook-up and a relationship, situationships are that area where no one really knows what’s going on, and no one talks about commitment.

I think a lot of people are settling for these hybrid catastrophes. But come on, we’re grown ups. We’re supposed to be more articulate.

I’ve met so many divorced guys who feel they gave their all once before — financial support, putting family first, agreeing to their wives’ demands — and look how that worked out. Women my age feel they’ve already raised their kids, why do they want to take on men who act like children?

Most of my dating post-widowhood has been a power struggle. I would tell a man I was dating about my needs, those of a lonely widow with little family and few connections, only to be told they weren’t acceptable. Most of the men I dated wanted me to fit their wish-list. So, no I wasn’t okay with twisting my life to fit some one else’s schedule, driving to see them, but never having them come to me, or being told their dating other people was good for our, uh, situationship. Their convenience was paramount, but they never acted like they cared about me.

Maybe it’s my super limited experience from spending most of my life with one man, but I don’t get all the hostility. Ostensibly, we’re meeting people to see if we want to be with them, maybe finding love, maybe even for the rest of our lives. Yet we don’t seem to care about them, from showing up to an initial coffee date to seeing if they get home safely to offering kindness instead of caveats.

Let’s talk about freeway merging.

(I’m going somewhere with this). People used to let each other merge onto the freeway. It’s common courtesy. Otherwise, the merging driver is forced to exit instead of entering, or, in the case of those creepy short merges, they have to hit the breaks to avoid slamming into the wall. But I’ve noticed that lately people don’t let each other in. They just accelerate and charge by, with no thought to the other driver.

That’s what dating is like. Except instead of some unknown driver we’re never going to see again, these are the people with whom we might be spending the rest of our lives.

When a woman is telling you about something that’s really stressing her out, and you’re thinking you’re bored and you just wanted to get laid, you are failing. And when you tell her something honest and true and she isn’t listening, she’s failing you too.

We just don’t care. That cynicism has filtered into dating and that’s why it isn’t working. It’s simple: Don’t date someone unless you care about them.

Perhaps you should invert your thinking

Instead of thinking what you want in a romantic relationship, ask yourself what you can offer the other person.

If it’s that you’re way too busy to see anybody on a regular schedule, be upfront about it and don’t argue when you get turned down. If it’s that you’re still really pissed at your ex and the next lady better not expect too much, see a counselor instead of exposing some innocent woman to your vitriol.

Coming from a place of resentment doesn’t work. I know. I’ve met far too many of you guys.

But if you want to love someone again, please, tell us. Don’t be embarrassed. Vulnerability is attractive. Acting like we’re the enemy is not.

However, being vulnerable requires self-esteem. And our past relationships may have chipped away at that. Nothing worked in the past so we don’t expect anything to work now. We’re too bruised to open ourselves up again. No one treated us well so we’ve stopped expecting it, and we treat our dates poorly because we expect the same in return.

As our self-esteem flags, so does the way we regard the people we date. They become suspect, belonging to a club we wouldn’t want to join because it accepts us as a member. So we treat them like they don’t matter and now they’re self-esteem is floundering. We can stop the vicious cycle. But it requires believing we are worthy of love, it is attainable, and treating our dates like prospective life partners instead of bottom feeders.

Can we approach dating with a sense of promise?

I’ve met several happy couples who met in middle age. The one thing they have in common is their radiant smiles. I could envision a first meeting where he sees a curvy woman with a kind face who looks happy to meet him. She sees a man with a high forehead and deep blue eyes that look hopeful. They see promise, and therefore beauty, in each other.

It’s exciting to meet new people. You might find the second love of your life. Or at least have some great times with someone lovable.

With the pandemic, we’re forced to limit our social interactions. Our first drinks together might be on zoom, our first meal a socially distanced picnic, and our first kiss might take place way later than we thought it would. Let’s use that extra time to take more care with how we treat each other. And to see that connecting with another person is a privilege, not a battle ground.

I’d like to start a movement called ”The Unfun Daters,” people who are unabashedly looking for life-time partners and who won’t accept less.

What do we want? Serious Commitment.

When do we want it? Within a prudent timeframe.

Add in the twenty page contract you have to sign wherein you agree to be courteous and accountable to your dates, and you see what I mean. Dating is work. I used to spend a set amount of time each day online checking out new profiles and answering messages. When I agreed to meet, I kept my appointments. But most importantly, I believed I’d find my forever person. It took years, but I did, through perseverance and an almost insane belief in love.

So, if your prospects aren’t interested, it may be because you’re already radiating defeat. We need to see promise instead of futility. And we need to come from a place of compassion instead of disillusion.

Let’s start by being kinder to each other.

Disillusionment: It’s What’s Killing Middle-Aged Dating was originally published in P.S. I Love You on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.

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[lumosinlove]

The Kitchens

part vii

Sirius shifted his shoulder slightly to the left, allowing pork to be tonged onto his plate and trying desperately to focus on what his mother was saying.

“You’re checking in with your studies, I presume? Regulus’ professor has informed me he checks in nearly every other day.” If his mother could have a ‘fond’ look, she flashed it at Regulus then.

Sirius stabbed at his plate, nodding for a moment and looking up to Regulus, “Because he has nothing better to do.”

Regulus narrowed his eyes, “And you do?”

Sirius felt a blissful burn ignite in his chest, images of Remus’ nose scrunching, head thrown back as he pressed their bodies together filling his head. Images of him smiling, flour on his cheek and hair slightly curlier from the heat of the oven.

He smirked. Things wasn’t the right word, but he was definitely otherwise occupied.

His mother took a disapproving sip of wine, “Quiet. Regulus,” Sirius almost rolled his eyes. Regulus Regulus Regulus, “have you told your brother of your acquirement?”

Sirius stopped chewing for a moment, eyes flicking to Regulus, watching his face. His brother’s eyes remained fixed on his plate, pushing what little food he had there around. Sirius’ jaw resumed slowly, trying to relax the small knot forming in his stomach, “Acquirement?”

His mother’s smile was dripping with pride, her tongue flicking against her teeth with the need to tell every soul she could about this news, “Oh, yes. Our cousins, the Lestranges. A powerful family, not like us, of course, but they have their uses. They’ve formed a “society,” as they’re calling it. Stupid name.” The queen had pork in her teeth as she rolled her eyes, letting out a laugh, “Regulus, won’t you tell your brother?”

Sirius’ eyes moved to Regulus, wide. He knew what society meant. He knew what doing anything involving the Lestranges meant. His cousins wanted nothing but power for what they considered “pure” bloodlines. Pure nobility, pure beauty. Purity away from poverty, from lower class people they deemed peasants. They were ruthless and cruel and Sirius despised them. He didn’t wonder, then, why that had gone to Regulus instead of him, the future monarch. He didn’t make his hatred secret. Sirius waited for Regulus’ eyes to find his, but they didn’t.

“It’s a political movement.” Regulus said to his lap, “A revolution, if you will. It will keep us in power.” Only then did his eyes raise, “I am to be the representative of the Black household.”

They looked at each other for silently and, for a moment, Sirius thought he saw a younger version of the boy in front of him now, less silent, less…this. For a moment Regulus looked like he had before, when he hated Sirius’ outbreaks, hated when he argued against mother. Hated what he brought down on himself, after.

Don’t, Sirius. Please, don’t.

Then it was gone, and Regulus looked away.

Sirius put his fork down, “A revolution, huh? Is that their kind word for increasing taxes? For starving the villagers?”

“Hold your tongue.” His mother snapped at him.

Sirius grit his teeth, “They’re full of greed and nothing else. Greed for themselves-“

“And they have placed your brother at a top position.” His mother’s lip was curling, her fingertips clawing into the table. Sirius knew what it meant. He knew what he was in for. He couldn’t stop.

“They do know he’ll never be king. They’ll have nothing when I-“

“That,” The queen snarled, “Will be a very long time from now. Unless you are implying otherwise.”

Sirius felt his cheeks flush, anger burning his chest. Of course she would jump to that conclusion, of course she would want to make him seem just like them, twisted, scheming, power-hungry, “I imply nothing.”

And that was it. The last word, as usual, was hers.

Sirius sat quietly at desert, heart aching at the slice of chocolate cake in front of him. He wanted nothing more than to be down in the kitchens with Remus, alone and surrounded by the heat of him, his warmth and the comfort he offered. He couldn’t help but glance at Regulus who sat straight, answering whatever questions his mother asked him in the exact way she wanted him too. Sirius couldn’t do that, he’d never been able to do that. Even when they were young, Sirius had never stayed in his seat, he’d never held his tongue, not like Regulus. Regulus who was slowly being corrupted, fixed under the control of the family, the cruelty. And nothing Sirius could do would stop it, stop him. He’d been completely shut out by his baby brother. Just like by everyone else. Always the outcast.

He couldn’t remember when he’d started getting beaten for it, but he supposed that was why. He wasn’t the perfect son. He wasn’t the perfect king. He just… wasn’t.

He barely touched the cake, and he was glad for this, for after the table had been cleared and he’d been instructed to follow his mother into her study, he emptied the contents of his stomach out in the privacy of his bathroom, the action stinging his newly sliced cheek, and making the quickly forming bruise over his left ribs ache painfully.

He fell asleep on the cool, stone floor, bloodied and aching for the one person who couldn’t come.

~

James looked distressed when he came back to the kitchens, bearing Sirius’ breakfast tray, still ladened with most of the food. Remus looked at it, then looked at James.

James put up a smile that didn’t reach his eyes, “Too much wine, I think. Life of the royals, yeah?”

Remus pulled the tray towards him slowly, nodding. The napkin was still folded and he made a show of picking up the silverware so James wouldn’t notice him slipping the small piece of parchment from between the folds, “Right.” He offered a smile of his own, one that didn’t reach his eyes, “Happen often?”

James’ smile wilted a bit, and he picked up an apple, leaning his back against the table. Remus could only see half of his face, “I’d say so.”

Remus picked up on… something. Something in his voice that he didn’t like. But James didn’t stay long enough for further questioning, instead picking up a rather large basket of shoes and polish. Remus could at least be glad he didn’t have to do that. He looked down at the piece of paper in his palm.

Care to finish what we started?

Lake. Nightfall.

He sighed. It had taken half his courage to write it, the other half to send it upstairs. He felt foolish now, seeing it unread in his open palm. The other night was still with him, as vividly as it had happened hours ago. He’d catch himself thinking of it mid-work, cheeks hot, breathing heavy. It had been incredible, and it was driving him mad. It was unfinished. It was a madness he could deal with, as long as there was the promise of more, of time. Time together. But the time apart… Remus tore the note up slowly, lip between his teeth.

He was monumentally unprepared for the constant need that scraped at his chest.

“Fuck.” He breathed, pushing off the table. Sirius hadn’t gotten the note. He had no other way of contacting or communicating with him in any way unless Sirius initiated it by venturing downstairs. Then again he’d need some excuse—a good excuse—for him being there in the first place. Remus felt suspended on the end of a tether, the binds verging on too tight. Just seeing each other was a battle and he was definitely the one on the losing side. He’d have to wait it out, sit on his hands, hope for Sirius to come to him sooner rather than later.

Remus tossed the scraps and walked to the work Mrs. Potter had left him while she went to the usual Saturday morning markets, restocking on what was in season. He was to start the egg sandwiches for the Queen’s luncheon. Remus contemplated skipping the task. Let the Queen go without her tea sandwiches. See what her nobles thought of her then. Royalty was petty like that, weren’t they? Now that he knew just how much Sirius hated the queen, Remus’ own hatred only seemed to burn hotter. But he sighed, and cracked the first egg into the bowl. It wouldn’t be his head on the chopping block.

He was just turning to fetch the buttermilk when two hands caught his hips, pulling him away from the counter and firmly against a chest.

Remus didn’t even pretend to be startled this time, and just let out a much too loud laugh, feeling a similar one muffled against the skin of his throat. His chest felt like it would collapse with the sudden release of pressure, with the relief.

He’s here.

He placed one hand on the hand covering his opposite hip, the other still whisking the egg, “Well, hi.”

He felt a chin press to his shoulder and the hands on his hips moved to wrap tightly around his waist, as Sirius pressed their bodies closer, “Hi.”

Remus’ whisk slowed as he looked at the murky eggs, remembering, “You okay?” He tried to keep his voice light.

“Hm.” Sirius’ answer was quiet, a liar’s uncommitted sound.

“Yeah?” Remus didn’t want to push, but he couldn’t not ask either.

Sirius pressed his lips to Remus’ jaw, right at the place where it curved to meet his ear, “Better now.”

Remus nodded a little, unable to help tilting his head into the kiss, “Do you want some of this?” When Sirius didn’t answer he pushed on, “’s just you didn’t really eat your breakfast, I thought something might be wrong.”

It was light, but Remus didn’t miss the curse Sirius breathed, “Oh. Right, forgot you’d… y’know, see that. Notice.”

Remus put the fork down, twisting in Sirius’ arms, “Of course I’d notice, you didn’t get my-“

The kitchen was silent for a long moment. Remus didn’t make a move to touch and neither of them pulled away, but there was more air between them now. Misunderstanding, concern, worry. Sirius was just looking at him, eyes silently begging him not to. Not to say anything, not to notice, not to ask him. And Remus almost couldn’t. This was Sirius. This was a boy who had managed to change his life in a matter of weeks, who didn’t deserve…this. Whatever it was, whatever was happening. And then Sirius dropped his gaze, mouth turned down in a way that still said please don’t.

And Remus didn’t.

He pushed a careful hand through Sirius hair, pushing it back from the slightly swelling edge of his right eye and said, “Someday?”

Sirius looked up again and relief was there in his expression. He nodded, “Someday.”

Remus kept his hand there, just stroking gently, and Sirius closed his eyes, leaning into it. He would have stayed there forever.

Still with his eyes closed, Sirius finally spoke, “I believe I was promised a tutorial in this particular task.”

Remus grinned, “That you were.”

Sirius glanced quickly around the kitchen, “Are you expecting anyone?”

Remus was suddenly feeling very grateful for the market, “Not a soul.”

They spent the next half hour between soft quiet and laughter, Remus’ hands almost always over Sirius’ larger ones, teaching, and just wanting to touch. They were cutting the bread when Sirius finally said what Remus wanted to hear.

“What are you doing tonight?”

Remus reached up, plucking a few chives from the herbs hanging from the ceiling, “Positively nothing.”

“Not anymore.” Sirius looked up from the sandwich he was somewhat gingerly holding, meeting Remus’ eyes, “Do… Do you think you could find an excuse to come upstairs again?”

Remus tore the chives in his fingers, letting them fall atop the egg, “Yeah. Apparently your mum is dining out tonight so there won't be much to do. The parlor again?”

Sirius looked back down to where he was carefully spreading butter on a toast, “Actually,” Remus looked up again at the hesitance in his tone. Sirius stayed as focused as one could be on toast, eyes down, “I was thinking you could come a bit more… well, up.” He took a large, nervous breath, “My chambers,” his eyes flicked up to Remus, “for instance.”

Remus held his breath. This was new, “Your room.”

Sirius nodded, “Right.” He kept his eyes on his knife, “It’s private, no one would come in. I can show you a secret passage to get there.”

Remus’ mouth quirked up, “Secret passage way?”

Sirius grinned, looking at him this time, “Yes, I know. Castle’s full of them.” Then more tentatively, eyes down again, “Will you come?”

Remus felt flushed all the way from his toes, hot all over. His skin prickled, cheeks warmed at the thought of being in Sirius’ room, Sirius’ space. The unidentified space that he’d been sending breakfast up to for months. His chest ached with the sudden want to see it, to see it with Sirius.

“Remus?” Remus looked up fro where he’d been staring at nothing, and felt his face grow hotter. He could feel the slight smile on his face. He saw Sirius’ eyes flick to it and then smile too, “Will you?”

Remus nodded, “‘Course. Of course, I will.”

~

Regulus’ back ached, but he didn’t dare relax.

He heard Bellatrix’s nails on the table, long scratches, before he saw her or her mother.

“Regulus. So glad you could join us.” Only then did they come into view. The same sleek black hair with dark eyes to match. Bellatrix smiled at him, all teeth, no actual smile, while her mother smiled, no teeth, no actual smile, “My sister has raised you well since we last met.”

Regulus stood and bowed to each of them, kissing his aunt’s hand. He did not smile, “It’s been too long.”

The tall stained glass windows of the Lestrange Manor let in very little light. What did make it through the dark green stains was watery and thin, casting shifting shadows on the wall. It made Regulus feel uneasy. He was never sure what was moving, and what wasn’t. There could be someone behind him, or just a trick of the light. Was his aunt’s eyes on him, or to his right, forward. The light left him in the dark. He wanted to go home.

He heard others filter in behind him, other household representatives, other members of the noble bloodlines, and he sat without a word. Bellatrix fell into the seat beside him, nashing her teeth and gripping his hand, then pouting and turning away when he didn’t flinch.

His aunt took the head of the table, remaining standing. Tarea Lestrange was a slight woman, but with eyes that radiated power. She wore black robes that made her look impossibly taller, leaner.

“Welcome.”

Regulus listened intently with lowered eyes.

Power.

Wealth.

Control.

All for themselves. It was all he heard. He felt the energy change in the room as his aunt rallied the houses, his eyes flickered around them room at the approving nods. Contracts were handed out, outlining plans of action, plans for the surrounding villages. Sirius had been correct. Taxes were to be raised, and laughter had not been scarce when Bellatrix mimicked a common-folk, begging for food and drink.

“And what of enforcement?” A man’s voice rang out clearly, rather high. His robes were heavy with the chains around his neck, thick and silver. He had a smile on his face, thin and curling, that told Regulus he already knew the answer to his question.

Regulus thought he knew as well.

Tarea smiled, no teeth, no smile, and, yes, Sirius had been correct,

“Blood.”

Regulus cleared his throat softly before speaking, “Death? For taxes?”

Tarea’s smile didn’t waver, “Correct, nephew.”

Regulus’ hands tightened into fists, nervous. He shoved them under the table, “My house- The Queen will not stand for that. I don’t believe.”

His aunt’s eyes tightened, and she pressed the tips of her thin fingers to the dark wood of the table, leaning her long body forward, “Is that so?”

Regulus sat up straighter, “There are other ways to take care of it, are there not?”

Her pupils were pin points, “Yes.”

“Then no. No, the Queen would never be agreed.”

Tarea’s lips parted, ever so slightly. The smile looked like a possessive grimace, “The Queen wouldn’t? Are you sure? Or… are you talk about your future king?”

Regulus stiffened but willed himself not to look away. He felt the air change again at the mention of his brother. Sirius was notorious for speaking out against the traditional ways of the families. He was a threat, and the fear he brought turned sour and into hatred almost instantly.

“Because,” his aunt continued, “I believe there are other ways of taking care of that, as well.”

The air in Regulus’ lungs seem to still. Beside him Bellatrix let out a gasp, then a laugh. He saw others sit up strighter. They were listening now.

This was new. This was his brother. Regulus swallowed thickly, heart sinking with realization.

This was the reason he had been picked for this position.

“I’m not sure I follow.” His thanked God his voice did not shake.

Tarea’s fingers dragged against the backs of chairs as she made his way to his, coming to stand behind him. Her fingers were tight on his shoulders,

“Regulus. Wouldn’t you like to be king?”

~

Regulus speaks to no one as he arrives home. He sends his guards away, he leaves his dinner to fall cold. He pushes into his room, falls to his knees, and tells himself he’s doing the right thing. His words echo off his skull.

Yes. Yes, I would.

And he starts to formulate a plan.

~

Sirius stared at the tea cart in front of him, ladened with summer fruits, cheese and bread, wine, chocolate. Anything he could think of, he had gotten sent up. When the maid finished setting up, he had opened the door for her to leave, and ordered his guards to follow. They had smirked, glancing at one another. No doubt, images of an affair filled their minds. Sirius closed the door and grinned. They had no idea.

He’d been pacing for the last half hour, eyes never leaving the bookshelf for a moment, waiting for it to open and allow the person who he was almost positive he’d never be able to stop thinking about again to enter. At least it felt that way.

He wasn’t sure what had made him invite Remus up here. It had been a spur of the moment decision, quite possibly the result of certain unfinished business and the uncontrollable need to finish it. For completion, however, privacy was a necessity. He glanced at the bed, then at the food. It wasn’t a purely sexual motive. Since he met Remus, he had to admit that he’d developed quite a need to give Remus things. Slippers, notes, flowers, chocolate. He wanted to watch his face light up over and over, to watch that shy smile whenever he thought he might be getting over excited. He could watch Remus just be happy until the end of time and be content all the while.

He heard a muffled clump from inside the wall and halted, spinning towards the case. He watched as it creaked open slowly, and a very hesitant head poked through. The second Remus caught sight of Sirius, however, all hesitation was replaced by a grin and Remus slipped from the hidden doorway and right into Sirius’ arms, pulling him into a slightly miscalculated kiss, more laughter than lips.

“That was terrifying.” Remus breathed, lips moving against Sirius’ as he spoke, palms splayed on his cheeks, “Full of fucking spiderwebs.”

Sirius’ heart felt like it was tripping over its own beats. This room had never felt so warm before. He grinned back somewhat dazed, eyes trying to look at every bit of Remus’ face at once, “You don’t like spiders?”

Remus just shook his head, finally finding it in him to lean off his toes so they could speak at a normal distance, “Not in the slightest.”

“Well,” Sirius settled his hands comfortably on Remus’ waist, dipping his head downward to nudge their noses together briefly, “I’m glad you made it.”

Remus smiled at him, eyes hooded and soft, then let his eyes drift around the room for the first time, smile dropping and eyes widening a little.

“Jesus.” He let his arms fall, looping loosely around Sirius’ neck instead, “You really are a king.”

Sirius snorted, “Well spotted.”

Remus rolled his eyes but the smile was back, eyes still roaming over the room. Sirius let him slip out of his arms somewhat reluctantly, holding on until it was just their fingertips touching.

“Did you do this?” Remus asked, picking up a fig.

Sirius hummed in acknowledgement, leaning against a bed post and fiddling with the transparent curtain that was bunched at the corner, letting it fall over his palms. He watched Remus silently as he walked around the room in slow circles, taking a bite of the ripe fruit. He touched nearly everything. The walls, the cushions on the fainting couch by the door, the dark, smooth wood of Sirius’ wardrobe. He ran his fingertips over each and ever surface and Sirius found heat pooling in his stomach as he watched them, long and slender and gentle. His skin prickled with the need to feel them against himself.

Finally, Remus stopped, back where he started, taking the curtain out of Sirius’ hands and replacing it with his own. He laced their fingers together, using the leverage to pull them chest to chest, “It’s very nice in here.”

Sirius smiled, “I’m glad you think so.”

“You don’t?” Remus nudged their noses together.

“I think…” The truth was that Sirius had never particularly liked this room. Too many memories, too closed off. It felt impersonal, like it could belong to anyone, not just him. Then again, with how people viewed him, maybe that was the point. He raised one of their locked hands, pressing it to his mouth, “I think I like it more now that you’re in it.”

Remus smiled, then pressed up and kissed him. The pressure was soft for a few moments, just genteel presses of closed lips, before Remus let Sirius part his with his tongue, and press him against the flat edge of the bedpost. Sirius moaned into his mouth, releasing his hands only to have them press firmly to his back, trailing downwards to his arse, holding Remus against him. Remus panted softly as Sirius let his lips trail down to his throat. He tilted his head back, content and helpless against Sirius’ mouth sucking a bruise into his skin, wetting and biting and marking.

“God,” Remus tightened his hands in Sirius’ shirt, “Tell me you can stay. Tell me-”

He didn’t want to admit to himself how belittled the question made him feel. He was never the one who had to leave, probably never would be. He would always, however, be the one who had to be left. He didn’t think about how one day it would be for good.

“I can.” Sirius’ voice is breathless, and he can’t seem to be able to get close enough to Remus, “I can, I can.”

For now.

Remus let his eyes slip closed again and dragged his hands up to Sirius’ hair. He groaned when he felt cool metal touch his fingers, “Jesus, I hate this thing.”

Sirius just kissed him again, lips feeling wet and swollen from their previous work. Remus almost didn’t hear his words through the need ricocheting around his head,

“Take it off.” Sirius laughed gently against Remus’ mouth, “Throw it.”

Remus didn’t hesitate in curling his fingers around the gold and tossing it from Sirius head. He heard it fall, muffled by a thick rug. Out of sight, out of mind.

“There, it’s gone.” Sirius’ hands were back on his hips, smile blinding, backing them up until Remus fell down on the bed, Sirius crawling over top of him, “Just you and me, love.”

Remus sighed, sinking into the weight of Sirius’ hips on his, the extreme softness of the bed against his back, and tried not to let the sadness creep in with the happy. It’s good now, this is a good memory. He won’t be the one to ruin it.

“Just us.” He repeated, not intentionally out loud, softly.

Sirius shuffled until he was supported by his forearms, looking down at Remus. His fingers played with the hair that fanned out over his ears gently. His eyes were soft, and trying desperately not to look concerned, “You okay?”

Remus bit his lip for a moment, regarding Sirius carefully. His hair still held the indent from the heavy crown, the ends curling up and around where the metal use to rest. Remus reached up, running his fingers through it a few times, trying to get rid of it, make the curls wild like they’d been the day he had swam.

“I just don’t want you to leave.” To be honest, he hadn’t really meant to say that out loud either.

Remus watched Sirius’ eyes go wider, then his brows draw together: sad, pained. The bruise on his cheek puffed out more, and Remus was suddenly taken on by the urge to drag him down to the kitchen to make the pain go away. To make any pain go away, really. Sirius seemed to be having similar thoughts as he shifted his weight on one shoulder, pressing his palm to Remus’ face, fingers spanning from his cheek to jaw.

Remus cut him off before he could say anything because, truly, what was there to say? Any reassurance would be at least half a lie, “I just- I mean- What I mean is that I’m glad you can stay.”

For now.

“I don’t think I could go another period like these last few days.” Remus leaned his head up, nipping gently at Sirius’ lower lip, letting his teeth drag softly at the skin, “You very much left me hanging…”

Sirius hesitated for a moment, but then allowed himself to smile. Maybe because he didn’t know what to do otherwise, maybe he wanted Remus as much as Remus wanted him. He met Remus’ mouth just as it pulled off of his, catching his lips in one motion, pressing Remus’ chin upwards to kiss him harder. He pulled his knees up, taking the weight off his shoulders so he could touch touch touch. Remus sank back into the mattress, just wanting to be kissed until his mind shut off, until he could be in this moment only. He didn’t want to worry, he didn’t want to count down the minutes. He wanted to feel. Just what was now.

He pulled at the ties of Sirius’ shirt until they were loose and sliding down one of Sirius’ tanned shoulders. He pressed up and under the fabric, feeling the heat of his skin, the pattern of his ribs, then let his hands slide lower, tugging at his pants. Sirius let out a hiss, pulling back just enough to tug his shirt over his head and to undo his pants. The sight was glorious. Sirius looked like…summer. Remus let all the breath out of his lungs, pulling himself into a sitting position just to be closer, to push his hands against Sirius’ skin, to kiss the collar bones that strained outward. He felt Sirius’ hand wind through the hair at the back of his head, holding him there gently.

“C’mere,” Remus sighed, pushing at Sirius’ chest until he rolled onto his back, letting out a delighted laugh and making Remus smile as he straddled him, “Fuck, you’re gorgeous. You’re gorgeous, come here…” He pressed his lips to the planes of Sirius’ chest, dragging them along the soft dips and valleys of it, memorizing, committing it to memory, trying to.

“‘m here.” Remus glanced up through his lashes at Sirius, seeing that his eyes were closed, brows drawn together in pleasure, “‘m right here…”

Remus squeezed his eyes shut too, nuzzling into Sirius’ neck.

For now.

Now now now.

Remus found the loose band of Sirius’ pants and pulled, pushing back on his heels, letting Sirius lift his hips to remove the fabric. He watched Sirius’ breathing increase, his chest rise and fall.

Remus let out a long breath, letting his forehead fall against Sirius’ hip, breathing in his musky scent, pressing slow kisses to the soft skin there before nuzzling closer to Sirius’ swollen member, “Sirius…”

“Yes.” Sirius breathed, “Yes, yes…” He opened his eyes, grey and blue and pupils blown, and looked down. He reached one arm out, reaching for Remus. Remus shifted his wait, meeting Sirius’ outstretched palm and laced their fingers.

Remus’ chest ached at the soft smile that crossed Sirius’ face as he let his head fall back onto the pillows, breath shaking. Remus wanted to see that smile again, but he wanted to see other things too. Maybe more. He wanted to see Sirius’ eyes squeeze shut, his lips part his fists clench. He wanted Sirius nails to dig into to his palm, as they did now but harder. Remus moved his attention to Sirius’ cock, heavy against his belly. He tentatively wrapped his unoccupied hand around it, heat jolting to his own groin at the soft moan Sirius breathed. He gave an experimental stroke, hooded eyes focusing on the pink tip that slipped in and out of sight. His cock tented tighter in his trousers at the sight, and he shifted against the mattress in a only half conscious effort to gain some friction. He let his hand build a steady, slow pace, feeling Sirius’ hand tighten in his own.

“Re… God..”

Remus’ eyes flashed up at the nickname, lip pulling between his teeth and he tightened his hand, swiping his thumb over the top and gathering the clear liquid there. Sirius groaned at the new slickness of the pull, hips bucking upwards. Remus caught them with his mouth, licking a long stripe up the underside of Sirius’ member. He wasn’t sure what had made him do it, he had only suddenly wanted to taste. He felt the vain against his tongue pulse, and realize with a jolt that it was Sirius’ heart beating in time with the aching cock. Remus closed his eyes, cock wetting just at the thought. He licked again, rutting against the bed in time with his strokes, letting out breathy moans that he could barely hear. Sirius’ smell, the weight of him in his hand, the noises he was making, it was too much. Remus desperately rolled his hips into the quilt, trying to ignore how rough the fabric of his pants was.

“Fuck- Re, wait- wait…”

Remus’ eyes flashed open instantly, mouth freezing but lips staying obscenely parted. He didn’t want to stop.


It seemed to take much more effort than normal for Sirius to sit up, and he was breathing hard, his cheeks flushed. He reached both his arms out, and pulling Remus towards him, “S’okay, s’perfect,” He pressed a long kiss to Remus’ mouth, moaning, “God, you’re perfect, I just wanna- here.” Both boys seemed nearly too tired to move, limbs heavy with arousal, but with not too much difficulty, Sirius helped Remus out of his shirt and pants, kissing him again at the moan Remus let out when his cock bobbed free, “There we go,” Sirius whispered, “Now put your legs like this, straddle my- ah, god, yeah- my thigh. Like that. Jesus,” Sirius leaned forward for another messy kiss, “You’re so hot against me. Feels so good.”

Remus was vaguely aware of Sirius leaning back again, waiting, but he took a moment, mouth open and panting at the feeling of his cock against the silky skin of Sirius’ thigh. It looked a deep purple against Sirius’ tan skin. He gave a few experimental ruts and nearly saw stars. Never had he been in contact with someone like this, never had he been so overwhelmed with something so good. He wanted to be filled with it, he wanted it to surround him. He stretched out his body again, reaching until he got his hand around Sirius’ cock, his mouth over the head, needing. They moaned at the same time, Sirius at the wet heat over him, Remus at the fact that he was now pressed tightly against something, slick with his own pre-come. Remus swirled his tongue and sucked, breathing through his nose. His hand reached what he could not and he felt Sirius take his other again, squeezing tightly. Remus jerked his hips forward with each bob of his head, increasing the tempo as his muscles coiled. He moaned without thinking, around Sirius’ cock, and only felt himself get harder at the way Sirius’ back arched into his lips, the way his jaw clenched through his curses.

“Fuck, fuck, Re, come here. Up here. I need-“ Sirius’ voice was lowered an octave, and Remus found he could only pull of with a lazy, reluctant pop, and look at Sirius with hooded eyes. Every nerve was buzzing, every second felt like it might be the last before he reached the edge. His cock didn’t bob when he pulled himself up onto all fours and crawled up Sirius’ body, but stood straight out, rock-hard, and dripping along Sirius’ stomach. Sirius stared at it, lips swollen and panting, before pushing his hands down onto Remus’ arse and pushing their cocks together, perfectly alined, “I need to feel all of you, fuck-“

Remus didn’t know what noise he made, but the next thing he knew there were tears at the edge of his eyes and he was rutting shamelessly against Sirius, hips thrusting forward in jerky, uneven motions. The slight sting of Sirius’ nails digging into his back only pushed him farther towards the edge, “Sirius-“ He finally formed, eyes squeezed so hard shut that he saw shapes, colors. He pressed his face against Sirius’ sweat-slicked neck, breathing him in, biting, hand clenched over his shoulder for leverage, “God. God, please, please-“

“Yes,” Sirius gasped, “Yes, I’ve got you. Go on.” Sirius held them tightly together, pushing his hips up in time with Remus, “Go on, love, ‘m right behind you-“ Sirius’ voice pitched upward at the end of his sentence and then he was shouting Remus’ name. Remus’ eyes flew open, mouth forming a tight ‘o’ as he felt the slick, white, heat spurt between them. It was the last straw of his own resolve and he followed with a shout muffled against Sirius’ skin. He was gasping into Sirius, unable to still his hips, twitching and rubbing their sensitive cocks together.

They lay there silently for a moment, breathing against each other, feeling the other’s chests rise and fall. Remus blinked slowly, cheek pressed to Sirius’ heated skin, and smiled tiredly, barely a lift of the lips, but a smile nonetheless.

Now. Right now I am happy.

Because he’s here. Sirius is here, and he’s not leaving until hours and hours from now. Until the sun comes up. They have time and time and time and time. Remus lets his eyes fall closed momentarily at the feeling of Sirius’ fingers through the sweaty hair against his forehead, his hand on his bare hip, thumb rubbing circles.

“You called me ‘love.’” Remus says, tongue feeling thick, body feeling thoroughly sated.

He felt the chuckle in Sirius’ chest, pressing his cheek harder to the skin, trying to memorize the feeling. A kiss was dropped to his temple, “I did. Isn’t that what you are?” He felt a shift that signaled Sirius wanted him to sit up, to look at him. He pulled his head up, chest against chest, nose to nose. Sirius pressed a kiss to his cheek, “My lover.” The other cheek, “My love.”

Remus’ heart picked up to the point where he could feel it in his fingertips. He suddenly felt afraid, like his life depended on the answer to the next question he asked, “I… I don’t know. Is that what I am?” Then softer, “Your love.”

Sirius’ eyes were soft, and he tilted his head, lips pressing together in a smile that said of course, of course that’s what you are. The weight was gone from Remus’ chest before he even spoke the words, before Sirius even kissed him again,

“Yes. Yes, that’s what you are.”

[unavenged-robin]

Hi. Nightwing 15 really made me hope for Jason and Dick bonding fic from a writer as excellent as you!

Awn, thank you so much anon! Both for the compliment and the prompt, I had a lot of fun writing this, and I hope you like it ♥ Also I’m not really up to speed with Rebirth, so this is conveniently set somewhere between n52 and the new Nightwing.

Read it on AO3

This is a mess. A fucking mess.

The smoke is so thick around him he can barely see anything, and all there’s to see is fire and rubble anyway. He looks up, but the ceiling is gone, and above him there’s only Gotham’s dark sky, lacking stars and poetry just as every other night. How typical.

Jason’s not in a better shape than the collapsed building himself. He’s hurt in so many places he can’t actually localize the pain anymore, he’s half blinded and his ears are still ringing, even with his helmet still intact (or at least he hopes it’s still intact).

And there’s just. so. much. blood.

“So, on a scale from I just need Alfred to stitch it up to I’m gonna reuse the empty coffin in the Manor’s backyard just how bad it is, little Wing?”

Dick’s voice sounds muffled and distorted, but at least it’s there, and Jason wants to laugh but he physically can’t. The little air his lungs still manage to keep inside of him is barely enough to let him breathe, so no, laughing is out of question. Speaking should be too, probably, but if Jason Todd was a man who could keep his mouth shut… well, then that man definitely wouldn’t be Jason Todd.

“Jay?”, Dick calls him again, fake amusement now completely gone from his voice.

Jason coughs, waits for the pain in his chest to quiet a bit, then takes a deep breath. Or, at least, a breath as deep as he can manage with at least three broken ribs and a stab wound to his abdomen - and that’s just a preliminary assessment, he’s pretty sure he’s going to hit the hospital jackpot once he gets a serious check-up.

“Don’t make jokes on my death, Dickface”, he exhales eventually. “It’s rude.”

Dick huffs, but he’s clearly relieved to hear his voice. Jason can’t really see him in the dark, but he knows he’s somewhere near him. He was moving towards him when the bomb took off, so the shock wave must have thrown him in his vicinity.

“You spend, like, eighty percent of your time making jokes about your death”, Dick retorts, and he sounds even closer now. Jason shifts, his back against the wall, his hands clutching his side.

“Yeah, that’s because I fucking died”, he retorts with no heat whatsoever. He’s actually smiling a little bit. “And I’ll have you know that irony is a healthy coping mechanism.”

Dick scoffs at him loud enough for Jason to hear even through all the creaking and squeaking of the building trying to reassess what’s left of itself.

“You’re such a hypocrite”, Dick answers. “Also Damian calls you his zombie brother in front of his friends all the time and you never say anything.”

“That’s just because I’m glad he stopped introducing me as his butler’s butler”, and also because the little shit acknowledging him as his brother kinda makes him feel all warm inside, but he’ll invite the Joker over for a romantic dinner before he gives Dick that satisfaction. “Besides, the kid died too, so he’s kinda entitled to make death jokes.”

“Hey, I die-”

Jason cuts him off before he can finish.

“Don’t. Seriously, don’t”, he warns him. “I’m so tired of having this conversation. You didn’t really die, you just had a fake funeral.”

“It still counts.”

“No, it doesn’t.”

Dick pauses, then grunts painfully while he moves pieces of concrete around to make his way towards him.

“You’re just embarrassed because you cried over your big brother’s fake death.”

“I actually laughed, you egomaniac asshole.”

Something on his right shifts and there’s a shower of debris somewhere over him. Dust and pieces of plaster fall all over his head, clattering against the metal of his hood, and then Dick’s there, just beside him.

“Liar”, he whispers, and Jason can practically hear the smile on his lips.

“Ask Babs if you don’t believe me”, he retorts anyway, because at this point is a matter of honor.

“I will”, his brother promises softly, then Jason feels the brush of his hands against his body and steels himself for what he knows will come next. He groans when Dick moves his hands away to examine the open wound himself, and downright whines when his brother’s fingers sink into his flesh to determine the gravity of it.

The stream of blood intensifies and Dick’s hands move again, now to push against the wound in a vain attempt to stop it, but Jason can see it flowing between Dick’s fingers, dark trickles staining the blue stripes of his brother’s uniform.

“I’m going to glue it”, Dick informs him almost colloquially, but Jason can see the hard line of his jaw and the frown he’s trying to ease. “We’ll deal with the eventual infections when we get you back to the cave.”

“If you get me back to the cave”, Jason replies. It was supposed to be a little taunt about their already forgotten argument about death jokes, but it comes out wrong and Dick shoots him an angry glare.

“When”, he repeats through his teeth, and Jason just nods.

He remains silent while Dick works on the wound, only moves to remove the helmet from his head and place it on the ground next to both of them. He looks around and then up again at the night sky. His entire body feels like it’s covered in hellfire and look! another death joke! Kind of weak, though, and not that much funny. Dick wouldn’t laugh at it, Jason thinks, as a dizzy feeling washes over him like a sea wave and his vision becomes oddly watery.

What a fucking mess, he swears again, before passing out.

*

He wakes up with his face pressed against Dick’s neck and his brother’s arm draped around his shoulders. Apparently you can’t close your eyes for the split of a minute without some bastard taking the opportunity to manhandle you in a hug. Perverts these days.

“Help is on the way”, Dick informs him as soon as he realizes he’s awake. He doesn’t say Batman because he was raised by Alfred, so a little tact still lingers on him despite his best efforts. Jason has the same problem sometimes. Bloody british education.

He struggles against Dick, trying to straighten himself up, and his brother accommodates his movements, a hand firmly squeezing his shoulder in a silent warning to take it easy.

Jason pats himself down until he feels the graze of the bandages now wrapping his torso. They’re still wet with blood but not too much, so Dick must have glued his wound well enough. It’s not gonna be funny to reopen it, but that’s pain for later. Right now he’s pretty happy to be alive and in less pain that he expected. All things considered, this isn’t so bad. And Dick seems to think the same thing because the moment their eyes meet, he graces Jason with a wide grin.

“Since we’re stuck waiting for the cavalry, let’s do that game, what’s its name…”, he pauses for effect and Jason rolls his eyes. “Something like we think we’re going to die so you tell me a secret you would’ve never told me otherwise and then we don’t die and I can use it to blackmail you for the foreseeable future.”

He even manages to look totally serious while saying it. He’s truly amazing.

“First, that’s a really long ass name for a game”, Jason retorts. “Second, I already told you to stop with the death jokes. Third, hell no, thank you.”

Dick dismisses him by waving a hand at him.

“C’mon, I’ll start”, he offers, and without even taking a moment to think about it, he lets out his big confession. “I had sex in the Batmobile.”

Jason snorts.

“Who didn’t.”

“Well, Damian, I hope.”

“Give him a couple of years.”

Dick groans at the very idea of his baby brother being old enough to even consider the idea of having sex and Jason laughs because oh boy, it’s going to be one hell of a ride for all of them when that kid hits puberty.

“Stephanie didn’t either”, Dick tries then and Jason shoots him a look of pure disbelief.

“Dick, come on, she totally took Tim’s virginity in there and you know it.”

It’s Dick’s turn to laugh now.

“And if you try to tell me that it wasn’t Barbara the one you had sex with in the Batmobile I swear I’ll shoot you”, Jason threatens him.

Dick makes an uncommitting sounds that has basically the same value of a confession.

“Okay, okay”, he surrenders. “But what about Bruce?”

A moment of silence while they both think about it.

“You know, I really don’t want to know.”

“Yeah, no, me neither”, Dick agrees. “Your turn.”

Jason huffs, and just to amuse himself he says the first thing that comes to his mind.

“I used to smoke when I was Robin.”

“That’s not a secret!”, Dick protests. “Everybody knows that!”

“And you having sex in the Batmobile was a secret? Please”, Jason scoffs. “If you tell me a shit secret you’re getting a shit secret back.”

Dick pouts at him. How he can be on his way towards his thirtieth birthday and still pout in a way that even Damian - the current master of scowling in their family - would find undignifying, it’s a mystery Jason has no interest to solve.

“Alright, a real secret then.”, Dick starts reasoning, and from his tone alone Jason immediately understands he’s not going to like the end of this conversation. “Something that I’d never tell you unless you were a mess of bruises and physically incapable of shooting me. Uhm, let me think about it for a second.”

“No”, Jason tries to interrupt him. “Stop right there. This is like the Bruce having sex thing. I don’t wanna know.”

“I lov-”, Dick starts, ignoring him and grinning like a maniac.

“I still have my guns on me, Grayson”, Jason warns.

Dick laughs.

“I missed you”, he amends, all baby blue eyes and big smile, and Jason slaps one of his hand over his face and groans.

“You fucking Disney princess”, he grumbles. “Can we just have one man-chat without you having to go all mushy on me?”

“I didn’t know we were having a man-chat”, Dick teases him, ruffling his hair because he’s obviously decided that one of them is not going to see the next sunrise. “I thought we were having a brother-chat.”

“You just like to see my suffer.”

Dick laughs again and shifts closer to him.

“I really missed you, though”, he says. “It was too long since the last time we teamed up and had a night out for ourselves. Even if it is for, you know, job.”

Jason gives him his best unimpressed glare.

“Maybe it’s because when I work with you I always seem to end up bloody.”

“Hey, that’s not my fault!”

“So you say, Dickwing.”

Dick’s comm buzzes back to life and Jason recognizes Tim’s concerned voice and the annoyed clicking of a tongue that can only belong to Damian. He goes still for a moment, then slowly relaxes. Better them than the big man himself, he thinks, and if he’s disappointed by it he’s not going to admit to anyone, much less to himself.

“So, before the kids arrive and start giving you shit for getting yourself blown up, is there something you want to say to me in return?”, Dick grins a Cheshire Cat’s grin and Jason takes in serious consideration the idea of headbutting him since he’s close enough to do it.

He knows what he’s supposed to say, and it’s not like he didn’t miss him too, because he did, in the last year he found himself missing him and Alfred and Tim and Damian and yes, even Bruce, more times that he’d like to admit. But.

“Well, let’s see. A secret that I’d never tell you unless I was in such a bad shape you could never retaliate, no matter how angry you’d be. Uhm, let me think about it”, he pretends to ponder.

“Jay, there is nothing you could do to-”, Dick starts with an indulgent smile, but he looks mildly concerned anyway. Now it’s Jason’s turn to smile like a mad men, but only mentally. If there’s something he’s learned from Tim, after all, is the value of a good bluff.

“Are you really, really sure?”, he interrupts him, looking at his brother dead in the eyes. He watches the uncertainty in Dick’s eyes turning into suspicion and then blatant distrust. Maybe he should be offended, but it truly makes him proud the way he can still keep Dick on his toes even if he’s not the bad guy anymore.

“Jason, what the fuck did you do to-”, he starts, but it’s too late. There’s some shuffling and the soft sound of two consecutives landings, and then their little brothers join them among the ruins.

“What a mess”, Tim comments, coming closer to inspection Jason’s wounds. He’s carrying a medical kit and looks like he’s already in his full doctor mode. “All you two?”

“You truly exceeded yourselves”, Damian agrees, sounding strangely approving of their trail of destruction.

“Just a bomb we didn’t take in consideration”, Dick explains quickly. “And we were having an important conversation, so if you two don’t mind-”

“I do mind”, Damian answers immediately.

“Hood needs medical care, Wing”, Tim says at the same time, crouching in front of Jason. “You can continue your conversation later. Give me a hand to lift him up.”

“But-”

“Later”, it’s Tim final word, spoken in the best Batman voice he can manage, so Dick has to suck it up and help him getting Jason - who’s trying, not that hard to be honest, not to gloat in his face - back on his feet.

“We’re not finished”, Dick growls in his ear, while fixing up one of Jason’s arm around his shoulder and the other around Tim’s. But he must know that it’s an empty threat because there’s no way Alfred or Tim would allow Dick to bother him with stupid question about a cheated game when he’s recovering from an explosion. Death jokes are not just for fun, you know.

“Hey, I’ve never agreed to play your game in the first place”, Jason reminds him with a mocking grin. “You have only yourself to blame.”

Dick, who can be a vindictive asshole when he wants to be, only answers with a slap to the back of his head (no injuries there - until a moment ago, at least) earning himself an outraged glance from Tim, a reproaching click of the tongue from Damian and a victorious laugh from Jason.