#shes been able to help me pick up some of the slack and its. utterly changed how...

[beyondspaceandstars]

That Black Tee

Relationship: Bucky Barnes x Reader Warnings: SMUT, NSFW, penetrative sex, fingers, slight metal arm kink, sex against a wall, semi-public sex, dirty talk - 18+, minors DNI. Summary: It was such a simple thing. Just a simple black tee-shirt. But the way Bucky wore it had you practically melting -- and he seemed to realize it, happily granting your needs A/N: idk guys there was just something about that black tee-shirt bucky wore in episode 4 of TFATWS. it got my mind wandering. and i love practicing writing smut i hope im getting better at it lmao

Masterlist

You knew you absolutely, utterly fucked the second Bucky took off his jacket, revealing that damn black tee.

So simple yet so fitting, so accentuating. He looked casual and cool yet incredibly powerful and dominant with that metal arm fully on display thanks to the short sleeves. Between that damn shirt and the hard expression he wore, you were pretty much done for. It took all you might to not march over to him right that second.

Bucky appeared to be aware of all this as he turned to you, feeling your eyes wandering shamelessly over him in that shirt. He just looked so… him. Not a soldier, not some asset, just him. And he was hot.

He shot you a little smirk, making your eyes widen, suddenly unreasonably worried your boyfriend could read your mind.

You two must’ve been too caught up in your silent communication because the next thing you heard was Sam asking if you were okay.

You jumped and forced yourself to look away from Bucky. "Yeah, Sam," you nodded, "I’m fine."

He hummed, suspicious. "Are you sure?"

But before you could answer, Bucky felt it was his time to chime in. "She’s a little distracted."

Your eyes widened again, this time sending a signal to your boyfriend to shut the hell up. He wouldn’t look at you and instead just laughed to himself.

"Distracted?" Sam questioned.

"I- I’m fine, really-,"

Bucky cut you off, "Actually, I need to talk with her about something."

Your jaw went slack as you tried finding some words of explanation, something to save yourself from this situation as you could see Sam’s concern growing. But nothing was able to come out before Bucky was grabbing your hand.

"You can’t talk to her out here?" Sam asked.

Bucky shook his head, profusely. "It’s a very private matter. Incredibly serious. Just between me and her."

"Bucky-," you just about yelped as he started walking to one of the off-shoot rooms from the living space. Sam tried asking more questions but Bucky promptly shut him down by slamming the door. Hard. It was a miracle the thing didn’t just fall right off its hinges. For whatever reason, that suddenly turned you on even more.

You stood there in the middle of the room watching as Bucky slowly turned to you. He had a playful glimmer in his eyes as he took in your nervous yet needy state. Your thighs were practically in pain from how hard you were trying to squeeze them together, wanting some relief to your core that was set ablaze by him. Him and that damn outfit. That damn hair. His damn face- God, you just needed your boyfriend right now.

Bucky walked towards you slowly, intensely. You tried averting your eyes to save yourself from crumbling but he stopped you. His fingers came to your chin, forcing you to look him in the eyes. He appeared to be just as eager.

"What happened back there, doll?" He asked just barely above a whisper. He held your chin firmly.

"What- What do you-,"

He chuckled. The fucker chuckled at your flustered state. "What do I mean? I mean that look you were giving me. How those eyes were peeling off my clothing piece by piece. Made me want to take you right there."

Bucky’s words went straight to your core. The wetness was pooling profusely, practically soaking through your jeans. You let out a little whimper as his thumb brushed over your lip.

"It’s your tee-shirt," you whispered, surprised that you could even find any sort of words in your dazed brain. He was way too intoxicating.

Bucky’s face shifted in surprise. "My shirt?"

You nodded. "It just… looks good on you."

He couldn’t help but let out another chuckle. You pouted at his reaction which he took as the opportunity to quickly place a kiss on your lips. You tried moving into him, grinding your body with his to beg for more, but he stopped, forcing you two apart.

"Oh, doll," he mumbled as his hand left your chin and slowly made its way down your body. Over the curve of your clothed breast, down your stomach, to your hips… the hand finally dipped under the waistline of your jeans. Without much warning, two fingers traced your folds, dipping slightly in to collect the wetness. He gave a few thrust, teasingly. Bucky groaned. "You’re this wet just from how I look in my shirt?"

You gasped, nodding. Embarrassment wanted to coarse through you but the pleasure from Bucky tracing his fingers to your clit was too much. Slowly, he started with circular motions, making your body jolt. You squealed in surprise. Bucky smiled down at your reaction.

He kept it up, adding pressure every now and then as he continued. Your legs began to shake forcing you to grip his arms in support. Bucky noticed this and brought his metal hand to your hip, steadying you.

He picked up the pace, his eyes boring into yours intensely. You let out a breathy moan at the sight of him, looking at you so hungry and aroused.

"Come on, honey, cum for me," he mumbled, still working on your clit. Every now and then he’d stop to dip a finger in as if gaging your wetness. In those moments you’d groan, waiting for the contact to come back. He never let you suffer long, though, finding his way back to your clit quickly, keeping the pressured motions. "Be a good girl and cum for me, doll, and I’ll fuck you real nice against the wall just like you deserve."

That was the final straw. His words alone practically sent you over the edge. Your body shook as the first orgasm pulled through you, lighting fire throughout your body. Your hips bucked and twisted uncontrollably, almost trying to get away from the touch but Bucky didn’t lighten up. He worked you through it, whispering sweet praises in your ear, making you lose it even more.

Once you came down from the high, Bucky wasted absolutely no time gripping your hips and pushing your back to the nearest wall. You yelped in surprise before his lips attached to yours, rough and demanding.

He lifted you up and grabbed your legs, circling them around your waist. You took the opportunity to grind into him feeling his erection hit your covered core. It lit a new fire in you making you gasp at the feeling.

Bucky moved his lips down your face to your neck, kissing and nipping at your skin. You whined and grabbed onto that fucking tee shirt, still trying to push into him, wordlessly begging him to speed up.

"Eager, doll?" Bucky asked. You could practically hear the dumb smile on his face and it made you want to slap it off. But all you could do in response was nod.

He placed one more kiss on your lips before his hand made its way back down your body. This time he popped the buttons of your jeans open. Briefly, he placed you back down to pull your jeans to your ankles. When that task was done, you were back wrapped around his waist, now feeling the erection more prominently. You let out a deep, uncontrollable moan when it hit.

As if he understood your annoyance, Bucky quickly undid his own jeans. In your dazed state, you must’ve zoned out because the next thing you knew, your panties were just pushed to the side and his cock was breaching your walls. You two were in sync letting our moans and groans at the warmth, the wetness.

His arms held you tight as he began his thrusts, so precise and strong. You were backed into the wall forcefully, enjoying the pressure and pleasure combining into one. Your boyfriend groaned above you, sounds going right to your core which was made evident by the squelching sounding in the room.

Bucky kept his thrusts up as his metal hand left your hip and made its way to your clit. His body held you up with his other arm, giving you a second to marvel in his strength. It was always such a treat when it came out in the bedroom. How he could hold you down or hold you up had your mind spinning half the time.

As his thrusts began to pick up, his metal hand started with the circular motions again on your clit. The coldness meeting your warmth was enough to drive you crazy. Your hands fisted his shirt, trying to keep yourself grounded. You let out a surprised moan at the whole sensation which Bucky seemed to like as he gripped you harder. Your brain was going fuzzy, drunk even, as he pounded you into the wall flawlessly.

"Bucky… B-Bucky…" you choked out.

"Hmm?" You could tell he was staring at you despite your eyes being fluttered shut. He was taking in every inch of your face contorting in glorious pleasure. It seemed to drive his thrusts faster, the circular motions on your clit picking up as well.

"I- I’m gonna-,"

"You gonna cum again, doll?" He asked, a little mockingly. You would’ve bit back if you weren’t in this state but you couldn’t do anything, just take what he was giving. You nodded weakly. "Alright, honey, that’s it… Cum for me, come on. I got you."

It was like Bucky flipped that last switch as his strength and speed picked up. You yelped, clinging to his shirt even tighter.

One final push on your clit was all you needed before you were crumbling in his arms. Your body shook as your orgasm flooded you with ecstasy. Bucky didn’t want to let up with the trusts, though, chasing his own orgasm and thoroughly working you through your second. He kept pounding, his hand opting to leave your clit to grope at your breasts under your shirt. The metal hitting your skin in a new place made you squeal again.

The sounds and motions were it for Bucky as the next thing you knew, he released inside you, coating your walls and thrusting in and out, letting it leak onto your skin. You moaned at the sensation.

Bucky gave a couple more weak thrusts before he let out a final groan and stilled inside you. Both his arms now were around your waist, pulling you close as you two panted, coming down from the pleasure.

Bucky leaned forward, his head resting on your shoulder. Your hands left his shirt and came up to his hair, where you ran them through his short locks.

"Was that what you needed, doll?" He asked, voice breaking through the heaviness of the room.

You giggled, "Exactly what I needed."

"Hmm," he sighed and straightened back up. He pecked your lips. "Guess I gotta wear this shirt more often."

You gasped, slapping his chest lightly as he laughed. But you couldn’t totally disagree. "I wouldn’t complain if it made an appearance every now and then."

Bucky shook his head, "I don’t understand how a black tee shirt can get you going, doll."

After he spoke, he slowly removed himself from you, letting you down from the wall. Warm wetness began soaking your thighs feeling so intimate, so hot, it almost made you almost suggest round two right then and there but that didn’t seem on the table after Bucky handed you some tissues to clean up. Not to mention the fact there were people in the living area.

You shrugged, readjusting your shirt and pulling your jeans back on. You watched as Bucky also readjusted his appearance. "It’s because it’s on you," you insisted. "You could walk around in the most ridiculous outfits and I’d still beg you to jump my bones."

Bucky let out the most joyous laugh at that. He walked back towards you, securely wrapping his arms around your waist. You placed a kiss on his lips, which he hummed happily into.

"I’m flattered," he mumbled. The light blush across his cheeks confirmed his words.

You smiled, "What can I say? I got a hot boyfriend and he should know it."

Bucky placed another kiss on your lips. "Oh, trust me, I think he knows it now."

You let out a giggle and pulled away from his grip, despite a little protest. "Come on," you said and motioned towards the door, "we should probably leave this room before we get any shit from them."

"Oh, you’re getting a lot of shit once you come out of that room," Sam called from the other side of the door, making both you and Bucky jump. "Might as well stay in here."

You groaned at the words, your face and neck suddenly becoming hot in embarrassment. Bucky just chuckled, somehow finding everything amusing, and wrapped an arm around you.

"Worth it, though," he whispered before placing a kiss on your cheek. You rolled your eyes playfully but couldn’t at all argue. Just glancing between the wall and that black tee made you suddenly hot and bothered all over again.

Bucky picked up on your gaze, once again practically reading your mind. With a suggestive smirk, he asked, "Round two?"

You bit your lip as his hand began running over the curve of your ass.

"Fine."

Bucky didn’t waste a single second before whisking you off your feet

[searidings]

Lena's wardrobe planning must be a nightmare. Every day she has to account for the fact that this might finally be the day she and Kara fuck in a semi-public space

*EDIT: now on ao3 for your thirsty convenience*

“Tell me again what this article’s about?”

She asks it innocently, as if she genuinely can’t remember. As if she hadn’t spent an extra 40 minutes this morning dripping in a towel in the middle of her walk-in closet, determined to select the perfect outfit for this very conversation.

The way Kara’s eyes are glued to the exposed lines of her clavicle as she sits down tells her the extra deliberation was entirely worth it.

“It’s just a puff piece,” Kara says offhandedly, taking a seat on the far side of Lena’s desk. Or at least, she tries to take a seat but misses the chair entirely, pitching forward and almost taking half the contents of Lena’s desk with her. It’s only her superspeed that saves Lena’s water jug from its collision course with the ground and Kara rights it with sweaty fingers that leave faint smudges on the glass, blushing.

“Are you alright, darling?” Lena asks gently, biting her lip to keep from smirking as Kara, redder than a fire hydrant, finally takes her seat.

“Fine,” the blonde manages, only a little strangled. “Sorry. Just— misjudged the, you know. Chair.”

“Distracted?” Lena asks coyly, voice dipping a smooth half-octave lower as she arches an eyebrow.

She watches in barely restrained delight as Kara’s throat works. “No,” the blonde manages after a moment. “Just— busy. Articles, deadlines. You know how it is.” She seems to have regained her footing now, smoothing her hands over her slacks before reaching into her purse for a pad and pen. “The article’s another clickbait piece, basically. Dress for success: the wardrobes of women in power. Andrea’s making me write it.”

Kara’s voice drips with so much disgust that Lena purses her lips in sympathy. “I’m sorry, Kara. If there’s anything I can do—”

“Don’t be silly,” Kara says instantly, face breaking into a shy smile. “It means I get to spend the afternoon with you. And your wardrobe has always been very—” she breaks off, hand gesturing in the air between them as though she might be able to pluck the right word out of the ether. “—impressive,” she finishes with a small swallow, eyes delicately averted from the expanse of creamy skin on display before her.

“You think so?”

“Of course,” Kara says quickly. Her still floundering hand drifts back and forth in the air as if to encompass Lena’s general existence. “I’d ask if you dressed up specially for this interview, but honestly you always look like that.”

“Like that?” Lena repeats, a teasing lilt to her tone. She leans back in her office chair, smoothing imaginary wrinkles from her dress. This piece, a deep red off-the-shoulder dress with a V-shaped neckline plunging just enough to be borderline workplace inappropriate, had cost more than a small car and been custom-made and shipped to her from an upscale boutique in Paris. Looking now at Kara’s wide eyes and pink cheeks, every last cent of import tax feels absolutely worth it. “Like what, exactly?”

Kara’s jaw snaps shut with an audible click and she stares down at the pad in her hands with such intensity that Lena absently wonders if the offending paper is about to be laser-visioned.

“Shall we start with the questions, then?” Kara says quickly, clicking her ballpoint pen with enough force that it shatters the entire casing. She stares forlornly down at the plastic shards in her palm until Lena clears her throat, passing another pen to the blonde with a wordless smile.

Kara removes the lid from the offered pen with the delicacy and focus of someone disarming a bomb. “I hope you don’t find this insulting,” she says as she turns to a fresh page, finally meeting Lena’s eyes again. “I mean, you’re one of the greatest minds in the country and I’m here to ask you about your clothes.”

“Not at all. Wardrobe planning is an extremely involved affair,” Lena deadpans, tilting her head to one side and relishing the way Kara’s eyes skate the cut of her jaw. “Quantum mechanics is nothing compared to the challenge of pairing the right shirt with the right jacket.”

“Right,” Kara says absently, her gaze fixed on the regal column of Lena’s bare throat. She’d foregone a necklace this morning and pulled her still-curly hair up into a soft bun for this exact purpose; knowing that her natural waves were Kara’s favourite, but knowing too that a dress like this deserved to be unencumbered by loose hair or jewellery to really reach its full potential.

“So, um,” Kara starts before swallowing hard, reaching for the glass of water waiting for her on the desk and downing its contents in one swift gulp. “What’s your, um, selection process? How would you describe your wardrobe requirements?”

One corner of Lena’s mouth tugs upwards. “As a woman in a male-dominated world, I’ve learned to use my wardrobe as a tool. My clothing has to be professional without appearing intimidating, project confidence without audacity. Visual impressions precede all other business dealings; I can tailor my wardrobe to my audience the way I would tailor a speech or a press release. When done correctly, it helps me get what I want.”

Kara is staring at her in rapt attention, eyes flicking rhythmically between Lena’s eyes and mouth. She hasn’t written a single thing on the pad in her lap.

“And of course, I have to be careful in the lab,” Lena continues, leaning forward to fold her hands together on the desk in front of her and squeezing her arms ever so slightly against the sides of her chest. It’s always prudent to take advantage of one’s strengths, and the plunging neckline of this particular outfit leaves no doubt in Lena’s mind as to which of her assets she should be emphasising right now. “I can’t wear anything that could prove dangerous.”

“Do you do that often?” Kara asks a little dazedly, gaze now focused a solid foot below Lena’s face. “Wear things that are d-dangerous?”

Lena smirks. Kara’s eyes are locked on Lena’s chest, following its gentle rise and fall with a tangible hunger. It lights a fire in Lena. “You tell me.”

The office falls utterly silent, the air between them leaden with tension. Kara’s eyes linger at the juncture where pale skin gives way to deep red fabric for one more aching moment before beginning a torturously slow crawl up Lena’s chest and neck to meet her gaze once more.

The blue eyes that lock back onto hers are dark and greedy, pupils blown wide. The sight sets Lena’s heart thud-thudding in her chest and damn the superhearing that has surely picked up on it, damn the owner of said superhearing whose lips quirk up in a barely-there smirk.

“You know,” Kara starts, pausing as her tongue darts out to wet her lips. Lena can’t stop her own eyes from dropping heavy to take in the sight and the blonde’s smirk grows another degree. “I think if I’m going to do this piece justice, I really need to see the full picture.”

Lena can do little more than stare in silent confusion until Kara stands, dropping her pad carelessly onto the chair and rounding the desk to where Lena sits. “Stand up?” she asks in a low voice, holding out a hand. “That looks like a dress that deserves to be properly admired.”

Lena swallows hard against her suddenly dry throat, taking the proffered hand mutely and rising a little unsteadily to her feet. Kara steps closer until they’re toe to toe and Lena’s not even breathing as a tanned hand reaches up and gently releases her hair from its bun, letting dark curls fall freely across her bare shoulders.

But Kara’s hand doesn’t return to her side once it accomplishes its mission. It tugs through the curls now tickling Lena’s neck, the backs of her knuckles dragging lightly against Lena’s throat until she can’t restrain a shiver. It continues its wandering, sliding up the back of Lena’s neck to bury itself fully in her hair, thumb extended to rub at the hinge of Lena’s jaw.

“Is it?” Kara asks quietly, and Lena barely represses an honest-to-god whine at the sensation of the blonde’s breath hitting her lips.

“What?” she whispers, feeling Kara’s thumb shift against her skin.

“Is this outfit helping you get what you want?”

Lena swallows hard, the movement causing Kara’s thumb to slip down her neck until it trips to a stop directly over her thundering pulse. Lena takes a deep, decidedly un-calming breath, and tries with her last shred of rational thought to claw back the control of the situation she had at some point so thoroughly surrendered. “You tell m—”

She doesn’t even get the last word out before Kara’s lips are on hers, hot and insistent and perfect and fucking finally, and Lena just. Gives up. Gives up access to her mouth as soon as Kara’s tongue hits the seam of her lips, gives up trying to hold back her moans when Kara licks in warm and wet, starts sucking on her tongue.

Gives in to the desire, years in the making, to smooth her hands over Kara’s biceps, her broad muscular shoulders. Gives in to the urge to crush their bodies together, to finally feel the delicious press of the toned planes of Kara’s frame against every one of her own curves.

The hand not still buried in Lena’s hair begins charting an exploratory path up Lena’s side, across her ribs, and Lena is grateful for the sheerness of the skin-tight fabric that does nothing to dull the burning trail Kara’s palm is blazing against her skin.

Three things happen then in quick succession: Kara’s wandering fingers reach the underside of Lena’s breast and the sudden contact causes her other hand to tighten its grip in Lena’s hair, tugging sharply. Lena gasps, head falling backwards as a low groan rips from her throat at the slight sting. Kara’s mouth drops hot and wet to Lena’s neck, lips and teeth sucking and scraping over her rocketing pulse until Lena’s writhing against her.

“How long have you wanted this?” Kara pants, trailing kisses across Lena’s jaw and down the curve of her throat. “How long could I have been doing this?”

Lena’s eyelids flutter shut, fingers digging tight into firm shoulders as Kara sucks another mark into the skin above her collarbone. She lingers long enough that Lena knows it will bruise and in this dress, with this amount of skin on display and no way to cover it up, the thought sends a thrill through her that has her arching up into the heat of Kara’s mouth. “Oh, I don’t know,” she answers breathily, tugging Kara closer still. “How long have I been dressing like this?”

It’s Kara who moans then, reaching down to hook her hands under Lena’s thighs and lifting her onto the desk, pressing herself tight between Lena’s spread legs. In the back of her mind, Lena registers an inordinate rush of gratitude toward her past self for booking out three hours for this interview and issuing strict do not disturb instructions to her assistant.

“Gorgeous as this dress is, it’s kind of in the way,” Kara pants, one hand sliding under the hem of the offending material to skim up Lena’s bare thigh. “But it looks expensive, I don’t want to rip it—”

“Rip it,” Lena gasps immediately, tugging Kara’s mouth desperately back to her own. Preserving an item of clothing has never been further from her mind than in this exact moment. And as she’d said to Kara, her wardrobe had always functioned primarily as means to an end.

And what an end this was turning out to be.  

[dirtychocolatechai]

meet-cute | b.b.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader Warning(s): fluff, awkward Bucky, vet appointment stuff, Alpine Request: Babes if you're lowkey taking requests can I lowkey make one? 👉🏼👈🏼🥺💕 something flirty and cute and maybe a lil spicy with Bucky and vet!reader where something's going on with Alpine? Not self indulgent at all 😻💖 Notes: This was the first thing I’ve written in months and it felt damn good. Funny story, I actually almost went to school to be a vet tech + shadowed a vet for two weeks and got to see some wickedly cool things.

This was a bit self-indulgent on my part because I had a cat who passed away some years ago because of struvite stones and I wished he had a happier ending like Alpine so I thought why not 🤷‍♀️💖

Taglist is open

(gif from google)

There’s nothing Bucky hates more than the stringent smell of industrial cleaners and clinical white walls - too many associations and shades of memory long laid to rest - except for when something’s going on with Alpine. The Turkish Angora was fine up until a few days ago when he started to hide away and sleep all day.

That wasn’t too concerning at first...

But then came the pained little noises, the frantic running back and forth from the litter box, the excessive grooming. The pit that started forming low in his belly grew, his instincts screaming at him that something was wrong, very wrong, with his little buddy. 

Bucky wasn’t about to fuck around and set up an appointment with the first vet office he could find that had a same-day opening. And now he’s trying not to fall apart at the seams while he waits for the docs to do their magic and tell him what the hell’s going on with his cat and what he has to do to fix it.

The vet tech collected Alpine a bit ago and every minute stretches into years, the cat’s pitiful meow echoing in his ears and those betrayed eyes burned onto the backs of his eyelids.

I know, Bub, I’m sorry but they gotta figure out what’s going on. It’ll be okay, they’ll take care of you. 

His ass went numb from the plastic chair ages ago, his leg jiggling up and down at a rapid pace as he chews on his thumbnail and waits.

And waits.

And waits.

God, he knows these things take time but he’d rather be back at home, curled up on the couch with Alpine pigging out on breakfast food and watching space documentaries. 

How much longer-

“Alright, Mr. Barnes?”

The heavy door swings open with a click, a kind, professional voice preceding a pair of sensible shoes as the vet steps into the room with a clipboard cradled against her chest. His eyes snap up, skipping over her completely to look at the tech holding his cat who looks absolutely miserable. 

She introduces herself but he’s not paying attention. He’s not meaning to be rude but all his focus narrows in on that white little face, the knot in his chest unfurling at the little mew.

He smiles, his eyes crinkling around the edges as he breathes, “Hey there, Little Buddy.” 

The vet doesn’t push, in fact, she seems a little enamored with how much he melts at the sight of his pet. Her own lips quirk up into a soft smile while she stands off to the side patiently as Alpine’s set down on the metal table.

Bucky gets in a few good scritches under his chin, the beginnings of a purr just starting to vibrate his hand when the vet clears her throat delicately. 

He clears his throat, heat burrowing into the apples of his cheeks. “Shi - uh, ‘m sorry.” A hand scrubs over the back of his neck. “I’m just - uh - y’know...” 

Her laugh trickles down his spine like warm rain, the sound effectively drawing his attention away from the cat rubbing up against his side. He gets his first look at her and oh.

A bare face and a no-nonsense hairstyle greet him, her scrubs and white coat adding to the overall doctor vibe but she’s still breathtaking. The natural beauty in the curves of her face, the slant of her brows, the sparkle of her eyes.

He feels like he got sucker-punched in the chest, his heart giving a sudden throb that has him coughing like an idiot as he scrambles to not look like such a jackass.

“So,” he clears his throat, scratching at the stubble along his jaw, “What’s - what’s wrong with him?” 

Glancing down at Alpine’s chart, she hums and writes a note before glancing back up with a reassuring smile. “Nothing that can’t be managed with a special diet and watching his water intake.”

It’s like the weight of the world disappears from his shoulders, his broad frame practically heaving with his sigh of relief. “Oh thank fucking- ahem, ‘scuse me - thank god.” 

Her chuckle and sly smile have him blushing from the roots of his hair to the collar of his shirt, his stomach squirming in discomfort. Old habits are hard to break, especially ones his momma taught him with a box to the ear.

“You’re allowed to swear, Mr. Barnes,” she says, reaching down to run her fingers through snow-white fur. “We’re all adults here.” 

“No, no, I know...” 

“Hm, anyway, his blood work came back and everything looks fine which is a good thing.” 

And it’s back to business like that, any hint of personality hidden behind cool professionalism that Bucky thinks even Tasha would admire. Except for the playful gleam in her eyes as she sneaks peeks at him while going over everything they did and what they found. 

“Struvite crystals are quite common in cats at low levels, especially males because their tract is longer and narrower.” She pauses, flipping to a new page. “Depending on the severity, they can clump together in the urinary tract and actually form stones. That’s where the true problem lies because get one large enough, and it can cause a blockage.”

He’s listening with rapt attention, soaking in the knowledge she’s imparting to him all the while, petting Alpine who keeps nuzzling him and making little sounds. Honestly, he could listen to her talk for hours even if he didn’t understand a goddamn thing. 

She’s so animated when she speaks, holds eye contact and makes sure he understands everything without making him feel like an idiot. He’s had so many doctors who talked at him rather than with him, staring through him without seeing, more interested in the paycheck rather than their patients.

But not her, she cares.

Deeply.

He can see it all over her face and it’s utterly enchanting. He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t a little enamored, charmed.

Turning the tablet towards him, she shifts closer and a waft of whatever perfume she’s wearing tickles his nose as she explains what the x-ray of Alpine’s abdomen found.

“These are the stones but thankfully they’re relatively small,” she points to several hazy white ovals starkly visible on the radiograph, “We caught them in time before they became a really big problem.” 

Shit, she smells so good...

 “Now, we’ll send you home with a special diet and see how he does. Also, make sure to up his fluid intake as much as you can. The food can take several months to start dissolving the crystals so we’ll have to do everything we can to help. Sound good?”

Bucky hasn’t pulled his eyes away from her face once this entire time, and how fucking creepy is that?

Quickly looking down at Alpine, embarrassment gnawing at his belly, he nods and wishes for the first time since he cut his hair that he hadn’t so he’d at least have a passing chance at hiding the blush burning its way across his face. 

“Yeah,” he says, picking up the ball of white fluff to hold against his chest, a makeshift shield. “Is there anything else I should do?” 

“No.” She smiles, writing another note and tapping away at the tablet next to her. “I do want to see him again in about a month for a check-up.”

Fuck, he doesn’t want to leave so soon.

The irony isn’t lost on him either.

How does he make this last longer? What can he do? If Sam was here right now, he’d be kicking him in the ass and bitching at him to ask for her number already, Ice Pick.

The clack of the chart being set down rings through the room, bouncing off the walls and sounding so fucking final that he starts to panic. 

Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit. 

She’s already halfway to the door when she asks, “Do you have any questions?”

The word vomit spring from him, unbidden and sudden without any thought, more forward than he’s been with a woman in years.

“Can I have your number?”

As soon as the question leaves his lips, he curses, cringes and wishes he could snatch the very words from the air itself.

Great, I just hit on my vet.

No amount of backpedaling can salvage this but goddamn it if Bucky doesn’t try, stuttering out some half-assed excuse about wanting it just in case he thinks of something later.

When he glances up, he wishes he hadn’t. The vet tech is in near tears in the corner, biting her lips so hard he wouldn’t be surprised if they started to bleed.

But it’s the absolute surprised bafflement on the woman he just inappropriately hit on that does him in, makes him about ready to burn all forms of identification and run for the hills. 

Her brows nearly reach her hairline, her mouth slack, eyes startled. She gets ahold of herself before he does, and he barely stops himself from slapping a hand over his face.

Right when he’s thinking there’s no way he’s going to be able to show his face in the office again, her expression softens with gentle amusement and her lips twitch. 

Struck dumb, he can only watch as she writes something down on a slip of paper before handing it over to him. He barely believes the string of numbers and the cheeky little call me anytime :).

The wink she sends his way is there and gone, so fast he almost believes he imagined it. 

“For emergencies only,” she says, slyly. “Of course.”

“Of course,” he agrees, almost tripping over the cat carrier as he hurries to stuff Alpine back in. “Of course, thank you. I...appreciate it.” 

“Anytime, Mr. Barnes.” 

Bucky leaves the room in a stupor, the world sharply shifted to the left as he heads to the front desk to make the follow-up appointment, but not before hearing the whispered, “Girl, you’re lucky. He’s fine!” and the “He is, isn’t he?”. 

[tenthgrove]

500 Followers Celebration!!!: Part 1 (La Squadra Backstories)

Hey! Thank you so much for 500 amazing followers! Every single one of you mean so much to me!

Part 1 of this celebration is, as the title suggests, my headcanon backstory for each of La Squadra. As some of you know I was at some point in the process of writing a full multi-chapter fic on this, but since that unfortunately never came to fruition beyond the first couple chapters, here is a shortened version of the stories that were originally planned.

Part 2 is going to be a little something I wrote a while back but never felt brave enough to send to more than a few people. That will be seeing the light of day soon. ;)

Risotto

Risotto Dante Nero was born in a small, poor farming village in Sicily, somewhere in the vicinity of Catania. His parents were a young, dysfunctional couple who weren't ready for a kid in the first place. Seeing their newborn son had 'evil' eyes was the last nail in the coffin for them, and they gave the baby up to his paternal grandmother when he was only days old.

Despite being shunned by his family over the aesthetic defect, Risotto was able to form a close bond with his older cousin, Domenico, who would eventually move in with him and his grandmother after being disowned by the family himself. Domenico helped Risotto find friends, and was the main reason why the next few years were the happiest in the young boys life.

Unfortunately, Domenico was struck and killed at age just 19 by a drunk driver, a millionaire from Milan who on top of his intoxication, was driving incredibly fast. Risotto never recovered from the grief; his personality was altered drastically and he eventually dropped out of school. His grandmother indulged him in his revenge fantasies, believing that he would never seriously carry them out. This proved the biggest mistake of her life.

At age 18 Risotto left home to hunt down Domenico's killer. Despite the years of preparation he was in way over his head and was eventually forced to make a deal with Passione for the resources he would need to break into the mansion and not get caught. But the newly initiated mafioso found that revenge did nothing for his grief. Now, he simply had nothing to work for.

Risotto fell into a deep depression for the next two years, doing his duties as a low-ranking soldato for Passione but feeling utterly empty inside. It became so dire that after becoming injured in a fight with a stand user, he welcomed what looked to be his impending death.

But Risotto did not die that day, being saved by an associate of the gang and rushed to hospital. After hearing word that Risotto had defeated a stand user, Prosciutto became interested and approached Risotto for help with a hit he had been assigned to. Risotto agreed and Prosciutto developed a liking for the young man. A few months later, when Prosciutto was tasked with forming a specialised squad for assassination, he remembered Risotto and requested he become the team’s captain. Risotto was put through at once for receiving a stand, and was seated at the head of the brand new La Squadra di Esecuzione.

Prosciutto

Maiale Crepuscolo was born the daughter of a powerful Don in Naples, and his much neglected wife. Raised in luxury, he came to resent his callous father, especially when the man continued to behave adulterously despite his wife’s failing health. The death of Mrs Crepuscolo was a huge blow to her 16 year old son. It was around this time that Maiale discovered his male identity and chose a new name for himself: Prosciutto.

Mere months after the death of his wife, Don Crepuscolo married his pregnant mistress, a young woman by the name of Loreta. Despite the circumstances, Prosciutto and Loreta got on very well together, and the young man confided in her about his transgender identity, to be met with her full support. Any faith that Prosciutto may have had in his father before was immediately lost when Loreta was thrown out onto the streets by her new husband, along with their infant son Pesci. His sole reason for doing this was that he had become tired of her, and the baby's crying.

Without his father’s knowing, Prosciutto continued to wire Loreta and Pesci money through his hefty allowance, and counted down the days until he could graduate highschool and become eligible for his mother’s inheritance. The very day he gained access to it, he cut his father off for good.

The next few years of Prosciutto’s life were the best. He went to a prestigious university to study politics and afterwards found work as a journalist. With his father no longer an issue, he medically transitioned and upped the money he was giving to his half-brother and former step-mother. Everything was going perfectly.

At age 24, Prosciutto received a visit by members of Passione, who informed him they had annexed his father’s gang and killed him. As much as Prosciutto insisted they had been estranged for years, the men maintained that Prosciutto was still considered a threat, and could only be allowed to live if he joined the gang. Worse, they threatened him with Pesci’s life. Prosciutto knew he had no choice.

Over the next few years, Prosciutto worked his way up. By age 27 he was granted the privilege to develop a stand, and was quickly pushed into the assassination business as a result of its deadly power. At that time, Passione had no designated assassination team, and individuals ordered to carry out hits had to go running around for volunteers if they needed help on a mission. This is why Prosciutto had sought out Risotto.

When the order to form a hitman squad was given, Prosciutto was initially primed to become the captain. However, he was strongly against taking this role, as Loreta was starting to show signs of chronic illness and Prosciutto wanted to make sure he could still take care of Pesci if it became necessary. Tasked with finding an alternative, Prosciutto initially approached his old friends Sorbet and Gelato, who had been part of the squad sent to confront him after the death of his father and had kept in touch out of pity. The pair were cleared to join the team, but were not trusted by the team’s superiors to become captain. And so, Prosciutto turned once more to Risotto.

Sorbet and Gelato

Sorbet and Gelato could not have been born in more different circumstances, the former in absolute poverty, and the latter in comparative privilege.

Sorbet’s mother was by no means a bad woman. It was just the case that through her crippling addictions and mental illnesses, she was in no means equipped to care for her 6 children, forcing Sorbet, the eldest, to pick up the slack. Though he loved his siblings the young Sorbet resented this role and was easily tempted by a street gang at age 12, who offered him escape from his miserable life through drug peddling. Sorbet began to drift from his family more and more. He soon disappeared from school, and became completely estranged from his mother and siblings.

By age 17 Sorbet had developed a reputation in the gang for ruthlessness, and was approached by its leader to carry out a number of assassinations. He soon became the group’s designated hitman, and was paid generously for the role. He was still however, functionally homeless.

Gelato was born to an upper-middle class family in Minsk, Russia. The youngest of four boys, his parents had been hoping for a girl, and their resentment only grew when it became clear the young Gelato was both autistic and ADHD. He suffered from extreme emotional neglect.

When Gelato was 13, the family moved back to Italy where his mother was from. Though he preferred it here, the problems with his family continued and Gelato was eventually kicked out at just 17 years old.

Following the word of a friend, Gelato made his way to Naples and found work running an illegal bar for a street gang in exchange for a room to sleep in. The same gang, incidentally, that Sorbet was working for. The two first exchanged words when Gelato found Sorbet beating up a patron who had been abusive to him, and decided to join in. Within weeks, they were lovers.

One night, while Sorbet and Gelato were asleep upstairs, the police raided the bar. In a panic, Gelato shot two, and Sorbet took out a third. The fourth got away. Knowing they would be hunted, the pair begged refuge from their gang but were denied. They were not a powerful enough syndicate to deal with something of this size. And so, with only each other, Sorbet and Gelato fled Italy.

They were on the run for two years, passing through just about every country in Europe at least once. As a means of surviving, they took on assassination contracts from local gangs and became very skilled, but of course this only turned up the heat to catch them. Eventually, it got too much, and in a final desperate bid to avoid capture, the pair went back to Italy to plead their gang to reconsider.

What they found now in charge of Naples was not their gang, but Passione. A capo by the name of Pericolo listened to their story, and agreed eagerly to dissuade the police from pursuing them in exchange for their loyalty to the new gang. Sorbet and Gelato agreed at once, and developed stands soon after.

Formaggio

A Naples Boy through and through, Formaggio was born in the central city to a large, loving family. Owing to their poverty, all the aunts, grandparents and cousins lived in one house. Although many were part of the mafia, it was always stressed to the children they were under no obligation to choose such a life. Nonetheless, many of them still did.

One night, Formaggio’s eldest brother Miguel sneaked off from the house, telling nobody but Formaggio. His goal was to seek initiation into Passione. The young Formaggio pleaded to come as well, but was told he was not ready yet. Miguel returned a couple of hours later, carrying a metal arrowhead. He told his brother that something unexpected had happened, and he needed to go now, but it was vital Formaggio told nobody of this meeting. He promised it would all be worth it in the end.

Years passed, and Miguel did not return. Then one day- a hastily-written letter, addressed solely to Formaggio. In his final message, Miguel apologised for the absence and announced that he did not expect to survive the next few hours. However, if Formaggio wanted the answers to all that had transpired, all he needed to do was recover the arrowhead that he had last seen Miguel with all those years ago. Most likely, it would have been returned to where he found it, address enclosed. Saddened and eager to understand what had happened to his brother, Formaggio followed the instructions and broke into a heavily guarded warehouse. He found the arrow, just as Miguel had said, but failed to understand how this could solve his problems.

Formaggio looked for a way out of the warehouse, and was suddenly set upon by the guards. He ran for the exit and tripped, impaling himself on the arrow. Little Feet came forth at once, stunning the guards. Not wanting to deal with whatever that was, they called in Risotto and his newly built execution squad, based nearby, to deal with it.

Fortunately, the assassins’ skills were not needed. In spite of the circumstances Formaggio met the assassins with charm and cooperation. Risotto phoned his superiors to see if killing the man was really necessary, and they agreed it wasn’t, provided Formaggio became Risotto’s business. An agreement was reached, and Formaggio was inducted into the hitman squad. It would take two more members for Formaggio to piece together what had happened to his brother.

Ghiaccio

Ghiaccio was dealt an awful hand in life. Poor, and with parents that hated him, he had little respite as a child. He was autistic, but never diagnosed, and had visual impairments that were never addressed. His fondest memory was of a bizarre couple he met as a child, a dark-haired, dour man and his blond lover, who kept him company after his mother walked away from him in anger at a shopping mall. She came back, unfortunately.

When Ghiaccio was 15, a frantic knock sounded at his door while his parents were out. Answering it nervously, an equally frantic man stood on the other side brandishing an arrow-head. He introduced himself exhaustedly as Miguel and begged for shelter- he was being chased.

Before Ghiaccio could answer a squad of men burst onto the porch and attacked Miguel, dragging him out of view. Ghiaccio was thrown to the ground and told in no uncertain terms to speak of none of this to anyone. It wasn’t until later he realised the arrow had accidentally slashed him.

At that time, Ghiaccio’s soul was not fit to manifest a stand, but it was close. And so, Ghiaccio began to suffer the slow, agonising fate that some in his position fall victim to, his half-manifested stand slowly sucking the life from him. His parents didn’t even have the heart to call a doctor.

Two months into this agony, Ghiaccio heard something outside his room. His parents. They were talking about what to do if he died. He’d had enough. He snapped.

And so, Ghiaccio’s soul reached the point where it was strong enough to bare a stand fully, after having already partially manifested one. This unheard of situation created a stand with no physical form, but unspeakable power. A surge of ice broke out around the house without Ghiaccio even meaning it to, killing his parents at once. His sickness gone, Ghiaccio got up from the bed. What the hell had just happened?

Convinced he had lost his mind, Ghiaccio fled, but left a trail of unexplainable events behind him. Realising they were dealing with an unaccounted stand user, Passione had Ghiaccio hunted down and propositioned to join them. Terrified and with no other idea of what to do, he agreed. With a stand like this, there were only 2 options: La Squadra and La Unita. La Unita had no interest in an impulsive teenager, so Ghiaccio was sent at once to La Squadra.

The group was reluctant to house a teenage boy as an assassin, but took him in nonetheless. Formaggio was grateful for the crumbs of information Ghiaccio could give about the fate of his brother. Sorbet and Gelato couldn’t shake the feeling they’d seen the boy before somewhere.

Illuso

He was an only child. There was nothing particularly wrong with his relationship with his parents, but nothing particularly right either. There just… wasn’t a connection. They were a middle class family, well to do but nothing special. An arrogant boy, Illuso struggled to make friends, though he did become somewhat close with a boy in the year below him named Formaggio, for a short time.

When Illuso was 15, his parents came to him with a proposition. A distant relative of theirs was in possession of a large castle, but could not pay for its upkeep any more. The man had asked if Illuso would be interested in becoming a live-in caretaker, to be paid less than industry standards but still a lot by the standards of a 15 year old boy. Illuso agreed at once, and moved out of his parents home in a matter of days.

At the castle, his loneliness only grew. The place was closed to visitors and had no inhabitants apart from his new employer, who even then only lived in the castle 4 days a week. Illuso thought he was okay with this life, but the effect on his psyche was indisputable.

Then one day, the castle had a break-in. Illuso was accosted by a young man named Miguel, who had been squatting in the cellar for days and believed the castle was abandoned. The pair came to an understanding, and Miguel proposed that in exchange for his silence, he would give Illuso something amazing. He pricked him with the arrow.

Thrilled with his new power, Illuso agreed to keep Miguel’s existence a secret and the pair co-existed for many years. Illuso learned that Miguel had stolen the arrow from a gang named Passione, after discovering its power and making the decision to take it on impulse. Passione is still hunting him, hence the need to hide.

But eventually, they found him nonetheless. Illuso and Miguel tried their best to fight but it was an uneven battle. Miguel fled with the arrow, chased by one half of the attacking squad, leaving Illuso to deal with the other half.

But against all odds, Illuso survived, using his stand to eliminate the attackers one by one. Eventually the last attackers gave in and fled, The next people sent to confront Illuso came with a deal: join Passione, and all will be forgiven.

Despite his stand’s power, Illuso’s superiors disliked his attitude. After a few months of being thrown between teams, he was saddled with La Squadra.

Melone

The middle of three children, Melone was born to an upper-working class family in Florence. His parents were eccentric-academic sorts, who encouraged Melone and his sisters to act without regard for social convention. Though intelligent, Melone was never quite top of the class due to his inability to stay on task. Still, he got into a decent university and had plans to become a gynaecologist.

In his second year, Melone was approached by a poor couple seeking antenatal care for their pregnancy. As they explained, they were in a gang and could not go into public care for fear of their identities as criminals being discovered. They pleaded Melone for whatever rudimentary checks he could provide, just so they could have some assurance their baby was okay. Melone agreed, and met with the couple several times.

Over the course of the next year, Melone gave similar services to a couple more women who were recommended to go to him by the first patient. It was only a matter of time before the university discovered what he was doing, especially once he started stealing equipment to improve the quality of his examinations. Melone was expelled and referred to the police, but one of his patients got Passione to bribe away his charges. Unfortunately, this put him in their debt. Melone told his family he was simply going away for a while.

Melone languished around in Passione for a while. Though he did receive a stand, its lethal capabilities weren’t immediately clear, and so he remained in the lower ranks. His main respite was the bar scene, in which he got to mingle with many of Passione’s members from different squads. It was through here that he met Illuso, Formaggio and Ghiaccio of the execution team, and formed a friendship. Through them he even formed links with the group’s leader, Risotto.

The team were eager to help Melone advance to a better position, and aided him in exploring his stand. Eventually, he discovered how lethal baby face could truly be, outshining everyone’s expectations. Risotto was pleased to welcome him into the team.

Pesci

By the time Pesci was 13, it was clear his mother’s illness was terminal. Initially reluctant to involve him around the team, Prosciutto increasingly allowed Pesci to stay with them while his mother was at the hospital, since there was nowhere else for the young boy to go. As much as everyone tried to comfort him, he was terrified.

Two years later, it was clear Loreta was in her final weeks. Pesci dedicated as much time as he could to being with her, sleeping at her bedside more often than not. It was here that he first felt the strange occurrences begin. It would be subtle at first, the peculiar feeling of his mother’s heartbeat in his hands as he drifted off to sleep. It was comforting, then. It assured him his mother was still alive. Then, it got weirder, a long string extending from his fingers and into his mother’s chest. He thought he was just sleep deprived.

When the fateful day came and Loreta’s heart monitor stopped, Pesci felt a surge of panic. Desperate to find some proof this wasn’t really happening, his stand burst forth from his body and shot its hook into Loreta’s chest. Unfortunately, it was all for nothing. Loreta was dead.

As Pesci held the rod in his hands he realised this was far too real to be a hallucination. He could sense everything, the fading metabolism of his mother’s body and the vibrations in the floor. As the nurses confirmed the death, they could not see it. Why couldn’t they see it?

Prosciutto came into the room. With one look, Pesci knew that his brother could see the rod as well. He panicked and ran.

Prosciutto tried desperately over the next couple days to get in touch with Pesci. He knew exactly what had happened- clearly the boy had summoned a stand from the anguish of his mother’s death and had freaked out in confusion. That’s all completely understandable, but if Pesci isn’t informed of what his new power means soon, he could get himself into serious trouble. Especially if Passione found out.

And so, Prosciutto set off with Risotto to hunt Pesci down, eventually finding him at a run down park near his childhood home. Prosciutto comforted him and explained he knew what was happening, but if everything was going to be okay, he had to go with them.

[aquafolia]

Sokai Day Fic 1: True Love’s Kiss(es)

So yes, I am a Classics/ancient history blog, and this is obviously super different from the content I normally post on this blog. Please forgive me, but I’ve recently become OBSESSED with Kingdom Hearts and I have nowhere else to post this stuff at the moment. So please forgive me, normal content will resume soon!

Anyway, as I said I just started playing the KH games for the first time this summer and it’s been so much fun. And seeing all the amazing stories and artwork in this fandom has inspired me to write some stuff too. Anyway, I’m Holly, and I hope y’all enjoy :)

--------------------------

True Love’s Kiss(es)

‘Ugh!’ Kairi groaned, unceremoniously setting down the basket she held in her hands. ‘I forgot that when you pick apples, you have to actually carry them all back, too!’

‘Your basket’s not even half full, Kairi,’ Sora remarked, ‘and we’ve only just started!’

She grinned. ‘Well then, it’s a good thing I have a strong, manly boyfriend to help me carry all of these.’

He could hardly argue with that. Sora feigned displeasure by rolling his eyes and letting out a dramatic groan, which made Kairi giggle. But then he walked over to her, grabbing one of the basket’s handles as she grabbed the other, and the pair made their way deeper down the rows of apple trees. They could hear the distant shouts and laughs of their friends echoing through the orchard as they went. Apparently, Twilight Town– a world basically in perpetual autumn–  was known for its fall festivities, including its legendary apple orchards. Once they’d visited the orchards, the gang hoped Remi would help them make apple pies, apple cider, and all sorts of goodies during their visit. To that end, the group had decided to break up into teams in order to pick as many apples as they could carry. Today, Sora and Kairi were paired up. But Sora knew that if they only returned with a measly half basket of apples, the others would surely tease them, accuse them of slacking off.

They wouldn’t be totally wrong, Sora thought with a grin. Sure, Kairi was determined to focus on their task: she was deep in concentration, examining each apple carefully before deciding to place it in her basket. Sora, on the other hand, was much more determined to get Kairi off task. It wasn’t that Sora didn’t want to help out, but this was an opportunity for him and Kairi to spend some time alone– that was a temptation greater than any fruit, in Sora’s world.

Kairi set her sights on a shiny red apple that hung high on a nearby tree. She stood up on her tiptoes, making adorable little noises as she tried to grab it. Sora was staring intently, but not at the apple: Kairi’s form was stretched out in front of him as she reached high over her head, accentuating her curves, and Sora was mesmerized. It was only when she said his name that he snapped out of his trance: ‘Sora,’ she called out, not taking her eyes off the fruit, ‘would you come over and help me with this one? You should be able to–’

Kairi shrieked as Sora, having silently moved behind her, wrapped his arms around her legs and hoisted her up onto his shoulder.

‘Tall enough now?’ he asked casually.

Her surprised squeak was the only reply Kairi could muster. Once she’d successfully picked the apple, Sora released her hips. He held her by the waist as her body slid down his until she landed gently on the ground. Even in the autumn chill, Sora could feel his cheeks burning.

Having regained some of her composure, with a giggle, Kairi said, ‘Guess we make a pretty good team, huh?’ before she turned to the next tree. Sora tried to hide it by replying with a level ‘Absolutely,’ but inside, he was beaming: watching the effect he had on Kairi just never got old for him– but given how hard he had to try to appear cool and unfazed, it wasn’t like he was much better than she was.

Now that he’d had his fun, Sora walked up next to Kairi to help out. The pair picked apples side by side, happily chatting and admiring each other's finds, and over time, their basket filled with bright red apples. While they worked, something about the orchard nagged at Sora’s mind, but he couldn't place it. As he studied a large, blood-red apple in his hands, it finally clicked.

‘All these apples remind me of Snow White,’ Sora remarked. ‘Aqua told me how Snow White’s evil stepmother tried to kill her by getting her to eat a poisoned apple. The dwarves thought she was dead, so they placed her in a beautiful glass casket,’ Sora recalled, his eyes still fixed on the apple. He found himself absentmindedly tracing the spot on his chest where a scar marred the skin over his heart: the permanent reminder of his sacrifice for Kairi– well, his first one, anyway.

‘But she wasn’t dead,’ Sora continued, thought bleeding into memory. ‘She was asleep, and she couldn’t wake up…’

‘Until her true love saved her.’

That broke Sora out of his reverie. He looked up to find Kairi already gazing at him, her eyes soft and sincere. Sora replied, ‘Yeah… Reminds me of another princess I know.’

Did she really mean…?  They’d talked about their first adventure numerous times before, but she’d never said it like that.

‘I would have killed for a nice bed to sleep on,’ she continued. ‘You and Riku took me on quite a journey– napping peacefully in a meadow sounds pretty good to me,’ Kairi said with a grin.

A breeze drifted through the orchard, rustling the leaves over their heads. ‘I remember your dad telling us all those old fairy tales when we were kids,’ Sora said. ‘After all the adventures we’ve had… it’s strange to think we sort of became one ourselves.’

‘They’re not always as fun to live as they are to hear…’ Kairi remarked, almost to herself, ‘when you don’t know if there’ll be a happy ending after all.’ Her eyes grew distant, drifting aimlessly down the row of apple trees.  ‘I… I still remember waking up at Hollow Bastion, seeing that Keyblade in your chest… And then how you–’ she started, but then faltered, unable to bring herself to say what came next.

Sora gently placed a hand on her shoulder, turning her to face him. She still seemed lost in thought, not meeting his eyes. ‘I know what you mean. But we did get one, didn’t we, Kairi? It took a while, and we’ve had to find each other again and again, but now you’re here. And thanks to you, I’m here. We’re finally together, and nothing is ever going to change that. That’s the best ‘happily ever after’ I could have wished for.’

The pair were alone, the trees standing sentry around them, but his voice grew softer all the same: these words were just for her. ‘All that doesn’t really matter anymore,’ Sora continued. ‘What I mean is… what matters is that we’re here now. That means it was all worth it.’ He took her hand, interlacing their fingers. ‘Back at Hollow Bastion, when I saw your eyes open just before mine closed, when I knew your heart was safe… it was worth it, Kairi.’

She finally looked up at him. Sora hoped his eyes conveyed the sincerity of his words: It had all been for her– and it had all been worth it, every moment. Every time Sora got to see her sweet smile, got to hear her lovely laugh, it was worth it. And now, he wasn’t just connected to her across the worlds by promises and oaths– if he wanted to find Kairi, all Sora had to do was reach for her hand. How was that not a dream come true?

A small smile forming on her lips, Kairi gave him a look of such love and gratitude that Sora knew she felt the same. ‘It just makes our time together now even more precious to me,’ she finally said, giving his hand a gentle squeeze. ‘I’m never going to take this for granted.’

Sora decided then to gather her into his arms and bring her close, her head resting in the crook of his neck, his cheek on her soft hair. ‘You know,’ he started after a pause, ‘I have to admit, when I heard Snow White’s story, I got a bit jealous.’

Kairi pulled back just enough to shoot him a quizzical look. ‘Jealous?’

‘Yeah, of Prince Florian. All he had to do to wake up Snow White and save the day was kiss her– pretty nice deal, if you ask me,’ Sora explained. Kairi smiled, but her eyes were still a bit sad. So he continued, a grin spreading across his face, ‘Don’t know why I didn’t think to try that first…’

‘Oh, Sora!’ Kairi giggled, giving Sora a playful smack on his arm, her face brighter. ‘What, does that mean you thought about kissing Ven at some point, too?’ she countered.

‘I was getting so desperate to find the Power of Waking, I just might have!’ Sora replied, and they both laughed again. Keeping one arm around Kairi, he took a bite from the apple still in his hand. It was crisp and fresh, and amazingly sweet– it was just right, like everything else in this moment.

Suddenly, with a smirk on her face, Kairi plucked the half-eaten apple from Sora’s hand. She lifted the fruit to her lips, holding Sora’s gaze as she took a large bite next to where he’d just bitten, a small drop of juice running down her chin as she chewed. All Sora could do was watch her, hopelessly mesmerized. It was bold, yet playful– Kairi to a T. Before Sora’s brain could fully resume normal functioning, Kairi said, feigning innocence, ‘What? Isn’t sharing fruit kind of our thing? It’s no paopu fruit, but still…’

Staring into her eyes, the radiant sunset bathing them in soft, warm light, Sora grew bold himself: They’d spent so long in silence, so long apart, why waste any time? He’d fought so hard to find her, to come back to her, over and over again. She was right here– if he wanted to kiss her, what on earth was there to consider? Sora reached a hand forward to cup her cheek, wiping the juice from the corner of her lip with his thumb. Kairi let the gentle pull of his thumb part her lips. ‘It is pretty good,’ Sora said, ‘but… you definitely taste better.’ And with that, he lowered his head and kissed her. He heard the sound of the apple landing on the ground, utterly forgotten, as Kairi’s arms wound around his neck.

And Sora had to admit, kissing Kairi felt pretty magical– Maybe those fairytales were onto something after all.

But of course, the distant sound of Aqua, Ven, and Riku calling out in search of them forced the pair to break their kiss, albeit begrudgingly. Sora expected Kairi to step away, pick up her basket, maybe call out to their friends– but she didn’t. She stayed as she was in Sora’s arms, one hand resting on his shirt, over the scar. Sora could feel his heartbeat racing under her touch. When she looked up at him again, something in her eyes was different. Still happy, but mixed with something else– not just happiness, but a determination to be so.

‘This is a pretty large orchard,’ Kairi remarked, her eyes bright. ‘Our friends probably won’t find us for a little while longer…’

‘We’d better not make them wait too long, or Axel will use his chakrams to–’

Kairi grabbed Sora’s hoodie with both hands and pulled him back down to her lips. For a moment, Sora stood frozen, eyes wide with shock. But as she melted into him, his eyes fluttered closed and he wound his arms around her, each kiss between them less ‘Fairy Godmother Friendly’ than the last. Traditionally, in all those fairytales, the heroes only ever got one ‘True Love’s Kiss.’ Sora considered himself the luckiest prince of all time– he had a never ending supply.

Twilight Town was always just that– hanging in perpetual dusk. So Sora really didn’t know how long he and Kairi spent like that, lost in laughter and kisses and caresses beneath the trees. But once their friends’ voices grew dangerously close, Sora and Kairi managed to untangle themselves, wiping swollen lips, readjusting ruffled clothing, and fixing disheveled hair (not that Sora’s hair had been tidy in the first place– and Kairi burst out laughing when she realized her attempts to smooth it didn’t do much good, either). As Kairi called out to their friends, Sora picked up her basket, now full of delicious looking apples, and the pair began to head back toward the orchard entrance. They probably hadn’t gathered the most apples– and he was sure their friends would point that fact out–  but Sora didn’t care one bit. He wouldn’t have traded this day for anything.

‘Hey Kairi?’ Sora said as they walked, ‘For the record, if I’m ever in a fruit induced coma– or any other kind of coma, really– feel free to make out with me, in order to revive me. Thought I should say so, you know, just in case.’

‘Oh, really?’ She teased back. ‘I’ll make sure to tell Donald– you always complain he never uses Curaga when you need it.’

‘What? No! Ew, gross!’ Sora blanched as Kairi dissolved into laughter. But when his eyes found hers again, he couldn’t help but smile.

As her giggles died out, she replied, 'Okay, I’ll remember that… But that doesn’t mean you can go throw yourself into danger so I’ll kiss you better!’

‘I can’t help it– when you kiss me, I feel like I can do anything,’ Sora answered simply. Kairi’s eyes widened at his remark, and she ducked her head as her cheeks bloomed pink. Sora beamed. He may have been laying it on her thick, but Sora wasn’t lying: He had true love on his side– the most powerful magic of all.

-----

[tender-rosiey]

hello !! I was wondering if I could make a request with dazai, where the reader runs a podcast that dazai really enjoys. He doesn't know what reader looks like, but recognizes her voice while he's out and about one day, and introduces himself, and as they get to know each other more start falling?

Idk if that makes any sense. Feel free to completely ignore this !! I love your writing sm by the way 🥺

❥ Euphony

ᴀ/ɴ: THIS IDEA IS SO CUTE SRSLY THANK YOU FOR THIS REQUEST ✨ I hope you like this and I am glad my writings please you! 🥺��� also P/N stands for podcast name <3

“DAZAI STOP SLACKING OFF” scolded the blonde, however Dazai couldn’t bother to even lift his head. How could he when an angel is speaking into his ears?

His favorite podcast and most comforting one playing in his headphones.

(Podcast Name) is one he found 4 months ago; he truly enjoyed the melodic voice of the speaker, and what he liked was that she seemed to be genuinely enjoying talking about whatever topic she shared.

He would chuckle at her excitement as if he was taking to her, she reminded him of a kid in a candy store. Somehow a stranger he never met made his heart rest and be at peace and that baffled him; you don’t even know him yet you do this to him?

And sometimes the topics you talked about he was able to relate to and hearing you encourage those who are troubled by them made him happy, but somehow it’s like you are talking to him.

As if you know how he feels and knowing what exactly to say to silence those voices in his head that have been hunting him since he existed on this earth.

Listening for your podcast was baiscally a routine for him, his face would always light up at the sight of a new one being uploaded.

Your voice was an euphony that he wished to hear its symphony for eternity. A never ending melody that he wished to die with it being the last thing playing on his mind, other than the jarring sounds that he so loathed.

But the shame was that he didn’t know your face, what you looked like. However he was confident you were just as beautiful and majestic as your voice. Dazai became a man who hung onto your every word literally, but he knew this time it was alright for he wouldn’t be able to meet you.

He wouldn’t have to go through the trouble of loving and losing again.

But maybe fate has a different opinion?

As for one day he was strolling around the city, and was listening to the podcast that he ever so adores. For some reason he was thinking, is meeting you really impossible? You could still be in another country and who knows how far, but then again can it happen?

As if by default he had bumped into a person causing them both to stumble back with her on top.

“O-oh, sorry I wasn’t looking where I was going.”

...He knew that voice anywhere and everywhere, even between a million voices he still could be able to pick out yours. ‘That’s like searching for a needle in a haystack’ some would say but for him it was clear as day.

You stood up and helped in the way. ‘True embodiment of beauty, he thought then he popped up the question “Are you P/N?”

The question took you by surprise, someone recognized your voice? You smiled and nodded “The only one!”

And so the journey of the sea of love that you both drowned in started. You had exchanged numbers and would talk almost daily to each other, meeting up and having fun.

Both of you blinded by the presence of the other whenever you hung out together, as if you were the only two in sight.

Dazai realized he was falling for you, and it scared him to death. Everyone he loved always had come to a tragic ending and he would never want you to go through that.

To him distancing himself was the best option, so he tried. He tried but couldn’t. How is he supposed to get away from you when he got used to your presence and voice? How was he supposed to continue forgetting you both ever met when your name is carved all over his mind?

And so he realized, he was way too late to distance. He was head over heels for you, everything you did would make his heart flutter, butterflies bursting in his tummy at the sight of you, he was completely and utterly infatuated by every single thing about you.

Oh he was too long gone. Slowly falling deeper and harder until he couldn’t handle it, it wasn’t like Dazai to love without limits yet here you are being loved by his all being. But you didn’t know, and that pained him.

Did you even feel the same way? Perhaps you just saw him as another friend, maybe even a fan. Was he really going to risk your company for his own selfish desires?

Still it wouldn’t be Dazai if he hadnt noticed that your podcasts have been recently about love, could it be possible that you have been talking about him?

Was he really the man that captured your heart and made you a love-struck angel? He hoped so, and that’s why he was going to risk it. If it goes his way then finally life has chose to give him a slight ray of happiness and if it doesn’t then maybe love isnt for him.

“Hey, Y/N!” He chirped as he approached you with his hands behind his back. ‘Suspicious...’ you thought as the man settled in front of you with a smile. “I made something for you; I hope you like it.”

He handed you his phone and headphones, you wore them as he played what he planned to.

‘Y/N HIIIIIIII, hehe.’

That was his voice...

‘I know this is weird and stuff BUT HEAR ME OUT; I, Dazai Osamu, have fallen for you and everything about you’

You blinked and a pink hue decorated your cheeks.

‘You are a masterpiece, a Mona Lisa among others. A beautiful flower that bloomed and made everything around it mesmerizing. A sun that light up the way to a lot of lives, most importantly mine.’

‘You always helped me even before we met and that...that alone made me relieved and when I saw you face to face, I thought I was dreaming. Woah I am really infront of the angel of the euphony that calmed my heart?’

You covered your mouth as the recording continued.

‘I am sure you weren’t expecting this, but honestly I really did fall in love with you and I thought that confessing through a record, what made me know you, would be the best way to confess. Now take off the headphones and look me in the eye.’

And so you did and Dazai held your hand and with a hopeful smile “Will you be my symphony of love?”

[yes] - [no]

ALSO THANK YOU FOR 200 FOLLOWERS I NEVER THOUGHT I WOULD MAKE IT THIS FAR! MY DEEPEST GRATITUDE FOR YOUR SUPPORT 🥺❤️

I PLAN ON MAKING A 200+ FOLLOWERS EVENT SOON SO STAY TUNED ❤️

copyright © 2020 tender-rosiey

do not copy or plagiarize or you will be reported

[ladyfawkes]

FINALLY UPDATED after approximately 100000 years. xD

Tangled Just Before Ever After

Words: 4730

Chapters: 2/?

Overall Summary:

Have you ever wondered what happened to Rapunzel and Eugene immediately following their first kiss in the Tower?

How they explained to one another the ways they discovered the depth of Gothel's evilness and duplicity?

How they managed to convince the Captain of the Guard that Flynn Rider was suddenly no longer a threat?

“Look at this!” Rapunzel exclaimed, surprised, as she traced out an invisible line across his palm. “There’s some of those magicky healing sparks left on your hand.” The young woman pulled back her own hand so he could see and sure enough, Eugene spied some faint twinkling beneath the very top layer of his skin. “Whaddyaknow?” he shrugged. “Huh.” A thought occurred to him and Eugene wondered if the glittery effect was now permanent. He surmised that it shouldn’t be and that it’d wear off soon enough...hopefully.

Chapter Two: The Lock-Picking Frog

Eugene and Rapunzel sat down together on one of the lower steps of the Tower’s inner staircase. She took his left hand in her lap, turned it palm upwards, and said, “Wait a minute….” brought up the same hand closer to her face and peered at it quizzically.

“I wonder…..” Rapunzel quickly let go his hand and reached across Eugene’s waist, her own left hand now hovering over the rips in his doublet and shirt where Gothel’s dagger had pierced him. And although she blushed a very lovely shade of pink upon asking him, the princess asked, “May I?” while pointing to his right flank.

And Eugene couldn’t mask his curiosity; his eyebrows arose right along with his elbows as he gave Rapunzel better access to his midsection. Far be it from him to stop the beautifullest young woman of his dreams from unfastening his doublet untucking his shirt for him. And although Eugene politely looked elsewhere partly for her sake, and partly for fear he might lose his gallant resolve…. He still very much wanted to say something cheeky or pithy or romantic or --

“Looks like my theory is correct,” reported Rapunzel. “Hmm?” Eugene was bewildered and his brow furrowed. “Theory?” he echoed, not entirely able to hide his disappointment at the aloofness of her reply. This wasn’t what he’d expected from this interaction at all. Eugene supposed he should’ve known better.

“Uhmmm,” said Rapunzel, suddenly shy again, “Well, I had guessed that the places on your body where you’ve been wounded the worst and most recently would therefore most likely possess some residual magic.” She sat back up and pointed toward his torso, “Looks like I was correct.”

And Eugene raised his shirt to look down at the place where the mortal wound once was, glimpsing for himself the same shimmering phenom of which Rapunzel spoke. That particular sparkling penetrated far deeper into his flank than what appeared near the surface of his palm, however.

Rapunzel kissed the inside of her hand and gently caressed the healed area on Eugene's side with those same fingertips. It was a gesture so pure and tender that again he found his heart melting with just how gentle she was with him -- the hardened criminal. Because this particular sensation…..what he felt now, what he’d felt when Rapunzel was tracing and kissing every inch of his face, and especially when Rapunzel had initially and carefully healed the palm of his hand two days before….it was so fantastic and new. And what Eugene could not have known then is that he was positively starving for it. He soaked up every drop of her kindness as if she were the sole oasis in his desert of loneliness. It’s why the young man knew he couldn’t let her walk away from him even after their special night of lanterns had concluded.

For Rapunzel hadn’t merely healed his largest mortal wound with her tears or the slicing through his palm with her hair. Without disdain or mockery or any form of guile, this unassuming young woman was healing parts of Eugene that he hadn’t even realized were chronically aching and long ago flayed raw in the first place. He had become numb and oblivious to all of it. Yet this impossibly kind and loving young soul was offering unconditional acceptance to Flynn Rider, the misunderstood career criminal whom everyone in all the seven kingdoms (and beyond) had come to loathe. Since the moment he met her, Rapunzel’s mere presence had become like sweet salve for his bruised soul. Even if it took Eugene the rest of his life, he vowed to himself that he would strive to be worthy of his dearest Rapunzel.

Eugene carefully gathered up Rapunzel under his arm and she leaned into him as they embraced again. Rapunzel was….almost impossibly genuine. Is this what real love has always felt like??, he mused. There’d been times Eugene had experienced such deep sadness and devastation in his life that it felt like his heart would certainly break. In fact, he had experienced that exact emotion as recently as that very morning during his imprisonment….. And it wasn’t because he feared dying…..it’s because he was all but certain he’d never see Rapunzel again. Never get to rescue her from wherever the Stabbingtons had gone off with her.

Prior to meeting Rapunzel, Eugene hadn’t ever experienced so much love and peace and contentment, it seemed as if his heart might burst from inability to contain itself. Once again, he appeared to have dozed off with Rapunzel squished up against him. Eugene yawned tiredly, internally berating himself and wondering why on earth he was so exhausted…. Until realization finally dawned that it had been over 24 hours since either he or Rapunzel had been able to get any sleep or rest whatsoever. It appeared to have finally caught up to them now that the worst of the danger had passed.

“So...how did you figure it all out?” Rapunzel asked softly, still holding him close with her head nestled against his chest. “It had to be pretty early on. Especially considering our entire first discussion regarding ‘backstory’....” And Eugene chuckled.

“You’re right, you’re right,” he replied. “I had definitely begun to suspect something was up by the time we were running through that underground escape system. There were just too many coincidences. A few being that: a.) it was the 18th year of Corona’s lantern festival and you just happened to be turning 18; b.) magicalness notwithstanding nobody else in the whole world had hair like yours -- its length and tensile strength belied its beaming gossamer beauty; c.) I’ve seen children -- even young adults -- utterly terrified of their parents, and for good reason; while I originally thought it was just a figure of speech when you said you “never left the tower”, I came to know you were being quite literal...therefore d.) you had further cemented my belief that you are Corona’s princess when you shared with me the ways in which your magical hair worked.

Suddenly, some insistent squeaking noises in front of them on the floor broke into the conversation. Eugene’s head whipped toward his right and looked down.

“Well, hullo there, Li’l Froggy,” he greeted Pascal warmly. This caused Pascal to glance over at Rapunzel with a wry look as he sighed long-sufferingly. “Yup. I think you’re stuck with it now, Pascal,” Rapunzel agreed. Pascal held out his claws heavenward, shrugged, and then hopped up on Eugene’s free wrist and scaled up toward his left shoulder, around his neck, finally perching on Eugene’s right shoulder. He squeaked something lengthy to Eugene. And Eugene, who wasn’t yet fully versed in Pascallese, had to ask Rapunzel to interpret.

“First of all,” Rapunzel began, “he says that ‘Frog’ is a rather insulting nickname but he’ll cut you some slack, being that you died, came back, and fainted all in the past 30 minutes.”

“Whoa-ho! Well, thanks for that vote of confidence,” a smirking Eugene sarcastically replied to the cheeky lizard on his shoulder.

“Second of all, while you and I were...talking,” continued Rapunzel, “Pascal scared up that hairpin and sewing needle you’d mentioned needing for picking locks. He says if you hold up your wrist with the shackle and instruct him right now in real time, he’s willing to help pick that lock with you,” and Rapunzel grinned.

“A lock-picking frog, eh?” Eugene marvelled, in spite of himself. He couldn’t help it -- the still-too-loud-Flynn Rider half of his brain was going wild considering that potential. “That is definitely gonna come in handy someday, ” he said with a faint smile on his face.

Eugene grabbed in his left hand the hairpin that Pascal had brought. The young man made sure it was bent crookedly in a certain way at one end and handed it back to Pascal. Next Eugene held up his shackled wrist and proceeded to coach the little chameleon in how to use the tricks of a thief’s trade. Twice more, Eugene modified the end of the hairpin, always handing it back to Pascal. Within about 90 seconds, the rusted manacle had popped open and slid off Eugene’s wrist onto the floor…..where he couldn’t help but notice a blood stain on the nearby tile below.

To divert Rapunzel’s attention (and his own), Eugene hastily put his boot over the top of the stain and made a big show of finally being free of the manacle. “Ahhh!!” he massaged his right wrist, “that’s more like it! Tiny high-fives, Froggy!” Eugene reached out his index finger toward Pascal who was still perched upon his right shoulder. The chameleon then “fived” Eugene’s fingertip with his bitzy claw.

Rapunzel helped Eugene all the way to his feet and with great relief, he stretched his long legs and even longer back all the way up to his full considerable height. As he was stretching over backward, allowing his spine some satisfying cracks, Eugene surprisingly felt someone touching his bare skin and stole a downward glance at Rapunzel, who was once again examining the former wound in his side.

The young woman noticed a bit too late that she’d already been seen. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw that Eugene had stopped stretching and was now peering down at her. Rapunzel instantly withdrew her hands as that now familiar delightful shade of pink blossomed under her freckles and she mumbled an apology. She instinctively backed away a step, looked up, and said, "You're even taller than I remembered."

[saiilorstars]

Illuminated (One Shot pt.1)

{Part 2}

Fandom: MCU

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Female OC

Chapter Summary: **One-shot series. Now that Steve made his choice to fight against his own team, he has to live with the consequences even if it means leaving behind the one person he couldn't possibly forget about. Seren Soul isn't a woman he can easily forget. He just never has the right words, much less the bravery he needs, to tell her everything. It's then Seren who starts a dance of caution with him, after they're forced to separate, in an attempt to figure out what those words he couldn't say to her were.

Taglist: @ocfairygodmother @anotherunreadblog​ @maaaaarveeeeel​ 

[If you’d like to be added to this specific OC’s stories/edits, send me a message!]

Seren’s face claim is the actress Mariluz Bermúdez!

If someone once told her where she would be standing today, she would've laughed in their face. Or maybe she would've been a little bit rude about it. But really, how would she have ever guessed that one day she would be standing in a beautiful, hidden, civilization in Africa? Wakanda. A terribly underestimated place. It was too bad that none of her attention could focus on the beauty of it, the genius of its architecture.

No.

Her attention was on what was coming. What had happened was already done and there was nothing she could do to go back and prevent it. She was stuck with this future and its uncertainty, its cruelty for a lack of a better word. It wasn't the end of the world, persay, but it was for her.

"Agent Soul," she heard her name from a distance.

Agent Seren Soul tore her gaze from the glass wall to see the King of Wakanda himself coming up to her. She fixed her body posture that'd been slacking and slouching as soon as she was alone (the grim thoughts were clearly getting the best of her). "Has it been done?" she asked quietly. Her voice may have been frail but it was also better to speak quietly for precaution.

"In a moment," T'Challa answered. "They are saying goodbye."

"Ah," Seren chewed on her bottom lip. "Will he really be safe here?"

"Wakanda is the only place no one would be able to get through without our noticing. Like I told Steve, this is the best option."

Seren nodded. She looked past him when she spotted Steve coming out of the room. It'd been done. Bucky was gone again.

"I will give you a moment," T'Challa said and walked past Steve. They exchanged a couple words that Seren couldn't hear, making her even more anxious. She suspected plans were already being made and she wouldn't know a thing about details.

At last, Steve came up to her. She felt ridiculously nervous but they weren't misplaced. "Are you okay?" she eventually asked him.

"He'll be good here," he said, though it sounded a lot like he was still in the process of convincing himself.

"Bucky made the right choice," she assured him. She laid a hand on his arm and offered him a smile. What else was there? No words would ever be able to comfort him after losing his best friend yet again. "And you know that he'll eventually come back." Maybe that one would mean something.

"I'm afraid of the 'when', to be honest," Steve admitted. He had no idea when Shuri would be able to pull all the brainwashing out of Bucky's head. "But I have to focus on what I have right now and what I need to do."

Seren felt her nerves rising. This was the conversation she was deeply afraid of having. The others. Everyone who had fought alongside him were arrested and incarcerated. She knew very well that Steve wasn't going to just forget that. "What are you going to do?"

Steve's eyebrows raised slightly, his expression indicating he already had thought of a way to go about it. "It's best if you don't know." He really preferred that way. Seren had done her best to lessen the tension between him and Tony but in the end nothing had worked. They fought and now they were here. Steve wasn't going to risk Seren's status for the likes of him. He'd already dragged everyone else down. Never Seren.

Seren shook her head. "Oh, don't do that."

"I will because they're going to go to you first. You may be a CIA Agent but they know very well what you are to," —he cleared his throat, "—me."

Seren deliberated upon hearing those words. She ignored (or rather tried to ignore) the skip of her heart. "What...what exactly does that mean?"

Steve looked her dead in the eye. "Seren, they might not know everything but they know enough. We were close..." More than close at one point, and they both knew it. It was perhaps the reason Seren turned her head away from him. She crossed her arms, letting her fingers drum against her skin. Her nervous tell. He'd picked up on it almost as soon as they met. "They could think that you helped me."

"I would help you," she whispered.

Steve had no doubt in his mind that she would help him; she'd risk her own job in the process just to help him escape. "I know." She flinched lightly when his hand touched her arm. "Seren, please, let me go."

Seren finally gave him her gaze. He almost wished she hadn't. Her usually cheery green eyes were shiny with tears. "You're telling me to let you go after everything?"

"Well—"

"Everything," she reiterated with a strong emphasis beckoning him to think about what she meant. It wasn't fair to ask that of him when they had both agreed to never bring it up again, but she was desperate, and scared...and so, so out of her element here. "If you can do it so easily then I envy you."

"No, I can't," Steve admitted in the quietest of voices. How could he ever forget that night between them? They both agreed it happened suddenly but Steve knew better, at least in regards to him. It wasn't random, it didn't just happen. There were reasons it happened...for him at least.

His feelings for Seren started a long time ago. She was utterly kind, always professional and most of all loyal. She had dedicated her life to S.H.I.E.L.D., working hard and striving to help the others. She was one of the first people he'd met after waking up and very quickly found her to be about the only agent—the only person—he could trust. He could trust that she didn't hide secrets like most agents (or director for that matter) and she plenty of secrets that made her a potential target (like the fact she wasn't entirely human). They worked well together. They made a good team. Somewhere along the way, he started paying more attention to her, whether it was her sparkly green eyes or her pink cheeks or sweet laugh. His favorite thing about her had turned out to be her sweet laugh because it always ended up happening when he failed to catch up to the modern world. While he would typically be embarrassed, she would just laugh softly and teach him.

She was timid, even. She with her alter-ego known to be powerful and literally out of this world. Stardust. She who could take down flocks of enemies. Yes, she was timid and so very real. They spent most of their time together, whether it was at S.H.I.E.L.D. or outside. Even when the teasing started, they collectively ignored it and focused on whatever they were doing that day. Steve could vividly remember the exact moment he knew he'd fallen for her.

She introduced him to the sweet delicacy of cinnamon rolls with pecans. It was her favorite pastry and she was sure that he would love it. They were sitting at a table with said pastries in front of them. They looked a bit different from what Steve was used to, naturally, and he'd been a little hesitant to try them.

Seren laughed softly. She brought an arm over the table and rested her cheek on her palm. "You gotta do me the favor of at least trying it," she said. She'd picked up his fork and cut a piece of the cinnamon roll for him to taste. She then held it to him. "Please?" She hadn't pressed further but her expression was what got him in the end. He'd taken the fork from her and slowly brought it to his mouth. She laughed again, looking away from him when she pointed out, "I'm not trying to poison you, you know. Expand your palate. Tomorrow we're trying pumpkin cheesecake." It was such a small moment, a casual moment, domesticity if you will, and it was then that Steve realized they'd been having these types of moments for a while now. They made simple plans like these and he liked them. He never really had that with a woman. And he realized these plans had been going on for a while. He wanted to do what she wanted. He liked seeing her smile when it happened that he liked whatever she showed him. Little by little, that desire to see her smile would eventually expand. No longer would he just want to see her smile, he wanted to hold her hand whenever possible. He wanted to be close to her, and alone if possible. And for reason—some God lucky reason—it was easy to do.

For a moment in his life, he dared to believe that Seren was knowingly letting it happen. How else would they explain the one night they were alone for a celebratory dinner where they ended up far closer than any other moment in their lives? Their sudden first kiss, the slow touches that soon led them to forget all about being 'cautious'—Seren had wrapped her arms around him, practically begging him not to leave her there. He, hopelessly in love, was a goner. He held her tight and didn't let her go until the next day. But when the sun came up, things had changed and suddenly they were agreeing that it'd been a mistake. Just a mistake. A mistake.

Years later, the pain still rippled through Steve like it was a fresh wound. He met Seren's eyes, more serious than before, "I didn't forget, Seren. You did."

"I di—"

"You're the one who said it was a mistake. You were very quick to act like nothing ever happened."

Seren pursed her lips, her eyes darting to the side. That stung but it was fair, very fair. "I had to," she whispered.

"You 'had' to?"

"Yes, I had to—"

"What on Earth forced you to—"

"I had to!" Seren exclaimed, quieting him down for a moment. "Because-because I was working with the CIA and you went with Stark! You had your own missions and I didn't want to get in the way; I didn't want to distract you." She swallowed hard and forced herself to meet his gaze even when she was sure that she was looking more like a mess as the seconds ticked by. "You had your plans set and I would never want to get in the way of them."

Plans. Steve knew exactly what those plans were. "I was trying to find Bucky..." Seren nodded. "But Seren, you wouldn't have 'distracted me'. It would've made a huge difference having you there with me."

"I'm sorry," Seren said. Her tears were rolling down her cheeks. "I'm really sorry. I wasted our time, I know, but I can't let you go again. Not for...for this injustice."

Steve remembered another reason why he loved her. She always stood by his side, even when he made some not-so-good decisions. He took a step closer to her and rested his hands on her shoulders. "I need to go and if you come with me, you're a fugitive too. You're still an Agent and the best one the CIA has. You like your job, you like the missions, I know you do. You have a family. Your parents, your grandmother, they would lose it if you came with me. And I know that you don't want to leave them behind. That's okay. I could never ask you to sacrifice everything for me."

He probably deserved a lot better than her. Seren raised her head to meet his gaze again. "I..." Would she be that imprudent, that unfair, to say she loved him? Her heart pinged with pain. She couldn't do that to him. He didn't deserve a confession like this—if he even cared for it anymore. He'd been under the assumption that she'd chosen to forget what happened, after all. Maybe it was too late.

Steve moved his hands to cup her face. His thumbs cleared the tears from her cheeks. "It's okay..."

"Is it?"

"Yeah, because you're going to go back home and you're going to keep being you. That's the best thing you can do for this world because after what we did to it...it'll desperately need your help." Seren laughed in the lightest of ways, but it was exactly what Steve wanted to hear. He loved it. "Who better to fix the world than Stardust, right?"

"I really want to cry and you're not letting me," she sniffed.

"Good!" He smiled. The urge to tell her everything he felt was big but he wouldn't be stupid enough to come out with that nonsense. She had way too much to deal with already. He loved her but...she didn't need to know. The chances of her feeling that much for him were slim, really slim. "I, um, I have to go."

Seren nodded. "I won't even bother asking if I'll see you soon..."

"It'd be too dangerous right now. You're the first person they'll go to when...when I do what I'll do." He already felt terrible for what would inevitably happen with her after he broke everyone else out of prison.

"Stay safe," Seren whispered, bringing her hands over his on her face. "Please. Natasha's going to keep you out of trouble but...she's not a miracle worker."

Steve chuckled. "I will do my best."

They spent a minute in silence just staring at each other. For a moment they both believed there was something that the other wanted to say to them. In the end, neither said a word.

"Bye, Seren," Steve lowered his head to leave a kiss on Seren's forehead. It was the only thing left for them now.

Seren felt a chill when Steve pulled his hands from her. She shouldn't have missed it as much as she did in that moment. "Bye..."

He said what he was capable of and now he had to leave. Steve took in a breath and walked around her without looking back. He didn't know what would happen if he looked back but it probably wouldn't bode well for his plans.

Seren stayed right where she was for several more minutes. She was trying her best not to lose it but her body was trembling. She'd wasted her time with Steve and now he was gone. God she was stupid.

"Agent Soul," she heard and immediately sought to put herself together before the King saw her. "Agent Soul, everything is ready for when you decide to leave."

Seren swallowed hard, pushing the tears away to put on a more suitable and appropriate face for conversation. "Yes, thank you so much."

"Of course," T'Challa said. He looked past Seren for a moment before speaking up, albeit quieter. "I thought you might want to have this."

Seren blinked when she saw him hold out a small device that resembled a watch. One of Shuri's inventions for sure. "What-what is that?"

"It's a communications device, an odd one but my sister Shuri assures me that it is better than your typical type of communications device."

"Why's that?"

"There is no audio to leave a record behind. It's more of an advanced computer. You type a message and it'll send it to the other pair."

"Other pair?"

T'Challa smiled. "I gave the other to Steve in case there was ever a situation where he might need to contact somebody."

Seren's eyebrows raised together. Many things were racing in her mind right now and 99% of them had to do with the possibilities she had her fingertips now. "Thank you," she eventually said. "I-I don't even know what to say..."

"I believe that is what this is for," T'Challa tapped a finger over the device, making her chuckle for the briefest of moments.

Yes it was but now Seren had to come up with what to say.

~ 0 ~

Steve had been right. The moment they got word of the "break in", Seren found herself at the center of questions and demands. Had she been anyone else she might have crumbled under the pressure, especially when a lot of her first days were spent in the company of Thaddeus Ross. "Company" was a loose term for nonstop interrogation.

"You know it would be a lot easier if you just told them what they want to hear," Tony was the usually the first one she spoke to after her interrogations. As it was, the doors to the compound were still very much open to her. But Seren was no fool to think it would be completely tension free. Moments like these were proof enough.

She walked up to Tony with a bit of a sway in her steps. "Oh, I did say some words alright. Just no the ones they were hoping for."

"You know you can't hide Rogers forever, right?"

"I'm not hiding him anywhere—to hide him, I'd have to know where he is."

Tony raised an eyebrow at her. "You really don't know where he is?"

"You can give me all the lie detectors you want," Seren reminded him. She'd told him that the first moment he insinuated she would know where Steve and the others ran to. "I don't know where he is but I do know where my room is...am I clear to go there right now?"

As hard as Tony wanted to be, he always cracked in the end. His problem wasn't with her, nor with the others with Steve for that matter. "Yeah, you're good Twinkle Star."

Seren pointed a finger at him, lips pursing at the terrible nickname she just couldn't get rid of. The tiny smile on Tony's face didn't help either. She dropped her hand to her side and headed for her room. She locked the door behind her and threw her purse on the bed, or so she thought. She heard her things fall out from the foot of her bed. With a sigh, she went to collect the stuff from the floor.

She soon came across the communication device T'Challa had given her. To say she'd forgotten all about it would be a complete lie. She held it gingerly in her hands, unsure whether or not to put it away just like her other things. Despite the heavy interrogations she'd been put under, most of Seren's thoughts were of what to say if she decided to use the device. She wasn't even sure if Steve knew she had the other piece—T'Challa hadn't exactly been clear about that. Would he know it was her?

Of course, if you know the right thing to say! If she said something only they knew about, he would know it was her. Would he...respond? That, she wasn't sure and she was very afraid the answer would be 'no'. They'd left important things unsaid but the more Seren thought about what she had wanted to say, the more fear she felt. She knew exactly what she had wanted to say to him in their last moment but fear won out and she kept silent. Now it killed her that she'd kept silent.

Maybe that's what you should say, stupid! Seren shook her head as soon as that thought crossed her mind. No, she couldn't just write that to him like it was a simple sentence. A confession like that deserved to be in person and that was definitely not happening anytime soon.

But still...

What if by the time they were able to see each other—if they were ever able to see each other—the feeling was gone. Or worse, Steve didn't believe her. Seren slowly sat on the foot of her bed. She looked down at the device in her hands. Do something before it kills you! She gripped the device. You're clever, you always know what to say so say something! Anything that says it without saying it. Seren glanced at her bed stand where a small book still rested just as she left it. The poem book that Steve had given her for one of her birthdays. It'd been a mix of delightful poems that included a few sweet ones she once had courage to read with him.

An idea popped into her head.

Whether it was a good one or not, she'd rather not think about it lest she want to lose courage. She crawled over the bed until she was able to take the book into her hands. She flipped through the pages, stopping on one of her favorite poems. Doitdoitdoitdoitdoitdoit! Before he knew it, she was writing it out on the device.

You dream with a love,

Pure, unconditional, strong,

Eternal like the sun

One that you draw a passion with

Seren held her breath for an ungodly amount of time after sending it. Steve would recognize her poem and he would either respond with the answer she hoped for or at the very least with an answer kindly rejecting her. But when? She would have to agonize for God knew how long.

~ 0 ~

In the first minute he saw the message, Steve was frozen. He had to have been reading it wrong. Or...or the wires in the device were wrong. He recognized the lines immediately. How could he not, he had bought the poem book after all. He'd picked it up for Seren's birthday last year. She'd gone over every poem with him and this one had been one of her favorites. He loved it too but for obvious reasons.

That's when he wondered if it was the same reason that Seren liked the poem.

Their last meeting certainly implied she felt something for him. Now here was this poem, this beautiful poem that spoke nothing but sweet passion and love.

It had to be Seren and no one else sending him this. He would have to believe that somehow the other device T'Challa talked about hadn't been left in Wakanda like he had assumed. It was with Seren. She could message him whenever she wanted to and that definitely raised his spirits. Being on the run—being a fugitive of the law—could somehow be better if he didn't have to lose everything.

So then answer her! If he didn't answer, Seren would take it as if he didn't want to speak with her anymore and that was far from the truth. But what would he say? She said plenty already. How are you afraid to respond? It was true. If he was being optimistic, and perhaps he was, he could take this message as an admission without it actually being an admission. He could do the same.

They would dance over the words they weren't able to say to each other the last time they were together. But at least he would be doing something to show her that he was still there, that like her there was something he felt too...even though he knew exactly what that feeling was.

So, later on when he gathered enough courage to respond, he sent her a message with the same meaning but just as much of a cautious dance.

~ 0 ~

It was late at night when Seren saw her device blinking a light red. She would've missed it if she actually slept but as of late, she was very bad at sleeping. She shifted on her bed to reach for the device on the nightstand. She held it for a few minutes before deciding to be brave and see the message.

You dream with a love,

Clear, with devotion

Free, growing wings to the heart,

To fly where passion nestles

Seren actually felt her heart stop for a moment. She reread the stanzas at least twice before deciding it was actually there. Her lips pulled into a smile, perhaps one of the biggest ones she'd ever had on her face. She held the device close to her and stayed just like that for God knew how long. He had answered her with that. Of all the things he could've said, whether it'd be something polite or rejection, he said that. Those stanzas meant something—they were part of the same poem she'd sent him.

Could it be that he was trying to tell her the same thing she had in the first message?

What else could it be, idiot!? She had to stop over-analyzing this. Steve could've sent her anything and he chose that precise poem. He chose to keep her game going. What else could that mean? But, her brain being cruel, she had to try one more time before letting herself believe it was happening. Her fingers tapped the screen for its keyboard.

Passion is like a restless wind that is converted to freedom

It is knowing that there's someone else who lives wishing to meet you

Seren held her breath when the message sent. As much alien as she was (and she was), she was also human. She had fear and she had doubt just like anyone else. Lucky for her, Steve knew that about her very well. He wasn't surprised she didn't believe him. She never realized that he loved her for years now. Her name meant 'star' and to Steve, that's what she was: a star that illuminated his grim life. She gave him back the light that he never thought he would have after waking up out of the 40s.

It is traveling without fear among the stars and the immensity

It is going through fire, walking on waters, converting a dream to reality.

That should seal the deal.

Indeed it did. When Seren received his next message, she couldn't stop the butterflies erupting in her stomach. It wasn't an admission, it was the cautious dance that she was more than willing to do. It's all they had now.

Passion is an enormous force that moves the whole of creation,

It is knowing there's someone waiting for you beyond where the sun hides

Steve's smile could've matched hers when he first opened the message. For a split moment, he wasn't hiding. His fingers worked faster than ever to respond. If he was lucky, Seren might still be awake for the next one.

It is two souls that unite,

Continuing into to Eternity

Why wouldn't Seren be awake? They had to finish the poem. And she had the honor of giving him the last line.

You'll never miss someone in whom you trust,

They're an angel who takes you by the hand,

Revealing a world of passion

After that, Seren found it easier to sleep through the nights. Not all was lost.

~ 0 ~ 0 ~ 0 ~ 0 ~ 0 ~ 0 ~ 0 ~ 0 ~ 0 ~ 0 ~

Author's Note:

I'm definitely going to try and add a second piece here because I have some ideas...I just don't know whether to finish it on a happy note or a not-so-happy note...suggestions are always welcomed :)

Full disclaimer that this poem is not a poem but a Spanish song I that love to bits and pieces. I got the translation online and tweaked/omitted some words to fit the story!

[dontshootmespence]

Its Simplicity

Summary: After a chance meeting at a bookstore, Y/N and Spencer find themselves surprised again.

Words: 1,657

Warnings: Gross fluff.

A/N: My next entry for @cmbingo​ 2020! This fulfills my neighbors au square.

“My legs feel like lead,” Piper mumbled, following behind you with a giant moving box in her grasp.

It had to be your fifth trip up the stairs to your new second floor apartment, but it was worth it. Until you started your new job money was tight so you weren’t about to hire movers for something you and Piper could do - slowly but surely that is.

“Why didn’t you get movers?” She bitched. Her bitchy and whiney were very similar and you couldn’t help but laugh.

Backing into the door, you pushed it open and dropped the next box onto the floor before flopping onto the one piece of furniture you’d managed to get up the steps so far - the ottoman for your reading chair. “Because it’s a lot of money. I’m not rolling in it you know.”

“But I’m in pain,” she whined. “Can we at least take a break?”

You mumbled in response, though it was practically drowned out by the raucous gargling of your stomach. “Yes, we need food. Crappy Kraft?”

Somehow you managed to move your seemingly weighed down body off the ottoman and toward the kitchen, bare now, but would hopefully resemble a 50s style diner once you were finished. Dream kitchen. You grabbed a pot out of one of the boxes in the kitchen and boiled some water before pouring in a disgusting three boxes worth of Kraft Mac and Cheese. Triple bypass in no time.

“Okay, so tell me about the boy? How come you haven’t gone on another date? I feel like a matchmaker. I need details.” Piper got hyper when she talked about your dating life.

Spencer said he’d call when he could, but right after he did, he got called away on a case for work. He’d texted sporadically, but you hadn’t heard from him in half a day or so. Apparently, the case was harder to solve than he originally thought. “There’s not much to say other than what I told you about the bookstore,” you laughed. No one in the world could replace Piper, she was your one and only bestie for all of time, but occasionally you did like keeping things to yourself. “We’ve texted a few times since but he’s busy with work so he said he’d call when he gets back.”

Heavy footsteps told you someone else was coming up the stairs and Piper had left her box of your stuff outside the door. “Sorry about the box outside. Moving in! I’ll get it out of your way!”

You ran to the door while the water came to a boil only to see a familiar face. “Spencer!”

“Y/N? What are you doing here?”

An almost painful smile spread across your face. “Moving in. This is my new place.” 

Piper came running to the door, all traces of exhaustion from before gone from her face. “This is Spencer? Wait, you live here too? Oh my god, how cute is this.”

“Piper, Spencer. Spencer, this is my best friend Piper.”

“So you’re the one that peer pressured her into speed dating?”

“The one and only. I’m a matchmaker.” She glanced back and saw the water boiling. “Oh, I got this. You do your thing.”

As she ran off to prepare your shitty mac and cheese, Spencer laughed. “She reminds me of my friend Penelope. Also fancies herself a matchmaker.” A light-hearted silence fell between you for a moment before he pointed to the apartment across the hall. “That’s my place.”

“This is hysterical,” you said, almost unbelievingly. “Well, it’ll be easier for us to plan dates this way.”

“Speaking of, I just got home from a case. Would you want to grab dinner tonight?”

Piper screamed a resounding yes from the kitchen, which made you go beat red. “I would’ve said yes, too,” you laughed. “You going to rest for a little while? I can only imagine the case you had if it’s been five days.”

“I desperately need some sleep. Then I’ll read a book or two.”

“Show off.”

“Sorry,” he replied, thinking he overstepped.

You shook your head. “Spencer, I was kidding. I think it’s amazing, I’m just jealous.”

“Oh,” he chuckled nervously. “I have a hard time with social cues.”

“It’s okay. They’re annoying, I know. Maybe read The Graveyard Book so you can give it to me at dinner.”

“Sounds like a plan.”

“Sweet dreams, Spencer. I’m about to go eat my weight in Kraft Mac and Cheese and unpack boxes.”

He yawned and excused himself. “That sounds amazing. We should do that sometime. Eat our weight in mac and cheese.”

“It’s a date.”

                                                              ----

Later that night, after convincing Piper that she could not in fact be your third wheel, you met up with Spencer...by opening your doors. “That was easy,” you giggled. “You get a good nap?”

“I slept for four hours. It was amazing.”

He still looked a little sleepy, but much happier and more comfortable, his muscles slack and his outfit more breezy. From what you imagined, he wore suits and similar formal wear to work, but now he was wearing jeans and a t-shirt with a black blazer on top. God, he was cute. You wanted to kiss him. “So where do you want to eat? You know the food around here.”

“There’s a Thai place down the block that has some amazing pad thai. Especially if you like spice.”

“I love spice!” You replied, immediately excited.

Talking with Spencer was effortless. You could indulge your inner and outer nerd; just able to be completely and utterly yourself, which was rare. Normally, you had to put on some type of pretenses with everyone. 

At the restaurant, Spencer told you about the case, though not in too much detail, for both him and you. “I just don’t want to put those images in your head, you know?”

You nodded, handing the menus back to the waiter after placing your order. “I get that. Just know that going forward, as long as this goes forward, you don’t always have to shoulder the crap you deal with alone.”

“Thank you,” he said softly, placing his hand over yours.

The somber moment lingered for a few more seconds, but then he switched the subject, asking about your childhood and your relationships with your family. Given his genius, child prodigy status, you imagined his childhood was less idyllic than yours and he was living through you. Then you ordered pad thai that was just a little too hot for you and you both devolved into uncontrollable laughter as you fanned your mouth and begged the waiter for some milk to quench the Sahara desert on your tongue. “Some dessert might also help soothe the burn,” the waiter suggested.

“You had me at dessert, Sir,” you said unabashedly. “I’ll have the mango sticky rice.”

“Same for me,” Spencer replied. The waiter walked away, giggling under his breath about the woman who couldn’t tolerate spice. “You feeling better?” He asked. “I thought you said you love spice.”

“I do! I’m just not great with it.”

Thankfully, the mango sticky rice soothed the remainder of the burn in your throat and then Spencer picked up the bill. You asked to go half and half, but he insisted the first real date be on him and from here on out you could go Dutch. “Do you know where the phrase ‘going Dutch’ comes from?” He continued excitedly when you shook your head. “The origin of the phrase ‘to go Dutch’ is traced back to the 17th century when England and the Netherlands fought constantly over trade routes and political boundaries. The British use of the term ‘Dutch’ had a negative connotation for because the Netherlanders were said to be stingy.”

“That’s actually really interesting. You know I actually thought about going into linguistics at one point, but I loved reading as a whole too much to focus on words rather than stories as a whole.”

Spencer’s credit card was returned and you got up to leave, your fingers slipping back into his own. “I actually work with a linguist right now named Alex Blake. I think you two would get along.”

“She’s a Ph.D. too? Oh my god, please introduce me sometime. I’d love to nerd out with her.” The walk back to the apartment complex was easy and transportive, your conversation bringing you back to childhood - in its simplicity. 

You’d been up and down the stairs a million times today, so the walk up hurt you more than it did him. “My body is going to ache in the morning,” you laughed, leaning up against him outside your door. You didn’t even realize you were doing it until you pulled away. 

When you met his gaze again, you saw something different than before. “You’re gonna kiss me, aren’t you?”

Spencer smiled and leaned forward, angling your mouth toward his. Your lips touched tentatively before you moved in closer, placing your hand on the side of his neck. He pulled away, his mouth tightening into that kind of smile where you’re trying not to grin like an idiot and failing. 

“You have nice lips. Do that again.”

Some time passed, how much you weren’t sure, but you only stopped when you heard other footsteps coming your way. “So, you think you might want another date?” He asked, his voice soft and dreamy. 

“Definitely. Do you have work tomorrow?”

“As of right now, no.”

“Wanna come over tomorrow morning and do breakfast? I have to unpack a lot still, but I make killer blueberry pancakes.”

“Looking forward to it. Eight o’clock?”

“Sounds good,” you replied, swallowing hard as he pulled away to return to his own apartment. “I’ll text you if anything changes with work.”

You nodded and grabbed your keys, hearing the jingle of Spencer’s own as you both opened your doors, glancing back toward each other with simultaneous smiles.

[nukyster-blog]

Changing course chapter 9) Caretaker

.-.-.

There was one raven in the middle of the cobblestoned centre and it was looking directly at him, its patient eyes blinked. Once, twice, drilling it’s beady eyes into Ivar’s. Opening its beak, the bird let out a throaty kraa call before taking off flying far, far away.

‘Valhala,’ was Ivar’s first conscious thought. Like the first time when he feared drowning, his father coached him through it. 

‘He did not abandon me,’ Ivar thought as he coughed up the content of his lungs. As a newborn, he drew his first breath; deep and shuddering. His chest rose and fell with rapid breaths, his mind clear as daylight; his father had been the reason he’d survived yet another one of the Giant’s retributions.

Ivar was brought back to the shed by his feet. His back dragged over all the cobblestones, through the mud and over the hay covered floor. Somewhere in between the cobblestones and the hay, the last fibers of his shirt gave in, leaving half his back uncovered and scraped raw. 

Once dropped to the floor, Ivar did not bother getting up. Instead he rolled on his side. Extracting his arm, ever so gently he peeled off the mud caked layer of his shirt from his battered upper back. The abrasions should be cleaned and looked at to prevent infection and scarring, but Ivar was wiser then to ask for aid. Instead he lay motionless, soaked and numb on the floor, staring into the nothingness of the shed’s shadows, begging for any sign of black feathers and beaks. 

Time no longer seemed solid, Ivar was unsure how much had passed between him being tossed back into the shed and Piglet being manhandled into view. 

He jerked his head in the direction of her faint yelps and watched the Giant throw her inside by her wrists. With miraculous swiftness, she jumped back on her heels and leaped towards the open door, only to be whipped back to the floor.

It puzzled Ivar that she’d do such a foolish thing as defying her master, until he realised his ankles hadn’t been shackled.

He hadn’t been shackled for a substantial amount of time and hadn’t attempted to escape. 

Piglet’s pleads were far from over, clutching her fingers around the rim of the Giant’s boot, her whimpers were eventually rewarded by a kick in the side. But the Giant did comply with her one wish and chained his crippled property back up. 

Dusk brought silhouettes and coldness and it reached inside his bones. With his clothes lacking the proper time to dry, Ivar defeatedly wondered how he was going to survive once nightfall settled in. He remembered vividly how pneumonia had nearly taken his life and how the fever had plagued his body, mind and soul.

While his breath rose and fell quivering, Ivar listened absentmindedly to how Piglet’s bare feet made their way across the shed.

“Hamar?” Her voice called him and when he lacked response she whistled through her teeth, “Hamar?” When Ivar still refused to acknowledge her presents, a bale of hay was tossed at his feet. Without uttering another word, the slave girl returned to her side of the shed to sleep with the cattle, leaving Ivar with her humble yet vital gift. 

Once Ivar was sure she’d fallen asleep, he dragged his sore body near the bale and started filling up his trousers and the remains of his shirt. Although it itched and tickled, the dry grass provided him the warmth and shelter he desperately craved.

While he buried his face in the makeshift pillow of hay, his thoughts traveled back to the Great Hall. The comforting sounds of the nearby animals reminded him so much of home. Which was all he had left; memories of the prince he used to be. 

.-.-.

Due to Piglet’s generous act, Ivar decided to cut the slave girl some slack; he postponed his murder plans, for now. Of course, he didn’t want her to know that. The girl was the only person around who Ivar could unnerve. She was the only resemblance he had to home; a thrall who’d perceive him as a monster.

So once the Giant unleashed him from his chains, Ivar did his best to spook her, by growling at her and make a grab for her ankles every once in a while.

Although her immediate reaction was that of destress, it rapidly grew into annoyance, as both of them were very much aware that the all seeing eyes of the Giant were dead-set on catching Ivar’s disobedience. Piglet knew that as long as she was out in the open, Ivar could not harm a hair on her head. She’d even had the audacity to stomp on Ivar’s fingers once she had the chance. Her feet quickly hurried off after that, leaving Ivar to his duties. 

The Giant had given him the most humiliating task of all; taking care of the pigs. Instead of a golden crown, Ivar’s skull was soon covered with muck and grime. 

He had to provide water for the filthy animals and so he reenacted his crawl of shame; dragging his lower body back to the well. That was the easy part; getting the water back to the pigsty was the hard part. During his life, Ivar grew accustomed to carry his legs around, but he’d always had a thrall or one of his brothers to carry his belongings; sword, shield, axe. 

Now he had to pull a bucket along and he couldn’t move forwards with just one arm. He did try however, but only managed to spill half of the content. Sensing the mocking eyes of strangers witnessing his clumsiness, Ivar feared that someone would alert the Giant. Which would not have a beneficial outcome for him.

So Ivar buried the last bit of his dignity and placed the handle of the bucket between his teeth, to crawl back to the pigsty; like a mule. He had to repeat the crawl once more and by the time he emptied the second bucket in the trough, his jaw ached and throbbed, while his heart bled. 

Because of course his physique by itself was laughable, him actually fulfilling tasks was a joke on its own. The few peasant maidens paused their duties of hanging out the linen to spectate Ivar’s struggles. Ivar tried to ignore the pointing and laughing, but the inevitable hurt of being ridiculed by his own peers seeped down into his chest. The repulsive undertone in their foreign tongues was not to be missed; rudeness is a universal language, one Ivar was well accustomed to.

Ivar did his best to ignore them, if he were to strike at either of the two fair skinned maidens he’d probably have both his hands cut off. To occupy his murderous thoughts, Ivar continued his tasks.

Feeding the pigs was a little less of a burden, the bucket Piglet previously used to defile Ivar’s head was refilled with overripe vegetables and potato peels.

Ivar couldn’t help himself and nicked a carrot; the scrawny little thing did not possess much nutritional value, but it felt good to fill up that empty hole that once had been his stomach, even if it was only for a little. 

Ivar had never known true hunger, but now it clung to him like a pest-ridden man holding the hand of his beloved ones on his deathbed. It was always there, festering in the back of his mind; demolishing his willpower, making his insides cringe and making his muscles lack their normal strength. 

Piglet tossed two haystacks near the hedge and tapped a rake against the wooden fence to catch Ivar’s attention. She pointed to the small cot parallel to their shed and then shoved the hay and rake over the fence. It was clear to Ivar that she wanted him to change the pig’s bedding and while Ivar dragged the stacks along he realised the fat animals had a much more comfortable living arrangement than he did. 

Another personal demolisher, was the fact that he could not functionally use the rake; in order to use it properly he had to stand up, which of course was out of the question. So, instead of using the tool, Ivar was forced to scrape the piss soaked hay together with his arms and throw it inside the small wheelbarrow Piglet pulled in. 

The slave girl made no effort to help him fulfill the task and used his suffering for a humbled break from her own labour; from a safe distance of course.

Now that the tables were slightly turned and Piglet felt as if she was having the upper hand, she grew a little more confident.

“Yallah, yallah,” she taunted and picked up the rake Ivar wasn’t using, “yallah,” and poked him viciously between the ribs. She sniggered when Ivar swung his arm towards the rake and missed.

“I swear to you woman, if we’d been between those four walls I’d be bashing that damned smile off your dirty face!” Ivar promised in a low grunt and showed his teeth: “I’d even bite your fingers off for daring to touch me.” 

But his words were meaningless as Piglet did not comprehend the meaning within them. Even his threatening intonation lost its value completely. Maybe that weighed down Ivar the most; being nothing in a foreign country, due to the overall language barrier, Ivar was utterly and completely detached from the world around him.

Piglet’s rake did not know mercy and buried itself back between his third and fourth rib. This time Ivar’s starved reflexes did not let him down and regained their speed. With one swift move, Ivar managed to catch Piglet’s tool. It surprised the both of them, but Ivar was the first to recover. 

He yanked the end of the rake with might and Piglet’s confusion left her off focus; she failed to let go fast enough and was pulled down, face first into the mud.

Ivar counted his blessings; the wheelbarrow blocked most of their view, so for a small range he was able to do whatever he pleased. With striking speed, Ivar straddled the squirming slave, forced her down onto her back and pressed a hand around her throat.

Piglet’s dark eyes grew huge and bulged from their sockets as Ivar applied just enough pressure to enable her from screaming, yet not suffocate her enough to pass out. It was a fine balance he’d mastered perfectly. 

“Who’s the beast now, huh, little bitch?” Ivar swore and leaned near his prey, showing his row of perfect teeth, “mocking me, I should rip out your tongue for that.” Although his words withheld value, their depth was written all over Ivar’s face and casted out all strength from Piglet’s body.

Her face jerked away from his, her hands faintly clenched around his wrist, but was a lost battle; even in his poor state Ivar’s vigorous upper body strength could snap all of her fingers like twigs and choke her to death without breaking a sweat. 

Then the most peculiar thing happened, one that made Ivar’s blood run cold. Because besides scarring the living daylight out of Piglet, he hadn’t had any intention to physically harm her. 

Piglet’s eyes rolled all the way to the back until there was only white and her body started convulsing. Shaking all over, unconscious, her head almost hitting the wheelbarrow.

“Piglet? Piglet?! PIGLET?!” Ivar called and grasped her chin to prevent her from harming herself. He slapped her on the cheeks, which did not lessen the convulsions and white foam started seeping from her mouth. 

Ivar realised that if the slave died, she’d drag him down with her. It would not matter if Piglet’s death had been intentional or an accident, if anyone would find her lifeless body they’d know it had to be him. By Odin, the Giant would use Piglet’s rake to beat his body until it all turned into pulp. 

Unless he acted heroically and try to save her life.

His body shot into action and he slithered his way towards the fence. Hunching forwards, Ivar reeled himself up and with great effort managed to sway on his feet. Puffing his cheeks, he shifted one foot to the other until he managed to stand and support all his weight on his arm and his two useless legs. 

“Help! I need help!” Ivar shouted and thrust his fist into the air, his other arm trembled from all the weight it had to carry, while keeping balance on the wooden frame of the fence. 

The few linen maidens once again paused their duty to glance at him, but continued their work once they realised who it was that shouted at them. Such a disfigured slave did not deserve a bat of their lashes. 

“Damn you vixens!” Ivar shouted in frustration and felt how his right leg spasmed from an upcoming cramp. He wasn’t going to manage to remain in this position much longer.

“Help me damn it!” he shouted again and banged his free hand on the wood. His heart sank when the Giant came through the rows of drying bedlinen and stormed his way. 

“It’s because of her!” Ivar sputtered, wildly gesturing to Piglet’s convulsing body. The Giant clenched his jaw at the sight and took one massive step over the fence. The crude man used even less grace than Ivar and shook Piglet like a rag doll. After what seemed like an eternity, Piglet inhaled a sharp breath and the convulsions slowly diminished into tremors. She huddled against the wheelbarrow, eyes vacant and empty.

The Giant seemed alright with the poor state of his slave and rose from the mud. His grey beady eyes then rested upon Ivar, who’d still supported himself on the fence.

Although the Giant managed to step over the fence with ease the first time, the man slammed his massive hand down on Ivar’s right shoulder and used him as support to step back onto the cobblestones. Fingers dug into Ivar’s muscles like eagle claws and the brute could not leave out another chance to pester his slave. Before releasing Ivar, he gave him a sudden and hard thrust, resulting in Ivar losing his balance. 

There was nothing graceful about tripping over your own two useless feet. Ivar fell on his arse hard and barely managed to keep in a moan. 

“I swear by Odin, I will kill you,” Ivar promised as he watched the broad shoulders of the Giant march away, “even if it’s the last thing I’ll do.” 

.-.-.

A/N: this chapter was a total joy to write. I like how Ivar gives deeper meaning to the Raven, I think it’s a good coping mechanism to deal with his losses. It’s nice to feel that person near you even though they are no longer alive. Some use a gravestone, ashes, church, or pieces of clothes to feel near a deceased loved one. So why not a Raven, it’s symbolic and suitable. I hope it was your father, you poor little prince. 

I felt sorry for him, almost, but then he fucked it up by hurting Piglet. I hope that in this chapter I gave enough ‘reason’ for him to be so hostile to this girl. It’s again his ‘monster theory,’ he’d rather be someone cruel then someone who’s searching for love. Being a ‘man’ is out of the question, so he doesn’t find himself worthy of love. Instead of spending his life searching for something that’s out of his reach, he’d rather settle for being a monster. Another (twisted) form of coping mechanism. Those maidens were mocking him, that hurt, he can’t deal with that kind of hurt, so instead of dealing with it, he takes his pain out on others who are even less fortunate. Sorry Piglet, that’s you. 

Yeah, so that was my Dr Phil cookie, thanks for reading!

Xoxox Nukyster 

The tagged ones:

@xbellaxcarolinax

@youbloodymadgenius

@saldelys @shannygoatgruff @apenas-mais-uma-pessoa @readsalot73 https://lauraaan182.tumblr.com/ @pieces-by-me 

If you’d liked to be tagged, please let me know:) 

[alienheartattack]

In the Spider’s Web (NSFW)

Just when I thought I was out, they pulled me back in. After literal years of feeling uninspired by ship stuff (the manga is so far beyond shipping at this point that I now ship Mikasa with years of therapy), I went through my drafts and found a few attempts at the prequel to Things That Go Bump in the Night. To catch you up: modern AU, Levi is a vampire, Mikasa has been hunting him since he murdered Eren, then boners occur. And this time, thanks to the Comic Sans trick, I was able to bang out just under 5000 words of Rivamika vampire/hunter fun.

It’s been a really long time since I’ve written smut or even prose in general (I’ve been writing exclusively for stage and screen for the last 3 years) so I’m feeling kinda self-conscious that I may have lost my fanfic mojo or whatever. I usually don’t press for feedback but I would really love some this time around if you have the time. I hope you enjoy the story!

CW: death, gory injuries, getting drunk on blood, and straight up fuckin’.

Mikasa has to stifle a wild howl of laughter when she finally picks the lock on the blacked-out skylight atop the vampire's lair. This is it, she thinks, the culmination of her hard work to kill the man — No, not the man, the monster — who killed her brother. A flash of memory quickly stifles her silent celebration: the now-familiar sight of the shell that used to be Eren. The seemingly fathomless well of her sorrow threatens to overflow as she remembers the details she has tried so hard to forget: his golden skin turned to ash; his dimmed green eyes wide with surprise, staring infinitely into the void. Mikasa takes a few long, deep breaths, sucking in lungfuls of chilly October air until the image fades from her mind and she can devote herself entirely to her task.

The vampire's name is Levi, and even the most debased and inhuman Kindred speak of him in awed tones. Through her work with the Hunter Corps, Mikasa has learned of his legend: that he can puncture a mortal's throat and have the poor sack of meat half-drained before they realize they’ve been bitten. That he is faster, stronger, more cunning, and more ruthless than any of his kind. That he will not hesitate to display his physical and mental superiority to anyone, be they human, Kindred, or Hunter.

Tonight, Mikasa plans to drive a stake through the heart of the legend. She has followed him for over a year, tracking his movements and shadowing him as he prowled the streets of the City, hunting for prey. She has tried to kill him twice before, and twice he has held her off — but not hurt or killed her. Mikasa finds it peculiar that she has not yet met her fate at the end of his fangs, but has never considered why. The motivations of a monster are of no interest to her.

It has taken her far too long, by her estimation, to come up with this plan. She will hide on his roof at night while he finds his next meal, then wait for sunrise and sneak into his lair to kill him while he sleeps. She prefers to dispatch her quarries in a fair fight, pitting her impressive speed and skill against supernatural ability, but with Levi, her need for revenge outweighs her honorable convictions.

Mikasa watches the first rays of dawn creep over the horizon, chasing away the cerulean darkness with streaks of crimson. She takes the bloody sky as a good omen. According to her watch, it is 6:37 AM, just a few minutes before sunrise. Levi should be at his most vulnerable after falling into his daily slumber.

Time to go, she thinks, steeling herself for her mission.

She smiles a rictus grin as she slowly opens the skylight, careful not to let its hinges creak. Holding her breath, she climbs inside the building, finding a series of metal rungs to guide her down fifty feet into Levi's lair, and closes the skylight behind her. Her boot-clad toes seek soft contact with the next rung as she climbs down silently, languorously, like a stalking cat. Every few moments she stops to listen for his movements, to look down and see whether he is lying in wait for her. She hears nothing and sees nothing, so she continues.

The room below serves as some sort of ceremonial dining hall, with a long wooden table stretching across most of the room. Ornately carved wooden chairs sit around it, with the largest and most intricate chair at the far end: Levi's seat, undoubtedly. The table is set for a banquet with a multitude of plates, wine glasses, and silverware at each seat; empty silver candlesticks and candelabras run down the length of the highly polished oak. The hall is lit with hundreds of flickering candles in sconces and chandeliers, providing a dramatic backdrop to the priceless works of art contained within: painted portraits in gilt frames, marble sculptures, antiquities on pedestals and in glass cases. It is a museum of opulence, of corruption. Mikasa's stomach turns as she surveys the scene, imagining the countless people who gave their blood and their lives for Levi to amass a collection to rival the world's greatest museums.

And then, while she is deep in thought and dangling ten feet above the heavy wooden table, one of the metal rungs comes loose from its moorings — and Mikasa falls.

She has the forethought not to yelp in surprise as she pitches away from the wall, but cannot help herself from crying out as she lands on her side on top of the table, ceramic plates and crystal goblets shattering beneath her weight. Mikasa lies there, the wind knocked out of her, unable to take a breath from pain and shock. After a few moments, she regains her senses and groans as she registers a new pain; no, two of them, a dull ache in her ribs and a sharpness in her thigh. She feels around her thigh with shaking hands until agony surges through her and she finds the source of the pain: one of the silver candlesticks has pierced clean through her leg, its heavy base embedded in her hamstring muscles and its fluted tip sticking out through her toned quadriceps.

"Noooo," she moans. Even if Levi is not there, he will return any moment to see her served to him on his dining room table, bleeding and ready to be devoured. Mikasa attempts to sit up but finds that the slightest motion hurts so much that her vision starts to go white around the edges and hot tears stream down her cheeks. Even breathing hurts, sending stabbing pains through her side as she tries to catch her breath.

"So that's what you've been scheming, little fly," comes Levi's disembodied voice, slithering out from the room’s flickering dimness. Mikasa tries to summon the last of her strength to move, to do anything but lie there and suffer, but she can only raise herself a few inches before she lets out a tortured, feral scream, a wild animal cornered at last.

"Surely your feeble human brain can still form words. You're badly injured, but you're not dead yet," he says in a sharp, mocking tone, materializing seemingly from thin air next to her. "Emphasis on 'yet.'"

Mikasa takes in a shaky breath, rage and agony coursing through her in equal measure. "Fuck… you… Levi," she spits.

"For the record, that's not a sufficient apology for smashing my property and getting your blood all over my table." He goes to speak but pauses when he registers the scent of her blood, meaty and potent and alive, more delicious than anything he's ever smelled before.

"Your blood," he repeats, softer this time. "Oh, god." He groans under his breath, suddenly feeling weak in the knees as a potent hunger unfurls in his belly. Levi's expression starts to shift: his eyes widen and his mouth goes slack, exposing the tips of his fangs. His pupils dilate, inky black overtaking the otherworldly silver hue of his irises. He approaches her slowly, seemingly floating towards her, his eyes locked on her impaled thigh.

"Kill me," she grunts. "Just get it over with."

"No," Levi says, his voice hushed, almost reverent. "I don't want to kill you like this." He reaches one pale hand toward Mikasa and she attempts to roll away from him, crying out wordlessly at the waves of torment wracking her broken body. But he does not touch her: instead, his finger finds a spatter of her blood on the wooden tabletop and wipes it away, placing his finger between his parted lips.

The sensation that hits him is so unexpected and overwhelming that it nearly brings him to his knees. He almost comes in his pants just from anticipation; the fraction of a second it takes for his finger to enter his mouth feels like ten lifetimes, and he groans in ecstasy as he finally tastes her, all iron and heat. Mikasa's blood sings on his tongue, burning down his throat like the finest whiskey, filling his belly like a sumptuous meal and paradoxically making him even more ravenous for her. He is surprised to find that he does not want to drain her dry; he wants to savor her, coaxing a few drops of blood from her at a time, enrapturing her with the power of his fanged kisses.

Once the intense sensation fades enough that he can think somewhat clearly again, Levi realizes that Mikasa has been watching him the entire time. He meets her gaze, hoping he doesn't look as wild-eyed and utterly undone as he feels. If she notices, then he cannot tell, her face still distorted into a tortured grimace.

"Don't toy with me," Mikasa grinds out from between clenched teeth. Her breath hisses shallowly in and out of her mouth, occasionally punctuated by low moans.

"I'm not," Levi replies coolly. "I want to heal you, and I want you to come back and try to kill me in a fair fight. This..." he motions vaguely towards her curled body, "this isn't fun for me."

Mikasa lets out a guffaw despite herself, then howls as pain radiates through her broken ribs. "Fun? You find this fun?"

"I do," he says. He smiles wide, letting his razor-sharp fangs peek out from between his lips. "Your pathetic attempts to kill me have been fairly humorous, but the irony of you ending up in a bloody heap on my dining table, of all places, is too satisfying to put into words." Levi sucks in a shaky breath, inhaling more of her blood's heady perfume, then leans close to her, his mouth inches from her ear. "I should eat you up," he all but purrs. "But I won't."

With that, he disappears, leaving Mikasa alone in the great hall. She drags her arms, covered in her protective leather jacket, across the tabletop to sweep the shattered plates and glasses onto the floor, sending silverware clattering against the hardwood. She then feels around the tabletop for any other blood she has spilled, wiping it off with her hands before he can drink any more of it.  Even if he swears he will not kill her, she does not trust him, especially if he becomes intoxicated on the heady, rich blood of a Hunter.

He reappears a few minutes later, bearing a lacquered wooden tray. On it rests a delicate bone china teapot and two matching teacups and saucers, each painted with a pattern of vines and red roses. The roses look almost obscene to Mikasa, plump and splayed open, ready to be plucked.

"You're bringing me tea?" she sneers as Levi pours a measure of steaming amber brew into each cup. "That's really going to help get this candlestick out of my leg."

"No, but this will," Levi says, raising his wrist to his mouth and slashing it open against his fangs. He positions his hand over the tray as his blood washes over his alabaster skin and into one of the cups, darkening the tea until it looks like wine. He then licks his wrist clean, sealing the gash. Within seconds, his wrist is pale and pristine once more.

Mikasa goggles with disbelief at Levi, who places the cup of blood-tea near her hand. "You want me to drink your blood?"

"Are you just going to state the obvious over and over?" he snaps, earning himself a murderous glare.

"Pardon me for being a bit perplexed at my current situation. I don't usually make a habit of taking tea with the monster I'm trying to kill." Mikasa wrinkles her nose at him, thankful that she’s found one expression of contempt that doesn’t make her entire body ache.

Levi picks up his cup of tea, lifting it by the rim with his slim fingertips, and takes a sip. "Perhaps you should."

"Don't humor me."

"Look. I'm offering you a gift, in exchange for a promise."

"Then it's not a gift," Mikasa grumbles. Levi slams his teacup against the saucer but doesn’t spill a drop. The rattle of china on china echoes throughout the hall.

"Will you shut up? You’re really making me regret not killing you." Mikasa lets out an angry sigh. As much as she doesn’t want to make a deal with Levi, she can see no other way off the table without further injuring or killing herself in the process.

"Fine! Tell me your terms!" she grinds out.

Levi takes a long, slow drink from his cup before he answers. "You drink the tea and walk out of here healed and whole. In exchange, we call a truce. From now until the next sunrise, I don't try to kill you, and you don't try to kill me."

Mikasa considers his proposition, trying to find some flaw or catch. "Why should I believe that you'll honor this agreement?"

"Because if I wanted to kill you, you'd be dead by now," he says, his voice low and raspy, seductive yet poisonous. Levi puts down his teacup and reaches over to her, placing the pad of his index finger on her pulse point just beneath her ear. He feels her heart fluttering, the pulse of her blood through her veins, then traces his finger down the path of her jugular. Mikasa's breath quickens beneath his hand. His caress blazes a path of heat down her neck, into her breasts and belly, and lower.

"Or I can toss you out into the night to defend yourself. I can think of a few Kindred who'd love to get their hands on you." Suddenly he removes his finger from her skin and uses it to push the wine-dark teacup toward her. His gaze bores into her, evoking the same peculiar heated sensation as his touch. "Drink."

She doesn't want his help, doesn't want his blood flowing through her body. She’s read that drinking a vampire’s blood causes a bond between them, albeit an ephemeral one, and she does not want to test this theory for herself. In this moment everything feels too intimate and too perverse to her, the vampire who drained her brother dry offering her tea and sympathy instead of a swift death. But the pain in her body grows with each breath, and she knows that she cannot leave here under her own power. At best she will have months of recovery, at worst she will be permanently unable to continue her hunt. Mikasa reaches out a bloody hand toward the porcelain teacup, but before she can grasp its delicate handle, Levi stops her, capturing her wrist in his grasp.

"You're not touching eighteenth-century bone china with your hands caked in—" he swallows thickly— "filth."

"I can't exactly wash my hands—" Mikasa says, but is cut off by Levi running his tongue over her hand, licking her skin clean. He sucks on each of her fingers in turn, rubbing his lips over her fingertips, lapping at the semi-congealed blood pooled in the hollow of her palm. He lets out a ragged sigh and braces himself against the table with one hand as his cock grows hard again and his knees tremble at the taste of her.

Mikasa is transfixed by the sight before her, Levi's eyelids fluttering closed as he lavishes attention on her skin. She has been this close to him before but has never noticed the length of his eyelashes, the soft pout of his lips, or the raw male power emanating from him. She has been nearly nose to nose with him in a fight, but now, lying battered and bleeding in his lair, she has never felt more wetness or more warmth between her legs.

"God, you're delicious," he moans, licking the last of the blood away, and Mikasa has to fight herself not to mimic the low, rough sound. Her chest rises and falls heavily as she contemplates the tainted cup of tea before her, wisps of white steam swirling above deep garnet.

"I have to avenge Eren," she tells him, her tone steady and resolute, yet mournful. "No amount of kindness from you will change that."

"I know." Silence stretches out between them for a few moments. Levi looks as though he wants to tell her something, conflicting emotions warring on his face until he lets out an annoyed grunt and decides to speak.

"You should know that I did him a kindness as well. He was wanted by forces much more monstrous and evil than even me. The Strigoi," he says in a hushed voice, seemingly too afraid to speak the name of the vampire elders’ council at full volume. "A quick death was the best I could do for him. That is all I can say on the matter."

Mikasa stares at him, her eyes shining, then gives him a small nod. "Thank you," she whispers, then reaches for the china teacup. Her eyes do not leave his as she lifts its delicate rim to her lips and drinks the entire thing in one swallow.

She can feel the potency of the drink as soon as it hits her tongue, the grassiness of tea leaves mixed with the smoke and steel taste of his blood. It swirls around her mouth and warms her, trickling down her throat and into her stomach. Without realizing she is moving, she lifts her other hand to his mouth, smearing blood across his lips until he grasps her wrist with both hands and hungrily laps at her crimson-stained skin.

Her breath quickens as she feels his blood doing its work, suffusing itself into her cells, making her insides roil as bruised organs repair themselves, fractured bones knit together. Mikasa reaches for the candlestick in her leg, wincing as she wraps her fingers around one end and prepares to yank it out.

"No!" Levi cries. "Not yet. You’ll bleed out and I... I don’t know if I’ll be able to control myself." His voice is husky, thick with what Mikasa realizes is barely-contained desire. He runs his tongue across her thumb, capturing one last droplet of blood lodged in the corner of the nail, then lets her hand go.

If he wasn’t dead, he’d be blushing, Mikasa thinks, a similar flush blooming across her cheeks.

"Can you help me, then? I think you know your blood better than I do," she says with a knowing smile. Levi returns the smile and nods, climbing up on the table and kneeling beside her. He rests his palms against each side of her calf and runs his hands up her leg, stopping near the wound on her thigh. Mikasa shivers beneath his touch; the contact sends bolts of arousal throughout her body, overriding the last few threads of lingering pain. The only sound in the room is her labored breathing becoming more regular as her ribs heal, then the sound of fabric tearing as Levi rips her pant leg off from around her injury, leaving most of her leg bare.

"What are you—?" she blurts.

"I need to seal the wound," Levi interrupts, his tone brusque. "It’s easier this way." He waits a few moments, watching intently as the ragged flesh and muscle starts to join together. When it is sufficiently closed for him, he pushes Mikasa’s knee to her chest and grasps the base of the candlestick protruding from the underside of her thigh. He then yanks the candlestick out, sending it flying across the room, and attaches his lips around the open wound, drinking the residual blood and licking at her skin. Deep muffled moans escape from between her flesh and his mouth. When he is finished he gingerly puts her leg down and does the same to the other side of the wound, burying his face in her thigh. He uses one hand to steady himself and the other to rub his painfully hard cock through his pants, hoping to relieve some of the tension there. Mikasa writhes beneath him, though whether it is in pain or pleasure he cannot tell until he looks up from the now-healed wound to see her gazing down at him, her eyes heavy-lidded, her mouth set in a pouty O.

In response Levi leaps on top of her faster than the human eye can discern, pressing her against the tabletop with his heavy, muscled body. Although he is shorter than her, a fact she never hesitates to point out, every inch of his body is toned and taut and imbued with superhuman strength, giving him the presence of a man twice his size. Mikasa gasps with the dueling emotions of fear and arousal when she feels him atop her, unsure of his intentions.

"You promised," she says softly, surprised that she feels wounded at the thought of his betrayal.

"I did," he answers in a low, breathy tone, then lowers his mouth to hers and takes her mouth in a fierce kiss. Mikasa immediately responds, her arms crushing him to her, her hips arching up to meet the rigid bulge in his pants, her tongue flicking against his as she opens her mouth to him. Levi presses himself against Mikasa, grinding his cock against the now-damp juncture of her thighs. She moans wordlessly as his zipper grazes her clit, marveling how she can feel such a thing through layers of fabric. Levi seems to share her thoughts, momentarily pulling away from her so he can unbutton his shirt and pants. Mikasa does the same, undoing the zipper of her jacket before Levi presses his hands to hers, stopping her.

"Let me," he rasps, his voice rough with need. He finishes undressing, throwing his crisp white shirt to the floor, kicking off his shoes, pushing down the waistband of his trousers. Mikasa mentally notes with a smirk that he does not wear any underwear and that his noted penchant for cleanliness seems to have disappeared under the influence of potent blood and sensuality. When he is finally naked, his muscled frame looking like sharply chiseled marble in the candlelight, his cock swollen and thick and ready for her, he pulls her up to a seated position and slips off her leather jacket, pushing his hands down her arms until it drops off of her body and falls to the table. The jacket hangs there for a moment and then drops to the floor. Her shirt soon follows, his fingers undoing each button with agonizing deliberation, tracing each inch of exposed flesh with his hands and lips; then her bra, which he flings in some random direction. He doesn’t know where; instead he is gazing deep into her eyes, seeing his hunger reflected in her dilated pupils and parted lips. His movements are soft and sure, dragging out the process of undressing her until they are both trembling and frenzied, ready to pounce on each other with barely-controlled lust.

He is the first to move, grasping her by the hips and yanking her pants and underwear off in one fluid motion and pressing his mouth to her pussy, inhaling the scent of her before finally, blissfully tasting her.

"Fuck!" Mikasa moans as Levi drags his tongue in leisurely circles around her clit, each circuit coaxing more noises out of her, breathy little gasps and sighs that only serve to drive Levi wild. His cock throbs in response and he groans, aching to be buried deep inside her. Mikasa rests on her elbows and watches him, looking down the flat plane of her belly at the top of his head as he licks and sucks at her most tender flesh. She flexes her hips and opens herself even wider to his touch; he responds by gripping and massaging her inner thighs as he devours her, the taste of her sex as intoxicating as that of her blood. He is firm and confident against her most sensitive parts, each motion pushing her closer and closer to an explosive peak. Within minutes she is shrieking and thrashing beneath him, orgasm tearing through her body with a force that only Levi possesses.

Before Mikasa can fully come back down to earth, he reaches his hands beneath her body and flips her over, depositing her on her hands and knees, sending silverware skittering, plates and glasses crashing to the floor. He barely registers the wanton destruction, focused only on the needs of his body, the desperate desire to plunge himself into her. Mikasa pushes her ass against the stiff length of his cock, silently begging him to ravish her, to give her pleasure by mercilessly taking his. Levi chooses not to indulge her just yet, grasping his shaft and rubbing his head against her folds a few times before he can no longer take it. He growls as she takes him inside her, her cunt hot and tight and slick with shameless need.

"Yessss," she hisses, overwhelmed with the delicious sensation of herself stretching around his cock, feeling herself adjust to his thickness. Levi tries to savor the moment but cannot resist the frantic urge to slam his cock into her over and over again, her ass slapping against his hips with each frenzied stroke. Mikasa starts to keen, her pussy clenching around his cock, sending electric currents of pleasure through both of them with every motion.

Levi loops one arm around her waist and pulls her upright against him, molding her back to his chest as he still maintains his furious rhythm inside of her. Mikasa leans against him, arching her back to give him access to her bared neck. His features briefly take on a look of disbelief at her actions, but the look in her eyes says Come, taste me.

"So fucking hot," he cries. He grips her tighter around her waist, using his grasp as leverage to fuck her harder. His free hand finds her clit, teasing it with his fingertips until she twitches and shudders against him, primed for another orgasm. Levi increases the tempo of his thrusts and swipes at her clit roughly, building a furious rhythm that will soon leave her limp and exhausted, if her frantic moans are any indication. His ministrations increase in speed, building to a fever pitch as he feels his orgasm start to build in his thighs and his balls. Mikasa’s eyes clench shut in concentration; an iridescent sheen of sweat appears on her forehead and neck, and blazing spots of color burn in her cheeks. Just before he comes, just as Mikasa’s cunt starts to flutter around him, he sinks his fangs into her neck and takes a long drink, the familiar but still somehow unexpected taste of her blood pushing him headlong into an orgasm that feels as though he is the one being drained. In that moment there is no Levi and no Mikasa, only two beings of pure pleasure, screaming their release as one.

Mikasa is the first to regain her senses, collapsing forward onto the table, sending another plate and glass to the floor as she catches herself on unsteady arms. Levi’s cock slides out of her pussy, glistening with her wetness. She makes a disappointed noise, feeling keenly the loss of him inside of her, a sensation of emptiness without his cock filling her. She lies on her stomach atop the table and lets out a long, sated sigh.

"Holy shit," she rasps, her voice hoarse and her throat dry from her heavy breaths and screams. She looks over her shoulder at Levi, her hair damp and matted to her forehead in dark tendrils, her countenance disheveled and gleaming. If he still breathed, the sight of her would take his breath away.

"Yeah," he murmurs in agreement, reaching out one hand to stroke her lightly sweating back, his mind utterly blank. Physically he remains pristine, not even a hair out of place; mentally, emotionally, he feels as confused as he does satisfied, as though he has been broken apart and rearranged in a foreign configuration. In due time he will register the magnitude of this encounter, will rage and seethe at the destruction they’ve both wrought in his lair, will scrutinize what the hell he just did with the woman who’s been trying to kill him, but for now all he wants to do is gather her in his arms and take her to his bed. He does so, moving with such speed that Mikasa barely registers what has happened until Levi is propping her up against a mountain of pillows, her skin glowing against his crimson silk sheets. He settles himself next to her, his body curling around hers as she does the same to him. Mikasa reaches over and brushes a strand of dark hair out of his face, then presses her lips to his gently, almost chastely.

"What just happened kind of makes me wish I’d asked for a longer truce,” he says after a few minutes of intimate silence.

Mikasa giggles softly, then sighs. "Me too." Neither of them suggests one, though, because that is not the way of the world. He is a vampire and she is a Hunter. They fight on opposite sides of an eternal war; they are not supposed to be lovers and bedfellows. After tonight they must return to their roles and forget about the passion between them and how they gave in to it, although they both know that they never will.

"You do know I'm going to try to kill you tomorrow night, right?" she asks him.

"I know," he replies, his lips curving into a wry smile before he can think to hide it. "I'm looking forward to it."

[adrenaline-roulette]

Crazy little thing called love

Roger Taylor x Reader

Warnings: None! 

Preview: “Turn around! Get your arse back in that fitting room right this second!” She yells, waving her arms above her head wildly.

“Mary? What on Earth are you doing?” “Roger! The boys! They’re outside, they saw me and are coming in!” “Get rid of them! I don’t care what you have to do, but they cannot be in here!” You plead.

“Look Y/N, there’s another one!” Mary squeals excitedly as you walk along the busy street, you come to sudden halt as she stops moving, your linked arms preventing you from going any further without her. “Come on, lets take a look!” She urges, as she gently tugs you into the bridal store. As you enter, you feel like royalty, and know that you definitely do not belong in here. Pristine white dresses are displayed across the shop floor on mannequins in uncomfortable poses. Marble tiles line your way as you walk further inside, your jaw going slack as you look around. There’s a crystal chandelier hanging above you, its lights twinkling away merrily, unaware that no one in the history of the world would ever be able to afford a dress in this store.

“Mary, we shouldn’t be in here. We don’t belong!” You mutter, as you gaze down at yourself, your dusty combat boots nearly leaving scuff marks on the tiles.

“Oh come on, Roger just popped the question, you have to at least start looking for a dress!” Mary admonishes sharply, with a final tug at your arm to move you further into the store. She was stopped in front of the clothing racks, each garment in a bag to protect it from dust, and other foreign bodies. Ivory and cream fabrics were overloading your senses as she moves each dress to look at it.

“He asked me last week, we haven’t even spoken about it since, he’s been so busy with the record, I don’t think we’ll start planning it until the end of the month.” You shrug, following Mary’s lead and looking through the numerous dresses.

Mary rolls her eyes, huffing at you. “That isn’t the point Y/N. The point is, is that you are going to be Missus Roger Taylor at some point in the near future! And I’ll be damned if you don’t look a million dollars on your wedding day!” She declares, stamping her foot down to make her point as final. An older woman looks up from a few racks away, lifting an eyebrow at the noise Mary had been making.

“May I help you ladies?” She asks, her lips pursed as she saunters her way over to you both. You gulp, looking to the bottle blonde woman, wanting to simultaneously run from the store and also give her a swift kick to the knees. You knew you didn’t belong in here, but she didn’t have to make it so obvious with that look!

“Yes actually, I’m in the market for a wedding and maid of honour dress.” You smile sweetly, your perfect customer service voice coming in to play. Moving your hand to brush away a stray lock of hair, you make sure your engagement ring is clearly visible to the shop assistant, noticing her frown lift from her face somewhat. She still has a hard look about her, though it seems to be crumbling away slowly. Mary stifles a giggle from beside you, hiding it behind a sneeze.

“Of course, congratulations on your engagement! Was there any style of dress you were looking for in particular?” She asks, moving her hands in grand gestures towards the racks you and Mary had just been browsing through.

You frown for a moment, you hadn’t really thought about your dress very much. You know that Roger would find you stunning no matter what style you picked, though you also know that he would probably prefer you to wear jeans and one of his leather jackets. “Nothing too over the top, classic and simple, maybe with lace? I like off the shoulder sleeves…” You finally decide, an image of what your dress should be forming in your minds eye.

 “And nothing too frilly, or too puffy.” Mary chimes in, and you find yourself nodding in agreement. The two of you had been to a wedding earlier this year, for a friend you had both went to school with. Although it was her big day, both of you decided that the dress was utterly hideous, not that you would ever say that to her face of course. The dress had wide, puffy sleeves that were at least twice the size of her head, the bodice had a corset style ribbon running across it, with lace surrounding the edges. Then, there were the ruffles. The skirt had layers, upon layers of tulle, with ribbon edging each one. All in all, she looked like a yeti, but it seemed to make her happy at least.

You nod your agreement, and the sales woman busies herself with finding suitable dresses for you to model for Mary.

Twenty minutes later, you find yourself in a circular fitting room, with mirrors covering the entire wall around you. The sales woman was with you, helping you into each dress you tried on. The first three had been, nice enough, just not quite what you had been hoping for, and you were beginning to think that maybe the dress you had imagined didn’t exist. “There we are, all buttoned up.” She smiles, patting you on your shoulder with a soft smile. “Now, off you go and show your friend this one!”

You step out of the dressing room, noticing that you didn’t have to lift the skirt while walking unlike with the other dresses you had tried on, a smile forming on your lips at that. You wanted to be able to move easily in your dress, and the idea of lifting the hem each time you took a step just sounded like torture!

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

The four men walked through the bustling streets, smiling and waving at fans as they made their way to the nearest pub. They had been in meetings all morning, discussing what their latest album should be, and were tired of trying to explain what they had all come up with.

“I just don’t get it.” Roger huffed, kicking a stone away from his feet as he walked. “What about Radio GaGa don’t they understand?” He groaned, as John placed a hand on his shoulder in an effort to comfort him.

“It’s a great song Rog, and it’ll be on the album whether the record execs understand it or not.” John offered with a smile, which was returned by Roger.

“Mary!” Freddie squealed loudly, causing the other three men to look at him in surprise. From what they could see, there was no Mary anywhere in sight.

Brian looked at Freddie, squinting down at the excited man. “Fred, there’s no Mary here.” He shrugs, unsure as to where his exclamation had come from.

Freddie points towards a bridal store, grinning light a child on Christmas. “She’s in there darling.” He coos, waving at Mary through the display window. Mary looks shocked, then promptly runs away from the window, arms flailing like a mad woman.

Roger had turned his attention to the store now, along with Brian and John. “What’s Mary doing in a bridal shop?” He muses aloud, as he takes a long drag from his cigarette, before stamping it out beneath his toe.

“I haven’t the faintest idea, let’s go find out, shall we?” Freddie decrees, as he pushes his way through the crowds of people, parting them as if they were the red sea.  The remaining three men gaze between one another, before following their lead singer towards the elegant store.

Upon entering the store, the four men look around, rather overwhelmed by the sheer abundance of white dresses. How can there be this much choice in only one colour? Roger walks further in, stopping every now and then to take a closer look at some of the garments hanging around him. From the corner of his eye, he spots a frantic Mary shoving a figure draped in white back inside a dressing room. “Get in! And don’t come out!”  She shrieks, as she barricades the door with her body. Roger frowns at the sight before him, shaking his head before making his way towards his flustered friend.

As he reaches Mary, the other men had decided to check what all the commotion was about themselves. “Uh, hi Mary?” Brian begins, lifting an eyebrow at the pale rose coloured dress she had on.  The dress boasted puffy sleeves at the shoulders, with the length ending mid forearm, a deep plunging neckline showed off her chest nicely, and a large bow was tied at the back. “You look stunning love, but I must ask. Do you have some news to share with us?”

Mary had the decency to look affronted by Brian’s suggestion, placing her hand against her chest. “Why, whatever do you mean Brian?”

It was John’s turn to speak up next, folding his arms across his chest as he regarded Mary. “I think what Brian means to ask, is whether or not there is a particular reason as to why you’re trying on bridal dresses?”

“Yes! Who is the lucky man? And for the love of God, why did you not tell me you were getting married?” Freddie gasps, as he takes Mary’s hand away from her chest, twirling her in a circle.

Roger frowns deeply, desperately trying to put the pieces together of this puzzle. “Who’s hiding in the fitting room?” He finally asks, referring to the figure he had seen her practically tackle into the small room just before

Mary blinks up at the four men before her, her eyes darting between each of her friends, desperately trying to think of a way out of this situation. “What makes you think I’m getting married?” She finally asks, folding her arms across her chest, tapping her foot impatiently as she awaits a response.

“Well darling, either you’re getting married, or being just a little bit presumptuous. I will happily speak on behalf of all men here, if you were to find a wedding gown in the closet before having asked the woman to marry you, it would be a little bit confronting.”

Mary’s eyebrows crease together, listening intently to Freddie’s explanation, of course he of all people wouldn’t buy her story! She bites down on her lower lip, looking back at the fitting room behind her, praying that you would be able to keep quiet, and hidden from just a little while longer.  “If you must know, my dear friend is getting married shortly, and she has asked me to be a bridesmaid. So I’m looking for a dress for her big day.”

“Oh really?” Brian smirks, lifting an eyebrow in challenge up at her.

“Yes really, thank you very much.”

“What’s her name?” Roger queries, leaning his hip again a glass cabinet filled with tiara’s and accessories of the like. His arms are folded across his chest, his baby blues regarding her with scepticism.

“Um, my friend’s name?” Mary stammers, her eyes going wide, as if she were a deer caught in the headlights of an approaching car.

“Yes, your friend’s name. Who else?” Deaky jumps in, from what he could tell, none of the others were believing her story. What he couldn’t quite understand, was why she was being so secretive. If Mary was engaged, surely, she would be excited?

“Her name?” Mary begins, before losing her nerve, and stepping backwards, pressing herself closer to the door leading to the fitting room. “Jessica!” She quickly declares, breathing a sigh of relief as she thinks up a name.

Freddie’s grin broadens across his lips, showing off his teeth. “My dear, I met all of your friends while we were together, you have never known a Jessica.” He chuckles, and the four men watch the colour drain away from Mary’s face.

“Just tell us the truth Austin, who’s in the fitting room, and who’s wedding is it?” Roger groans. He was already tired from the morning they had had, and he found himself in no mood to play silly games with an over emotional Mary.

Mary gulps audibly, “I dragged Y/N in here to start looking for her wedding dress.” She finally admits, and as if on cue, the fitting room door which she had been guarding is pushed wide open, sending the young woman tumbling to the ground, as a vision in white emerges behind her.

 You only manage to make it halfway towards the podium in the centre of the store, surrounded by mirrors so you could see yourself from each and every angle, before Mary comes running at you, the silken fabric of her maid of honour dress shining merrily beneath the bright lights. “Turn around! Get your arse back in that fitting room right this second!” She yells, waving her arms above her head wildly. You blink at her in surprise, unsure of how to react to her sudden outburst, that is until her hands are cupping your shoulders, and marching you backwards, back into the fitting room you had just emerged from.

“Mary? What on Earth are you doing?” You gasp out, as you take hurried steps backwards, both trying to follow the lead of your friend, and also get away from her.

“Roger! The boys! They’re outside, they saw me and are coming in!”

Your eyes widen, while your jaw goes slack, Roger can’t see you! It’s bad luck for the groom to see the bride in her dress! Even if this isn’t the dress you end up purchasing, you still don’t want him to see you! “Get rid of them! I don’t care what you have to do, but they cannot be in here!” You plead, just as the chiming of the bell above the door informs you that the band had arrived. Mary has just enough time to slam the fitting room door shut, sending you  tumbling into the sales assistants arms. She caches you swiftly, a scowl forming over her features.

“What do you think you’re doing, playing around in a dress this expensive?” She chastises you, glaring daggers down at you.

“I am so sorry. But please, we need to stay quiet, my fiancé just walked in with his friends, he doesn’t know I’ve started looking at dresses yet!” You plead with the furious woman. The moment you had regained your balance, she had taken her arms away from you, whether to protect the dress or because she was cross with you, you were unsure.

You keep your voice hushed, and the sales assistant does the same, allowing you to hear the conversation beyond the door. The boys are pressing Mary for a reason as to why she’s here, and her lies didn’t seem to be doing a good job at convincing them as to her situation.

“I’m sorry my dear, but I don’t care who else is in this store. You do not, under any circumstances throw yourself around wearing a dress like this.” The woman hisses at you, as she pushes you towards the door again, desperately trying to get you out of the fitting room, despite your protesting.  “This is a three thousand pound dress, you either get out there or get out of the dress!”

With one final push, you find yourself practically flung out of the door, falling against Mary as the door swings open. You both crash to the ground, Mary luckily breaking your fall. “Five more minutes Y/N! I nearly had them convinced to leave!” Mary groans, as you roll off her back.

“You really didn’t…” Four voices laugh from above you, and you find yourself too embarrassed to look up at them. Mary pushes herself up to a standing position, before dutifully reaching her hands down to you, assisting in pulling you upright.

Once standing up straight again, you smooth the dress out around you, lifting the skirt before dropping it back down, quickly removing any creases that had formed from your, elegant entrance. After a few moments of silence, you finally look up at your audience, biting your bottom lip, desperate for someone to break the silence.

“Y/N, you look stunning…” Roger breathes out, drinking in the sight of you. You were an absolute vision, the dress looked as if it had been made just for you, and he would not mind seeing you walk down the aisle wearing exactly this dress.

“Thank you, Rog.” You smile gently, your gaze meeting his heated one, causing your smile to grow wider. It wasn’t an often occurrence for Roger to be honest with his feelings, however you knew he was genuine with his compliment.

Brian nods in agreement, his wild mane of curls bouncing around his shoulders. “You truly do look wonderful, but I must ask. Why are you trying on wedding gowns?” Deaky and Freddie both nod their agreement, all with equal looks of confusion adorned on their faces.

You blink at the three men, confusion colouring you features also. “Why wouldn’t I be trying on bridal dresses?” You press, lifting your eyebrows in anticipation.

“Well as we said to Mary just now, typically one waits until they are engaged before they start dress shopping.” Deaky supplies helpfully.

Nodding, you lift your left hand up, just as Mary points directly at the engagement ring adorned on your ring finger. “Yes, I think I’ve completed step one.”

Freddie gasps loudly, racing over to you and wrapping you up in a rib crushing hug. “Who and when?” He squeals, reaching a pitch that only dogs could hear.

“What do you mean who? Roger of course!” You declare, whirling around to glare at your fiancé.

Brain looks between the two of you, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I’m sorry, Roger finally got up the guts to propose?” He chuckles deeply.

“Roger Taylor. You have some explaining to do Mister!” You snarl, your hands resting on your hips as you glare at the blonde, who at least looked somewhat embarrassed by the situation at hand.

“Yes, I proposed, last week so everyone knows exactly when it happened, on a Tuesday. I just, I wanted to keep it between us for a little while, before telling this lot.” He shrugs, a look of guilt gracing his features, as he gazes at you. You step closer to him, pressing a gentle kiss to his lips, causing him to smile against yours.

“Okay, I understand. You just had me worried for a moment there. I thought maybe I had imagined the whole, you getting down on one knee, and asking me to marry you, thing. But good to know I didn’t!” You blush, reaching up to push his hair back off his forehead.

Mary sighs dreamily behind you, wiping a fake tear off her cheek. “No matter how many times you tell me, I still find it hard to believe that The Roger Taylor proposed to you in a traditional manner.”

You roll your eyes at her antics, shaking your head slowly, smiling once more as you feel Roger’s arms circle around you, his hands resting gently against your waist. The moment is soon broken however as Deaky raises his voice to gather everyone’s attention. “While this is all very romantic, may we just take one moment to remind ourselves of the fact that Roger, our dear drummer, didn’t think any of us important enough to share this news with!”

Roger bows his head, his shaggy hair flopping over his forehead once again. “I mean, you did find out eventually.” He shrugs, looking only somewhat guilty about the whole situation. Deaky shakes his head in disapproval, while Freddie and Brian grin at the semi argument before them.

You can feel Roger’s fingers gliding along your spine as you face the group, playing with the ivory buttons that trail from the nape of your neck, down to the base of your spine. His fingers catch on the price tag, and he plays with the piece of card idly, taking a moment to glance down at the price stamped across it. His breathe hitches in his throat for a moment, though you pay him no mind, instead focusing on the grumpy sales assistant. She had recently emerged from the dressing room, her arms folded across her chest, a stern look gracing her already hard features. “This is no place for a friendly catch up! I must insist Miss, if you are not here to try on our gowns, then you must leave.”

Her look is focused solely on you, and you feel a blush cover your cheeks, averting your gaze quickly. Freddie, reading the discomfort on your face jumps to the rescue, sauntering over to the woman, a devilish grin tugging at his lips. “My dear, we were just leaving now! We are so sorry to have caused a scene, please forgive us!” He finishes his apology by walking up to the woman, taking her hand gently, and placing a kiss against the upside of her palm. Freddie’s grovelling only manages to raise a small smirk from the woman, though it soon falls away.

“I believe it best if I never see you four in this store again.” She grumbles, before turning her attention to you and Mary. “And you two are on thin ice too.” Mary gasps, taking a step back, at what she had deemed as a verbal attack.

“What did we do wrong?” She demands, stomping up to the older woman, both standing with their arms folded across their chests, glaring daggers at one another. You couldn’t help but giggle at the sight, it truly looked as if Mary were fighting with an older version of herself.

As Freddie rounds the band up, deciding it really was time to leave, Roger leans down against your side, his lips resting against the shell of your ear.  “Get any dress you’d like Y/N…. Just not this one.” He whispers, still struggling to wrap his head around the exuberant cost of one dress. Pressing a kiss to your cheek, he dashes out of the bridal store, racing to catch up with the others, leaving you to try and stop Mary from arguing with the sales assistant.

 The four beer bottles clinked together, the noise muffled out nearly entirely by the noise of the band playing in the small pub. “To Marriage!” Brian declares as he grins at Roger.

“To secret proposals and not telling friends!” Deaky interjects playfully.

“Let’s just stick with to Roger hm?” Freddie offers, before downing a large gulp of his beer, the other three quickly following his lead.

Roger taps his foot along to the song the band had begun playing, the drummer in him unable to rest when a decent beat started. He had never heard of this band before, nor seen them at any of pubs the regularly visited. Though they were quite good, might even be the next Queen he thought. “Is it wrong for me to be worried about the cost of this wedding already?” He laughs half-heartedly, looking at John intently. “You got married Deaks, how much did it cost? Are you still in debt? Help me!”

John blinks at Roger in surprise, the usually stress-free drummer looked to be in the midst of a panic attack. “Ronnie and I kept it pretty simple, so it wasn’t too much, and no we aren’t still debt. We were never in debt. It’s the dress that’s the killer, they can cost a small fortune.” He finishes, before taking another swig.

“Trust me, I know. The dress Y/N was wearing, I don’t think I could ever afford something like that.” Roger sighs, his nerves now calmed somewhat from John’s reassuring words.

John nods in understanding, smiling gently. “You may think that now, but the dress is what makes them the happiest. That’s what Ronnie says at least. At the end of the day, all she cared about was having me there, and her perfect dress.”

“So, from the sounds of things. As long as you let Y/N get the dress she loves, then the wedding could be held in a grocery store, and she wouldn’t care!” Brian chuckles, noticing as the colour drain from Roger’s face.

Roger gulps audibly, before he leans forwards and rests his chin against the table. “I told her not to get the dress she was wearing. And now I can’t imagine her wearing anything other than that one!” He groans, as John moves Roger’s beer away from his head, in an effort to stop it from spilling.

“Congratulations Rog, your marriage is already doomed, and you haven’t even started planning the wedding yet. Surely that must be a world record!” Freddie smirks, while Brian timidly pats Roger’s head.

 “Did you get the dress?” You hear Roger long before you see him, as he stumbles through your apartment door, swearing as he walks directly into the coat stand by the front door. Despite you both having your own apartments, you can’t quite recall the last time Roger had stayed at his, not that there was much of his there anymore. Most of his belongings had migrated their way into your living space during the course of your relationship.

You bite down on your lip, waiting for your drunk fiancé to navigate his way into the sitting room. You couldn’t blame him from having a few drinks in celebration with the others, even you and Mary had gone to a fancy café that served mimosas all day, after leaving the bridal shop. Though from the sounds of things, Roger had likely had a few more to drink than you. “You’ll just have to wait and see won’t you? Just, you know, don’t go into the closet.” You grin softly, as he finally makes his way to you. It was fun to tease drunk Roger, it was fun to tease sober Roger too. Roger looks down at you, curled up on the sofa, with a book across your lap. He raises and eyebrow at your comment, mulling over your words for a few moments, before turning on his heel and marching towards the bedroom.

 A part of Roger was ecstatic at the thought you having bought the dress, the other part of him was utterly terrified, still unable to get the price tag out of his mind. Soon, he finds himself stood before the closet, hand hovering above the handle, shaking with anticipation. “Just do it!” He mutters to himself, before swinging the door open. There, in the corner of the closet, is a white garment bag, with the name of the bridal store printed across it, in black cursive. Reaching out, he pulls the bag off the rack and brings it over to the bed, draping it over the duvet. It’s not as heavy as he had thought it would be, though really, what did he know about the weight of a wedding dress?

Carefully he pulls the zipper down on the bag, pulling it down inch by inch, before it lay open before him. Roger wasn’t sure if he wanted to laugh or cry at the sight before him, there, in the garment bag, from a bridal store none the less, lay a brand new leather jacket. A note, with Roger written in your handwriting taped to the material. He hurriedly shook off the denim jacket he was currently wearing, before replacing it with your gift, grinning at how well it fit, the smell of leather filling his nose as he breathed in deeply.

While Roger was engrossed in his findings, you quietly made your way into the bedroom behind him, leaning your hip against the wall, as you waited with a baited breath for him to reveal the jacket. “Damn I have excellent taste in clothing.” You chuckle, as he whirls around on the spot, sporting his new jacket.

“So, you didn’t get the dress then?” He raises his brows in surprise, blinking his striking blue eyes over at you. With a sly grin, you step over to him, reaching your hands out to his jacket.

You zip up the jacket slowly, a small smile tugging at your lips. “I will not justify that question with an answer.”

The zip stops at his throat, and Roger smirks down at you. “It’s at Freddie’s isn’t it?’

“it’s at Freddie’s.”  You smile.

My Masterlist

[bellygunnr]

The Sweets Shop ch. 13

Ushering X through the self-checkout and out the doors was a simple affair. Iris kept a grounding hand on his shoulder as they moved, a constant pressure applied to keep him moving forward. She was acutely aware of the Reploid behind them in constant pursuit, but half her concentration was dedicated to her brother whispering in her ear.

"Bring X by the post office on 8th Street. A guard will grab the Reploid, and you two should be home free."

Her affirmative was nonverbal, a mere data packet. She glances over her shoulder to check the Reploid's progress. It was a slow, shambling pace the Reploid took, so at least their lead would not be quickly eliminated. They just had to be careful.

"It's a nice day, isn't it?" Iris hums, finally releasing her grip on X's shoulder as they reach a complex intersection. People mill about at either corner, conceding to the vehicle traffic buzzing through the streets. She watches X grimace at a passing Enforcer cycle, a minute pull of the mouth. He doesn't respond right away.

"It's going to rain," X says as traffic stops.

X pulls ahead of her. Iris has to lengthen her stride to keep up, all while avoiding pedestrians and keeping an eye on their pursuer. She spares an iota of power to looking up the weather. Rain was going to come, but not for a while yet.

"We haven't had rain in a long time," Iris says belatedly. "It'll be good."

"Maybe," X replies, then he smiles. "Do you need to go anywhere, Iris? I know we have groceries, but they can withstand some jostling, I think."

They're walking quickly. From here, Iris can see the street signs indicating 8th Street. She looks over her shoulder surreptitiously under X's inquisitive gaze.

"I actually need to stop by the post office," Iris says, returning the smile. "I need to pick something up there for work."

"Oh? How has work been, anyway?"

They stop. This intersection isn't nearly as busy and crossing onto 8th street is done after a moment's pause. She knows the Reploid is tracking them still.

"It's been kind of a mess," Iris sighs. "All of the recent attacks..."

X nods solemnly. Iris looks at him, suddenly aware that they've crossed into utterly sensitive territory-- X himself was a victim of such attacks. She bites the inside of her cheek, frustrated at herself. The post office looms ahead.

"Do you have any afternoon plans?" Iris blurts. The post office is a nondescript brick building, generic front and back. She follows X to the glass doors, sending another affirmative packet to her brother.

The target was being handled.

"I think Zero and I are going out for lunch," X replies, but he sounds uncertain. "Um, do you want me to go inside with you?"

"Oh, we're here already! I'll be just a moment, don't worry."

-

Accosting the reploid is a simple affair-- a unit from the van ambushes it from behind, binding its limbs together with magnetized cuffs. Its slung over their shoulder and hauled away into an alley.

"Look at the poor bastard! Man, this case sucks."

"Sure does."

The reploid is dumped unceremoniously onto the van's floor. Its head twitches back and forth, as if taking in its surroundings.

When the van door slams shut, the reploid goes slack.

-

X is readjusting his groceries when it happens.

Iris is walking out to meet him when she hears it.

A concussive blast, an explosion.

Mere seconds later, smoke can be seen rising from behind the post office, wispy at first but gathering in volume.  

"X, wait! Don't!"

-

X is gone by the time the glass doors hit their stops. Iris looks on in horror as the blue Reploid leaps onto the building's roof, booster assisted. His groceries swing wildly in his hands-- a can slips out from its plastic prison, bursting as it hits the concrete.

"Iris! What's your status?"

"We're safe! We heard an explosion, and X just ran off- I'm trying to pursue now! What happened?"

X was difficult to chase. Where he leapt across surfaces, Iris was forced to skirt the perimeter, just barely keeping the reploid in sight.

"The van was destroyed. I'm not sure what happened. I've already called emergency services-- get X out of there."

I'm trying, she thinks bitterly.

By the time she arrives, panting--

-

X stops himself from leaping into the fray. He perches on the edge of a flat roof, fingers digging into the brick as he surveys the damage. Through the thick smoke he can see two caved in walls-- the alley had been narrow, so the explosion easily caused collateral. Piles of reddish-brown rubble have a vehicle trapped, partially consumed by the brick. The vehicle's cabin is separated and laying on its side.

Its burning from the inside out. Further away from it, an armoured Reploid is curled up, damaged but not actively alight.

X finally leaps, landing beside the Reploid.

"Are you alright?" X asks, for lack of something better to say. "I'm here to help!"

"I'm not dying, but my legs are no good. I had friends in the back of the van-- I don't know..."

The blast wasn't severe, just...

"Of course. Stay here."

X turns. He eyes the front of the van warily-- clearly, the motor hadn't ignited, but his systems refused to dismiss the probability. Still, he starts to dig through the smoldering rubble, the alert hanging in his peripherals.

The pain is indescribable. X debates switching off the nerves in his arms when he discovers a broken body-- green, leaking fluid, reminiscent of-- he can't remember. Dead. He moves on, digging elsewhere, until--

"No good," X says in a wheeze. "This is no good!"

"X! What on earth are you doing?!"

Two bodies in the brick rubble, decimated by the blast and entangled with the broken hulk of the vehicle. Worse, their leaking fluids were now out to the world to ignite and burn wantonly, though the low fires were not near enough. His body goes limp as Iris grabs his middle, pulling him back down to solid earth.

"You scared me to death, X. Come on, are you alright?" Iris asks, gently bringing his face around, earnest green eyes meeting X's.

"I'm fine-- I'm fine... There's someone hurt behind me, um, two dead, I can't tell what caused the explosion, though. Have-- you know, been called?" X says, voice wavering.

"Yes, they have," Iris says reassuringly.

X smiles, relieved, even as the cold consequences of his actions sink in.

It would be okay, though. It had to be.

-

"What do you think, Iris?" Colonel asks of his sister. They sit across from each other at a round table, a single lamp illuminating their space. Several screens are laid out in front of them in the form of laptops, tablets, and data pads, while papers lay in organized piles. Two mugs of energy are nestled amidst the mess, nursed half to hell.

"I think there's a lot we don't understand, obviously," she replies. "Today's events..."

"I know. Aiden is recovering well, though."

But the same could not be said for Skipjack, who had been in the epicenter of the explosion. Iris sighs while her brother's hands tighten on the wood, making it creak. In tandem, they return to flicking through screens and poring over data.

"How is X, do you think?"

"I don't know," Iris replies honestly. "What do you think of that Reploid we saw today?"

"Why are you asking me? You're the one who saw it in person."

She rolls her eyes. "I think it moved odd. Like a zombie. It didn't respond to outside stimulus except for X."

"But it had to be aware of its surroundings if it exploded," Colonel points out. "To an extent, at least."

She nods. It makes sense.

"We won't be able to do anything for a while, though," Colonel continues. "The media's watching us pretty close after today."

-

X is tired. X is tired, and while Zero's constant steady presence abates it, the sterility of his home does not. Everything is barren-- from the kitchen, devoid of food, to the living room, furnished sparsely and without decoration. It's another reminder that his own home is destroyed, but--

He can't afford to think about that right now. There was too much to consider.

"That was really scary," X whispers to himself.

Questioning had taken place at Zero's work, after all. He felt like a mouse running willingly into a lion's den, defenseless and foolish. It had taken every ounce of his will power to act as if he felt safe. As if nothing was wrong, save the fact he tried to be a hero.

"I'm going to have to do that again, aren't I?"

He couldn't calculate any other outcome. Becoming an Enforcer-- the process of which had been smoothed over by Sigma himself-- would force him into working directly beneath the 17th.

"You look dreadful," Zero says, cutting into his thoughts. "I ordered takeout. Do you want to put on a movie?"

The couch squeaks under Zero's added weight. X loosens up, a hand immediately wandering for his friend's gauntlet. He nods, unable to speak until his shakes pass.

The TV screen in front of them flickers violently.

"It's okay if you're not okay, X," Zero murmurs, leaning into X's space. "You've been-- you've been through a lot."

Astro Boy's familiar music fills the room. It wasn't a movie, but close enough. X sags into Zero, head resting on his shoulder, eyes drifting shut. Here was safety-- here was security.

"Are you offering to listen to my feelings?" X asks, slurring somewhat.

"Yes," Zero says, squeezing his shoulder.

They sit like that in the dark room, illuminated only by the TV screen.

[neoculturetechxgot7]

Gardenia on the crown - J.J.H

4; dreams of sunshine eyes

pairing: Jung Jaehyun × Reader

genre: angst and the shy touches of fluff

length: around 2,5k words

warnings: mild swearing

// masterlist //

``

Starry flames flicker on the hundreds of candles saturating the ballroom with golden hues, reflecting on expensive pearls and tangling through lace trim and floral paterns. Nobility swirls around the soft notes of violin and piano, men in tailored suits kindly asking for the pale hand of shy princesses, inviting them to a dance that will stain the night with their scent.

You’re standing in middle of it all, fitted flawlessly in the embrace of a young prince's arms and slowly losing your sanity to the sight of his stunning features, iridescent shadows from the crystal chandeliers casting a sparkling galaxy on his skin. His eyes, those that captured your thoughts from the very moment their Egyptian caramel shade dipped into your soul, still have you mesmerized and utterly lost in their enigmatic depths.

He spins you around so gently, cremé gown blooming around your ankles in the heated rhythm and a moment later, you feel his fingertips sear a temptingly slow path around your waist when you step forward.

"You haven't told me your name yet..." A breathless whisper falls from your lips, accompanied by the over-accelerated pound of your heart. The charming stranger who managed to gather all of your attention to the excellence of his dance and the alluring electricity beaming from his entire presence is still hiding behind anonymity. The ache to discover something as simple as his name is swallowing you alive.

"My name is Jung Jaehyun, my lady...”

You wake up suffocated in the cradle of cloud coloured sheets, nightgown clinging low on your decolté and a rushed pulse racing through your veins. Midday sun refracts from the window, brushing peachy shimmer on your skin and a sweet heat around the endless void of the room.

Yet, somehow, your body feels absolutely numb. That night... Your brain is playing the filthiest game by reminding you of it.

Your glance swivels around the intricately decorated wooden furniture in protest to your mind trying to shove more images of that dying dream before your eyes. Sweaty fingers reach up to rub them a little too harsh, leaving you with a shadowed vision of a vortex of colours and a low sigh dips past your lips.

If you only knew that magical night would be your very first meeting with the devil personified, you would've locked yourself in the cozy escape of the underground library, or your room or maybe the kitchens...Hell, even the moldy, freezing dungeons your father caged criminals in would seem like a better option than being in that ballroom, at that time, with him...

Two sharp knocks on the door slice through your self-pity thoughts just as you're about to hop off of the comforting warmth of the bed, naked feet hitting hardwood floor.

"Come in!“ You shout, hands instinctively tugging on the white silk of your tiny sleeping dress to conceal the exposed expanse of your chest.

But the relieving sight of your maid has your limbs going slack as she walks in, a smile on her face that makes some type of jubilation sizzle under your skin.

"My Lady, you're finally awake!" The girl chirps with the lightness of her kind heart and then quickly trods towards your still seated form. "Will you be attending the morning assembly in the dinner hall or would you prefer breakfast in bed?"

At her mention of any kind of...well...social interaction with the arrogant existence of the royals, your body goes limp and fluffy pillows hug your backside as you fall back. The sole idea of seeing Jaehyun again exhausts you. It's barely been a day since you first arrived and his face is plastered everywhere. Even your damn dreams...

The maid presses her lips in an empathetic line before sparing you the most understanding of all glances. Oh, she knows better than anyone how you'd hate to see that man after having spent the entirety of last night listening to a nice, long monologue of unspeakable and profane adjectives to describe your soon-to-be husband.

Sometimes you wonder what level of patience one must hold to be able to withstand your -borderlone hysterical- hate speeches.

"I'll inform his wonderful grace of your absence, my Lady." With that sarcasm dipped remark, the girl pivots on her heels and strides towards the door, blush skirt flowing behind her. "And bring you some breakfast."

"Thank you."

♤

You finish the very rich meal within minutes -the cooks around this place are priceless, a blessing for your tastebuds- and after a little bit of sinking in a puddle of self loath and cursing your failure of a fate, you decide to distract your mind by simply getting lost in the magic of a book. Literature is a hidden paradise for you, poetry, a little heaven.

Back home, you'd always have a book resting by the wooden extend of your nightstand, every night fading between yellowed pages and inked words that took you on a trip to fantasia. Maybe reading something can help now too...right?

No.

Because you're running a dainty finger over the red and black book spines lining every shelf of the grand bookcase only to skim the leather binding of old catalogues and dictionaries. Your eyes frantically scan each and every title in search of the slightest trace of good, classic literature, those pieces that leave you gasping after the very last sentence, but to no avail. Annoyed at the obvious lack of quality writings, you pull one of the many useless books out, trying to check if the one behind it, on the inner lining, is any different.

An hour later there's a sea of stacked books expanding on the floor of your bedroom, over the oak bureau by the window and some even sprawled across your unmade bed, yet nothing seems close to your taste. You found a couple of fairytales, the ones mothers escort their kids with to the sweetness of sleep. Even dug out a little notebook full of scraped poetry, written in midnight ink and infinite pages of dreamy calligraphy. But it didn't really pick at your interest either, so it now lays untouched on your nightstand, keeping company to ruby necklaces and a porcelain vase filled with roses.

Your knees bend over the plush mattress as you take a good seat in the boredom that has already started to define this day. With nothing else to do but stay in your room and stare at the elegant carvings on the walls, your pinky is twitching; sign of the bottled up energy that's currently restricted due to your absolute refusal of meeting eyes with the royals.

If only you weren't this stubborn and lowered that ego, maybe today wouldn't completely go to waste...

Then, something tickles at the back of your head; an idea?

A library. They must have one here, right?

Maybe visiting the palace library will be a convenient option. You can still spent time alone, buried in the wrinkled edges of lettered paper, while also keeping that well needed distance from Jaehyun and his awful family.

But then again, you don't even know how to get there and the so unpleasant possibility of bumping into too familiar faces has your skin coated in a drizzle of coldness.

Even so, your feet subconsciously plant onto polished floor and lead you to the door, expensive golden silk with embroidered morning stars blossoming around your ankles. It takes you no time to step delicately into those pointed heels that clank an air of intimidation with every step, as you -for the umpteenth time- curse every forsaken force in this damned universe for binding you with such a fate.

Having to sneak out of your own royal chamber like a common fugitive simply to enjoy the smallest comfort of reading a book. Pathetic, to say the least.

♤

You find yourself striding down the seemingly endless stretch of a hallway, peach tinted light bouncing of off smooth stone that arches into a high ceiling. Large, curved openings formed the one side and thick marble columns separate them.

It took a lot of wandering around wide halls and visiting two of the many towers of this palace for you to reach this point, the faintest wave of spring heat kissing your neck and cheeks as a reward. Surprisingly enough, you were met with no person you knew, only kindy greeted by maids dressed in creamy beige, a humble smile on their faces. Once, you actually happened to spot -what you thought would be- one of the ladies of the court and her small escort following shortly behind, heavy gowns of cotton and purple satin flowing with her every delicate step. She bore an almost blank expression, lips pressed together in a manner that made you wonder if she disliked this place as much as you did.

Taking a peak outside the enormous windows, you realise you're walking the perimeter of a circular yard, the expanse of its area covered in emerald, neatly cut lawn. A whole lot of people are gathered, small kids playing around with leather balls, servants scurrying to get some random task done and a big group of men standing on the very middle, some carrying weapons of all sorts.

With feet inching closer to the stone edge, your stare rakes their sun bathed faces and thankfully you recognize none. They are all of noble ascent, from what you can tell at that distance, golden threaded crests decorating the corners of their uniforms.

While your eyes fight to grab onto the stitched details, they happen to -so tragically- fall straight onto another pair of breathtaking brown orbs and within a fracture of a heartbeat you're pulling back and hiding behind the column.

Fuck.

Momentarily, the edges of your vision blacken as you suck in hungry inhales, a nice bunch of profanities roaring in your head to mix with the thumping in your ears.

You just can't avoid him, can you?

Shaking your head to get rid of the slight panic possessing it, you slowly slide to the side again, solely to catch another glimpse of Jaehyun. He’s surrounded by a small crowd of men, holding a steady grip on a steel forged sword that's so well polished it seems almost like platinum.

What a sight.

His glove clad fingers tighten as he ducks to an attack stance, raising the light reflective metal in the air as if it's the lightest feather. You notice the absolute perfection in his technique, balanced from the very handle all the way to the sharp tip and can't help but admire how, the next second, it comes down to slice morning breeze and barely scratch Jaehyun's opponent. He's incredibly skilled, every move laced with such precision, and you notice the subtle flames his eyes emit when seizing each chance.

The other is quick to deflect any incoming hits, but still overwhelmed by their lighting speed and strength that eventually goes in for an attack himself. He bringing his own blade up and aims for the prince's chest, leaving you watching with complete devotion to the scene, as he takes a hasty step forward.

Something inside your chest clenches in such an unexplainable manner and time itself dramatically unfolds, each second slower than the previous.

But then, Jaehyun ends the match with a swift and simple dodge to the side, sword simultaneously flying to crash against the side of his opponent's armor with a loud, echoing bang.

He should’ve watched the ribs. Always watch the ribs, you think while gazing the loser gasp in slight pain.

The nobles all around the young prince cheer -much like you do on the inside without realising-, yelling out praises along with a well-deserved applause as he drops his heavy weapon, that sunshine blessed smile making another appearance. His cheekbones literally shimmer with the milky glow of victory, all of that aristocracy putting even the highest of angels to shame. He stands proud and tall, fingers carelessly ruffling auburn strands of auburn hair, their tips dripping sweat but still giving him the look of effortless beauty.

You're about to retreat back to the shadows and run away before your body gets completely enchanted by the spell of his irresistible attractiveness...but that ice in the pit of his gaze cuts straight through your unprotected soul once his head turns.

You're suddenly frozen in place, prematurely surrendered to the way his eyebrows furrow and your expectation is yet another cocky grin and probably another stupid comment meant to irritate you the moment you face him. If it weren't for the starstruck expression plastered on your face, mouth slightly agape, maybe it wouldn't have been this bad but no, that's not the case today.

It's pretty damn obvious you've been watching, pretty damn obvious you've been lurking like a creep and gawking over the impressive ability of fighting he has conquered.

And he's well aware of that fact because those pearly, white teeth get covered by a way too smug and way too annoying smirk, it's curvy edge cutting through your dignity harder than any knife ever could. You note the way his chest heaves from the lightness of a chuckle.

Oh the embarrassment, oh the pain of your intimidating facade being all wrecked down in a split second.

If only never seeing him again was an option...lf only you could stay away from his stupid beauty and bluntly cold demeanor...

"Greetings, my Lady." A honeyed voice suddenly disrupts your desperation, causing your reflexes to stick your back falt against the smooth stone in horror.

Yet when your gaze snaps to the source of those words, you find a curious and somewhat charming a pair of sunshine filled eyes trained on your form. A toothy grin, white and beaming with luxury, is spread across the young man's face, a perfect contrast to his autumn skin.

Taking in a short breath of relief, your royal instincts kick in and you bow respectively at the gentleman, while he moves forward, hands folded behind his back in a kind manner. "Good morning my Lord."

"I'm afraid I do not recognise your face, darling. Are you new around here, perhaps?" He asks and it seems as if heaven lost one of its angels; his whole being radiating a unique kind of divinity as he stands so confidently.

"Oh yes." Your knees bend once more as you quickly introduce yourself, trying to sound as formal as possible, getting over the previous scare. "My name is (Y/N) of the (Y/L/N) dynasty and I'm present here as the rightful betrothed of prince Jaehyun."

His eyelids momentarily shot open after hearing your title, almost in shock, and that smile flashes impossibly brighter before he bends in respect. You feel warm fingers snake behind your own and with an airy pull he places a fragile peck on the back of your palm, as soft as freshly picked petals, to make you shudder.

"I'm so delighted to finally meet your grace. I am prince Heachan, cousin of your beloved."

You internally cringe at that last comment...As if Jaehyun and his wholesome stupidity could ever be loved...

"Nice to meet you too, prince Heachan." Your reply comes with a slight tilt of your head, pleasantly surprised at how well behaved and gentle he looks and acts, despite being a member of that horrible family.

Heachan takes a short look around, as if searching for something, and then aims his friendly glare back at you, this time baring a questioning expression. "And you're here without your escort?"

Your shoulders quickly stiffen, realising you have to explain yourself for carelessly wandering around the palace without a single maid accompanying you, something highly unusual for someone of your importance.

He notices that and chuckles and your heart softens at the way the apples of his cheeks shine with such a dull pink.

"Well, I'm looking for the library and..." Your eyes trail a regretful path down the hem of your dress, feeling a little embarrassed at the words you're about to speak. "I think i got lost..."

The boy laughs again, this time a little louder and more genuinely, one hand propping on his waist, sinking into the bejeweled red velvet of his shirt while the other makes an airy gesture. "This definitely isn't the library, or anywhere close to it, dear."

He extends an inviting palm, eyes glimmering with traces of a blazing summer and the tint of pure gold as he continues. "But I can take you there, if you please."

//

previous || next

[jungshookz]

can you do a college ta!jimin where y/n is failing her class but she’s too scared to go to jimin for help even though he’s her ta bc every time she sees him in lecture she makes a fool of herself and is embarrassed bc jimin is also v hot

→ pairing: park jimin x reader

→ genre: university!au, ta!jimin, neRVOUS!y/n, tae and kook are the dream team from hell, joon is a try-hard but we still luv him 

→ wordcount: 2.5k

→ note: ok i was going to write this tomorrow but i couldn’t wait because i need ta!jimin in my life right now immediately so i’m soRRY if it’s short but IT WAS SUCH A CUTE IDEA and i needed to get it ouT into the world also fun fact: a girl that i met during my first month at uni told me all about how she fucked her friend’s psychology TA to help her friend get an A in the class and i need me a friend like that

(gif isn’t mine!) 

um

hi

quick question

why the FUCK did you think this astronomy course was going to be easy peasy

it was supposed to be your grade booster!!!!!

all you learn about are the STARS in the sky

they’re just flaming balls of gaS and you somehow are unable to grasp that concept for some reason

“how’d you do???” namjoon plops down in the seat next to you before looking at his own test and flicking through the sheets

you blink down at the test in your hands

49% written in an angry shade of red

you technically failed even though you were 1% away from getting a passing mark

this was the last chance to boost your mark before the final exam and you totally just bombed it

there are three midterms that you have to take in this course

which meant you had three chances to study hard and do well

you got 59% on the first one

63% on the second one

and this one?

49%

you droPPED not 1% not 2% but a FAT 14%

o boy

you have a feeling you’re not going to do too well on the final exam considering the journey so far

“i, uh, i did okay.” you shrug and stuff your test into your backpack quickly “how’d you do?”

“eh, i did okay too. 86% is fine, i guess.” namjoon murmurs and circles one of the questions on the test “i didn’t study as much for this one so that explains why i did more poorly compared to the first and second one.”

you peek over at namjoon’s test and let out a sigh when you notice his has a significantly less number of red cross marks

you love namjoon but you’re ready to smack the back of his head because you would be ecsTATIC if you got 86% on a midterm you barely studied for

“i’m probably going to go talk to jimin during office hours and ask for some help with the questions i got wrong. you wanna come with-“

“nO” you immediately curl into yourself and wince when namjoon mentions jimin

jimin

park jimin, if we’re being more specific here

he’s the TA for this class and let’s just say,..,,..,,. there’s a reason why the class filled up so quickly at the beginning of the year

he is drop-dead gorgeous

like unbelievably gorgeous

like sculpted from the gods themseLVEs gorgeous

soft, perfectly tousled raven locks

pretty brown eyes

the cutest button nose

and his lips

his pillowy lips that curl around certain words so perfectly and you’re always mesmerised when he takes over a lecture because he does this thing where his tongue will poke out and swipe over his bottom lip in the middle of his rant and you will never admit to anYone that you’ve fantasised about what it’d be like giving him plump bottom lip a lil kith once or twice or thrice

he has a couple ear piercings and you never thought you’d be attracted to that but oH boy you definitely are

not to mention he’s like???? so fashionable???????

most of the time he wears like a button-up tucked into a pair of slacks just to keep things professional or whatever but SOMETIMES he walks in in like a pair of ripped skinny jeans and a loose white tee and a denim jacket or something and that just gets your gears gOING

one time you caught a glimpse of his bicep flexing as he ran his hand through his hair and you literally couldn’t focus on anything for the rest of the class

(today he’s wearing a white button up tucked into a pair of ripped blue jeans and he has his thick black glasses sitting perfectly on his nose)

and!!!!! on top of that he’s the sweetest human being in the entire world

everything about him is just so utterly, frustratingly perfect

he gigGles very often and overtime he does that you’re pretty sure an angel is born in the heavens above

and he’s always super helpful with everyone

even though it’s pretty obvious some of the people in here approach him with the dumbest questions because they just want an excuse to talk to him he will anSwer those dumb questions and help them to the best of his abilities

you haven’t really had a conversation with him before just because this is a class with 200 people and you obviously aren’t going to elbow your way through the crowd just to stand there with nothing to ask him

the only question you can imagine yourself asking is “…..wat is a star” and u don’t want him thinking you’re a big ol dummy

however

the times that you havE interacted with him or the times that prove to you that he does indeed know that you exist have been awful to say the least

absolute humiliating

you don’t know why but every time you make a fool of yourself it’s in this class and it’s riGHt in front of jimin

when you were doing your presentation with a couple other classmates you kept stuttering over your words because jimin was in the front row just staring at you and you could feel your face growing redder than a tomato

you kept stumbling and missing important parts in the presentation so your teammates had to step up and help you a little and afterwards you apologised proFuSely and treated them all to a drink from starbucks

another time namjoon asked if you could go down to the front and grab his paper for him and as you were walking down the steps of the lecture theatre you missed a step and fell riGHT in front of jimin

so, in conclusion: jimin probably thinks you have a speech impediment aND you’re clumsy as hell

you’re just glad that there are only like 2 weeks of class left because that means you’ll finally be able to get away from jimin

it’s not like you want to get away from him

it’s just that

you can.,,.,. u can feel yourself starting to develop a tiny crush on him (spoiler alert you already have a fat ass crush on him you stubborn walnut) and that ain’t good because then you’ll be all sad and mopey because you know for a faCt park jimin is way WAY out of your league and there’s nothing you can do about it

“y/n.”

but you know what you should at least try and say something to him before the year ends because if you don’t you’ll probably regret it

“y/n.”

oR you could make an anonymous page on that ‘university crushes’ page (there are already severAL park jimin posts on that Facebook page so you’re sure your contribution won’t make a difference)

“y/n!!!!!!!” you jump when you feel someone grab your shoulder and you snap out of it immediately “what’s gotten into you?? i said your name like a trillion times!” jungkook furrows his brows

“what? what?” you look around frantically and-

what the heck

when did you get to the dining hall

“i said her name a trillion times on the way here and she didn’t reply to me either.” namjoon snorts as he picks up an apple from the fruit basket “she’s probably daydreaming about jimin again” he teases and you resist the urge to roll your eyes when you see slow smirks begin to appear on everyone’s faces

oh god

here it comes

“ooOooooOOOHH-“ jungook and taehyung begin teasing you and you whack their hands away when they reach up to pinch at your cheeks “our y/n has a little crush on park jimin!!!!!!!”

“i don’T have a crush on anyone!” you scowl and grab a carton of apple juice for yourself “cut it out, you freaks”

“aw, don’t be like that! it’s okay! he’s a very pretty person.” taehyung nods and grabs the juice box from your hand

“get your own juice box.” you snatch it back from tae’s hands before whipping around and heading towards the table where they put all the muffins and donuts (you’ve been craving something sweeT)

as you walk towards the table you turn your head so that you’re able to send a glaRE at your friends “i’m terminating this conversation because i do not want to talk about my crush on park jim- oH-!” suddenly you’re stumbling riGHt into someone and you feel hands grip at your waist to keep you steady while your own hands instinctively reach out to balance yourself

you turn your head back quickly ready to profusely apologise to this person for your clumsiness and that’s when you realise you just stumbled riGHT into-

p a r k   j i m i n

/…..FUCK

christ

jesus CHRIST

see

it happened again!!!!!!!!

whenever you do something humiliating jimin is riGHT there

“careful there!” he laughs lightly and you retract your hands from his pecs (ᵒʰ ᵐʸ ᵍᵒᵈ) immediately “you good?”

“great. i’m good!” you squeak out and feel your cheeks starting to warm “i- uh, are you okay? i’m so sorry, i wasn’t watching where i was going-“

“don’t worry about me, i’ll survive.” he jokes and your eyes immediately dart away because of your inability to hold eye contact for more than like fiVE seCONDS

“okay, cool, um, that’s good. ……anyways i’m just gonna pay for my juice box-“

“y/n, right?”

you immediately look back up at him

o god

he knows your name

okay okAY okay calm down just act cool you’re super cool you’re a cool gal!!!!!!!

[high pitchy voice] ʸᵒᵘ’ʳᵉ ᶠᶦⁿᵉᵎ

“yes. that’s me. i am her. i am y/n.” okay there we go we finally got there “you’re… jimin.” oOFhkj

u know what just shut up don’t say anything

“you’re the one who wrote about astronomy and its relationship with astrology, right?”

huh

oH righhhhhht that paper you had to write for astronomy

while you’re not good at exam-type things you’re pretty good when it comes to papers because it’s just you ranting about something but make it ~professional~ aNd also cite ur sources

“yes! that was me!!” you perk up because that paper was the onLy thing you were confident handing in in the class lol “i actually changed my topic last minute but i’m glad i did because i had a loT to say about the subject - b-but you probably already know that because you’re the one who graded it, hah-“ you reach up and scratch the back of your neck awkwardly

you catch a glimpse of the boys over jimin’s shoulder

they already paid for their food and they’re sitting at your guys’ usual table and while namjoon is shooting you a thumbs up and a dimpley smile both tae and kook are being iDIOTS

kook has his fingers curled like an ‘o’ while tae is sticking his finger through the hole and they’re botH wiggling their brows at you and you feel your cheeks warm even moRE

that’s so embarrassing

why are boys like that

whY are you friends with boys like that

namjoon scowls and whacks their hands down before pointing to their food and you can practically hear namjoon telling them to cut it out and just eAT you dumbasses

“i thought it was really well-written and very well executed. i enjoyed reading it, actually. i enjoyed it so much i read it twice!” jimin laughs and you feel your heart skip a beat when you hear his cute giggle “how did you do on the latest midterm?”

you’re not… particularly sure why jimin is stiLL talking to you

it’s not like you’re complaning or anything

you’re just confused 

..,.,.,is he just being friendly because TA evaluations come out soon

hM

“i did, um… let’s just say i could’ve done a loT better.” you clear your throat

you’re not about to remind him of your grades because u really reaLLy don’t want him to think you’re a moron  

“oh! i’m sorry to hear that…” he frowns and his shoulders droop slightly before he perks up again “i’d be happy to talk to you and help you out! i’m free at 5:30 this afternoon.”

“5:30 works for me! but don’t office hours end at 4?” you furrow your brows in confusion and your bottom lip pokes out a little in the tiniest of pouts and jimin uwus internally

“yeah, and?” he still has his bright smile on his face and you are just conFUSEd “i’ll help you out and maybe we can grab a bite to eat afterwards.”

wait what

wait hWAT

“are- are you sure? i don’t want to inconvenience you or anything-“

“don’t be silly, you could never. here, i’ll give you my number.” jimin plucks the pen out from behind his ear and grabs your hand and you feel your heart rate SPIKE almost immediately

you instinctively giggle when the pen starts gliding against your skin and jimin peeks up at you with a smirk “ticklish?”

you take your bottom lip in between your teeth and keep your eyes on your hand “a lil”

jimin clicks the pen and tucks it back behind his ear and you look at the digits that have been scrawled on your hand “alright, i have some more midterms to grade so i’m going to disappear but i’ll see you later?”

“yes, that sounds good” you swallow thickly because you’re still registering the fact that park jimin just,,, gave you his number

“see ya!” jimin waves at you as he starts to walk away and u literally almost scream when his right eye drops in a wink

you wave back at him shyly and press your lips together

what is going on

is this a fever dream

are you in a simulation maybe

and then you’re standing there just wondering.,..,,. what was THAT and also are u going on a….. date later

nO no no

don’t over think it

he’s just being nice

he’s a nice guy

jimin lets out a breath once he leaves the dining hall and he has to stop to let his heart calm down a little

god damN

that number thing was a bold move but he’s so glad you didn’t reject him or anything

hopefully you show up this afternoon otherwise that’d kinda suCK

he can’t believe it took him nearly two whole semesters to finally grow some balls and say something to u lol

better late than never!!

help me help you make your wishes come tru (aka send me a request)

masterlist

[dreadnought-dear-captain]

Steve’s Ending: What the Fuck Just Happened?

                            ************WARNING*********** 

BIG-ASS ESSAY WITH SPOILERS FOR AVENGERS: ENDGAME AHOY

I have been largely out of the fandom sphere for a spell because of personal stuff that went down and then subsequent Endgame anxiety (I’m sorry, I really will get to some BW asks as soon as I’m done reeling from this film), but I wanted to get out some thoughts about Endgame while they are fresh in my mind. I have seen Endgame twice since its release. I saw it Friday morning, debriefed with my beta @pitchforkcentral86, and then turned around and bought tickets for an evening showing the same day. Why? Because I had to process Steve’s last scene. I had to see it twice just to comprehend what the hell happened and then try to interpret it. I went through several hypotheses and waves of accompanying emotion and then came to a tentative personal conclusion about what the hell Steve’s ending is to me.  But first I had to ask— Is this a true happy ending? Is this lazy writing? Is this a character assassination? Is this a legitimate choice Steve would make? Some combination of the above? So, here go my hypotheses—

Hypothesis 1: This is a legitimate happy ending for Steve and his timeline.

If you only look at the images shown to us and don’t devote much thought to the implications of Steve’s choice for other people in the world, it might appear to be a beautiful ending. After a decade-and-a-half of compass-gazing and pining for the good old days of segregation and boiled food, Steve gets what he wants. He gets the person who is — surprise! — “the love of his life.” This plays into the ongoing narrative that Steve has never been able to find contentment in the modern world or with modern people (some of whom he refers to as “family,” interestingly enough). This hypothesis also assumes that he can only be happy if he is with one woman, because he assumes shared life experience is a prerequisite for partnership, which means that he has essentially preemptively foreclosed on any relationship with anyone who is not Peggy.  Since Bucky’s name has barely even entered Steve’s consciousness lately, except to emotionally whump his past self into not choking him to death, even their friendship seems to be a question in the last two films in this series.

So if we take the arc of these films into consideration, including the last two films, he has apparently resigned himself to a position of “Peggy is my only viable romantic relationship, and she is dead, and I am incomplete as long as this is true.” When you write this thesis for Steve Rogers, which is a sad thesis indeed, this ending might seem like a relief for him. (It could also be argued that it is terribly lacking in resiliency and flexibility and is naive, at best, in terms of what is love versus infatuation versus idealization.) Problematic in this happy ending scenario: The writers clearly did not consider the second and third order effects of this decision. They just needed to tie up Steve’s timeline and get Chris Evans out of the franchise, and this was a way to do it that resonates at face value. Man out of time gets put back in his time. Gets love. Quote: “It was beautiful.” Ignore all of the following and more: -There will now be two Steve Rogers in this timeline. -One of them will presumably be with Peggy Carter for at least a good chunk of time, unless things went south. -Peggy Carter is the director of SHIELD. Her close associates are undoubtedly known to them as a result. -Thus, Steve Rogers probably could not just stay hidden in the pantry. SHIELD would want to debrief him. They would want to know how the hell he got there. Questions would get asked. This could not remain a secret forever. -Is Steve Rogers going to sit out history? Hang on the couch while the world burns, shield unused? -Is Steve Rogers, knowing that Bucky is alive, going to leave him to rot with Hydra? -Even if they made some sort of arrangement beforehand, like Bucky saying it’s okay, don’t come get me, would they both sit well with continuing to let him kill all of the innocents he killed? -If Steve did go get Bucky, he would likely find him some time in the span of however many years he’s in the past. The future would be completely changed. -If he intervened and found Bucky, Sam Wilson would not be Falcon because TWS would not happen. This version of Bucky would not exist. This end scene could not happen. -Thus, this does not seem to be something that Steve chose to do during his life with Peggy. (Debunked-ish, along with other “Back to the Future” science hereafter, below) Which brings me to my second hypothesis about this ending. Hypothesis 2: This was thought out, but it represents writers Markus and McFeely’s disconnect from the character they built. This is where the “there is no way in hell Steve would sit on the couch where the world burns, where Bucky suffers with Hydra etc.” argument comes in. This taints the ending in a particularly sour way, because they have labored so hard to build an image of Steve as someone who would wreck the world to save Bucky Barnes from harm and stop at nothing to prevent serious harm in the world where he could. It’s what he wanted in the first place! It’s where we all started in TFA! The Steve we know and love would want to go to Korea. To Vietnam. He would want to stop the Khmer Rouge and all the bad shit he could intervene with. Right? And his ass would try to save Bucky, especially knowing exactly where he’s kept! Right?? He would keep going and going until he was worn down into a nub of nothingness. Right??? Which meanders me to— Hypothesis 3: This was a decision that Steve Rogers made that is plausible for his character and was deliberate on the part of the writers. Second and third order effects included. This may be a stretch, but I think it could be argued on the grounds of good becomes great, bad becomes worse. Steve does nothing by half measures, an intrinsic trait that is amplified by his transformation. I have always argued that Steve has a very real selfish streak, or else he never would have tried to enlist in the Army so many times knowing he is absolutely unqualified to serve. Serving in his original condition would have put so many lives at risk, and others would have had to pick up his slack, because he would have been next to physically useless in combat as small Steve. But he would not accept reality, and he would not accept a “lesser” form of helping because it had to be the way that served his ego and his sense of rightness and justness for himself, consequences to other soldiers and the mission be damned. It was myopic and self-serving. And if good becomes great and bad becomes worse, maybe this is a form of that. Maybe he and Bucky agreed (because they were clearly in cahoots with that final scene business) that he would not intervene and rescue him, because then there would be no Falcon, or simply on the principle that the timeline must remain as undisturbed as possible. And maybe this one time, Steve didn’t say “fuck you, Bucky” and do what was right. Maybe Steve Rogers was done. Fucking done. Maybe he realized that what he first wanted at the beginning of TFA is not tenable. That he can’t fight forever. That he, like Tony, needs to rest, and that he can’t do that in the modern world. Which is interesting, because he essentially becomes Tony Stark v1.0 in the end, only caring about himself and his own. And Tony Stark becomes Steve Rogers, making the ultimate sacrifice for mankind. So Steve enjoys a life with Peggy while the world burns because he just can’t do it anymore. He’s paid his dues and he’s done being Captain America or Nomad or anyone else. (Wonder how she likes that version of Steve...?) Though how he could possibly say “It was beautiful” is utterly beyond me. I can’t fit that into this hypothesis, unless he has compartmentalized so hard and so well that he has forgotten about Bucky’s existence completely. And if he has, this is a very sad ending for his character.

There are probably many other hypotheses out there. They just didn’t percolate through my mind yet.

Which brings me to some things @pitchforkcentral86 brought up:

Why was Tony Stark’s arc so perfectly completed, so beautifully closed — truly, even I shed a tear — when we have to sit here writing stupid billion word theses on a nearly defunct blog site, grasping for straws, scratching our heads, wondering what the fuck just happened to Steve Rogers? It’s like getting to know somebody for eight years, being told the same stories about their behavior, learning their values system, their truths… and then being thrown a parting image that can only make sense if  a) the writers cannot be trusted — and maybe could not be trusted this whole time, or b) the character is actually not the person we thought he was.

Is either of these what we want to be left with as we close this phase of the MCU? Either the writers failed or Steve Rogers is not the person we love? And do we really not get to see Bucky and Steve’s friendship arc get closed in a meaningful way after building its depth for three movies? Are we really supposed to count a cheap recycling of a TFA line and some shimmery-eyed SebStan woobieface (TM) and some secret time travel hook-up conspiring off-camera (AS THEIR ENTIRE RELATIONSHIP HAS BEEN SINCE CIVIL WAR, PRESUMABLY, OFF-FUCKING-CAMERA) as “closure”? So, what do I think? I think this was lazy, crap writing, and I think Markus and McFeely thought we wouldn’t consider the timey-wimey implications too much. I think they know this character, and I don’t think they figured this would assassinate his character. I think they just really, really needed to tie this story up in a superficially pretty bow, and they couldn’t kill off both Tony and Steve, so they needed to give him something that took him out of the franchise. And that scene at the end with Peggy was aesthetically BEAUTIFUL. I smiled the first time, ear to ear, until my brain kicked in two minutes later and realized what it meant. They have been building up to this forever, kindling Steggy pretty much every movie. We Stucky people are all like yeah, yeah, Peggy, so sad, but the films have been consistent all along about saying a) Steve is a man out of time, and b) he loves Peggy Carter. (However you wanted to interpret that love... until the support group, where the interpretation is made for us). Support group side note: First, I squeed that Steve was running a support group in what I’m pretty sure is a VA auditorium. And on one hand, I loved the super chill gay Russo cameo and Steve’s untroubled reaction. Three cheers for the first openly gay character in the MCU [eyeroll]. But also, it felt like a total concession, like okay all you Stucky idiots we’ve been queer baiting over the years, we are gonna drop an A-bomb your little kingdom, but look, at least Steve isn’t a homophobe! See? He’s cool with the gays and so are we. Thanks for playing. Maybe you’ll get a REAL queer character in the next phase of the MCU! (If you even stick around after the shit we’ve just pulled.) But this laziness is problematic, because it feels terrible and discrepant. Intended or not, it does have serious implications for the timeline and/or the character, and the final scene existing the way it is potentially means at least one of two things: 1. Time doesn’t work the way we think it does. (In other words, what if there is a world where time travel Steve did all these good things like free Bucky, end the Vietnam War early, etc.?) However, since he is here on this bench with Bucky and Sam, dropping off this shield, this is implausible. If he just disappeared for good and Bucky explained the situation with a tiny, knowing smile, then it would be possible that he started an alternate reality where he did all these very Steve-congruent things and freed Bucky in that timeline, which would not affect this one. Wouldn’t that be nice? I could live with that. Just disappear into the sunset and we can write fics to fill in all the gaps of his Steve-ness. His core character is retained. Hooray. 

But if he started an alternate timeline, he would not be here with Bucky and Sam like this in the original timeline as an old man, which suggests that he jumped back in the same timeline. Unless they invented technology to jump between timelines. Or Dr. Strange jumped him back to this bench just to drop the shield off and high five with Sam and then is going to take him back any second or some dumb shit that has no basis in anything we have seen on screen (see @pitchforkcentral86’s point above about grasping for bullshit just to make sense of this). Or it means that— 2. Steve did not do anything and did not give a fuck about it. Both of these are terrible. Terrible. I would rather have had Steve die than have this ending. And this has nothing to do with Stucky for me, because Stucky is mostly just a fun fandom thing for me. I don’t mind that he ended up with Peggy per se. It’s the implication that he didn’t save his friend, knowing EXACTLY — geographically and historically — where he was, not only saving Bucky but also all the innocent people Bucky would kill. OR I hate the implication that the smug motherfucker let Bucky rot — perhaps per their agreement, maybe he kept a promise, whatever — and he had the gall to call it “beautiful.” And this is after Markus and McFeely slaved for three movies to convince us that these are best fucking friends from childhood who are with each other “‘til the end of the line.” At the very least, even if they are not going to be physically together, friends do not let friends suffer for decades at the hands of Hydra, and if they do, they do not fucking enjoy themselves while it’s happening. If this is the Steve they are leaving us with, I do not want him. And I kind of don’t know what to do now.

Am I missing something? Please tell me I am. I’m desperate for a way to make sense of this. Truly.

OKAY, EDIT: 

@koubashii  very kindly sent me a message reminding me that Bruce spent quite a bit of time belaboring on the point that changing the past doesn’t change the future. She reminded me that Nebula killing her past self didn’t obliterate her from existence. I did forget about all this. So I can’t use Sam and Bucky Prime’s existence in their current form as evidence that Steve did nothing, if he went back in time. Point taken. THANK YOU!! 

(Edit: As far as I can gather from some research from actual astrophysicists and not MCU Bruce Banner, this “changing the past doesn’t change the future” stuff is just one small theory and does not appear to be the prevailing theory. However, this is the quantum realm, so we can make up all sorts of silly rules about infinite possibilities, infinite realities, yada yada, because nobody understands quantum physics except Hank Pym. Comic book science wins again!)

So, if he’s creating a separate timeline, let’s say he rescued Bucky early. Is there another Bucky running around with him? (New fun theory to make the pain better: He danced with Peggy, had a good time, went to find Bucky, married HIM, and that’s why he doesn’t want to talk about it with Sam. THERE. Fixed it.) 

But this still suggests that he broke off into an alternate timeline, one that did not disturb the current one. So if he went off into this entirely new timeline, how did he bounce into this old one? Pym particles? Sure. Fine. Comic science Whatever. Maybe he gets some. Did he just drop in by the lake and pop a squat on the bench right before Bucky told Sam to look? Sure. Was he there the whole time? Perhaps. Fine. Who the hell knows. 

So, one possible explanation is that there IS an alternate timeline where Steve did the right thing. And he jumped back here because Pym particles. His character’s integrity is potentially saved and who the fuck knows who he ended up with in the end. Let your imaginations run wild. It’s too late for Bucky Prime to get saved, poor Bucky. At least he has Sam and their upcoming Disney spinoff series, which sounds like a fucking joke when I write it (but srsly I’m dying and cannot wait). 

And there are still problematic things with this narrative for me, such as the idea that Steve’s entire happiness hinges on one woman he barely knew, largely because she didn’t scoff at him when he was smol and I will be DAMNED if Peggy kept his picture on her desk, and there is no effing way that she would even have her back to the door, but whatever. And I still hate that Steve and Bucky’s relationship arc was treated so horribly by these last two films. NO HOMO, indeed. Just in case we got the wrong idea from the intensity of the relationship that the MCU created for us. I will be posting more on this later. 

AND STILL — we should not have to work SO HARD for this kind of "meh” explanation. You should not need a group effort to make sense of your character’s ending, after so much wallowing in despair. And this might still reek of bullshit to many of you. I need to percolate more. 

Pym particles and Wakandan Vibranium trauma-healing brain magic — quick and dirty shortcuts for real character development. Thanks, MCU. Consider my brain exploded.