#should be rolling in En when I reach the top or close to the top in EOV

[sunmaylight]

Does anyone have those things you grew up with and go back to at random times in your life?

For me, it is the Etrian Odyssey 3DS games. I grew up playing EO4 and then moved on to fanfic. Was so happy when I found the fics in there at the time. Especially from this one author because I was still young in my love for BL turn LGBTQA era. It was that one author’s fanfics and the 3DS games that drew me back to them at random points in my life.

I did take a break near the end of EO4 because I couldn’t defeat the Cursed Prince and the Leviathan. But then the Untold Series were being released and I loved playing them to the point I completed the main story for both. Then I took another break from the games until EO5 came out but only played enough to the third Stratum and then paused again. Though in between all of the pauses throughout the years I have been reading my favorite EO author’s fanfics when I am in the mood for EO but not wanting to play the game.

Now I am enjoying the games again and looking back at how much fun I had with my guilds and imagining what all of my guild member’s dynamics were with each other.

Currently I now need to defeat the Titan to save the Priestess, clear the Crystal Stratum to continue the rest of the journey to climb Iori’s Yggdrasil, and start Nexus when I am done with those two games. (Yes, I made sure to get them in the 3DS eshop before it shut down). Then when that is done, I could and start the first three Etrian Odyssey games that started it all on the Switch.

Hopefully in the months to years it will take me to finish EO1-3, EOU3 will be released on the Switch. I’ve heard a lot of good things about EO3 and can’t wait to enjoy it on my own.

Anyways, this is just some ramblings from a long time on and off Etrian Odyssey fan who has been feeling nostalgic about the games and need to get back into playing and reading fanfic from that one author one day.

[xx-like-a-villian-xx]

I'd Love To Watch

You’re forced to share a room with Noah and he wonders what book you’re reading.

This one is for all my dark romance reading babes, stay slay 🥀

My ao3 is HERE

Also let me know if you want to be tagged in anything upcoming posts, (I have so many WIPs)

CW: one bed trope (ugh my fave), mentions of dark romance, fingering, Noah is a MUNCH, squirting, forced proximity (let me know if I need to add any more)

18+ MDNI | Noah Sebastian x Reader

“Are you kidding me?” You groan, staring at the second suitcase in the bedroom that you called dibs on when you arrived at the Airbnb. “Matt, who put their shit in my room?” You call out to your best friend and tour manager who walks towards you, a smug smirk on his face.

”Well Noah kept saying he would take the couch but there’s a California King in there so I told him he should just bunk in with you tonight.” He leans against the doorframe, grinning. “Call it team building.”

”Team building?” You scoff, exasperated.

All you want is one night to yourself without being stuck in a bus full of sweaty guys and Matt thinks it's funny to let the man you’ve been trying to avoid all tour share your room.

Noah doesn’t like you, it’s been clear since day one. Every time he talks to you he’s so patronising and cocky it makes your blood boil but it’s not like you can say much. You’re just their merch girl after all, replaceable. If it wasn’t for Matt you wouldn’t even have the opportunity so you keep your mouth closed and stay out of Noah’s way unless it’s important.

“Does Noah know that we’re sharing?” You fold your arms over your chest, staring at your best friend.

Matt chuckles. “More than aware, he actually seemed fine with it.” Your eyebrow raises in surprise and he laughs. “Goodnight, Y/N.”

You watch Matt retreat to his room and get to work pulling your pyjamas out from your suitcase, locking yourself in the bathroom to get ready for what you now know is going to be a hell of a long night.

While brushing your teeth you hear someone shuffle into the bedroom and you groan internally. Spitting the toothpaste into the sink, you gather your discarded clothes from the day and take a deep breath before opening the en-suite door.

Noah is lying spread eagle on the bed, wearing a pair of basketball shorts with no top, scrolling on his phone. He doesn’t even acknowledge your presence when you put your things back into your suitcase. You roll your eyes, grabbing your book to sit in the window seat across from the bed for a while, quietly reading to yourself. The silence is thick and you can hear his heavy breathing, distracting you from your book.

Your eyes flick from the dark romance novel to the man on the bed, eyes trailing over the expanses of ink that cover his toned skin and you feel heat pooling in your core.

”Anyone ever told you it’s rude to stare?” His voice breaks you out of your trance and your eyes flick back to the words on the page.

You scoff. “I wasn’t staring, you just breathe really loud and it’s pissing me off.”

He chuckles darkly. “Yeah, sure thing sweetheart.”

The sound of movement reaches your ears but you daren’t look at him, lifting the book higher to hide your red face. Suddenly the novel is snatched from your hands and you scramble to grab it back from him.

”Heartless Heathens?” He hums, holding the book out of your reach as he reads the blurb then flicks through a couple of pages, eyes widening. “Jesus, Y/N. I didn’t realise you were into this kinky shit.”

Your face is tomato red, burning hot as you try to wrestle the book from his hands.

“Noah give me my book back!”

All he does is laugh, eyes flicking back and forth as he reads the page I had bookmarked. “Oh my god! ‘Does that tight pussy hurt when my fat cock stretches it out like this?’ Wow…”

His dark eyes meet yours and you squeeze them shut out of embarrassment, hiding your face with your hands.

”You like that shit, huh?” You can hear the amusement in his voice as steps forward, throwing the book down on the window seat. You want the ground to swallow you up when you feel him staring down at you.

You huff, removing your hands from your face. “Loads of people do, it’s just a book.”

“I mean, do you like that stuff? Guys talking to you like that in bed? Asking you if it hurts when they stretch you out on their cock?”

You laugh, he’s joking right? You look up at him and your mouth goes dry when you see his dark eyes, pupils blown wide with lust.

”I don’t know,” you shrug. “I haven’t been with anyone for a couple of years, I don’t really have the time.”

Noah looks taken aback at your words and his lips turn up into a smirk. “A pretty girl like you? Surely you have guys begging for a chance in every state we visit.”

You chortle, crossing your arms. “Unlike most guys, I don’t need sex.”

He scoffs, picking the book back up. “So you just read this casually?”

”Most of the time.”

”And the rest of the time?”

The hot flush returns to your cheeks, reaching the tips of your ears. “That’s none of your business.”

He starts to flick through the pages again, humming as he reads. “Can I take a guess?”

You roll your eyes. “Whatever, go ahead.” You throw yourself down onto the bed, sitting against the headboard as he paces, reading.

“I think you like this Corvin guy most, I can imagine you getting all hot and bothered when you read his parts and you can’t help but find yourself fingerfucking yourself in your bunk when everyone is asleep.” His head tilts when he stops to look at you, his eyes searching for the telltale signs of your arousal, grinning when he sees your thighs clench together. “Am I correct?”

You shake your head in disbelief. What’s his game and why is he trying to get under your skin over some book. Your underwear feels damp from the wetness that is pooling at your core from his words and you have to stop yourself from lunging at him, to either punch him or kiss him…you’re unsure which one would be more satisfying.

”C’mon Y/N, tell me.” He sits next to you, pointing at a section where the main character is riding Corvin. “Is this what you get off to?”

You feel all too hot and bothered with him sitting next to you with his shirt off, tattooed skin taunting you as he tries to coerce the secrets of your alone time out of you.

”If I wasn’t in here right now is that what you’d be doing? Getting off over your little dark romance book?”

”What’s your deal Noah? Why do you want to know about all this?” You sit up straighter and he lounges back, eyeing you humorously.

He shrugs. “It’s just cute that you read this horny stuff. I never took you as the type to get riled up by it, is all.”

”You’d be surprised.” You mumble and his eyebrows shoot up in surprise.

”You read worse?”

”Oh shut up, Noah. It’s just dumb fiction, why are we even still talking about this?”

He turns to his side, propping himself up on his elbow, eyes burning into the side of your head. “Because I can tell how hot and bothered you are right now and it’s kind of sexy, I must admit.”

You gulp at his words, staring straight ahead in a conscious effort not to look at him or all of your resolve might falter.

”So tell me, were you so pissed about having to share this room because you wanted some special alone time tonight with your little smut novel?”

You can feel his smirk and the tension in the room thickens, turning into a storm cloud of lust.

”You can still do it, you know.”

Your eyes finally dart to his smug face and your eyebrows furrow. “What?”

He shrugs casually. “You can still get yourself off, I could read to you if you want?”

Your swallow thickly, your core throbbing at his words. “No, that’s weird.”

Noah chuckles. “Masturbation isn’t we-“

”I fucking know that! What’s weird is you’re my boss and you’re offering to read to me while I make myself cum. Do you hear yourself?”

You can’t lie to yourself, the offer is almost too tempting. It’s not fair that the most attractive man you know is basically offering to help you get your rocks off but he hates you right? He’s always so moody and weird around you. Why is he being like this?

He sits up, scooting closer so your shoulders are touching and he leans close to your ear, his breath tickling the skin of your cheek. “Or I could tell you every wicked little fantasy I’ve had about you since you waltzed into the studio with Matt all those years back.’

Your eyebrows raise and you turn to him, his mouth just inches from yours. “You fantasise about me?”

He laughs, a smug sound that makes you want to punch him. “Oh yeah, my favourite is the one where I get to bend you over and rip apart those fishnets you love to wear, the ones with the lace flowers on.” His eyes darken as he reminisces over the lewd thoughts and your mind wanders.

How would it feel to have his hands all over you, tearing away those expensive tights that you adore? How would it feel to have him buried to the hilt inside you as he pushes your head into whatever surface he can find? Fuck its all too much.

”Noah, we shouldn’t talk about this stuff.” You try to reason with yourself but your resolve quickly disappears when his long inked finger trails up the bare skin of your thigh, stopping at the hem of your silky black pyjama shorts.

“Why? We’re both adults.” He smiles almost innocently.

”Because you don’t like me.”

He huffs out a laugh. “Since when? Didn’t I just tell you that I literally think about how I want to bend you over?”

You roll your eyes. “You literally talk to me like shit the majority of the time.”

”I like watching you squirm.” His smile is cocky and it only sends more electricity to your core because he’s right, he does make you squirm and you like it too.

A lust filled silence lingers in the air as he stares into your eyes, a smirk plastered on his lips.

”So do you still want to get yourself off, I’d love to watch.” He cocks an eyebrow and there it is, the last of your resolve leaving out the window.

”Fine.”

He’s like a kid in a candy shop when he sits up, watching you lie down on the bed. Your heart hammers in your chest as you close your eyes, trying to pretend he isn’t there. You slide the silk shorts down your legs, leaving the black lace thong on and your hand travels over the soft fabric, running over the damp patch that is only getting bigger.

You gasp when you slide your hand between the fabric, fingers slipping between your slick folds, easily finding the sensitive bundle of nerves that's been begging to be touched since you walked out of the bathroom to find Noah sprawled out shirtless on the bed. Oh how you wanted to just climb on top of him, to sink down on his cock like you owned him.

A quiet whimper escapes your lips when you circle your clit, slowly teasing yourself to the images of Noah’s cock buried deep inside your cunt. You feel him shift next to you to get a better look at your movements, how your fingers move under the dark lace of your panties. You hear him take a shaky breath and it sends shockwaves to your sensitive core.

“Does that feel good?” His voice is deep, coarse in your ear and you whine out a confirmation, moving your fingers faster over your clit. “God, you don’t know how good you sound. Do you like it when I talk to you?”

”Y-yes.” You sigh and he chuckles.

”Such a good girl.” He whispers, breath tickling your ear. “Do you want me to tell you what to do, huh? Do you want to be good for me and remove your underwear so I can see how you touch that pretty little pussy? God, I bet it’s so perfect.”

You whimper, using your spare hand to push the lace down your thighs, kicking them off as you toy with yourself. Noah leans forward, a hand landing on your thigh to pull your legs further apart and a feral groan leaves his throat when you spread yourself open for him to see just how wet you are, fingers covered in wet slick.

”Oh fuck, you look so good sweetheart. Show me how you bury those pretty fingers in there.”

You push two fingers into your core, the wet sound reaching your ears. You don’t think you’ve ever been this turned on in your life. You hear Noah’s breathing quicken as he watches you fuck yourself with your fingers, soft moans leaving your bitten lips.

”Doing so fucking well for me.” The praise feels like heaven when it meets your ears and you speed up, curling your fingers upwards. “Fuck, what I would do to bury my own fingers inside you.”

”Please.” You whine, opening your eyes to look at him, your breath coming out in pants when his lust blown eyes meet yours.

“Please what?” He smirks, tucking a piece of stray hair behind your ear as you find your clit again, rubbing your soaked fingers over the sensitive bud.

“I need your fingers inside me, please.” You’re so fucking needy and you can tell how much he gets off on it by how his smirk grows into a cruel grin and he holds his fingers against your plump lips.

”Are you gonna suck them for me? Get them nice and wet like the good little slut you are?” Your eyes roll back at his words and he gasps when your tongue swirls around the calloused pads of his fingers, soaking them with your saliva.

He pushes two long fingers into your warm mouth and you hollow your cheeks around them, staring up at him with innocent eyes that make his aching cock strain against his shorts. He pulls his fingers out with a pop and trails them down the valley of your clothed chest, down your navel to where your own fingers are still toying with your clit. Your eyes follow and your hand moves, giving him full access to where you need him most.

”You gonna watch me fuck you with my fingers huh?” He smiles sweetly, sliding his fingers up and down your drenched folds teasingly.

You nod, leaning up on your elbows to watch his slender fingers disappear between your folds, rubbing tight circles around your clit and you gasp his name, your mouth falling open at the immense pleasure. He chuckles, sliding them to your entrance to gather the wetness that pools there, moving back to your clit to play with it all too slowly.

”Please Noah.” You whine and he tuts.

”Be patient, I’ll get there. I want a better look.”

He moves to lie between your legs, pushing your legs further apart to get a good look at your glistening cunt. You can feel his breath hot against you and you could just cum right there without him even touching you, especially with how he looks up at you through those long lashes, eyes black and predatory like he wants to eat you whole.

“You’ve got such a perfect pussy, fuck.” He groans, pushes his long middle finger in, the dark ink disappearing inch by inch inside your cunt and you moan louder than expected, your hand flying to your mouth to keep yourself quiet. “Fuck, it feels so good, so soft.”

A second finger joins the first and he slowly curls them, finding that spot that leaves you seeing stars, your eyes rolling back, your head lolling back on your shoulders. His spare hand grips your inner thigh with a bruising hold and you're sure there will be bruises there tomorrow but you don’t mind, it feels like heaven.

”My mouth is so close to your pussy I can practically taste you.” He growls and your hips buck, pushing his fingers even deeper inside you. He chuckles darkly. “Do you want me to taste you?”

You sob, nodding enthusiastically.

”Use your words, pretty girl.” He hums, kissing your pelvic bone.

”Please taste me.”

He hums, his hot tongue dragging over your folds before his lips close around your clit, leaving you gobsmacked from how fucking good his tongue feels against you with his fingers fucking into you.

You’re close, you can feel that tightness building in your lower abdomen, so fucking close. His fingers curl faster, his tongue lapping over your clit like you’re the last water source on Earth and you’re falling. Your legs shake, a feral groan leaving your lips as your orgasm rips through your body like a fucking tornado. His fingers only move faster as his lips leave your sensitive clit and you're tipping over the edge again just as quickly, gushing around his fingers and the bed sheets below.

”Fuck, good girl!” He grins, lapping your sweet nectar from your thighs. “Think you’ve got another?”

You have no time to protest, he rises to slide between your thighs, fingers still buried deep inside your cunt as he stares down at you, curling them fast exactly where he knows he can drag another orgasm from you. His free hand covers your mouth when you cum again, screaming into his palm, soaking the front of his shorts where his leaking cock strains against them.

”Good fucking girl, well done!” He kisses your forehead, pulling his drenched hand away from your sensitive core to suck his fingers clean.

You stare at him in bewilderment when he smiles down at you. You’re in shock at how much you just came for a man you thought hated you half an hour ago.

”I think I need to catch you reading more.” He chuckles.

”Shut the fuck up.” You roll your eyes, pulling him into a searing kiss.

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

“So you two didn’t kill each other last night?” Matt smirks when you make your way downstairs in the morning, wearing one of Noah’s shirts with him freshly showered following behind you.

Folio storms past, looking a little worse for wear. “I would’ve preferred it if they did, I need to bleach my ears.” He groans, pouring himself a mug of coffee.

You blush bright red, throwing a grape at the drummer and Noah wraps his arms around your torso, pulling you into his lap.

”Guess my plan worked then.” Matt chuckles, popping a grape in his mouth with a grin.

[stranger-fanfiction-n-things]

CHAPTER 1: THE VANISHING OF WILL BYERS

This is an Original Character fanfiction. All Stranger Things characters and content are owned by Netflix and The Duffer Brothers.

a/n: Meet the Sinclair Family!

Word Count: 1603

Masterlist

PROLOGUE || PART I || PART II

Monday November 7, 1983 - SINCLAIR RESIDENCE

The shrill of my alarm clock wakes me out of my sleep. Reluctantly, I reach over my bed pressing the top of the clock to stop the alarm. I roll onto my back staring up at the ceiling. Last night I dreamed I was on Fame dancing before Debbie Allen. Her character, Lydia Grant told me I should audition for Juilliard. 

You've got big dreams? You want fame? Well, fame costs. And right here is where you start paying ... in sweat.

I count down from five in my head, mentally preparing myself for the day ahead. Flipping the warm covers off, I shiver at the chill running through my body. Although the days have been relatively warm the past couple of days, it was winter in Hawkins. After making up my bed, I go straight to my closet rummaging through my clothes to find an outfit and settle on a pair of black denim jeans, a light pink button up shirt, a thick white cardigan and black penny loafers. I neatly place my clothes on my bed and shoes on the carpet before tiptoeing towards the door. I wince at the loud creak as I open my door, peeking my head through the small gap. My eyes dart towards the bathroom. It was empty. 

It was a battle every morning for the bathroom Lucas, Erica and I all shared. No one was allowed in Mom and Dad's en suite bathroom. I grab my towel on the hanger behind my door and scurry to the bathroom before I got caught in the crossfire between Lucas and Erica. 

Closing the door behind me and hanging my towel on the rack beside the shower. I quickly turn the shower on to let Lucas and Erica know I was in the bathroom then lean over the basin inspecting my appearance in the large mirror. I sigh in disappointment. Yet another morning without a liberal amount of breasts. Mom says they’ll grow when I least expect it and she didn’t have breasts until eleventh grade. I saw her old high school year book. It was a bold lie. I am severely lacking. I know I’m small for my age and its annoying when strangers ask if Lucas and I were twins. I roll my eyes. I am four years older than Lucas. If I had bigger breasts, no one would question my age. 

I snort combing my fingers through my hair. What I lacked in breasts and height, I made up for in hair. I have a lot of hair. More than I knew what to do with. I got it from Dads side of the family. Thick, curly and long. My jet-black hair is the longest it’s ever been, falling down to my waist. I also inherited Dads body hair. I had a unibrow until seventh grade and begged Mom to pluck my eyebrows the night before picture day and haven’t looked back since. My arms are hairy and Erica never failed to point it out. Erica noticed everything. From my sideburns to the faint hairs above my lips that I now wax off. Coming to terms with what I lack and made up for, I quickly pull off my clothes, chucking them into my slot of the hamper. 

The smell of pancakes and bacon fill my nose when I open the bathroom door. I can hear my parents shuffling about downstairs, bacon sizzling on the pan. Steam in the bathroom evaporates mixing hot and cool air. My skin prickles with goosebumps as I tuck my towel close to my body padding to my room. I am halfway down the hall when a body bumps into me hard. I shriek catching my towel before it fell and whip my head behind me. 

“Sorry!” Lucas calls out slamming the bathroom door. Erica runs out of her room bumping into me. Not enough for my towel to slip out my hand, but enough to make me stumble back. Was I a ghost? 

“I told you I was after Diana, nerd!” 

Lucas cackles. “What? I can’t hear you!”   

Erica snarls and stomps to the door. “Get. Out. Now.” She shouts, hitting the door with each word. 

I roll my eyes and continue to walk to my room, closing the door behind me before Mom came. The real battle will start and I don’t want to be anywhere near it. 

Before the summer holiday, Nancy, Barbara and I made a pact to elevate our looks going into sophomore year. I convinced Mom to let me get bangs like Jennifer Beals in Flashdance and Nancy, Barbara and I went shopping every other weekend. Barbara was the only one out of us three to get her license because she turned sixteen and her parents bought her a cute car for her to drive around town in. I tied half my hair up in a high ponytail with a pink scrunchie, combing my fingers through my curls. Taking a step back, I admired my outfit of the day in the mirror, smiling at my new clothes. 

I look at my eyebrows in my vanity mirror, checking to see if Mom missed any hairs. She plucked my eyebrows last night after my shower. Turning my head side to side, I inspect my face for any blemishes. My skin is flawless and smooth. Lucas, Erica and I all have perfect skin. Grandma Giselle says it’s because she made my mom bathe us in buttermilk when we were babies. I don’t know how true that is, but I am thankful for it. 

I touch my cheeks, wishing I could wear a little blush to look more mature. I’m not allowed to wear makeup to school. Dad is strict about that. Mom is usually my shortcut through to him, but even she agrees with Dad. No makeup to school until I turn sixteen. I’m already short and small with no breasts and to top it all off, I have a baby face. I never lost my chubby cheeks and when I smile, my eyes disappear. I need makeup or at least mascara. I’m not even allowed to wear lipstick unless it’s for performances. I sigh, blowing my bangs up in the air. 

By the time I go downstairs the table is set with pancakes and bacon on each plate. A pitcher of orange juice and a carton of milk are on the table as well. Mom is finishing up with our lunches and Dad is over the stove scrambling eggs, humming a tune. 

“Morning!” I greet, putting my book bag and shoes by the stairs. 

“Morning sweetheart.” 

“Good Morning.” 

Mom and Dad say at the same time. I sit down in my usual spot when I hear Lucas and Erica bustling down the stairs. 

“You two better stop all that noise this morning.” Mom scolds. 

“Erica won’t leave me alone.” Lucas responds, pulling out the chair across from me. 

“That’s because you’re a freak.” Mom shoots Erica a look. 

“Well, he is,” she mutters under her breath, sitting in the chair in between Lucas and I. 

Dad turns around, hot skillet in hand and goes around the table spooning eggs on everyone’s plate except for mine. I hate eggs. I cringe at the smell picking up my fork. Lucas snatches the maple syrup from the centre of the table pouring a small amount on his pancakes. He then passes the bottle to me which I accept with a smile. Erica loves to drown her pancakes in syrup leaving us with almost nothing to use. Mom and Dad finally sit in their chairs, Dad beside me and Mom beside Lucas. Dad opens the newspaper and begins to read as he does every morning. 

“Just a reminder, Barbara and I will be studying for chemistry at Nancy’s after school today.” I say to Mom and Dad, slicing through a fluffy pancake. 

“Will you be home for dinner?” Mom asks, adding sugar to her coffee. 

 “I’m not sure yet, but I should be.” 

“When you get back, how about we drive around the block a couple of times.” Dad said, glancing over his newspaper. 

I wrinkle my nose in discomfort. In the summer I got my learner’s permit and Dad has been forcing me to drive ever since. Going to the grocery store? I have to drive. Accompanying an errand run? I have to drive. Going to school? I have to drive. Lately, Mom will let me stop once we were at the end of Dearborn and Maple and swap places with me driving all the way to school. Whether it was because she feared for her life and my siblings life or she was saving me from doing something I clearly didn’t want to do, was up for debate. It all came down to one thing: I was a terrible driver. 

“Diana can’t drive, dad.” Lucas says with a grin. Erica snickers into her cup of milk. 

Mom shoots Lucas a look and he bites into his pancake avoiding her glare. My cheeks warm. I glance at Mom silently begging her to help me. 

“She needs to study, Charles.” Mom says. “Kaminsky’s tests are known for being really hard, isn’t that right Diana?” 

“Yes. Yes, they are.” I nod. “I need to study as much as possible.” 

Dad looks at Mom and then at me. I wait with baited breath for his answer. 

“Tomorrow then.” 

I try not to look too relieved and bite into a piece of bacon. From the corner of my eye, Erica is shaking, trying not to laugh. 

NEXT -> PART II

[niki-phoria]

pairing: jake x gn!reader (no pronouns used; masc reader) genre: fluff word count: 668

summary: a beach day with jake and layla

includes: layla cameo (jake's dog), lots of fluff, loosely inspired by the pool day en-o'clock, reader is shirtless, mention of reader becoming more tan but no explicit skin tone, written with male reader in mind

a/n: my deepest apologies for disappearing again. i've been really struggling with my mental health lately and writing hasn't really been a top priority for me. thank you for reading and i appreciate all of your patience <33

layla rolls onto her side, burying herself into the sand. she huffs, finally catching her breath after a long day of chasing after birds and playing catch in the ocean. you smile to yourself at the sight, leaning in to rest your head against jake’s shoulder. 

his eyes momentarily drift away from the deep blue ocean ahead to your arm where the skin has slowly begun to tan to a deeper shade. “do you want me to apply more sunscreen?” he asks; his gaze drifting to your bare chest. 

you glance down at your arm for a second before nodding. “sure.”

jake reaches out to grab the bottle, squeezing a small amount out before beginning to rub it against your exposed skin. his touch is gentle though it never fails to send shivers down your spine. his touches slowly grow more confident as his hands transition from your back to your chest. 

“was this just an excuse to feel me up?” you tease.

“maybe,” jake smirks. you playfully roll your eyes as he finishes before shoving the bottle back into your bag. 

a soft sigh of content leaves his lips when you reposition yourself to lean against his chest once again. you wrap your arms around his waist as you snuggle yourself against him, relaxing together as the sun continues to lower. “this is nice,” you murmur. “really nice. i could get used to this.”

jake hums, leaning down to press a kiss against your forehead. a serene quiet falls between you - only broken by the occasional squawk from nearby sea birds or the sound of the ocean. 

you only continue to grow sleepier as tranquility sets in. your eyes are beginning to flutter closed before jake breaks the silence. “i was thinking,” he begins. “before we go, we should go for a walk on the beach.”

“that’s a little cliché, don’t you think?” you tease. 

“shut up,” he chuckles. “you love cliché.”

you smile, pushing yourself to stand up before holding a hand out to help jake up. “unfortunately, i do.”

layla is quick to notice your change in demeanor, quickly following you to her feet. her tail wags in excitement as you sling the bag over your shoulder. jake’s hand slips into your own - your fingers intertwining together as you begin walking along the shore.

grains of sand dig into your skin in between your toes. the slowly setting sun casts a golden glow along the horizon - just enough light to illuminate the path ahead. 

you leave a trail of footsteps in your wake, a soft smile tugging at the corners of your lips as layla bounds past you. she kicks up sand behind herself as she barrels towards a group of nearby birds with a seemingly endless amount of energy. they squawk as they fly off in an attempt to evade her.

“layla!” jake laughs as he yells after her. she replies with a singular bark, only momentarily turning around to glance at him before resuming her one-sided race. 

you shake your head, chucking to yourself as you watch her run. jake smiles brightly at you. “we’re gonna have to clean her before she can get back into the car, you know,” you murmur. layla barks once again as if to mock you as she continues her crusades against the birds.

“or we could just take her home and worry about it tomorrow.” jake leans in, letting his lips brush against your skin before pressing a chaste kiss against your neck. his arm wraps around your waist almost instinctively. you shiver at the ticklish feeling before playfully swatting at his shoulder.

“fine,” you say, pressing a kiss of your own against jake’s cheek. “but you’re cleaning her. and the car.”

once the words leave your lips you slip out of his hold, chuckling as you begin running after layla. “hey!” jake calls. 

you glance over your shoulder at him momentarily before picking up the pace, kicking up sand behind you. “catch us if you can!”

[quietblueriver]

Somehow turned a drabble about Iffodola's charm into more than 6k words of Southern Gothic fluff.

In which Imogen can't sleep and finds herself thinking about the Raito charm and her own convictions. Well, one conviction, related to the woman who's humming and sewing in the bedroll next to her.

Read on AO3 or below.

-

Imogen should be sleeping, but her mind won’t let her. Not all that unusual—she’s always been prone to overthinking, ruminating and holding tight to problems she knows she can’t solve. Add in the red storm and everything she knows now about her mother and, well. It’s no surprise she sometimes has trouble falling asleep, even when the Hells run themselves ragged. 

Laudna’s still awake next to her, shifting to reach for something from her pack before settling back against the low limb behind them, ankle resting on top of Imogen’s. 

Unlike Imogen, she’s awake by intention. She likes to take time to wind down when the rest of the group is quiet, did the same when it was just the two of them.

It was one on a long list of things that Imogen wondered about early into their time together, because she was always awake when Imogen fell asleep and up before her: Might not need sleep? Eats things other than food? Ears covered? Delilah?

Imogen wanted to ask, but in those first days, she was terrified of sounding like one of the awful people Laudna had to deal with so often, wanted so badly to be the safe place that Laudna was for her. 

Eventually, though, they became comfortable, eased into each other in big and little ways. Laudna told her, bedroll close enough for whispers to carry, about her ears, silent tears rolling down Imogen’s cheeks. She’d moved closer, opening her blanket in offer, and even in the dark, Imogen could see the shock on Laudna’s face, the sharp lines of her cheekbones and jaw shifting, already wide eyes growing inhumanly wider. She pulled the blanket higher, whispered, “Only if you want. I just thought…” 

A cold body pressed to hers and she sighed, settled in, fell asleep to Laudna’s humming and the accompanying music of her mind. 

She learned that Laudna’s body processed food and keratin and other things differently, that she herself wasn’t entirely clear on how any of it worked but often let her instincts guide her. 

She’d added, absently, as she sat gingerly in a half-broken chair and prestidigitated some dust from the table in the little hut where they had decided to make camp, “And of course spending so much time alone made it easy to do things that I wouldn’t have with company. Pate never minded when I ate a fingernail so it became habit. And now…” 

Imogen could almost see her mood turn, the frown and the duck of her head that hid her face behind a dark curtain, shocking white breaking so that her profile was just visible. 

“I’m sorry, Imogen. I know I’m already off-putting, even without…”

Her head shook, a tiny motion, and the thoughts of self-loathing and shame and embarrassment came on as a wall, the force of them so strong in Imogen’s mind that she was moving on instinct, on her knees in front of Laudna, hand brushing away black strands to meet her eyes, ichor pooling more than usual and beginning to drip slowly down her cheeks. 

“I know what you are, Laud. You’re kind, even when you have every reason not to be. You’re funny. You’re real good at mending and making and taking things no one wants and turning them into something beautiful.” 

Imogen pulled her hand back to remove her glove, watched Laudna’s eyes get wider, ichor spilling, as she took in the scars. She’d seen them before, of course, but never for long and never like this. 

Imogen offered her hands and Laudna took them, cold fingers feather-light against her skin until she nodded at Laudna, answered the unasked question. She explored in earnest then, taking one of Imogen’s hands between her own and tracing scars. 

“Y’know, I’ve always been ashamed of them.”

Laudna’s neck snapped up with too much speed, the crack of bone familiar enough now that Imogen barely reacted, just pressed out a sound of concern between her teeth and let her unoccupied hand land briefly on the space below Laudna’s ear. 

“Imogen, they’re beautiful. You're beautiful.” 

And that thought hit her just as hard as the shame had earlier—earnest and fervent and tinged with an affection Imogen couldn’t quite believe. 

“They made a lot of people at home scared. They make other people stare.”

Laudna’s face softened as she realized what Imogen was doing, thoughts drifting back into a familiar music, though the affection remained. 

“I like you , Laud. As you are, okay?” She thumbed away a bit of ichor, wiped it on the back of her wrist just between where Laudna’s fingers wrapped around her hand, black on purple. “You’re the best friend I’ve ever had. You’re my favorite person.” 

The words were true, even if they were scary. They hadn’t been together that long, in the scheme of things, but Imogen could’ve said those words, and meant them, after maybe two weeks. Granted, she wasn’t the best at making or keeping friends, but Laudna was the first person in a long, long time she wanted to spend more time around, and she counted herself lucky, for once, that Laudna seemed to want to be around her. 

“Imogen.” Her cheeks were dark, and Imogen felt a dangerous sort of pride at having done that. “You’re mine, too.” 

Finally, one morning when she woke before the sunrise to find Laudna already bustling, she rasped, concern and affection mingling, “Laud, do you ever sleep? Do you need to?” 

Laudna startled and offered, amused, “Well, good morning, dearest.” 

“Good morning.”

Her voice was a little clearer now, but her tongue was still heavy, words slow. Laudna came back to the bed, a surprise in their hut-of-the-week that they had prestidigitated to within an inch of its life, and sat next to Imogen, brushing a strand of hair from her face.

“Is that a serious question?” 

She didn’t lie to Laudna, and she was in it now, so, “Yes.” 

“I see.” Her lips turned up at the corners, one canine sneaking out to press into the fragile skin, careful enough to avoid breaking it. That wasn’t always the case, but even when it turned Laudna’s lips black with ichor, this was a smile Imogen loved particularly because she was almost sure it meant Laudna thought she was doing something endearing. “And how long have you been wondering this, exactly?”

Fondness in her words and her thoughts, growing as Imogen admitted sheepishly, “You remember when we stayed in that farmhouse with the daffodils out front?”

Laudna’s eyebrows rose. “That was our second week together.”

“Yeah. I, uh, I noticed you were always up when I fell asleep and when I woke up and I wondered…well…” A shrug. 

“So, months.”

“I guess. Yeah.”

Laudna laughed then, loud and unselfconscious. “Darling. Why did you wait so long? And why do you…I know you’ve seen me sleep. I was asleep last week in the back of that wagon.”

Imogen’s chest warmed at the term of endearment, something relatively new that she couldn’t let herself spend too much time thinking about, and her brow furrowed as she thought about their time in the wagon. Laudna had been quiet sure, but her eyes had been wide open, staring into the fields and forest.

“Your eyes were wide open.”

Laudna’s lips pursed. “Were they? That’s odd.” She closed her eyes, as if testing that she could, and then opened them again and shrugged. “You know my body. It does as it pleases sometimes.” Her hand squeezed at Imogen’s knee where it lay under the covers. “I’m sorry. I’m sure it’s quite disturbing. You’re free to close them, of course, or maybe I could wear a blindfold at night…but then if we’re outside I don’t want…” 

She drifted off into conversation with herself, gaze lost in the middle distance, and Imogen wasn’t sure how they’d gotten here, to Laudna apologizing for something entirely out of her control and pondering increasingly bizarre ways (she was certain she’d heard “clothespin”) to solve a problem Imogen didn’t actually think was a problem unless it hurt Laudna somehow. 

She needed to take the reins back in this conversation, so she covered Laudna’s hand with her own and squeezed, which brought Laudna back to her. 

“Laud, you’re not puttin’ a clothespin on your eyelids. It doesn’t bother me unless it hurts you. Like if your eyes get dry or whatever. I don’t know, point is, don’t worry about it. I was just curious because it seems like you’re always up later and earlier than I am and I…” Her cheeks heated as she admitted what now sounded a little ridiculous. “I thought maybe you didn’t need to sleep.”

Laudna’s head tilted as her lips pulled up again, a small drip of black starting where the point of her tooth hadn’t been so effectively managed this time. 

Imogen wanted to wipe it away herself but knew it would make Laudna self-conscious, so she didn’t, folded her hands in her lap to keep them busy. 

She was determined to work her way into that kind of closeness, to make Laudna feel as comfortable as she could. She had already made great progress and they hadn’t even been together half a year yet, even if it felt sometimes like they’d been together for much longer than that. 

It made sense—they spent all their time together and were both a little desperate for the other after so many years without a real friend. But it was more than proximity and some rare kindness. That crooked head and crooked smile made Imogen feel like she was home, and she wanted Laudna to feel the same. She was willing to work for it. 

As she kept her hands to herself, Laudna licked away at the ichor, a habit so ingrained she didn’t even think to be self-conscious, and then she took a deep breath (“is it habit or does she need to breathe? how often?” also featured on her list of eventual questions) and began to talk. 

“I don’t know how much sleep I need, but I do need it, yes. When I was alone, it wasn’t always safe, you know, to leave myself vulnerable that way. Now that I know my eyelids don’t always stay closed…that would’ve been handy, I think.” 

She smoothed the cover over Imogen’s knee and let her eyes settle there as she said, “In any case, it wasn’t smart to sleep for long periods, then. I experimented and found that I could do with very little if I was willing to suffer some unpleasant but manageable consequences. In the balance of things, a few headaches and a few more joints out of place were small prices to pay for my life.”

A familiar fury crackled through Imogen, power sparking in her hands and building behind her eyes. She tried to keep it to herself, because this was about Laudna and she wanted to keep it about Laudna, but of course she’d already noticed, black eyes tracking and reflecting the flashes of light moving from her wrists to her fingertips. 

She was smiling, though, really smiling, as she looked up to meet Imogen’s eyes. 

“It’s different now.” She squeezed at Imogen’s knee again, emotions so loud Laudna must have been sending them on purpose. Gratitude and affection and admiration, and that heat was back in Imogen’s cheeks. Laudna’s expression was delighted as she moved her hand to Imogen’s face, cooling her blush. “I’m not alone anymore and,” her gaze turned pointedly to Imogen’s hands, “you’re quite capable.”

Imogen brought her thumb and pointer finger together and pulled a little bolt between them, fiddled with it for a moment before closing her fist. 

“You know I’ll do everythin’ I can to protect you, right? I want you to be safe. I want you to feel safe.”

“I do.”

“If there’s anythin’ I can be doin’ to make it easier for you to sleep, I want to. Seriously, Laudna. Lemme help if I can.”

“You do. More than you know. I sleep more now than I have in a long time. It’s just that…well. Part of it is habit, the staying up, and part of it is…I was always odd, even before.” A hand moved to her neck, fingers tracing what Imogen knew now to be a phantom noose. “I often played alone as a child, and I enjoyed my own company, even if I sometimes wished for others to play with me. 

“But after I came back, I learned very quickly that being alone was dangerous, a reminder that nobody…I had to be careful everywhere—in the markets and on the road, near fishing spots and around any group, no matter how small. Because one might run from me, but there was always a chance that three wouldn’t. And so my solitude wasn’t a choice or a brief interlude. It was my whole life.”

“Laudna.” It was the kind of honesty that Laudna usually saved for the darkness, and it made Imogen ache for her, stomach tight as she thought of the first time she’d seen a cleric come at Laudna, the look of resignation on her face as he began to chant at her.

Imogen wanted to touch, to soothe, and she let herself this time, running a hand down Laudna’s arm, stopping to wrap fingers around her wrist before tangling their fingers together and pulling them into her own lap. The look Laudna gave her was full of affection, and Imogen squeezed her fingers as gently as she could, just enough pressure that Laudna could feel it. 

“That’s how Pate was born, as you know.” Her free hand hovered at her belt and Imogen worried for a moment that she was going to bring him out, but she dropped it to her lap instead, gathering and smoothing a stretch of fabric in her skirt. “And I suppose, I wasn’t totally alone when…” Her hand moved to her temple, two fingers tapping. And this Imogen didn’t quite understand still, but based on what she did know, she hated the woman in Laudna’s head something fierce. 

“Anyway, I set up homes and sewed and saw beautiful things in the forests and on the road. But it was sometimes difficult not to think about how alone I was. And why. What exactly I had become, on waking up in Whitestone after…”

The currents of shame and disgust rose to the surface and drifted into Imogen’s mind, and she squeezed at Laudna’s hand again. She hesitated a moment before saying, careful, “You don’t have to talk to me about it, y’know. I wanna hear everything you wanna tell me, but I never wanna make you feel like you have to.”

She took a moment to consider, something Imogen appreciated as she was almost certain Laudna often made choices based on what she thought Imogen might want. With a tilt of her head, she continued, “Thank you. It feels good to tell you about it. As long as you don’t mind, that is. I know it’s…”

“I want to hear.” I want to hear.

The mental echo was instinct and emphasis, and it was becoming such an easy thing, to talk to Laudna over their mental connection. For the first time in her life, Imogen wasn’t scared or ashamed to use her powers that way. 

“Sorry for interruptin’, I just…I really like knowin’ about you. You’re not too much for me. Okay?”

Imogen heard it, though she wasn’t trying to, Laudna’s reassurance to herself. I am not too much for her. She hasn’t left yet. She’s telling the truth. She wants to know. 

She knew that if she pressed deeper, she’d find the thoughts Laudna was pushing back against, Laudna’s  own and whatever that spiteful woman who shared her head fed to her. 

I am tellin’ the truth. I promise, Laud.

A pause. 

Sorry. I heard on accident and I just…

Laudna interrupted this time. Don’t apologize. It’s helpful, to have someone reassuring me here, too. 

She heard then a chorus of needy, disgusting, too much, she’ll leave but felt Laudna press it down. It’s not always the kindest place, my mind. 

I think it might be, for everyone but you. You deserve what you give to everyone else, you know. 

Black eyes blinked at her, almost an evaluation, and Imogen held steady. I mean it. All of it. I don’t lie to you. 

She answered aloud, a move back to their earlier conversation that Imogen followed, and her voice was warm, her face opening as she smiled again. 

“We’ve reached the best part of the story anyway. The part where I meet you.

“And I wasn’t alone any longer. It took me some time, nothing to do with you, of course, dearest, you’re very wonderful and trustworthy but you see…”

“I get it, Laud. Promise.” 

“Of course you do.” 

There was pride in her tone. Imogen wasn’t quite sure what to do with Laudna’s ability to turn nearly anything into an opportunity to give Imogen a compliment. It was such a foreign experience to her, to be praised at all, much less with such frequency, that she was sometimes shocked into silence. She shook her head just a little but thankfully Laudna moved on quickly. 

“Once I realized that I wasn’t…that you weren’t…that I was safe, I found it suddenly easier to sleep. Still not as often as I once did, but more than I had been. And the times when I couldn’t sleep, after you’d drifted off, and when I’d wake up in the morning, I realized I didn’t mind being with myself in those moments. 

“I even enjoyed it, quiet time to focus on my crafts or…again, darling, nothing to do with you, you’re excellent company…”

Laud. 

Right. 

“Right. Yes. Well. Now I find that I even look forward to taking those moments with myself. It’s something I’m…taking back, I suppose. The peace of solitude. 

“And it’s nice to remember that I’m still who I used to be, mostly, where it counts. I’ve grown in some quite positive ways, actually. I’ve been changed by what happened to me, of course,” she waved her free hand in the air and then up and down, gesturing at herself, her nails growing longer, “but it’s not all that I am. And not all of those changes are bad.

“I suppose that’s a very long way of saying yes, I do sleep, but I like being alone in the dark sometimes as well.”

She dropped her hand and raised her shoulders, a sort of what can you do that Imogen found painfully endearing. 

“Can I give you a hug?”

It was the first thing she thought so it was first thing she said, because her filter didn’t always function correctly around Laudna, but she couldn’t regret it, especially in the face of the pleased surprise in Laudna’s eyes as she nodded, separating their hands and leaning forward and into Imogen. She was cold and small, the press of her shoulder blades against Imogen’s forearms disconcertingly sharp. 

She pulled back and said, hands coming to rest on Laudna’s biceps, or what remained of them, “You’re very brave, you know? Stronger than anyone I’ve ever met. And kinder, too. I’m real lucky to know you.”

“I don’t know about that, dearest.” 

“Well. I do. And if I recall correctly, you were just tellin’ me about how capable I am, so I think you should trust me on this.” 

“That’s very clever and very unfair.” 

“Capable, I think you mean.” 

“Oh, hush. Look, I found some blackberry bushes not far into the forest. There are brambles but I thought you might be able to get around them with a little telekinesis.”

She sometimes closed Laudna’s eyes after that, if she was sure she was asleep and the weather was too much one way or another or their fire was burning particularly hot. They often popped right back open again, but it was always worth trying. 

Anything was worth trying to protect Laudna. 

Over their two years together, she grew used to falling asleep to Laudna’s quiet rituals—stitching or crafting or making tea, cleaning Pate, reading—usually accompanied by humming and occasional quiet words to herself. 

In those days where she lay still and quiet, colder than normal and eyelids frustratingly cooperative, Imogen hardly slept. She pressed her warmth into the chill of Laudna’s body and tried to recreate her rituals, hoping it would comfort them both until she was able to bring her back. She hummed to herself, cleaned Pate, read some of Laudna’s favorites aloud, murmuring into the darkness.

And after they got her back, it seemed like Laudna had forgotten, too, how to comfort herself in those ways. So Imogen had done it for her in that short time before they were separated, making tea and cleaning Pate and pulling a book while Laudna lay quietly in bed. 

That night back in the Windowed Wall, after their reunion and the market, she came up from helping clean the kitchen to find Laudna bustling, pulling sewing materials from her bag and humming to herself. Not healed, but healing. Caring for herself. Imogen had nearly cried. She kissed her instead–somehow, impossibly, able to do that now–and Laudna had blushed and kissed her right back.

Now, Laudna’s working on a cross stitch of bright little mushrooms and forest creatures, a gift for Fearne that she uses to help herself wind down. The colors are always a bit of a surprise, because she uses her darkvision as often as not. The threads are drawn randomly from a small bag at night, sometimes gathered on a theme and other times an assortment of what she had leftover from other projects. For this, she’d chosen flashy purples and bright blues and greens, shocks of orange and yellow that she was planning to enchant to glow. Things right at home in the fey wild and in this realm, on particular kinds of dangerous creatures and plants. It’s perfect for Fearne and perfectly Laudna. 

The needle moves rhythmically back and forth through the fabric, the soft swish swish pleasant and familiar. Laudna’s elbow occasionally brushes Imogen’s arm and their legs are pressed tightly together now, Laudna's ankle having shifted, a little mismatched with the height difference and Laudna’s position. She always appreciates this kind of closeness, a reminder that she’s here.

She hums lowly under her breath, something she’d always done but that Imogen appreciates especially now that she wears the circlet. Tonight it’s upbeat, Laudna’s finger tapping her small hoop where the song calls for percussion. 

The tempo is disarmingly cheery but she knows the lyrics Laudna’s not singing; they’d learned it together in traveling with a group of artists who let them hitch a ride for a few days in the back of their wagon, largely unbothered by Laudna’s presence and kind and upfront enough not to activate Imogen’s headaches too terribly. At night they sat around a fire, Imogen and Laudna prestidigitating paint-splattered clothes as the small crew sang and taught them songs, fed them roasted vegetables and begged Laudna to bring out Pate. 

This was a favorite of theirs, the lament of a man whose spouse was lost at sea. Verses of mourning and missed chances, a list of all the things they’d left behind.

As Laudna taps twice agains the hoop, her mind turns to Iffodola and the Raito charm. Their convictions and their fate in that cave. 

She wonders if their family knows what happened or if they’re still waiting, trapped in the hope that Iffodola will come home. It will be good, to get the charm back to them if they can, to give them closure and something from the person they loved, something that shows how close Iffodola kept them to their heart. 

Hopefully it’s less complicated than her own locket, for those Iffodola left behind. At least it seems more honest. 

My love of my children. My guilt over my father. 

There were so many pieces of a life, etched into that stone. Beautiful and difficult things sharing space. It’s not something she’s used to, seeing the hard things admitted openly, given space next to the bright, expected emotions that strangers can understand. It makes it easier for Imogen to believe they meant all of it, seeing guilt and love and commitment and fear there together. A whole person, not a set of platitudes. 

And anyway, from what she’d seen, trying to ignore those more complicated feelings only wore away at the others. 

The better halves make a better whole.  

Maybe her mother and father had believed what they engraved on that locket, once. But her mama left, stayed gone and didn’t have any interest in coming back. Gave her life to something that seemed more and more like it wanted to suck the life from Imogen for its own power. To someone who was trying to make that happen. 

And Imogen certainly didn’t grow up thinking her daddy thought she was anything other than broken—not whole, not good, and definitely not better . She’d never felt like enough for him, and when her powers first started flaring and she would hear his deeper thoughts on accident, couldn’t control anything yet, what she heard about herself nearly broke her. 

She wonders what would have been different, if they’d talked about what was going on—her mama feeling trapped, her daddy feeling overwhelmed, Imogen being the reminder of all the ways they were failing. If they’d stopped pretending long enough to be honest with each other, things might’ve…

Well. People don’t often tell the truth, even, maybe especially, when it matters. She knows that more intimately than she wants to and has for a long time. The locket is the rule, the stone a beautiful exception. 

Her thoughts move to Laudna, as they often do. 

A beautiful exception. 

She’s suddenly overcome with the strength of one of her own convictions, has to be sure Laudna knows, so she brings herself up slightly, just enough to press the rest of their bodies together as they lean against the same sturdy branch. 

She casts dancing lights, close and dim with an eye to the others. When she’s sure they’re asleep, she turns back to find Laudna smiling at her even as she tilts her head in confusion, raising an eyebrow as Imogen catches the purple of the lights dancing back at her from black mirrors. 

Hello, darling. Am I keeping you up with the humming? The hoop? 

The smile turns to a frown, and she begins to tuck away her hoop before Imogen catches her wrist, running a thumb along the fragile bone. 

No, not at all. It’s nice. 

The frown remains, so Imogen carefully places the hoop in Laudna’s lap and brings the wrist to her mouth, pressing a kiss against the spot where her sluggish pulse raises her skin a few times a minute. 

Promise. I just wanted to…to talk real quick. I’m sorry to interrupt. 

Laudna leans closer at that, tucking a strand of Imogen’s hair behind her ear and squeezing her bicep before tangling their fingers between them. 

Don’t be sorry. There’s nothing I’d rather be doing than talking to you. A beat. Well… She stops short and there’s darkening of her cheeks in the low light. Imogen can’t help but raise her eyebrow and smirk. It’s still new, this part of them, and they haven’t had much opportunity to explore, really, what with everything happening, but they’ve been able to have some fun. She’s eager for more and she’s a little proud and a little smug that Laudna feels the same. 

Laudna rolls her eyes fondly. Yes, yes. I find you to be unbearably attractive. 

Imogen kisses her quickly, Laudna humming against her lips, and as she pulls back, she’s even more determined to have this conversation. She isn’t sure of much, anymore, but she’s sure of this. Of her. 

Two years of learning each other on the road and now their months with the Hells and all she wants is more time with her. 

She thinks of the ring, of the blood pendant, of the shell in her pack. Of the gaping chasm in her heart after Otohan brought that sword down, the fear and panic after the solstice. 

It comes out in a rush, less eloquent than she’d hoped, but Laudna won’t mind. She’s better at untangling Imogen’s thoughts than anyone. 

I was just thinking about, well about you, first. About travelin’ before we met the Hells. You remember how I thought maybe you didn’t sleep? Anyway, I was thinkin’ about how much I cared about you, right from the start, and how you always felt like home and how I want you to feel safe with me and home with me, too. 

And then the song, it made me think about Iffodola. About whether their family knew what had happened and the children and the promises and how nice it was, how powerful and…and rare it was that they wrote down more than just the easy things, how much it mattered that they were honest. How my parents weren’t but you always are and I want to be, too. With the world maybe but always with you. How I want you. 

She takes a breath, closes her eyes, is grateful that Laudna seems to know she isn’t quite done. When she opens them again, she reaches forward to trace her thumb over glass-sharp cheekbones and wades into the black pools of her eyes. 

Laud, you know you’d be on my stone, right? Front and center. She takes another deep breath, steady, and dips her head under the water, happily lost in the black. My love for Laudna. 

Imogen. Something lights up in her at the breathlessness of it. Can I kiss you? 

Always. Please.

It’s hungry, when Laudna leans into her, kisses her as fiercely as she can while they’re trying to keep quiet. A hand buries itself in her hair and tugs with enough force to make Imogen gasp into the mouth pressed to hers. It’s muffled but Imogen has no faith in her ability to stay quiet if Laudna does that again, if she keeps touching her and kissing her like this.

Sure enough, another tug, this time with the sharp points of Laudna’s shifted nails against her scalp, and a whimper breaks free as Laudna’s lips move to her neck, teeth just grazing skin before a cool tongue soothes. 

Baby. The others. 

Can you be quiet for me, darling? 

I’m not… Laudna reaches her collarbone, sucks and then sinks her teeth in enough to bruise, but when Imogen opens her mouth to cry out, she feels the cold, smooth skin of Laudna’s palm come to rest against her lips, pressing intently. Then, and Imogen genuinely might die, the hand folds in offering, two fingers resting gently against Imogen's bottom lip. 

What if I help?

Laudna looks up at her then, a brow raised in question, and Imogen nods and then takes them into her mouth and sucks, tastes bitter, perfect ichor and Laudna’s skin, fallen leaves and home.

Turns out, though, the fingers do not have the intended effect, because as soon as Laudna presses down, her lips busy at her pulse point, Imogen moans so loudly that she’s certain she’s alerted not just the Hells but every creature within a mile as to what they’re doing.

Laudna pulls away and looks at her with heat that makes Imogen’s stomach tight and then, rudely, with amusement. 

Well, then. She sounds not unlike Imogen’s grade school teacher, chiding them for getting too muddy or failing to complete their work. She chooses not to engage with why that feels the way it does. I guess that’s a no on being quiet. 

Imogen blushes furiously and, eyes squinting and intent on revenge, bites gently and licks at Laudna’s fingers as she takes them back. Laudna’s face moves from smug to pleading in a moment, and she whimpers. 

See? Not so easy, is it?

Laudna rolls her eyes but kisses her again—gentle and perfect. When she pulls back, they both take a look around the room, and miraculously, it looks like everyone is still sleeping, or in the case of Orym, might just be polite enough to be pretending. They can deal with it later, if they need to. 

Their eyes meet again, and Laudna presses her lips to Imogen’s forehead, to her cheeks, her chin. Her palm cups Imogen’s cheek as she puts some space between them. 

Imogen. 

She takes Laudna’s hand, kisses her finger over the ring she put there back before she understood exactly what the depth of her feelings for Laudna meant. 

Sorry I couldn’t keep quiet. 

Don’t be. I’m frankly quite proud. 

Imogen huffs a laugh, already-warm face getting hotter. You should be. 

Laudna looks for a moment like she might press Imogen back against the bedroll, and Imogen has already decided she won’t object when Laudna clears her throat and shakes her head lightly. I’m sorry, darling. You were saying such lovely things and I turned us in, well, another direction. 

She lets her eyes drift down Laudna’s body shamelessly. Hopin’ to go that direction again real soon. 

Imogen. 

Right. Yeah. Sorry, darlin.’ 

Laudna raises a brow at her, tiny smirk escaping to lessen the force of what Imogen is sure is meant to be a stern expression. She thinks yet again of Ms. Billing and fuck, guess that’s something she’ll be thinking more. But for now: You’re right. I’m not sorry. But I will stop.

They settle back against each other, tucking Laudna’s hoop back into her pack, not too disturbed by their shuffling. Laudna is tucked into Imogen’s body as she leans against the branch, and Imogen’s fingers run across Laudna’s shoulder, her other hand clasped in Laudna’s against her stomach. 

I know I was ramblin’, before. I just wanted to…I was thinking about the charm. Laudna nods against her chest. It’s been real hard to keep any convictions, these last few months. But this one’s easy. A deep breath. Laudna knows, of course, but Imogen’s stomach still flips, her heart still beats faster, to say it like this. I love you. 

Darling. She breaks away to press up and into another kiss, over too quickly. At Imogen’s pout, Laudna’s thumb comes to rest on her bottom lip, and Imogen, because she has no self-control,  kisses it, tastes ichor and fights a moan. Laudna pulls it back, replaces it with her lips once more. I love you, too. 

She scoots them both back down into the bed rolls, and they shift, turning so that Imogen holds Laudna tight against her, their hands together over her stomach, Imogen’s head pressed to the cool skin of her neck. Her lips graze the skin left uncovered by her sleep shirt, aimless and wandering for a moment before she settles, squeezing gently at the fingers between her own.  

Laudna’s voice echoes in her head as she closes her eyes. Sleep well, darling.  

She drifts off without any trouble this time. 

-

The Chetney figurine is beautifully crafted and absolutely horrifying, which feels right. The curve of his nose presses into the pad of her finger as she traces it absently, thinking about her own convictions, which she tries to scribble quickly on a piece of paper Laudna hands her from her journal. 

She starts with what’s easy. 

My love for Laudna. 

But she thinks of Iffodola and doesn’t stop there. She has so many complicated feelings–about trust and commitment and guilt and power. She writes some fraught and some inspiring words about herself and her friends and her family. Convictions and priorities. Goals and regrets. As many weights as buoys. But she’s confident. It’s real. It’s honest. 

She looks up to find black eyes already on her, one side of her mouth tilted up, pen poised above a familiar journal. She moves closer to bump her shoulder into Laudna’s. 

Nervous, darlin’? 

The expression expands into a real smile, full and beautiful and hauntingly wide, her teeth gone a little sharp the way they do sometimes when she expects trouble or is feeling particularly protective. Imogen wants to kiss her, so she does, presses her lips to Laudna’s shoulder. Surprise quickly melts into affection, and she smiles that smile she saves for Imogen. Her tooth pierces the skin of her lip and draws black fluid to the surface. 

Imogen tucks the lead into her pocket and then wipes it away. She does not suck her thumb clean, though she wants to. Instead, she presses it to the paper, examines the whorls of her fingerprint. Laudna tucks her hair, fallen around her face as she looks down, behind her ear. 

Never nervous with you, my love. You’re very capable.

Imogen lifts her head with a smile and folds the paper into her pocket, holds Laudna’s hand as she gets ready to jump. 

[capsensislagamoprh]

The ladder wobbled dubiously. It was a few feet too short for the task at hand, but Yuri was determined to make it work. He just didn't want to go get the longer ladder. It would mean the most dreadful thing. Admitting Victor was right. Okay, yes, he was right sometimes, but be damned if his pride would let Yuri admit it. Besides, he was almost done with hanging the flower arrangements around the pavilion.

Giving himself a full stretch, Yuri tried to hook the pot up, but even his elastic spine couldn't help him reach that peg. Looking left and right, Yuri contemplated his situation. Taking the forbidden step, he stood on the top rung of the ladder, extended his calves in a liquid stretch, and arched his feet until he was as close to en pointe one could get without the proper shoes. Slowly pulling his length as far as his abdomen would allow, through to his shoulders, across his neck and up his arms, he drew his whipcord muscles to attention, lifting the plant. Pulling it along his fingers, tracing the edges until they rested, he once again tried to hook the peg.

The ladder wobbled. He kept trying. He kept folding his feet, hoping beyond hope to en pointe without the proper footwear. He could not of course. What he did was wobble, feeling sweat prickle at the back of his neck and between his shoulder blades. If he could just spontaneously grow about seven, maybe eight centimeters he could get it, he could hook that peg. Leaning forward, he tried to wiggle the pot about, hoping the extended curl would catch, his breath slow and labored. He tried hard not to move too much, at the same time he could feel twitches and growing trembles as he stretched. Every movement seemed to go through the ladder, every quiver pumped his adrenaline, because he knew it would hurt if he dropped. And then the world tilted.

The sound of something plummeting, watching the floor come closer much too fast, almost feeling metal ricocheting with a rattling clang barely registered to him. Yuri didn't have time to think before the wind was being knocked out of him, his feet dangling an inch from the ground; he could see the hanging plant rolling away, dirt splaying everywhere. His head spun with a rush of blood and adrenaline. Feeling like the world was out of focus as his feet touched the ground, Yuri gripped onto his point of balance.

"You okay, Yuri?" Otabek asked, holding the blond steady, mere inches from the floor.

"I, uh, yeah. Thanks. I just..."

"Take a deep breath. Get your bearings."

"What happened!" Yuuri called, rushing towards the pavilion.

"Yurio, are you alright!" Victor asked with eery restraint.

"Yeah, yeah. I'm fine. Just trying to hang a plant, that's all."

Yuuri looked at the mess of roots upturned and stems broken, the fallen ladder, and the precarious flush to Yuri's face - as if all the blood had drained out, unsure if it should return just yet. "You sure?"

"Yeah, I'm sure."

Victor pulled a frown, his eyes steady as he pressed a finger to his lips. "Otabek."

"Yes?"

"When was the last time Yurio ate?"

"This morning."

"Hum. Perhaps a break."

"Yes, sir."

Victor raised a brow, a sparkle of pleasure at the formal address in his eyes. It felt good to be respected. Could he get Yuri to call him sir? No, that felt wrong. He wanted him to call him dad just to rile him up. "Good. Yurio, you will eat a snack and rest. We can't have our son in the hospital on the day of our wedding," Victor smiled, his hand slipping about Yuuri's waist. "Can we?" he cooed in his beloved's ear.

For a moment Yuuri's wide eyes said he wouldn't play along, but that mischievous smile tugged at his lips. Before Yuri could protest his name or Victor's aspersions, he nodded. "Oh, yes, this is correct. Family events should contain everyone."

It was a testament to just how shocked Yuri was, that the best protest he made was an unbalanced little kick that almost caused him to drop as his head spun. Gripping Otabek's arm, balling his fist into the shirt, he growled. "Not my name. Not my parents. I'm fine, I just fell. That’s all. We fall all the time. Just give me a minute."

Victor took in the scene. The stoic Kazakh carefully correcting Yuri's balance, Yuri slowly regaining his color as blood returned to his brain, the way Yuri didn't let go. Oh, he was going to get some of his own back after this was all over. Right now he had to focus on his Yuuri and their wedding. Ah, to have Yuuri all to himself, papers signed, ceremonies completed, lives formally tied! He filed things away for later, but just to be sure, he'd tell Chris. A comrade in jest was always welcome.

"Alright," Victor chirped. "I'll get okāsan to make her... Yuuri, how to say grandson?"

"Mago," Yuuri supplied.

"Mago! Like Yurio! Yes, very good! Okāsan will make mago a snack." Glancing at Yuuri to check if he said the Japanese word right, he beamed with pride when a little nod came his way. Yuuri bit his bottom lip. It felt good to hear Victor speak fondly of his soon-to-be mother-in-law.

Yuri was coming back to himself quickly. The absolute rise in blood pressure from Victor and Yuuir's teasing caused his face to turn red as his eyes began to focus into murderous slits. Now that Otabek wasn't holding him up, he was holding him back. Victor laughed merrily as he guided Yuuri towards the onsen.

Yuri made claw fingers, teeth grinding as he stared at the retreating couple. "I'm going to make headlines, Beka."

"Oh?"

"Yes. Skating prodigy turns justifiable assassin for the good of all humanity! Receives massive rewards and all their gold medals in compensation!"

Otabek's tiny smile formed as he watched Yuri fume. "You might want to take the snack. Hiroko makes very nice selections." Yuri turned his bright eyes to the Kazakh with a vicious glare, daring him to agree with Victor one more time. "It may be the last rest you get before supper," he added in that infuriatingly calm way of his. "I'll clean this up while you get a break." Yuri had the grace to look chagrined.

"Thanks," he muttered.

"Do you want me to hang the rest of the plants?"

"No, I can do it."

"You sure?"

"Yeah. I -" Yuri sighed. "I didn't fall because of..." Otabek waited for Yuri to stop biting his bottom lip in frustration. Finally he burst out, "I'mshortandIcan'treachthepegandItriedokay! I Tried!"

Otabek blinked. It took him a minute to understand what the blond had said. His lips twitched. "I understand. I will get the taller ladder."

Yuri huffed, looking through his bangs at his best friend. Wait. Was that humor? Was he laughing? He kicked him. "Don't laugh at me."

Otabek pressed his lips into a solid down turn, his eyes glittering.

"You're still laughing at me!"

"I am not laughing. I will get the ladder and clean up while you enjoy your break."

Yuri huffed as Otabek stepped back to pick up the plant, shoving dirt into its pot. "Fine. I'll get a snack, and you won't, which serves you right for laughing at me." Yuri glared daggers, even if he didn't mean it, at the back of his friend's dark head. "And I won't enjoy it!"

"Don't tell your okāsan that. She might feel hurt."

Yuri shoved him, greatly frustrated by the lack of fall-down-go-boom that followed. The flicker of a real smile on Otabek's lips made up for it.

part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5, part 6, part 7, part 8, part 9

[steppingstonesuniverseguide]

One More Step Out of the Pit: Chapter 1/26

Summary: It had been Tommy and Tubbo for practically forever. They clawed their way out of hell together. They discovered their superpowers together. They started working for the Superhero Guild together before even coming of age. Tommy probably owed Tubbo his life ten times over. So, when the three supervillains he'd been assigned to bring in managed to take Tubbo hostage, well, there was really only one thing to do.

He knew, of course, he was signing himself up for torture and death by offering that trade, but that was okay.

It'd have to be okay.

AO3 Link (See AO3 for Warnings.)

(This story is finished and has been posted on AO3 for a while, but I'm posting it on Tumblr so it's somewhere else too (considering the day AO3 was down a bit ago). The author notes will all be kept as well. If you are following the blog and don't want to see these posts, block the tag #backlog.)

Author's Note: Look... eneli wrote a fantastic and entertaining superhero AU for the Dream SMP and superhero AUs are kind of my thing so... this happened.

“I,” Whippoorwill said, nose dripping blood onto the cement floor. Tommy wondered if his shoe was bloody now or if it had taken a second for the blood to well up after the kick to the face he’d just delivered the man. There had been stunned silence for a few moments after Tommy had used Whippoorwill’s face as a springboard. Whippoorwill was apparently still so shocked by Tommy’s very pog move that he’d forgotten to try to use his powers on Tommy, “am going to skin you alive and feed you to my dog.”

“Quite the threat there, Bitch Boy,” Tommy taunted. “You’ll have to catch me first.”

Whippoorwill’s eyes narrowed behind his mask. “That can be arran-”

“You don’t have a dog,” another voice interrupted.

“Shut up,” Whippoorwill said as Tommy let out a cackle.

“You don’t,” The Blade said. Tommy glanced at the imposing figure of the man casually strolling up to stand beside his ally and immediately grew suspicious. There had been three of them only a couple of seconds ago, Tommy was sure. Where was Philza and why were they acting so… casual all of a sudden? Tommy looked up, scanning the room.

Whippoorwill seemed to notice. “Why don’t you come down from there,” he cooed in a sing-song tone. Tommy winced at the sharp edge to his voice, unsure for a moment what it was meant to do before the support beam he’d been standing on suddenly snapped. He jumped up as it started to plummet towards the ground tilting his body so he could plant his feet briefly on the wall and shove off of it like a swimmer shoving off the side of a pool. He went zooming past their heads before spreading out his arms to make his slow fall more precise. His feet touched down softly on top of a table.

“You probably should have made something fall on top of him instead of out from under him,” The Blade drawled.

“Maybe you should stop with the criticism and try to stab the bastard,” Whippoorwill snapped, but Tommy was filtering out their bickering at this point, having figured out what it was: a distraction. He’d caught just a flash of green when he’d been falling and turned his attention in that direction. He jumped and spring boarded off a nearby pillar to propel himself towards the wall, hand catching a pipe in the ceiling so he could swing and make it through a gap about a foot wide between the top of the wall and the ceiling.

“Shit!” Whippoorwill’s voice echoed dangerously after him, but he was too slow and Tommy went careening into Philza, taking them both to the ground, the man’s wings unable to stop it. Knowing he did not want to engage in close combat with Philza of all people, Tommy began to move the second they hit the ground, rolling off of him and jumping as high as he could to grab the thing Philza had been reaching for a moment before. He let himself fall fast, ducking and rolling as he hit the ground and landing crouched.

“Guessing this is what you guys were here for,” he said cheerfully. “Don’t know what it is, but I’m going to have to say no.”

Philza was already on his feet, wings flared impressively and Whippoorwill had screeched a hole through the wall Tommy had hopped over for him and The Blade.

“Well anyway,” Tommy said, backing up a step. “I think it’s time for me to go.”

“Mate,” Philza said in a reasonable tone which Tommy knew was actually a threat. “Exactly where are you expecting to go?”

“Let me guess,” Tommy said, wryly. “Hand it over and you won’t let Whippoorwill feed me to his imaginary pet dog.”

Philza made a face and Tommy shoved the little glowing orb in his pocket for safe keeping. He smirked just a bit, already having an escape route in mind. Philza in many ways had an advantage over Tommy. He was bigger, stronger, and had wings that could let him actually fly instead of just fall with style.

These things could also be disadvantages. Philza watched him, as he backed up to the wall, large, imposing, and backed by his allies. Tommy flipped open the just big enough for him to fit down it trash shoot and quickly hopped in feet first. He laughed at the sounds of surprise and anger as he zoomed away. Good luck following when none of them could fit and even if they could, none of them had a way to slow their decent in the tight space before they hit the garbage at the bottom.

Tommy was home free.

~

Well… not quite home free.

“You let them get away?” his supervisor raged back at headquarters. Tommy tried not to cower because he was a big man, a big strong superhero, and he’d just stopped some dastardly plot by a group of three powerful supervillains all on his own. But… well… he was… not afraid, definitely not afraid of his supervisor and mentor, that would be silly, but he was healthily cautious around the man. He really, really, really did not want another round of personal training sessions with him. “This is the fourth time!”

It was more than the fourth time really. He’d had many more brief run-ins with the SBI all together, in pairs, and individually, but he tried to keep that fact off the radar as much as possible. However, this had been an official mission Dream had sent him on, so there was no way to get Puffy to pretend like it didn’t happen for him.

“I’m sorry,” Tommy said as quiet as he could. Tommy was not often quiet, but Dream did not like it when he was loud. “I prioritized stopping whatever they were doing instead of capturing them. It was a mistake.” It was not a mistake, Tommy knew. If he ever had engaged with even one of them head-to-head, he’d surely be dead or worse by now. Discounting that one fluke where The Blade had decided to not slit Tommy’s throat for some unknown reason. Tommy was sitting here today out of a mixture of quick wits, stubbornness, and luck.

“Yes, it was,” Dream said coolly. “You failed your job.”

You couldn’t beat one of them let alone three of them. Tommy thought angrily, but he was not stupid enough to say it… again. Dream had once lost a one-on-one duel to The Blade. He… did not like being reminded of it. Instead, Tommy looked at the ground. “I’ll try harder,” he promised.

“See that you do,” Dream said. “You’re not getting paid for tonight.”

Tommy swallowed his protests. That was… not ideal. Tommy was already living paycheck to paycheck without a night’s work being docked. Yet, it was better than the alternative both physically and financially. Being tossed back into training meant not only getting half pay for however long the man decided he needed more training, but also would require medical supplies in the aftermath that Tommy simply did not have in stock. A missed paycheck meant having to ration food a bit harder, but it was still better than the alternative.

“Sorry,” Tommy said again.

“You should be. Now go.”

Tommy did not have to be told twice. He got up quickly and left Dream’s office as fast as he could.

It was past time for Tommy to go home by this point. Dream had kept him waiting for about 2 hours before finally calling him in to talk. He was supposed to get off at 10pm, but it was almost 1am now. Tommy was exhausted, but he still had quite the walk home.

He grabbed his bag from his desk and tossed it over his shoulder, trudging out of the building and waving at the members of the night crew he recognized.

The night was chillier than he’d been expecting, and he flipped up his hood, curling his arms around himself as he walked. He didn’t like walking home so late. Usually at 10 there were still some people around, but the roads were practically deserted at this time of night. He hoped he didn’t get mugged. Not that they could probably actually mug him considering he was a trained superhero, but it would still suck if someone tried.

Of course, just as he had the thought, he stumbled across a pool of dark liquid on the sidewalk. It was hard to make out exactly what it was since it was between streetlights, but it certainly looked liked blood splatters. He groaned to himself, but he couldn’t not check it out. There was a trail of the liquid that went past some buildings. Tommy lightened his footsteps until he was practically not touching the ground. He was surprised when he stepped into a little green area surrounded on all sides by large apartment buildings. Weird. Luckily, the area was lit up with some sort of softly glowing stones and the ‘blood trail’ ended up stopping under one of them. Except in the light, it clearly was not a blood trail. It was dark blue, not red, like maybe someone had spilled some ink. Well, that was a waste of time.

Yet, as he turned to exit the strange little alleyway, he caught sight of a sign. ‘Community Garden,’ it read, ‘Take what you need.’

Tommy paused. Oh, this was very illegal, he thought, as peered around him at what after a moment of observation was obviously rows of vegetables. An uncontrolled food source? Whoever had planted this could face so much jail time and that was before accounting for however they had gotten the seeds. By all rights as a superhero, Tommy should call this in immediately.

On the other hand… Tommy carefully picked his way through the garden. It was pretty even in the dark. Tubbo would love this. He picked a couple of vegetables, only enough that could fit in his bag without being squished and left the rest. He felt… a little guilty even though it was an illegal garden and had literally said he could take what he needed on the sign. Still, he continued his trek home feeling a little lighter despite the illegal weight in his bag.

Author Notes:

@People who read my superhero AUs in another fandom and also enjoy the Dream SMP. Hi ;)

Are you afraid?

[literenture]

I’m missing a big chunk of what happens between Sowaca’s death & this but, uh! Around the end of part 1.

The compound was eerily silent when they arrived. The Painter looked to the Mask Seller and nodded. They stepped forward as one, ascending the shrine stairway. As they passed the gate at the top, both felt the immediate wrongness of the place. It was deathly still, and a frost crusted the wisteria flowers in full bloom. None of the usual birdsong and bustle of the many lives under the roofs here could be heard. The Mask Seller put one hand before the Painter.

“Something’s not right. You should wait here while I scope out ahead.”

“Where you go, I go,” Etienne said with finality. There was no arguing with him.

“If things go south I want you to get out of here fast. Promise me at least that much. Not for you,” he added as the artist opened his mouth. “But for the future.”

Etienne locked eyes with him from behind their masks, but finally nodded. The Mask Seller let out a breath he had not realized he was holding. They proceeded inward. There was absolutely nobody around, and other than the occasional dropped item, no sign there ever had been. The knot in the masksmith’s gut tightened as they made their way to the inner temple.

Here the Mask Seller stopped them at the moon viewing room. He turned, removed his mask, and grabbed the Painter by either arm, staring into his eyes.

“Let me speak to him first. I’ll go ahead. It’ll be better that way.” He put his forehead against his partner’s. “Just trust me, Etienne.”

The artist reached up and grabbed the masksmith’s oversized hand in his own slender one. He let out a world weary sigh.

“I do. I’ll wait here. But the moment anything seems wrong, come to me.”

“I promise,” Gheriun whispered, and with a parting kiss, he was off.

He soon reached a grand courtyard in the center of the grounds and came to a stop. There, back to him, seated on a large rock in the middle of the yard, was the uniformed figure of the Prophet. From here it was easy to see just how small he was, but there was something outsized about the shadow he cast.

“Sho.”

The Prophet twitched, head lolling to the side, but otherwise didn’t respond. The masksmith stepped toward his son, hand outstretched. As he came within the range of his shadow, the boy’s shoulders flicked and a sudden sharp pain ran through the Mask Seller’s arm.

He stared down at the thick black thorns that had burst through his muscled forearm. They seemed to pulsate and twitch in the dim light, and sprouted up from the shadow that was now roiling and churning like a living thing. Just how many aberrations had the Founder forced his son to devour, to create such a hideous conglomeration of spirits? The unleashing of en was sickening and full of malice. Sho stood up from the stone he had perched on and turned around.

“Wipe that name off your filthy tongue,” he snarled. His face was contorted in rage, eyes wide and hateful. He shot one thin arm forward and pressed it against the Mask Seller’s chest. Gheriun moved to dodge but could not completely avoid the lance of darkness that shot out from Sho’s palm and pierced his shoulder. He grunted and rolled away, snapping it off in his muscle. He reached up to tear it out.

“Please, I don’t want to fight you,” he pleaded, but it only fueled the Prophet’s anger.

“Oh, is that so?” he shouted. “Well maybe you should have considered that before you decided to take every fucking thing from me! What more do you want? Get out of my life!”

With that last comment a barrage of black needles rose above the Prophet, aimed at his father, and went flying. The Mask Seller dove behind a decorative boulder, narrowly avoiding becoming riddled with holes. He realized then that he had left behind his mask, and cursed. Without it he would have no protective spells to help him out. It would be up to his muscle alone, and he wasn’t sure he would be able to get close enough for that to make a difference.

As he was going over his options, he missed the tendril of darkness that snaked up his ankle and pulled him out of hiding. He went flying into a thin tree, knocking it over. He coughed up blood as he hit the ground. The Prophet stood over him and aimed a kick square in his father’s jaw. The boy might have been small and sickly but the steel nailed leather boot managed to knock a tooth out and split his lip. He spluttered and put one hand up, but the Prophet just kicked again and again, harder each time, until he was out of breath and Gheriun’s face was a bloodied mess. A few of his fingers had been broken in the scuffle as well, but he had not struck back, just allowed the blows to rain down. He had hoped it would give the boy some sort of relief. Instead, it only seemed to work him up further, but still Gheriun attempted to speak to him.

“I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry. You didn’t deserve any of this. Please, I don’t want to fight you. I want to make it up to you, for all—“

“Shut. Up.” The Prophet kicked him again. “Shut up! You have no right! None! You’re six years too late!”

The Mask Seller backed away, getting unsteadily to his feet, his hands held in front of him. He was bleeding everywhere, blood mixed with the inky black residue of the mushrooms.

“I know. And I’m sorry. But please, you can’t stay here, your grandfather… you don’t understand what he’s trying to do. He’s just using you.”

“Grandfather has been the only one there for me,” Sho said heatedly. “While you’ve been off living as you please!”

“Sho, please—“

“Don’t call me that!”

As his voice broke, Gheriun stumbled forward, a huge presence knocking into him. He stared down at a massive mouth bitten into his side, blood already seeping from the wound. Even Sho looked surprised, and as he stumbled back the mouth let go and returned to his shadow.

That was when the Painter stepped in front of the Mask Seller.

“Sho, please. We’re here to apologize. Me and your father.”

“My father?” came the low voice of the Prophet. “Hah! You should know just how little he cared for me. I trusted you, Pierrot.”

There were tears in the Prophet’s eyes now, though he hurriedly wiped them away. The Mask Seller grasped at the Painter, eyes wild.

“I told you to wait!”

“And I told you to come to me if things went sideways. You forgot this, by the way,” he said, handing Gheriun his mask before turning back toward the enraged Prophet.

“Sho, killing your father won’t solve anything. You know what your grandfather is doing is wrong. I know you’re smarter than that.”

“You don’t know anything about me!”

The Painter’s expression softened, and he looked upon Sho with such a depth of love it took both father and son by surprise.

“I know that you’re an intelligent, sensitive, kind young man who has been dealt with more cruelty than anyone deserves,” Etienne insisted. He stepped closer to the boy, heedless of his partner’s warnings, arms spread. “I know how much my actions must have hurt you. I’m sorry. You didn’t do anything to deserve that. You’re not the monster your grandfather says you are.”

“You don’t know anything.”

Before anyone could say another word, the Mask Seller let out a strangled, wet cry. As Etienne turned, he saw a harpoon of shadows sprouted clear through the masksmith’s thick chest. Blood welled and seeped up through the wound and poured from Gheriun’s mouth as he tried to speak. The Painter’s eyes widened and he rushed to his side as the masksmith collapsed. The huge spike twitched, tiny barbs coming off of it making it impossible to remove. Not that he would if he could; it looked like it had pierced at least a lung and was very close to his heart. Etienne felt his own grow cold as Gheriun gasped and reached up for him. He held his hand firmly, blood covering them both.

“Get… away….” the Mask Seller managed.

“Stay here. It’ll be okay.” Etienne kissed his hand with shaky lips. “I’ll take care of everything for you.”

“You should listen to him before you get hurt, teacher,” the Prophet snapped.

Etienne set about stabilizing the Mask Seller as best he could, drawing his paintbrush and with quick efficient movements summoning some humanoid assistants and a roughshod stretcher. It would have to do for now—he just needed to get him steady and out of the way. Within a few practiced strokes he had brought forth his helpers, checking over Gheriun with one last kiss before he stood and turned toward the Prophet.

“I wish this could happen another way,” he said sorrowfully, brush held in front of him like a slim rapier. “But I’m going to have to teach you a new lesson.”

“And just what—“

The Prophet’s contemptuous comment was cut off by a flurry of movement and from the gestures sprung forth a sudden onslaught of attacks from the Painter. His illusions were a horrifying deluge of the Prophet’s deepest fears. The boy stumbled back, caught completely off guard. Etienne did not hesitate in grabbing the upper hand while he could and with a step forward he pressed his advantage. Gheriun was losing a lot of blood fast, and he was weak right now. They could not risk the Founder finding out and finishing him with the curse. This had to end now, for all of their sakes.

However, the Prophet was not pulling his punches, and after a brief moment of hesitation he had drawn up multiple long whips of shadow to throw at the Painter. He could dodge the first few but eventually wound up with a few heavy blows to his side that he managed to protect with his arms. Grunting with effort, Etienne twisted nimbly midstep to narrowly avoid a particularly vicious onslaught. The boy was growing more bold as time wore on, a wild, manic look to his face. His actions were flailing but numerous, making up in multitude what they lacked in accuracy.

When the Prophet began throwing up javelins of darkness from around the Painter’s feet, his patience wore thin.

“Let’s stop this now Sho, before one of us does something we regret.”

“Shut up! Shut up shut up shut up!”

After one blow nearly impaled the helpless Mask Seller in his creaking bed frame Etienne knew he must end things. His mask shimmered as its shape elongated into the avian form of the plague doctor while his paintbrush turned into a hideous, oversized bone saw. The illusions around the Prophet took on a more sinister tone; the form of a woman half eaten by maggots screamed Sho’s name as he looked on in horror. He sent a wave of black splinters through the air, a few impaling the Painter’s thigh but thankfully they were shallow enough. He needed to completely shut the boy down before he caused irreparable harm.

He inhaled deeply, then dashed around Sho’s reach, drawing his attention as he set up more illusions. He used his own blood to bring form to those shapes, and a wave of women with warm brown hair and half rotting faces sprung up around Sho, their half decayed arms reaching for him and grabbing his limbs. He screamed and tried to fight back, but every time he saw the face of the figure he shrunk back further. However his actions had grown only more frenzied and dangerous in his panic.

“This doesn’t have to continue,” Etienne pressed. “Just say the word, Sho.”

But the Prophet just shouted in rage and a deep resonating sorrow, sigils burning within a circle of shadow below his feet. He moved in unnatural, jerking motions, his lips working rapidly in a chant as his hands traced characters in the air. His eyes had glazed over, as though he were possessed. Something writhed within his shadow, tentacles of darkness struggling to burst outward. Very, very not good. Etienne glanced back just once toward Gheriun, took a deep breath, and dove forward.

He brought the bone saw down on the growing rune in the air, bearing down with all his strength. The air sparked and fizzed between them, but Sho’s eyes were still distant, his lips moving so rapidly it was impossible to make out the individual words. With a guttural shout, the Painter summoned all of his reserve strength, his rage, his pain, his heart, his everything into this strike. For the sake of their future, let this be the end.

For a moment he hung there, suspended in the air against the crackling sigil. Then there was a bright flash and air rushed inward before just as rapidly expanding out in an explosive force. It flung them apart, Etienne managing to catch his step, Sho tumbling over himself and bodily hitting a pillar suspending the perimeter corridor. As the dust settles, the Painter dashed forward, not wanting to risk the boy recovering and lashing out again.

He need not have worried. As he reached him, he saw that one of Sho’s legs was broken, twisted horribly, and he was covered in scrapes and bruises. It was more than he had wanted to hurt the boy, but he had been left little choice. Etienne slowed as he neared, one hand extended toward the cowering, bloodied Prophet.

“Please teacher, stop,” cried out Sho, now a hunched bundle of wide eyed terror. Tears were streaming from his eyes as he cringed before the Painter. He looked younger even than his teenage years, a terrified child lost and searching for family wherever he could find it. Should he knock him out first? Could he trust him?

Etienne hesitated, and in that moment, the Prophet struck.

Five shadowy tendrils whipped out and pinned the Painter to the garden wall, all limbs immobilized. One sharpened tentacle split open the mask covering his face with a resonant crack. Mouths burst from the tendrils and bit down on Etienne’s flesh violently. As he struggled to free himself, he looked up and saw in horror the Prophet crouched before him, staring wide eyed at him, a wall of black knives hanging in the air behind him. They were all aimed directly at him.

“You never trusted me with anything. You didn’t care. Grandfather told me everything. You just wanted to use me.”

It sounded as though he were trying to convince himself of the justice of his actions. If the Painter could just find the right opening…

There was no chance of Etienne getting out of this. He looked over to Gheriun’s limp form, and closed his eyes.

“Sho, you know that’s not true. Please, just talk to me.”

When he opened them again, he saw Sho hesitate, but the look in his eyes told him he would strike sooner or later. As the boy raised his arms, Etienne cried out.

“Please, Sho, I’m with child. Don’t do this.”

The Prophet froze, then faltered. His eyes blinked rapidly as he processed what had just been said, and his arms lowered. He grit his teeth and looked for a moment like he would let his anger win, but as tears poured from his eyes, the countless daggers that had been poised to strike melted into his shadow. He collapsed to the ground and sobbed, fists clenched at the cold earth. The tendrils holding Etienne up dissipated and he fell roughly to his knees.

It was as though something had burst deep within the boy, and all those years of pain and loss had broken him. The spear inside of Gheriun dissipated as well, allowing the Painter’s powers to work more efficiently. He sighed in relief, and turned toward the Prophet. Pressing a hand to the worst of the bite wounds, he strode forward and knelt in front of the boy.

Sho was sobbing and tearing at the ground, at his hair, at his skin, breathing heavily and hiccuping between tears.

“That’s it, isn’t it. Nobody wants me. I just hurt everyone. Grandfather was right. I don’t deserve a family.”

“Hush now,” Etienne said, reaching out to the boy, heedless of his own wounds. They weren’t as bad as they had seemed at first, and he wondered how much Sho had held back.

“Why do you think we’re here, you foolish child?”

It was the first time he had ever admonished the boy, and the Prophet’s sobs silenced for a moment as he cowered further into a ball, his fingernails drawing blood from his scalp, broken leg skewed awkwardly to the side. Etienne reached both arms around the small figure, embracing Sho gently.

“It’s okay. Nobody’s abandoning you. We came here to ask you to leave,” the Painter said quietly. “Why don’t you ever listen to me when I tell you not to assume the worst of everyone?”

That made Sho burst out crying anew, and he threw his arms around the artist. Etienne held his tiny body as he quaked and shook.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to, I didn’t mean to.”

“I know, I know. But we need to get going. Your father—Gheriun needs proper medical care. You can settle your score later. We need to get you away before the Founder finds out what’s happened.”

“But Grandfather won’t hurt me… will he?” asked Sho, uncertainty heavy in his voice.

“I don’t want to sit here and find out. Now, can you be brave for me while I set your leg?”

For a moment Etienne wasn’t sure whether he had made it through to the battered child, but finally Sho sniffed and nodded.

“We can get to the Highway from inside the sanctuary,” Sho told him.

“Thank god,” breathed the Painter as he conjured another mobile unit of assistants to help Sho get about. “Try to bear with it.”

Etienne waited for Sho to lead the way forward, the Mask Seller’s stretcher coming up behind them. The nearest entry point that either of the men had been familiar with was off mountain. Sho’s tiny body was severely weakened after their fight. However, there was a new determination to his shoulders and a clearness to his eyes. He looked like he had a goal to call his own, one other than harming his own father. Etienne had to believe in the boy’s true nature.

They had been moving slowly through the inner sanctum for some time when Sho stopped abruptly, panting as he leaned against the two animated assistants.

“This isn’t right. We should have been there by now.”

Alarm began to creep into Etienne’s chest. He had put down the monotony of their passage to his unfamiliarity with the depths of the shrine, but they had been going so long in a straight line. Surely, on this limited mountainside, they should have had to turn at least once by now? He glanced down at the half conscious Gheriun, who seemed to be trying to say something. In that moment all hell broke loose.

The lights flickered and went off all around them and the walls seemed to warp, closing them off. Both Sho and Etienne let out startled gasps as the sound of a familiar instrument rang out along the corridors. The shamisen strummed again and the lights shot back on with a brilliance that was unnatural for their bulbs.

The Observer stood in the middle of the hallway before them, single uncovered eye blazing. He looked like he was barely standing up, all bruised and bandaged where his skin was visible. The Painter stared, uncomprehending, at his old friend.

“Rui, what—“

He said nothing, just strummed the instrument again and was behind them, knife drawn and aimed directly at Sho. In the harsh light it took a moment for the artist’s eyes to take in what he was seeing as the fell arm Suiko was driven directly at Sho’s heart.

Everything seemed to move in slow motion as he cried out, but the blade was caught in one large palm before it could reach the Prophet. The Mask Seller had blocked it, the weapon trapped deep in the meat of his hand. He closed his fingers as best he could to still the knife and grunted.

“Observer, stand down.”

Rui hissed and tugged feebly at the hilt of the weapon, but it did not budge. He dropped it and stepped away, reaching again to draw his shamisen. Etienne made sure Gheriun and Sho were steady before he stepped forward, exhaustion heavy on his exposed face. He didn’t know what was going on, but he had to stop things before Rui could get a chance to draw his sword.

“Don’t make me fight you.”

“If you’re protecting that brat, you’re in my way,” Rui said grimly. He reached up and tugged off his eyepatch roughly. As he opened his right eye, a tendril sprouted from its golden iris and bloomed before their eyes, a lily stuck grotesquely out of the center. It stayed open, unblinking, even as his black left eye moved independently. Oily black roots spread out across his right cheek, roiling as with his unsteady emotions. The Painter knew of the animosity between Observer and Prophet, but that should all be over now that Sho was no longer under his grandfather’s thumb. If he could only explain. Yet Rui was staring with naked animosity, such uncharacteristic hatred that Etienne nearly didn’t recognize him.

“He’s not after you anymore,” he tried to say. “It’s okay, you don’t—“

“Oh, well then everything he’s done is just fine then. Everyone he’s hurt, all he’s killed!”

Sho shrunk back, eyes downcast, as Etienne tried desperately to piece together what was going on. All he wanted was to get Gheriun to safety and to rest and let his little family heal, so why was one of his best friends now standing before him with such anger? He drew himself up, ready to fight once again if need be.

“There’s no bringing back the dead. But he can have a chance to—“

“To what? Heal, grow up, make happy new memories? Off of Sowaca’s corpse?”

That comment froze the Painter’s blood. He glanced from Sho back to the near feral Observer, and knew he wasn’t lying. Sorrow filled him as he realized that they had acted too late, and that the Prophet had committed one final act for the Founder’s grand plan. The shame was written plainly on Sho’s young face.

Rui stared at the three of them before laughing bitterly.

“Oh, he didn’t tell you. Well. I’m sorry Etienne, but I won’t be letting him walk out of here.”

“Then you leave me no choice.”

The two stared at one another, poised to fight. Sho hobbled forward then, his chin held upward, eyes ablaze.

“If you hurt them, I won’t stand by. You can do whatever you want to me another time.”

Rui stared open mouthed from one to the other, frustration and confusion written on his expression. He wore his hurt and sense of betrayal openly, staring forlornly at the Painter.

“If it’s for Sowaca’s sake, I won’t hold back.”

Rui was stood poised over Sho, the sharp clawed hands of his scarf aimed downward, when he jerked to a stop as though struck. Stood before him was a teenage girl with dark skin, long reddish brown curls, and two oversized ears, arms spread wide.

“That’s enough, Rui.”

Santu blocked his path to the collapsed Prophet, her eyes fierce in the dim light. The Observer grunted in annoyance, eyes burning into Sho.

“He killed Sowaca,” he stated. “He almost killed you, too.”

Santu shook her head, curls bouncing.

“Sho was nice to me while Santu was at the Power Plant. He’s not a bad guy!”

That seemed to make Rui snap and he flung his arms outward.

“Then what!” he shouted. “I’m supposed to just let him walk free? After all he’s done? You think someone can just change like that?”

It was Etienne’s turn to speak.

“He has his whole life to repent for what he’s done. But surely you of all people know what it’s like to be manipulated so.”

That struck a nerve deep in the Observer. The Painter was one of a select few who knew any details of his past. The roiling scarf twisted in the air about him, turning back over him like twinned snakes.

“It’s no excuse,” he hissed. “He has no right to get off, losing nothing. It’s unfair!”

Even Rui knew he was being unreasonable, but his voice broke as he stood there.

“Sowaca was my everything. He was my best friend. He was there when I had nobody.” Tears were brimming in the Observer's eye. “He was my only family.”

“Santu’s your family too!” Santu said, frustration in her voice. “Rui’s not alone! You just push everyone away!”

Rui’s face screwed up in anger.

“If you don’t move, I’ll make you.”

“Stand down, Observer!”

A new voice broke through the air, one Etienne did not recognize. From the darkness emerged a figure of medium height with bright red hair. She had a longbow raised in the air, arrow aimed at the Observer. Santu spun on her heels, eyes wide.

“This is not what we agreed upon,” the red headed woman said. Closer now Etienne could see numerous scars upon her freckled face. Her voice brooked no argument.

“I don’t recall agreeing to anything,” Rui said through gritted teeth.

“Oh? Then let me remind you.” She drew the arrow to her cheek. “It’s an order of protection, not execution. Stand down.”

Santu tried to position herself somewhere between the Prophet and Observer while blocking Rui from the path of the arrow. She looked from each person to the next rapidly.

“We don’t have to fight, please.”

“Observer. Now.”

“Oh piss off, Huntsman,” the Observer hissed, one hand reaching up to his shoulder.

In the next moment so much happened that Etienne could not fully recall it later. The arrow was loosed directly at Santu, but it seemed to flicker in and out of existence before sprouting through the Observer’s throat. Blood spurted out as he fell backwards, scarf falling with him. Santu spun and ran to him, while Etienne dove toward Sho. The so-called Huntsman strode forward calmly, notching another arrow and standing before Rui’s writhing form.

“Sho, are you okay?” Etienne asked as he knelt beside the boy. The fight had been brutal, and had it not been for the interference of the others Etienne was not sure whether they would have made it.

Sho stirred, eyelids flickering. Blood was streaming from his nostrils and the corners of his eyes, and he seemed dazed.

“Is it over..?”

Etienne glanced over to where the Observer was bleeding out onto the floor, the fight gone completely out of him. It was time for them to leave.

“It is, child,” the Painter said, wiping sweat from Sho’s forehead. The boy gave a weak smile.

“Everyone’s…okay?”

Etienne nodded.

“Let’s get you guys out of here.”

[itllsetyoufree]

“Does this help?” + kara being injured

All things considered, Lena’s Saturday has been startlingly unremarkable so far. The sun is shining, she’d had her usual cup of yogurt with sliced bananas for breakfast, she hasn’t gotten a single off-hours weekend call from work, and she’d even had time to read the Cooking section in the National City Tribune. The biggest thing on her calendar for the day is her weekly movie night with Kara, which she’d been quietly looking forward to since Kara had left her apartment after their movie night the week before.

There was a time in Lena’s life where the easy, almost leisurely flow of her day would have been alarmingly, disarmingly suspect. But with no attempts on her life and L-Corp running smoothly for the last year or so, Lena’s life has settled into something more… quiet. 

And on any other day, it might have continued that way. 

Because noxious gas-breathing, nine-legged alien dragons aren’t typically her problem.

She gets the notification on her phone, of course:

Emergency Alert: Rogue Alien Attacking National City Waterfront— alien is violent and unrestrained, exhales unidentified purple gas. Residents urged to remain indoors and to close all windows.

Lena sighs, rolling her neck to the side and grabbing her phone as she lifts herself off her couch to close her balcony door. Despite having a near-panoramic view of the water, Lena’s apartment is on the other side of town from the docks, but she winds her way around her apartment anyway and closes all of her windows just in case. She’s just shutting the last one when she fires off a text to Kara, telling her to stay inside and to not come over until the alien is taken care of, and don’t even think about going down to the docks to report on it, Kara, I know CatCo doesn’t have gas masks on hand.

She gets a single thumbs up in response, an unusually terse reply from Kara, who never sends one text message when three will do, but Lena doesn’t think much of it and just settles back down on the couch to flip on the news. 

She watches live as the alien positively obliterates several of National City’s piers with three of its arms. The video feed shows people diving out of the way as wet, splintered wood flies in every direction. The esplanade is littered with debris as the alien rears up again, swinging its tail against the surface of the bay and spraying rolling waves of water onto the shore. 

Lena blows out a heavy breath as she watches the destruction unfold before reaching out for her phone again. She’s just hitting send on an email to Jess, telling her to donate funds to the city to rebuild the docks, when the unmitigated panic on screen abruptly stops. 

She sits up straight on the couch as she watches the dragon puff out a billowing cloud of purple smoke. It unfurls along the embankment and the remaining parts of the boardwalk, and slowly engulfs the small crowd of people fleeing the waterfront and the remaining stragglers on the shoreline.

Lena watches, mouth parting in shock, as they all stop running en masse and slow to a halt. The newsfeed goes silent as the crowd stops screaming, even the newscaster losing his breath as everyone stands still, lolling around on their feet as if held up by rubber and not muscle, before they all calmly sink down to the ground and lay down. 

The sweeping shot of everyone resting on the ground seems to spur the news anchor back to life, and he resumes narrating wildly, jabbering and speculating like an auctioneer calling the Superbowl. 

The dragon stops destroying more of the docks to huff out another cloud of smoke at a helicopter nearby. Lena sucks in a breath as the helicopter wobbles in the air over the people on the ground, but it just floats softly down, landing gentle as a feather on the nearest open patch of grass. Lena pinches her eyebrows together, bewildered, but before she can think too much on it, there’s a red and blue streak zooming into the frame. 

Supergirl pulls up behind the dragon, and Lena only has a second to admire the sun glinting off her hair before Supergirl grabs the alien by one of its legs and flings it out toward the sea. 

From there it’s a whirlwind. Supergirl and the alien lunge and splash and swing at each other at a dizzying speed, spinning in the air and dragging each other under the water. The camera holds steady on them for several minutes until one final breathtaking moment. Both Supergirl and the alien breach out of the water and whirl to face one another. Supergirl’s eyes glow for a split second before her heat vision activates and scorches across the dragon’s abdomen. It crashes back to the water with a roar, but just before it sinks beneath the surface, it huffs out one final breath of smoke. 

It catches Supergirl visibly off-guard as she recovers from the fight, gasping for air just as it engulfs her. The newscaster goes silent once more, watching as Supergirl seems to go loose mid-air. She sways a little, drifting in the wind, a glassy, confused look on her face. Lena’s reaching for her phone, ready to call Alex to see if she can help, when Supergirl shakes her head and starts to fly, slowly and unsteadily, away from the scene. 

The newscaster and Lena heave a simultaneous sigh of relief, and Lena lets her phone drop back down to the couch. The news switches back to coverage of the dazed, lethargic people on the shore who seem confused but otherwise unharmed. Lena’s just relaxing back into the cushions, half a mind to open her windows back up to let in the breeze, when she catches movement out of the corner of her eye. 

She turns, watching as Supergirl floats shakily toward her balcony. 

When Supergirl lands, it’s with none of the elegance or athleticism Lena’s come to associate with her. There’s no graceful descent, no landing delicately on one pointed foot or shooting down from the sky to stop on a dime just before she hits the ground. Supergirl drifts closer and closer to her building, one foot outstretched as she reaches Lena’s balcony, but her foot catches on the top of the railing, and she topples over it, hands splayed out to catch herself. She spills over the banister and lands on her chest, legs arching up behind her and feet still hooked over the railing. She looks up at Lena through the glass window, eyes half glazed over and unfocused as her cape slides up the slope of her back to pool at the back of her neck. 

The sight of her, glassy and dazed and draped over her railing like a wet towel spurs Lena into action. She throws the balcony door open and rushes over, dropping to her knees and reaching out to run her hands down the length of Supergirl’s arms, cupping her cheeks and tilting her head to either side to look for bruises. 

“Supergirl! Are you hurt? Can you stand? Come, let’s get you to the DEO.” 

“Hi.” 

Lena stills, pausing her frantic checking of Supergirl’s pulse to actually take stock of the situation. 

Supergirl, seemingly unconcerned by her chin pressing into the concrete or being curled backwards over herself, blinks up at Lena. She looks untroubled, calm, her hair and suit still damp from the water but otherwise right as rain, but the expression on her face is… vacant. Her eyes are glossy, just slightly unfocused, mouth parted as she looks up at Lena. She looks open, unguarded, and completely unaware, and Lena recalibrates. 

“Supergirl, do you know where you are?”

“Your balcony.”

“And do you know who I am?”

“Lena.”

“Does anything hurt?”

“No.” 

“Can you untangle your feet so we can get you up?”

“Oh,” Supergirl remarks, like she hadn’t noticed her feet weren’t under her. She tries to twist around to look over her back at her feet, and she shuffles a little, unhooking the toes of her boots and falling fully onto the stone floor. 

Lena tsks and instinctually reaches out again, grabbing hold of Supergirl’s shoulders and helping her move until she’s sitting upright, propped against the balcony railing. Supergirl leans back against it, blinking slowly and looking blankly around, and Lena finds herself itching for the phone she left in the living room but unwilling to leave the woman in front of her while she’s so vulnerable. 

It isn’t like she hasn’t dealt with an incapacitated Supergirl before. Lena’s saved Supergirl from more than a handful of scrapes in the past couple years, but never like this, never while she was conscious, never while she seemed loopy and almost childlike. It’s easier to maintain her focus, Lena realizes, easier to put the worry aside and work on a fix when Supergirl is in grave danger, in desperate need of help. 

This, with her awake and seemingly fine but so disoriented is throwing Lena off guard. Normal citizens shouldn’t see their city’s hero downed and unconscious, but they shouldn’t see her like this either, unfocused and confused, almost as if she’d been drugged. It’s unsettling, deeply uncomfortable in a way Lena can’t put her finger on, and she can’t help but feel both protective and out of her element at the same time.

“Okay,” Lena says, keeping her voice soft and caring. “How about we get you over to the DEO so they can check you out?”

“No, thanks,” comes the quiet reply. “I’ll stay here.”

It’s Lena’s turn to blink confusedly back at Supergirl, but the woman is looking elsewhere. The soft breeze that’s been blowing all day blows an errant leaf off of one of Lena’s plants and into Supergirl’s lap, and Lena watches, latent sense of panic beginning to grow in her stomach, as Supergirl picks up the leaf and twirls it between her fingers.

“I really think we should get you over to the DEO. You seem a little… off,” Lena says, careful to phrase it as gently as she can to not cause any alarm. “What if I just have Director Danvers come here by herself?” Lena asks, half unsure why she’s humoring Supergirl before she realizes that Supergirl has probably never gone anywhere she didn’t want to go— on account of being strong enough to lift a space station. 

“No,” Supergirl responds again, simply, not rudely, “she’s not invited.”

Lena narrows her eyes at that, trying to sort out what kind of laughing gas this dragon has breathed out. 

“I think I’m in charge of that,” Lena retorts, but she sighs, because Supergirl just looks up at her and smiles dopily. 

“Okay,” Lena tries again. “Will you at least stand up and come inside? I can do some research on how to get these side effects to go away.” 

Supergirl acquiesces this time, or at least Lena thinks she does until Supergirl turns away from the open door to her living room. 

“I’ll stay out here,” she says, words slurring a little as she points to one of Lena’s deck chairs. “Need a little sun.” 

She sways on the spot, as if momentarily suspended by the breeze, before stumbling over to Lena’s deck chair and collapsing onto it. She trips on one of the legs and the chair breaks under her weight, but she doesn’t seem to notice, letting her eyes drift shut and tilting her chin up toward the sun. A small smile crosses her face as the sun warms her, and Lena finds herself unable to hold back a small smile of her own. 

“You’ve got twenty minutes,” Lena says, already planning out her research on alien dragons and a call to Alex in her head. “Then I’m making the call.” 

“Uh uh,” Supergirl hums, eyes still closed, and Lena raises both eyebrows. “Is’fine, Lena. Don’t call. Wanted to come here.”

The longer sentences are starting to ease Lena’s mind, but Supergirl’s response rattles around in her brain and she can’t help but ask.

“Supergirl?”

Supergirl just hums back at her again.

“Why’d you come here instead of going to the DEO?”

“Didn’t want to miss movie night,” she says, calmly while she exhales, like Lena had asked her what day it is and she’d said, ‘Saturday.’

Lena freezes. The pit of panic in her stomach drops out and her whole body clenches at the loss. She stands frozen, staring at the figure laying prone, sprawled out on her deck chair. Lena’s heart pounds. She feels the rapid thudding in her chest, hears it reverberate in her ears. She takes it in, the red boots and skirt, the blue suit, the cape, the blonde hair. 

Her eyes map the features on Supergirl’s face, and she realizes with some modicum of horror how familiar those features are. The point of her chin, the slope of her cheekbones, the nick of the scar above her eyebrow, the slightly upturned, charming pull of her mouth. It’s all— 

“Lena?” those eyebrows scrunch together and it comes out as a whine, and Lena is overcome. 

The panic disappears, instantly replaced by a tidal wave of worry, of affection, of bewilderment, confusion, and a little hurt.

“I’m here,” is what she blurts out in response, dropping onto the adjacent chair and wrapping her hand around Supergirl’s— Kara’s?— wrist, gentle, caring. “Hey, hey, I’m here. Are you okay?”

“Mhmm” Supergirl hums again, twisting her wrist to take hold of Lena’s hand. “Better already. Just need a nap and then we can watch a movie, okay?” Her voice is light and airy, and the smile droops off her face as she begins to fall asleep, but Lena can’t let her go, can’t be left alone with her racing mind. She needs to know, needs to be sure, and with a pounding heart, she presses on.

“Have—” Lena starts. Her voice cracks and she clears her throat and tries again, wiping the hand not enclosed in Supergirl’s tiredly across her brow. “Have you thought about what movie you want to see?”

“Which Star Wars are we up to?” Supergirl mumbles, half-asleep, and Lena feels her whole body clench with the confirmation as she sweeps her eyes up and down the figure in front of her with renewed worry, checking for injuries she knows aren’t there, because it’s Kara, it’s Kara, it’s Kara.

“Episode Six,” she whispers, tightening her hand around Kara’s. 

“That one. ‘S a good one.” Kara breathes back. 

Kara shifts on the chair a little bit, and small as the movement is, Lena thinks it looks the tiniest more purposeful, the tiniest bit less loose and floppy, and Lena feels her shoulders relax with it. It shifts something in her, the worry beginning to melt into a tender form of annoyance and she decides to push a little more. 

“Are you hungry?”

“Mm,” Kara hums, smiling again. Lena narrows her eyes at her. 

“Do you want Big Belly Burger for dinner like last time?”

“Mhmm yeah,” Kara murmurs, “and those fries that I like.”

Lena smirks, raising an eyebrow, but Kara is completely unaware. Lena squeezes her hand and stands. “I’ll order the food, and you can nap until it gets here, okay?”

“Mhmm thanks, Lena.”

“You’re welcome, Kara,” she says pointedly, but Kara doesn’t notice. Lena watches her smile in her half-asleep doze, her hand twitching a little until the smile droops off her face and she falls asleep just like that. Lena stands there, gaping at her for a moment, then makes her way inside.

Twenty minutes later, after a text to Alex and enough time spent slowing her racing heart, enough time spent with the news to know that the gas wears off on its own, eventually, she hears a sigh and a creak from outside. Supergirl— Kara, god, it’s Kara— is stretching on the deck chair, which appears to be hanging on for dear life, and Lena lifts herself off the couch, grabbing the bag next to her and making her way back outside.

She sets a glass of water down on the drinks table next to Kara’s head, watching as she shifts in the sun but doesn’t open her eyes. 

“How are you feeling, Supergirl?”

“Mhmm, good, sleepy,” Kara yawns.

“They pulled that dragon out of the bay,” Lena says casually, crossing her arms. “You did a great job. No one’s hurt. The effects of the gas seem to subside on their own.”

“Good,” Kara murmurs, tilting her head up into the sun again. “That’s good.” 

“The food’s here too,” Lena informs her, unable to hold back a smirk. “I got us a couple shakes as well.”

“Thanks,” Kara sighs happily. You’re the best.”

“But Kara?”

“Mmph?”

“You have to change out of your suit first. Wouldn’t want to get any residual alien goop on my couch.”

It’s exactly as satisfying as she thought it would be. Kara’s loose, floppy posture stiffens as her spine snaps straight, her eyes flying open as the chair finally gives out from under her. Lena watches the wheels turn once Kara hits the ground, sees Kara’s eyes bug out when they make eye contact. Kara’s flick down to look at her suit, then back up to Lena. 

Lena twists her wrist, letting the paper bag swing out toward Kara. 

“Your fries?”

[saintlike78]

Hey! I love your work!!

I was wondering if I could request a poly!maurauders oneshot (or whatever!) where reader manages to hurt herself somehow while having sex (something bent or popped the wrong way etc.) with the boys and she cries out and uses her safe word but it takes her a second to be able to explain what happened and the boys all fret over her? Thanks!!

‘Pop’ [Poly Marauders]

A/N: I loved this request because I 100% could see this happening to me, my joints are just creaky. I hope you enjoy <3

Pairings: Poly! Marauders x Fem!Reader

Words: 1.2k

Warnings: NSFW 16+, tail end of smut, vaginal sex, mention of handjob, reader being slightly injured, knee injury, crying, polyamorous relationship. As always lmk if I missed anything.

Smut just below the cut!

Your legs were bent with Remus’ arms under the bend of your knees as he held you in his strong grip, his pace quick as he fucked up into you. It wasn’t uncomfortable, rather the contrary, and therefore nothing had given away the slight lock your knees made. Noises of pleasure echoed from your mouth and around the room, your balmy skin connected with Remus’, your hands behind his head grasping at the brown locks as you tried to ground yourself.

James and Sirius laid on the bed, working on each other’s cocks, lips connected in a heated lip lock; their focus was often broken away from one another as their line of vision would fall back on you, taking in your sweaty figure, your tired body grasping for more pleasure, even after having been going at it for longer than you normally would, but you couldn’t get enough.

“Moony, it’s my turn,” Sirius whined, rising from his position to be on his knees sticking his arms out to grab you, but not before earning a whine of disappointment from James.

Remus rolled his eyes but slowly pulled out of you to hand you over to the raven-haired boy on the bed, his face sporting a mischievous smile of satisfaction of having gotten his way. You whined at the empty feeling but reached forward to grasp and hug Sirius close to you, as he hooked his arms under the bend of your knees, just as Remus had done, therefore never straightening your legs out to unlock your knees.

With you in his grasp, Sirius moved on his knees to find a place on the bed to place you down upon and have his own way with you.

Your back hit the plush mattress, Sirius, right on top of you, your fingers in his hair, and your legs bent by his sides as he slowly sank into you, his face finding a place in the crook of your neck, sucking marks into the smooth flesh.

You breathed out a moan as he started moving, your walls fluttering around him as he hit the spot inside you that made you see stars and have your entire body shivering and twitching out in pleasure.

The pleasure caused your toes to curl, and your legs went to straighten out – but that was a mistake. As your legs stretched you felt an unfamiliar, but extremely painful, ‘pop’; your eyes were wide as you let out a pained wail, “RED! FUU-ckkk.”

Sirius was quick to pull out, panic clear in his eyes as he searched your distressed face, trying to decipher where it went wrong – rather what he did wrong.

Remus was quick by your side, helping you into a seated position as he looked between Sirius and James, trying to think of what to do to help you as tears of pain leaked down your face as you sobbed loudly, your body shaking, mostly from the fright you received from the sudden pain you had felt.

“Bunny, what happened?” Remus tried, his body holding you up as James scurried around the room to find you and them something suitable to wear.

You were stuttering on sobs as you tried to explain to them that they did nothing wrong, but the words were caught in your throat only small cries leaving your mouth, causing the boys to internally panic, fearing the absolute worst.

Sirius leaned down to be closer to you, gently grabbing your face, wiping the tears with the pads of his thumbs.

“Please, pup, we want to help you,” he was gentle, afraid that he had done this to you and that you would hate him for it.

You kept trying, but the only thing to escape through the sobs were broken words, all blubbering together in a mashup of cries and tears.

The pain had somewhat subsided, the only thing left was the dull ache letting you know that something had happened, but the distress was still present, yet you tried to control your breathing trying to get the tears to stop.

Instead of trying to voice your troubles, you tried gesturing to your knee, pointing to it.

“What’s happened, does it hurt?” James quickly asked as he came to your side on the bed, holding a pile of clothes in his grasp, but those were quickly tossed on the bed as he crawled to your side.

You didn’t get to nod or try explaining anything before the panic had set into all three boys, their voices bouncing back and forth between each other as they tried to think of something.

“Do you know where that muggle kit thing is? The one you brought, Moony,” James asked, referring to the first aid kit Remus had brought with him this school term just in case anything were to happen.

“I think It’s in the bathroom… or I don’t know… maybe it’s in my trunk, I don’t remember,” Remus was wrecking his brain trying to think of where he had placed the strange red box, though with no luck.

“We should take her to the hospital wing, it might be broken!” Sirius’ overdramatic guess pulled a laugh from you, the tears wet on your cheeks, but a smile lighting up your face.

All three boys’ heads snapped to look at you, shock and panic evident on their faces.

Your breathing had calmed enough for you to finally speak, “It’s not brok-en,” your voice was hoarse, and small dry sobs interrupted your speech pattern.

“Oh, thank gods,” Sirius breathed out in relief, his lips quickly pecking yours before he leaned back to give you space to explain.

“I think my knee lo-cked into place and it was rea-lly painful when I stretched it.”

All three of them listened intently, Sirius felt a huge wave of relief wash over him, knowing he didn’t hurt you.

“Can you stand, bunny?” Remus asked, helping you lift your body, while James took over to help you off the bed, not letting you put any weight on your legs, his arms carrying you above the ground.

“You can put me down now, Jamie,” you giggled.

James smiled, his usual goofy smile, before he set you down on the floor, still holding you up with his strong arms, making sure you wouldn’t fall and making sure that if you were still in pain, he could alleviate it as quickly as possible.

You limped slightly as you tried to move your legs, a mix between the ‘pop’ and the fact that you hadn’t stood or walked in a while.

“Hmm, I think we should go to the hospital wing, just to be sure it’s nothing,” Remus’ logical voice cut through as he stood from the bed, quickly getting dressed before helping you get dressed.

Sirius and James followed promptly, throwing on the clothes James had fetched for them.

You were about to start walking towards the door of the dorm room, but Sirius was quick to pick you up, a small yelp of surprise tearing through your throat as you wrapped your limbs around him. He cradled you close to him as he walked down the many steps and corridors to reach the hospital wing, your face buried in his shoulder enjoying the closeness of it.

Tags: @dracosafety, @justadreamyhufflepuff, @teenwolfbitches28, @emma67, @trouble-in-space, @sciapod, @kermiemoon, @autumnandwinteraesthetics, @roonilwazlibswhore, @White_castles, @lexi_shoto, @sprucewoodlover, @blackandlupinsslut, @emmaev, @cedricisnotdead, @Sirius-sugarmomma, @i-love-scott-mccall, @pretty-pop-princess-hs, @pottahishotasf, @mjoubertt-1,

If crossed out it means I couldn’t tag you!

[between-the-lines-fic]

Between the Lines - Bruno Madrigal (Modern AU) Chapter 7

Summary: Bruno Madrigal is a popular telenovela writer, though he keeps his identity secret under the pen name Pedro Oscar. You just happen to be a big fan of his who’s doing their laundry while a telenovela plays in the background.

Pairing: gn!Reader x Bruno Madrigal

Words: 2,174

Warnings: None!

Chapter count: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 (More to come!)

Available on: AO3

Paulo eventually has to return to his shop, but that doesn’t mean that he didn’t gossip for the next hour or so with Abuelo. Though, they both have at least lessened in their teasing after you shot them a dirty look.

“Oh, mije,” Abuelo sighs after Paulo slips out the door, still cracking that warm smile of his, “lo digo en broma. I’m just glad that you’ve been so happy lately, is all.” And, well. You couldn’t exactly stay mad at that.

“Alright, alright,” you mutter, begrudging. Abuelo leans over to give you a peck on your cheek and a reassuring squeeze, before gesturing at the door. “Let’s close up, no?”

Humming in agreement, you lock the door from the inside, shuttering the blinds.

“Get some rest, pequeño nenúfar. You’ve got a big day tomorrow, after all,” he teases, and then Abuelo hobbles up the stairs, leaving you alone to close up. You watch his ascent warily, resisting the urge to offer to help him up, but the last time you’d done that it had devolved into a terrible argument. Once the door at the top of the staircase clicks shut, you sigh and roll up your sleeves. Time to go through your list.

Sweeping, rearranging, inventory, turning off the machines, and… done. It takes a good hour or so, but it’s thankfully manageable.

Once you’ve finished tidying up, you pause in front of the phone. It’s late by now, and he’s probably sleeping. Or not? Still, you promised you’d call, and so you dial back the number that he called you with.

It takes two rings for him to pick up. “Hello?”

“It’s Y/N. Is this Bruno?”

“Yes, it’s Bruno. How are you? I… I’m sorry that my visit caused such a ruckus,” he mumbles into the receiver, and you resist the urge to roll your eyes with a fond smile.

“Don’t apologize, Abuelo and Paulo are just… a lot. How are you feeling? I hope they didn’t scare you away.”

“Eh? No, no, it was… it was fine. Nice. I know abuelos can be overbearing, but he cares about you quite a bit.” You can almost hear the smile returning to Bruno’s voice, and it loosens something in your chest that you hadn’t even noticed was tense.

“So, when should I be ready to go?”

“Eh, is tomorrow morning alright? Probably two or so hours before noon. It’s just the… the initial script reading, but I thought you might… like to see how production runs?” And there’s the hesitance in his voice again as if he’s walking on eggshells.

“Sounds great,” you say, trying to pour as much reassurance into your voice without coming on too strong. “I’ll see you tomorrow, then?”

“Mhm. Buenas noches.”

“Buenas noches, Bruno.”

The phone returns to the receiver with a soft click, and you yawn before stretching enough to pop your back. A big day tomorrow indeed. Without further ado, you head back up the stairs and into the house above your shop, slipping by Abuelo’s door as silently as possible.

–

“Paulo- Paulo, no,” you sputter, pushing your best friend’s face away from you as he tries to reach for your hair.

“Come on, mi amige, you need to at least wear something a little nicer than just your usual outfits! Just let me-” he struggles to lean over, trying to clip in the small hair clip, an engraved pin shaped like a lily pad. Not that you’d ever admit that you think it looks nice, because that would be admitting that Paulo was right and that you wanted to look nice. If you wanted to look nice, that would mean that you wanted to look nice for Bruno, which would mean that you wanted him to think-

“I’m not wearing it! It’s just going over to his workplace! We are friends, Paulo. Friends!” You huff and finally duck out of the way, holding the newspaper like a small sword to keep him at a distance.

“Right, so you’re going to go to his workplace, in your everyday clothes. What if he works somewhere business-y? As your friend, I can’t let you sabotage yourself like this. It is a single hairpin. Come on.”

You groan. He does have a bit of a point. Lowering the makeshift weapon, you beckon for him to come over so he can place the pin in your hair. “Don’t you have a chihuahua dress you need to be making right now?” you grumble, still stubbornly refusing to admit he may be right. At least, verbally. But Paulo sees the goading for what it is and simply laughs.

“I was saving this for your birthday, but I think now is as good of a time as any to help you freshen your style a bit,” he instead replies, styling the pin just right so that it rests tastefully in your hair. “Besides, I promised your abuelo that I’d help with the shop today.”

You blink. “Eh? Paulo, you hate working retail. You really don’t-”

“Please,” he interrupts, holding up a hand. “I’ve been stuck in my workshop for weeks now. I think I could do with a little bit of social interaction besides our chats. Plus,” Paulo grins, wiggling his eyebrows, “all of las abuelas can give me the freshest gossip while I’m here. It’s a win-win!”

Rolling your eyes, you pat him on the shoulder and check yourself in the nearby window. It looks… well, it looks nice. The hairpin is thoughtful, small, and makes your look feel a little more business casual. “Mm, gracias Paulo.”

“Anytime mi amige.” You shoot your friend a grateful smile, and then glance through the window to see if you can see Bruno walking over. To your surprise, you notice him just across the street, and your eyes meet. You grin and wave at him from behind the glass and he returns the wave, crossing over to enter the store.

“Am I interrupting something?” Bruno asks curiously as he peeks his head in the front door. Paulo smirks and shakes his head, stepping behind the counter.

“Not at all, señor, though I do think I’m keeping you both busy,” he replies, smooth as butter. He gives a cheerful wave which you find highly suspicious, along with that grin of his that is definitely suspect. “I’ve got the shop, amige. Adiós, you two.”

Though you could chide him for trying to kick you out of your own store, you instead shake your head with a soft laugh and gesture for Bruno to leave through the door first.

“So, where to?” you ask, glancing up at Bruno as you both pause on the street. You pointedly ignore what you’re sure it’s Paulo’s smug smile in the shop window behind you.

“Veamos adónde nos lleva la aventura, Gabriella,” Bruno replies in a faux dramatic voice, and you suppress a snort. He grins right back, adjusting the sleeves on his black button-up shirt before finally answering, “Ah, we’re gonna take the bus, and then walk over. It’s really not that long of a commute.”

You hum in agreement and shoulder your bag, following behind him as he leads you to the nearby bus stop. The ride itself is honestly pretty pleasant, and though you keep quiet in respect of the other passengers, it’s a comfortable silence.

He looks nice today as well, which must mean that he dresses nicely for his job. Silently, you send a thank you to Paulo. His hair is loose today, and he probably shaved recently, given the hint of stubble on his chin. He’s currently wearing that black dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his forearms, and a pair of dark grey slacks that cut off at his ankles just above a decent pair of dress shoes.

At the laundromat, it’s laundry day, which is never anyone’s finest moment, so it’s strange to see him with his simple yet fashionable outfits. Not that you’re complaining, he certainly cleans up nice.

…

Mierda, you’ve been staring at him again, haven’t you? But it’s just so easy to keep looking at him-

Easy on the eyes, some part whispers traitorously.

Acting as if you hadn’t just been eyeing Bruno up and down for the past few minutes, you casually turn your head away towards the window and try to ignore the squeezing sensation in your chest.

Glancing at the outside blur of buildings, you pause as your eyes finally rise to the heavens. The sky… is green. Odd. Plus, there are way more clouds than there were this morning. “Hey Bruno, was it supposed to rain today?” You mutter, leaning over in your seat towards him.

“Mm? I don’t think so, no,” he replies, brow scrunching.

A little pitter-patter of droplets slowly begins to descend from the sky, and you frown. “Well, it looks like it. Guess we’ll have to run, cause I didn’t bring an umbrella.”

He winces and nods. “Neither did I. It’s been so dry lately…” A sigh. The bus comes to a stop on the street, the sidewalk already emptying as people hurry indoors to escape the weather. “Well, this is us,” Bruno says, standing and stepping off the bus into the drizzle.

You follow behind him, squinting up at the clouded sky with a sigh before following after him as he strides through the rain. “How far do we have to walk again? If it just drizzles, it shouldn’t be too bad.”

Bruno hums, though it seems more of a grimace as his gait speeds up, and you match him stride for stride. It’s a bit of a rougher pace than you’d like, but as you walk further along, the winds start to pick up. A sudden gust sends your hair everywhere, blasting your face with a sudden spray of droplets that make you burst into surprised laughter.

“Ay, be careful,” Bruno yells over the wind, glancing aside at you, and then, as if someone flipped a switch, it begins to pour. He yelps as the heavy droplets begin to batter and drench you both, and he grabs your hand to start running through the rain.

You’re still cackling as you both sprint for shelter, and soon Bruno’s panicked laughter joins your own as you round corner after corner. “My house is just ahead!” he says, though it’s hard to hear him over the whipping winds, a strange sense of joyous fear cloaking your heart as the world whirls around you both.

As you approach, you see what seems to be a tall apartment building, though you don’t exactly have the luxury of admiring the outside. Bruno pulls out up the stairs and into a little hallway that’s partially shielded from the elements. Large potted plants line the concrete walkway, leafy and currently hanging on for dear life as the wind whips by them. Letting go of your hand to fumble for his keys, Bruno unlocks the door and steps inside, and you follow soon after.

Absolutely drenched, the both of you stand in his… living room(?), only the quiet drip drip drip of your clothes filling the silence. You both look each other up and down, eyes wide.

His hair is practically soaked, hanging around his face in a curtain as water slowly drips from it. Not to mention, his clothes are stuck flush to his skin, glistening with rainwater. But otherwise, he looks unhurt. You can only imagine what you look like.

“... Well, you look like a mop hung out to dry,” you quip and Bruno snorts.

“Uhuh. Well, you look like a drowned pigeon,” he shoots back, eyes practically glowing with mischief.

You just grin in response, smiling up at Bruno. The moment stretches on until you suddenly realize that you haven’t said anything for a solid minute, instead smiling stupidly up at his stupidly pretty face.

Mierda.

You flush and cough. “So…”

He seems to remember himself as well and winces. “So…” You glance out the window, where it still looks like the sky is having a catfight with the ground, rain pouring heavily.

“Lo siento,” he says, grabbing your attention once more, his hands going to rub at his temples. “I had no idea it was going to rain so hard today, and I- if I hadn’t invited you, then-”

“If you hadn’t invited me to the set, I would have been very offended, that’s what,” you interrupt him, though you give him a teasing nudge to make sure he catches your joking tone. “Really Bruno, it’s fine. Let’s check the weather, and I’m sure I can head home after the rain stops.”

He cracks a smaller smile at that, grateful. “Right.” And so he turns on the TV he has sat on the floor in front of his couch, flicking to the news channel, only to be met with a large ‘SEVERE STORM WARNING, STAY INDOORS. IN EFFECT UNTIL 6:30 AM.’

He winces, and you sigh.

“Well, I suppose I'm going to be heading home a bit later than expected.”

[rogersevans]

Quarantine Wedding

Pairings: Chris Evans x Y/n Downey - Chris Evans x Y/n Evans

Warnings: just fluff, wedding (if they make you emotional), implied smut towards the end

Summary: Y/n never planned her dream wedding, but in their back garden, surrounded by their families, during a global pandemic seems pretty perfect to her. apart of the evans’ series.

Sunday mornings were Y/n’s and Chris’s favourite day of the week, the only time they got to stay in bed, tangled in the sheets and each other, going undisturbed from the outside world. Chris currently had Y/n lying between his legs, her back against his bare chest as he rested against the head of the bed.  

Y/n was absentmindedly playing with the engagement ring on her finger, something she had started to do since he put it on, twiddling it with her thumb.

Dodger was at their feet, on his back with his legs spread, snoring away.  

“We should get married.” Y/n mumbled like she was thinking something through in her mind, thumb still playing with the ring.

“We are...” Chris reminded her, placing a small kiss to her temple. “That’s what this is for.” Taking her small hand in his, holding it up to show off the ring as it glistened in the Sunday morning sun.  

“No,” she protested with a giggle, getting up onto her knees and wrapping the sheet around her naked body, turning to face her fiancé. “I mean sooner, like tomorrow.”  

“Tomorrow?”

“Or Thursday if you’re too busy.” Rolling her eyes playfully she scooted closer to him, now in his lap, the sheet now being held up by their bodies, closing the gap. Her hands finding his hair, raking her fingers through it and massaging his scalp. “I want to be Mrs Evans, I want to get married in our back garden, with our families... No one else.” Chris hummed in agreement, letting his hands fall to her hips.  

“You don’t want a big wedding?” Licking his lips, his eyes now open and focused on every detail of her, the small freckle that sat just above the curve of her right breast, the thin chain that sat around her neck with a small diamond C resting in the centre he’d bought her on their second anniversary, the butt dimpled in her chin, something she hated but another thing he adored.  

Truthfully, she didn’t, she never envisioned herself surrounded by 300 people as she said ‘I do’, she just wanted a small, intimate wedding, less than 30 people.  

The pair had been engaged for five months and the pandemic had haltered all of their plans to celebrate, they had various zoom celebrations with their families and friends and when they were allowed to travel back home their hallway was filled with presents and balloons.  

They had managed to keep the news out of the press, wanting to bask in the newness of their engagement privately, it had been blissful but Y/n was becoming impatient.  

Silently shaking her head, she dipped her head her lips just a whisper away from Chris’s, “I just want you, as my husband.” She whispered making Chris’s entire body shiver, and in one swift movement Y/n is on her back with Chris lying on his side next to her, propped up on his elbow and tracing shapes on her are stomach.

She doesn’t stop herself from reaching up and cupping his cheek, booping his nose with her thumb, making them both giggle and then running her fingers over his beard, one her favourite features of her fiancé the way it feels against her skin makes her feel alive.  

“Tomorrow.” Was all he replied with, letting his lips fall down to her nose.  

After another hour of being tangled up in one another, the room filled with her soft moans and Chris made love to her, turned on at the thought of her becoming his wife tomorrow. They started organising everything, never leaving the bed unless it was for Dodger, food or toilet breaks.  

They had delivered the news to their families and the cheers or screams (Carly and Shanna) we’re piercing, even though the speaker of their phones.  

Chris booked flights for his family to be able to attend, they were getting in at around 10pm that night. Y/n demanded that everyone be tested before they stepped foot in their home, so she arranged for someone to come out and test everyone. Y/n’s family were due to arrive tomorrow morning, the nerves bubbled in the pit of her stomach at the thought of her mom and dad being in the same room again, something she hadn’t experienced in years.  

“Baby, it’ll be fine.” Giving a chaste kiss to her knuckles, “we’re getting married tomorrow.” He mumbled against them, his voice raspy and tired after a long day of planning, all doubt or anxiety about her parents leaving her body just from his touch, his words settled her completely.  

“I can’t wait to be your wife.” Standing to her tiptoes she nudged her nose with his, their gaze still looked before her eyes fluttered shut, breathing him in and relishing in the moment before his lips found hers.  

“What are you going to do about a dress?” Scott asked in a hushed tone, not wanting Chris to hear their conversation, closing the door to their bedroom behind him.  

The house was extremely busy downstairs with everyone completing last minute preparations so Scott and Y/n had snuck away for a quiet moment to get ready, knowing Y/n didn’t function when stressed. He could tell she wanted nothing more than to have Chris at her side, one didn’t move without the other.

But Scott demanded, as the self appointed best man/man of honour, that they be apart for the night before and the day of, still up-keeping some form of tradition.

Unknowingly to Scott, Chris had snuck back into their bedroom last night when everyone was asleep, not wanting to be away from one another with the excitement of the next day bubbling. 

Like children on Christmas Eve.  

The busyness of the day had helped keep them both distracted, not giving them much time to sneak off for a moment of privacy. 

“I bought something a few months ago, thinking ahead.” Y/n rummaged through her and Chris’s shared walk-in closet, plucking a black garment bag which was hidden at the very back.  

Unzipping the bag, Y/n revealed the white, embroidered, floor length cami wedding dress. Scott couldn’t contain his gasp as he softly took the dress in his hands, admiring it silently.  

“Where did you find this?” His eyes not leaving the dress, his fingers running over the patterns.

“ASOS,” she started. “I saw it on there and had to have it, I’m going to wear it with these...” Trailing off as she bent down to pick up her pair of all white, high-topped converses, now beaming from ear to ear.

“You’re joking right?”

“Heels aren’t me,” shrugging her shoulders she took the dress from Scott and disappeared into the en-suite to get ready.  

“What about rings?” Scott asked on the other side of the door, he was sitting on the edge of the bed go through the checklist he had created in his mind.

“I think Chris has that sorted.” Was all she replied too focused on not damaging the dress as she slipped it on carefully, not hearing when Scott said something about checking on the decorations and leaving. 

After ten minutes Y/n stepped out of the bathroom to show Scott, her hair now falling freely over her shoulders and the slightest bit of make-up, the dress hugged her figure perfectly as the flowed around her.  

“Wow.” Chris’s voice sounded, making her jump back behind the bathroom door, shutting it, hoping he didn’t see too much. “Baby, what’re you doing?” Walking over to the bathroom door, trying to push it open.

“I thought you were Scott. You’re not supposed to see me!” Y/n cried from behind the door.

“I don’t care, we’re getting married during a pandemic, in our back garden with less than twenty people... So, I think the traditions are out the window.” His hand still on the door knob, letting a breathy chuckle out. “C’mon gorgeous, I wanna see you.” He attempted to persuade her.

Slowly the door started to open to reveal Y/n stood there, holding either side of her dress as she twirled for Chris, giggling as she did.

Well fuck, the sight made Chris’s heart swell, his palms became sweaty as his eyes trailed over her, drinking in her appearance, his smile never leaving his lips.  

Y/n took the opportunity to take in her fiancé's appearance, he was currently in black dress pants, a white shirt tucked into his pants with the top few buttons undone, and a tie hanging around his neck, untied. Her breath hitched in her throat at the sight, butterflies erupting in her stomach.

“Was gonna ask you to do my tie...” He choked out, his eyes now meeting hers.  

Without word she took a step forward and began fastening the last few buttons before making work of his tie, his hands found her hips, rubbing small circles with his thumbs as he watched her intently.  

“You look...” He started, but was cut off by Y/n.

“Handsome, you look insanely handsome. I’m lucky you’re about to become my husband.” Her eyes still fixated on the tie, her tongue dragging across her bottom lip as she concentrated. Once satisfied her fingers smoothed out his collar and tie. “Now go, before Scott sees you in here. Anyone would think he’s the one getting married.” Both chuckling softly.  

With her command Chris didn’t move away, just one step closer to her, closing the gap between them, his hands now cupping her cheeks, both looking into each other's eyes for a few seconds before he dipped his head down to kiss her.  

This kiss wasn’t like all the others he had sneaked in the past twenty four hours, it was different.

Y/n’s mind casting back to the night Chris told her he loved her for the first time, the kiss matching that. It was filled with adoration, passion and love, making her stomach do flips and her heart hammer against her chest.  

“Go,” Y/n mumbled against his lips after a few seconds, pushing his abdomen. “I’ll see you down there handsome.” Giving her one last kiss before walking away, leaving her now by herself as she jumped up and down in their bathroom, the tiniest squeal leaving her lips.  

The next half an hour rushed by so quickly, now the pair were stood at the bottom of their garden in front of their families, their garden littered with fairy lights hung above them, their families stood watching proudly. 

It was simple and perfect, no fuss. 

Scott was ordaining the ceremony something Chris and Y/n weren’t aware he could do until last night. Too scared to know the reason why he decided to become an ordained minister, “you never know when you might need it” was all he said. 

“Y/n,” Chris started, his hands shaking a little. “I can’t imagine my life without you, since you came barging into it 22 years ago. From the very first day of filming back in 2011, I knew you were it for me, even if I didn’t know it.” That caused everyone to laugh, “I love how you’re always there by my side, how you always tie my tie... Even if I know how to do it myself.” Y/n gasped shocked at his admission, laughing along with everyone. “At first it was a tactic to be near you, but the look of concentration you have every time, drives me crazy.” He laughed as she shook her head, beaming from ear to ear. “You make me the happiest man alive every day, even when you’re beating my ass at guitar hero. I love how passionate and impatient you are... Today being an example of that.” Everyone laughed again, he reached for her cheek and wiped the tears away with his thumb. “I can’t believe I get to call you my wife... I love you.”

Y/n was speechless, wiping away the tears that continued to fall, it was like he’d winded her with his words, her body tingled with excitement and love as the feeling of becoming Mrs Evans drew closer.

“Chris,” she started. “You are one of the most amazing, crazy talented, men I’ve ever known, I’m in constant awe of what you’re capable of... Seriously, it's annoying... I will make it my life mission to find something you’re not good at.” Chris’s loud laughter now echoed over your families laughs, his hand falling to his chest. “Your laugh, is my favourite sound of yours and if I could play it on repeat I would, but I’ll just settle for making you laugh with my terribly bad dad jokes-”

“Oh no!” Chris groaned at her statement, making everyone laugh again.

“Our love consumes me, I knew from the moment Lizzie told me you liked me that I had to have you, no matter what. Everyone constantly tells me how intense our love is, but it wasn’t until someone described it perfectly to me that I understood,” Y/n took the opportunity to side eye Scott, recalling the night they had a very drunken conversation about her relationship with Chris, making Scott laugh. “We’re so in sync with one another, you move, I move, we could be in a room filled with people, on opposite ends and we would still find each other without looking. Being with you,” she had to stop to compose herself, not wanting to cry during her vows. “Is like living a dream come true, especially during the simple times, no plans, no noise, just us doing nothing.”

Chris didn’t hide his tears as they freely fell, the sniffles from everyone, including Robert could be heard now.

After a few more words from Scott, once he calmed down, the cheers erupted as their lips connected, their first kiss as husband and wife. Chris pulling her flush against him, deepening the kiss. “I got you, Mrs Evans.” He whispered against her lips, making her giggle.  

The rest of the night was spent with their families, basking in the events of the day as they ended the night with the fire pit lit, gathered around it. Y/n was still in her dress and converse clad feet, her hair now tied up as she sat on the floor in between her husband's legs. 

She was currently admiring her wedding band, it was rose gold, slim and had diamonds wrapped around it, fitting perfectly against her engagement ring. reaching for the hand that rested on her shoulder, now playing with his wedding band, his band was thick, black and had a thin, rose gold strip around the centre. 

Chris had purchased them the day he bought the engagement ring and had hidden them in his sock drawer in his bedside, his hiding spots were getting better. 

“I’m so happy for you guys.” Robert softly whispered, puling his daughter into his arms holding her tightly against his chest. “I can’t believe you’re married!” 

“I know... I have to live with a boy!” She quipped back and Robert’s body started to vibrate with laughter, her cheek resting on his should as they continued to hug, not wanting to let go.

“My baby...” Now cupping her cheeks, giving his daughter one last look of pride before letting go. “You’ve always been my favourite child.” He whispered, Y/n knew he was joking but she laughed in agreement anyway. Out of her other three siblings they both shared a close relationship, Y/n was his saving grace when he was younger, having her at a young age bonded them. 

“Chris, I can’t believe you’re my son now... How weird.” Chris smiles broadly at the term son, instead of son-in-law, he knew Robert classed him as part of the family and not because he had to. "Welcome to the family, legally.. Let’s face it you’ve always been apart of this family.” Sharing a quick embrace before slipping past the newlyweds to speak to Lisa.

“Do you want to dance?” Chris bent down to whisper in his wife's ear, his hands finding her hips and back pressed against his chest, only to have her hum in response. 

Guiding her to an open spot in the garden, taking his hand in hers and spinning her so she was now facing him. His large hands resting on her hips whilst her hands snaked around his waist, the music that played from the speakers in the house guiding them. “You’re my wife,” stating softly, his lips finding her forehead.

“That’s right Evans,” the nickname now sounding futile with both being Evans’. “You’re stuck with me, no getting out this.” Her index finger was pointing between them before wrapping back around his neck. 

“Never.” 

It was nearing 2am when Chris and Y/n climbed the stairs to their bedroom, once the click of their door shutting was heard she reached behind trying to unzip her dress but struggled due to her tired state, contemplating just sleeping her dress.

Her thoughts were interrupted by her husband as he guided the zip down slowly, leaving slow, wet kisses on shoulder, using his callous fingers to brush the straps of her dress off her shoulders, the dress pooling at her feet, leaving her in nothing but her panties.  

“My wife, you’re stunning.” He said lowly, the only light in the room was the light of the moon streaming through the windows. Y/n turned to face him, starting to unbutton his shirt which was now untucked, tie long gone and the top two buttons already undone, his collar bones and tattoos poking out through his shirt.  

Pushing the shirt off of him, she traced his tattoos with her fingers, a hiss of pleasure escaping from his throat, making him tighten the grip on her hips she didn’t know he had.  

The C necklace glistening in the moonlight.

That’s how they stood for a few minutes, their eyes never breaking from one another, her arms wrapped around his neck, his hands on her hips.  

Y/n guided her new husband to their bed, the back of his legs hitting the edge and he sat down closely followed by her straddling him. “Mr Evans,” her voice laced with arousal. “I do believe, you’re wearing one too many items of clothing.” She tsked, her finger trailing down his abdomen, his muscles twitching when she did, effortlessly flicking the button of his pants open.  

“That can be fixed... Mrs Evans.” He purred in her ear, sending a shiver down her spine.  

[thesolotomyhan]

permission to be h*rny on main?? just a little th*t i had while my chaotic mess gets herself together to put some more self indulgent hc soon for mis princesas but here is in honor of s3 finally comingggg again pls forgive me if this is actual garbage its been a while :) anyways ill just shut up now

um let me know what you guys think? should i continue doing these or nah? and if you guys want to see some fluff or something else next?? 

warnings: nsfw! im a sl** who def needs to write more fluff than this omg im sorry 

amado:  alright listen yall because i could go on for a while about the many type of fucking vibes amado gives off but for today i just want to settle and focus on shower sex with him because??? why not?? and also because i know hes that cocky piece of shit when he has you around he just wants to be touching some part of your skin with his because hes that infatuated with you and because he would also def say some shit like “para no gastar tanta agua, nos metemos juntos” but umm also you guys know me for being a wh*re for mi querido tontin because all i am thinking about is him pressing your back up against the glass door to your shower his hips rutting up into you as the water droplets run down the both of you,, him grunting into your mouth his hands resting on your ass to keep you up probably spreads them apart so he can grip them good lord, your own hands moving from holding the top of the door behind you to grasping his hair when he leads one of his hands in between your shaking legs to rub your clit, probably flashes you a smile when he sees you draw your eyebrows together struggling to keep your moans down as he works at you harder, his hand squeezing your ass so hard to keep him grounded while hes thrusting into you just focusing on making you chant his name over and over again making you downright delirious everytime his hips smack against yours as he feels the way he reaches into you im just,,,  his thumb moving to rub tight and firm circles around your throbbing clit just whispering the most filthiest shit he can come up with like pinshe hermosa cuando estas asi abierta para mi keeping your head in place so you can look at him while he thrusts so fucking erratically in you, your body cant help but bounce up along the door behind you with his thrusts but him grounding you down onto him wow the tears forming in your eyes mixing in with the water running over you both because he feels so good- but also please imagine with me the way he would definitely come up behind you in the shower in like the mornings before he has to leave like “ya mero me tengo que ir pero tengo que darle el buenos dias a mi reina primero” all while he runs his hands down your body, him kissing your shoulder wow him bringing his arm around the front of your stomach to push you back into him to keep you from turning around or moving away,, one of his hands traveling down your body but him whispering into your ear to keep you distracted like “esto es la manera mas favorita de verte en la manana mi cielo “ his lips brushing against your ear when you bring your head back to rest on his shoulder,, just smirking when he hears the little gasp leave your lips when he tentatively circles your clit wow im- him moving one of your legs to rest on like the showers ledge,, him bringing your lips to his by grabbing hold of your jaw and pulling away slightly when he sheathes his cock into you his fingers stilling against your throbbing clit and his soft grunt mixing with your mewl of his name rolling off of your tongue dios mio perdoname yall but the way hell roughly push your front up against the wall or like the glass door as he gradually continues to thrust into you, splitting you open for him and making you a wreck, his hands on either side of you im everything fogging up around the two of you even tho the water has run cold ,, please no talk to me because he would have you seeing fucking stars at 7 in the morning with his body pressed close to you,, sloppily kissing you and just having you so stimulated with his touch because hes everywhere with the way his arms are holding you from the front of your body playing with your nipples and just keeping you close to him as he drills into you from behind,, not even realizing the water already got cold minutes before with the way your skin is on fire and the way you push your hips back onto him when he thrusts into you hitting the spot he always hits when hes so deep in you- im getting carried away sorry but shower sex? its one of this bitches favorite times with you<<

miguel angel: wow i just want to get out there that miguel angel felix gallardo gets absolutely lost and shuts out everything going on around the two of you as he watches you when he fucks you,, like it really doesnt matter what position you two are in, he just really loves watching your face and you trying to blindly grab onto anything when hes thrusting into you and him just either giving you that cocky ass smile he would do or him just becoming so mesmerized when he sees your body tense up with his thrusting and his hands wandering everywhere all while your words start to go incoherent youre not even making sense while he fucks you im- him furrowing his eyebrows concentrating on not cumming inside of you with the way you squeeze him everytime he reaches further inside of you- this just brings me into saying how many fucking times someone has walked in to his office and accidentally witnessed him all disheveled thrusting into your drunken laid out form on his desk or even on his couch that he has in his office with you on top of him and good god el pinshe neto and azul have literally lost count the amount of times they have accidentally walked into his office with some update about the other plazas only to find you bouncing on this mans cock like a lifeline his hands roaming your back while both of you kiss eachother to keep as quiet as you can,, wow um one of his hands wandering up your back towards your hair only to grasp it and pull making you cry his name out as he brings his lips to your neck or him completely drilling into your disoriented form whimpering his name out your knuckles turning a lighter shade than normal from gripping the edge of his desk woW your body cant help but bounce with his thrusts with his panting lips kissing in between your breasts his hands pushing your legs apart and bending them as far and high as they can go to your sides so your body is completely on display for him all while his body leans so fucking close you and everytime you come to try and close your legs around his body he just pushes them even further apart because you cannot fight with me that he loves watching his cock disappear inside of you only to reappear completely fucking coated in your slick just watching the way your core flutters around nothing when he pulls out only to thrust into you all over again wow and your form not doing any better from the way your eyes are shut, mind purely focusing on every little movement hes doing to bring you pleasure -im sorry loL but what im trying to say is that you both get so lost on whats happening between the two of you and in reaching your highs neither of you notice the awkward glance or rolling of the eyes when someone walks in and quickly turns around shutting the door loud enough to hear but it still doesnt get either of you to look away or bother to glance away from what youre both preoccupied with-

benjamin: aHA a fuckING breeding kink for my man,, he has the biggest fucking vibe for it and im willing to debate with anyone on this because?? hello? soft daddy benjamin is my mf trope,,, but let me just get it out here that mi min would be so attentive and soft with you when he has you underneath him during sex i fucking sob just thinking about it because i associate min treating you so delicate when hes intimate porque el HACE EL AMOR alright he puts his mf heart and soul into it with YOU so im talking about him resting his forehead on yours, probably holding your hand and squeezing it to make sure youre still in that moment with him while he sinks his cock into you,, soft fucking strokes but it still has you gasping for breath, your nails digging into him that its for sure going to leave crescent marks like a reminder of your night and tilting your head back just a little it almost reassures him youre enjoying this as much as he his being buried so deep inside of you im- him loving to drag his hands up your trembling thighs to pull them around his waist, gradually picking up the force of his thrusts when he hears your cries go a pitch higher when he does because i imagine when benjamin has a partner he and them would be so in tune with their bodies ya know? like him definitely knowing his mujers body and responses better than you like he just knows when and what he has to do to coax those pretty noises he loves hearing from you come out. im getting carried away sorry, but good lord does this man go fucking feral when hes steadily rutting into you and you suddenly move one of your hands from his biceps to your stomach staring up at him so fucking innocently gasping his name and its like this mans brain short circuits for a minute because ??? omg that might have been the hottest thing youve done and if youre someone whos vocal about it and beg him to fuck you until theres for sure going to be a bebe arellano running around you might have as well killed this man for a solid second with the way the he stares down at you until he groans and leans down the kiss you,, his thrusts no longer soft and delicate but rough and loud the bed banging against the wall filling the room with your whines mixing with skin slapping im sorry but the lewd sound of your juices making noise everytime he snaps his hips into you gets him going even faster making it his literal mission to have you pregnant by the end of the fucking week- im ,, in conclusion this man will leave you shaking and leaking with his cum if you let him let his dream come true with you,,  ill see myself out now 

poison: get this,, poison taking you out on a club date with him and of course the rest of the sicarios being there like always but knowing how busy poison is being pablos main sicario this is like the first time in such a long ass time where he finally has like a week off in months and he for fucking sure is going to spend the very second he has time off and every breathing moment con su mujer favorita >:),, and ill let you decide whether its the built up tension from dancing with eachother all night because youre both touch starved from being apart for so long or if youre both just sitting down in a booth together basking in eachothers presence his arm slung around your shoulders just chatting and occasionally watching one of the guys fail to get some girl to dance with them but whatever route you chose its going to end up with you cradling his jaw and pulling him into you where its one of those kisses thats sloppy but passionate at the same time ya know?? just letting you both physically tell eachother how much you missed one another,, his hands coming down and pulling you as close to his body as he can,, and woW let me tell you something because if you voice your thought about needing him from how much you missed him while you twirl your fingers through the ends of his hair i- this man is willing to go on his knees for you right then and there in front of everyone but the desperate kiss you give him while you wait his answer and the way youre silently looking at him? hes a fucking goner because his desesperado ass would just drag you with him to the nearest bathroom and pin you up against the door as he locks it im- i just cannot with the way you both would be so desperate to touch eachother as he brings you and hoists you up on like a counter with a mirror on it good lord,, please no one look at me because desperate sex with poison where he doesnt even bother to even think about taking you home but rather just take you somewhere secluded yet still very public for you both so he can show you how much he needs you? MATAME de una vez because the idea of both of you tearing the others clothes open and him pushing your hands away from his belt so he can push your upper body back as he kneels in front of you probably giving you a smirk before you can even register him pulling your legs apart and licking a stride up your wet pussy IM SOrry,, but wow the way hell hook his arms under your legs to pull you even closer to him and keep your legs open when they try to close around his head and the way youll have a hand threading through his well kept hair whining and breath already out of air dios please i cant,,  him looking up at you with a shit eating grin in between your weeping lips watching the way you lose your way of thinking him humming against you when he sucks on your clit,, slurping up any slick that threatens to come out- im him moving to separate your folds with his fingers making you jolt but throw your head back with a thump when he runs a finger through you and push in i wow your head lulling to the side and catching a glimpse of yourself absolutely fucking wrecked by just his mouth looking slightly down in the mirror just to see his head bopping up and down and as if on cue him looking at you through the mirror his lower face just covered in your slick a fucking grin on his face as  his thumb coming to rub at your clit when he pumps his fingers in you,, moving to bring your head to lean back forward towards him as he cradles your head to him his movements of his fingers becoming forceful when your moans become louder and your grip on him more bold your chants of yes filling his ears up until he brings you to shout his name out white spots blinding you- i literally cant ill just leave 

taglist: @coaxium-captain-rex @visintaes @sheeshgivemeabreak @artemiseamoon @redhairedace @sevenquartz

miguel angel tag: @all-tings-diego​ @xbeyondthegatex​ 

amado tag: @mylovepedro 

let me know if you want to be added! 

[soyouthinkucanwrite]

What did he say? - Daniel Ricciardo one shot

Update: I just realized it's Carlos' birthday TODAY! I'm so so sorry hahaha I feel like a jerk, but it's just play pretend ok?

Guys, this is based on a dream I had but listen, it’s so weird cause I KNOW this is not like Carlos AT ALL. He’s kind of the vilan in this one... Please don’t be mad if you’re a Carlos fan, it’s just for fun, I swear. I’ll even try to write something with him later to make it up to you guys! Also, I clearly don't know how vacuum works in racing, so again, just humor me and pretend I got it right, ok?

As always, please take the time to let me know what you think, means a lot to me (even if it’s constructive criticism)! And thank you so much to everyone that always does! 💕 Your lovely messages always motivate me to keep writing!

Warnings: angst, jealous Daniel, kind of a dick Carlos (again, sorry! I know he’d never)

.

I was in the “side stage” at the press room for the Austin GP, the first I ever went and of course, the first with Daniel, as his girlfriend. He was answering questions along with Pierre Gasly on stage. There were a few people besides me, including some of the drivers, waiting for their turn to face the press.

"Coco, ¿quién es?" I heard Carlos Sainz whispering to his cousin, nodding his head in my direction.

"No conozco. ¿Creo que es periodista?" his cousin answered looking at me. I just acted like I wasn't listening, or understanding, not sure why though.

"No, si fuera periodista estaría allá fuera, haciendo preguntas" Carlos continued.

"Sí, pero no me parece estar perdida" his cousin commented, they kept whispering but I could hear them very clearly.

"Qué pena, no me importaría darte direcciones" Carlos said with a smirk and I felt really uncomfortable at that, which only made me stay even more frozen in place and wish Daniel came back sooner.

"Si no te conociera, diría que acabas de romper una relación. Ni siquiera puedes ver a una chica alrededor" his cousin said hitting him playfully in the head.

"¿Y te parece esta una chica cualquier? Siempre debes andar con supermodelos, ¿no?" Carlos joked back.

"Vale, tienes razón" his cousin answered him and I was counting the seconds for Daniel to come back now.

"Pero sin duda es nueva aquí. Me recordaría de algo como eso. Tampoco pienso ser americana, ellas no tienen esta-" Just then someone called him.

"Sainz, you're up next" Daniel walked out, coming by my side. "Hey" he said to me and I smiled. "They just asked to wait 5 minutes, something about changing the batteries of the mics" he said looking back at Carlos, his cousin, and Kimi, who was going to be pairing with Carlos in the press conference and was just hanging in the corner by himself this whole time.

"Alright, thanks mate" Carlos answered.

"Hey, have you guys met (y/n)? Carlos, Carlos, (y/n)... (y/n), Carlos, Carlos" Daniel made the introductions grinning like a teenager, probably finding it super funny that they had the same first name.

"¡Hola! Mucho gusto en conocerlos, soy (y/n). ¿Como están?" I extended my hand to greet them, feeling much more confident now that I had a 5' 9" Australian by my side. They looked startled at me and then at each other.

“¿Hablas español?” Carlos asked me.

“Sí, y compreendo muy bien también” I told him and my tone made it clear I knew exactly what they were talking about earlier and didn’t like it a bit.

"Carlos, Kimi, they're ready for you" an assistant called.

"Good one kid" Kimi said to me when he walked past us, winking at Daniel. Carlos followed him to the stage and since I didn't want to just stand there in the remains of the awkward situation with Dan and Carlos’ cousin, I just walked in the opposite direction, outside the press room. Not too long after, Daniel walked after me.

"Hey, what was that about?" he asked, still smiling. Boy, he wouldn't be smiling for too long after I told him what that was about.

"What?" I asked, trying not to make a big deal. He reached for my hand, taking it in his.

"You know what. Come on, what happened back there? Did you guys know each other?"

"No!" I have to tell him now, or he'll think I have something to hide. I took a deep breath. "They were talking between themselves before you come out, in Spanish. And I don't think they thought I could understand" he looked at me confused but then it hit him and his expression changed from confusion to rage.

"What did they said?"

"Nothing, it's not a big deal ok? I just wanted to let them know I could understand, so I just said 'hello' in Spanish, that's all" I said, walking away from the place where we were standing and pulling his hand. God knows I didn't want to be there when Carlos walked out, or better, for Daniel to be there.

"I figured that much. But what did he said? Just tell me" Daniel looked at me.

"Let's just go? Please? It's not worth it. What are you going to do? Sucker punch him?"

"Do I need to sucker punch him? Is it that bad?"

"No! Dan, please, let's just go. This is not going to lead us anywhere"

"(y/n)"

"I'll tell you. Promise. Back at the trailer, okay?" I tried to negotiate.

"Fine"

When we stepped back inside his driver's room, Daniel closed the door and looked at me.

"Alright. Spill it"

"Promise me you won't do anything to him"

"Absolutely not. The longer you stall me, the more pissed off I get"

"Okay” I knew I had no choice and honestly, why should I protect him really? I’m just worried about how this might make Daniel feel. “They were wondering who I was, his cousin was teasing him saying he was only interested because he just ended a relationship"

"That's not all" he said and I didn't answer, just looked away, shaking my head. "Alright. I'm sorry you had to hear that. But you can tell me these things ok? I want to protect you baby" He said stepping closer to me and hugging me.

"I don't want you to cause trouble for something stupid"

"Hey!" he said pulling away a bit to look at me. "This is not stupid. Nothing about you is stupid. It's a big deal baby, that’s plain disrespectful. I want you here with me, always. And I want you to feel comfortable here, okay?"

"I feel comfortable now" I said hugging him closer. He smiled and kissed the top of my head.

"Fuckers" he whispered to himself.

"Promise me you won't confront him. He'll deny, or start a fight. Or both. And besides, it’s not so much what he said, it’s more like how they were eyeing me. And I don't want you to get involved in a scandal" I said pulling away and sitting down in a chair. Daniel leaned against the table, looking at me.

"A scandal?" he laughed.

"You do know gossip is the major product of motorsports, right?" I smirked at him.

"Fair enough" he agreed. "Fuck baby, the things I have to deal with for having a goddess as a girlfriend" he was joking now, so the mood seemed lighter, but knowing Daniel, I knew he hadn't completely let that go yet. I just rolled my eyes at him. Hopefully, the events of the weekend would be enough to get his mind out of it.

.

.

Friday and Saturday kept us busy enough so that we didn’t touch the subject anymore, but I could still catch Daniel staring at Carlos here and there. And I could definitely see Carlos staring at me too, which I tried to avoid at all costs, staying out of his visual field. If Daniel saw that, I don’t know if I’d be able to hold him back again.

On Sunday I’d be watching from the garage with Michael and Blake, which was super exciting, to see all the action from the front row. But I didn’t want to disturb Daniel’s routine, so I tried to stay back a little. Yet, he kept coming to steal kisses and joke around. He seemed really relaxed and confident. He was P5 and I took the care to see that Carlos was P8, so I knew they might race each other eventually but I also knew that Dan would be much more preoccupied doing what he does best and overtaking the 4 in front of him to even think about whoever was behind. Everything was going to be fine, no harm done.

“Alright. Time to go” he announced to me. “Kiss for good luck?”

“Good luck. Just go and do what you do best, okay? And try to come back in one piece” I smiled through the kiss and then watched him take his helmet from the table, wink at me, and turn to walk towards his Mclaren. My chest was tight but I could only pray and hope now.

The cars were already outside the garage for some reason, so Dan was walking out when Carlos passed in front of the orange crew. He stopped to greet some of them and that would be fine, except he was not paying any attention to the people he was talking to. He was looking inside the garage like he was looking for something, or rather someone, cause when he saw me he nodded like he was greeting me and checked me out, head to toes. Dan saw it and looked back inside just in time to see me step aside, behind Michael, clearly uncomfortable with the whole thing.

“Hey... man” Carlos greeted Daniel. And his tone made me sure that it wasn’t even about me anymore. Carlos knew how much it must be bothering Daniel and was clearly using it to try and get him pissed off and unfocused. The thing is, very few things were capable of getting Daniel out of his “all good all ways” vibe, but when they did, you definitely don’t want to be on his way. I’m actually a bit worried about the other drivers now, Carlos included, because Dan just turned back to his machine, like he knew exactly what he was going to do and nothing would stop him, getting inside the car a mere formality. He didn’t even bother to take a second look at Carlos.

“Oh boy” I commented.

“Yeah, I saw it” Michael said to me. “What was that about anyway? I thought they got along fine”. I don’t say anything else, and from that moment on my eyes are glued to the screen in front of us, following any micro movement Daniel makes.

They go for the warm-up lap, which feels like it takes forever, and then, finally, Grid formation. That sign must be broken cause the lights also took hours to change.

3, 2, 1... there they go. Thank god we’re wearing masks, otherwise, my nails and fingertips would be long gone.

The first turn is a sharp one and Daniel had an opening to overtake Perez, the first driver in front of him, we could see it clearly from the drone view, but he didn’t take it. What is he doing?

“What is he doing?” Somebody in the garage voiced my thoughts.

“You had an opening Daniel” the engineer said on the radio.

“All under control. I know what I’m doing. How far are the others behind me?” Daniel answered.

I hoped he wasn’t doing what I thought he was doing but I already knew he was. Being the risk-it-all-idiot he was, Dan was waiting for Carlos to catch up to him. Knowing him, I knew he wanted to race and beat him personally, which was crazy stupid, but wouldn’t take long since Carlos had already overtaken Gasly and Alonso, and was now only a few nanoseconds behind Daniel.

“Come on Dan” I said to myself.

“Come on Daniel” Blake practically yelled at the screen.

I feel like throwing up. He’s gonna get hurt and jeopardize all the work the team put into the weekend just to... to what? I don’t even know. If he gets out of this race alive, I’ll personally kill him.

The race’s still going, no major changes after the first turn. Then suddenly Daniel seems to remember he had a gas pedal, finally getting speed in the big straight and leaving Perez behind. Carlos followed him, seeming to use the vacuum in his favor. Everybody in the garage celebrates, but I’m too focused to cheer along. He’s so close to the podium now. Just keep it up, baby. Carlos is still on his tail.

“Good job mate” the engineer says on the radio. “Watch for Sainz on your right. Bottas’ next”

“Keep me posted on Sainz’s time” it’s all Daniel says.

A couple more laps go and he’s really trying to overtake Bottas, not playing games anymore. Carlos doesn’t seem to try to overtake him even once though, he’s too far behind still.

More laps go by and I can’t standstill. When they’re in the 19th lap, with Max and Hamilton battling each other and taking turns in the lead, Daniel’s voice comes on the radio.

“Let’s be the first to box” I’m not sure what he’s playing at, as it’s still too soon to box, but the team seems to agree.

“Copy that. I’ll let you know when. Let’s get a couple more laps in. Keep this up for now” his engineer answers.

“Understood” Daniel’s voice come through the radio. “How’s Sainz time?”

“At least 1.5 seconds behind you” the engineer informs him.

“Understood” Daniel says.

He’s planning something. Not sure what, and I don’t know if I even could, not knowing much about racing strategies, but it definitely has something to do with Carlos and what happened earlier.

“Ouch!” I hear Michael say and nod towards the screen, making me focus on the race again, and not only on Daniel. Max and Hamilton had touched tires. “They're really going at it, definitely using way more tires than necessary"

"If Dan box before them..." I begin to ask.

"He needs a fast box, gaining speed later and for their box to be slower, but yeah, that's his best shot at them" Michael explains to me.

"Come on baby" I whisper to myself.

Daniel seems to finally get close enough to Bottas, but the Finnish guy won't make it easy for him. Turn 11 on sector 2 will be his best shot now and it's getting closer.

The garage and the radio go silent. Feels like the whole world is holding their breaths while Daniel smoothly overtakes Bottas from his left. And then I almost go deaf with all the cheering around me, it's a podium for Daniel, for now.

Unfortunately, that doesn't seem to last too long, cause once he comes to the box all the other drivers will pass him. It's just so frustrating.

"Good job mate. Spectacular time. Box now" the engineer informs on the radio.

"Box confirmed. We need to ace this, boys" Daniels says.

Not even a full minute later, I hear his car and see it on the screen. I look outside to see the orange machine with the big 3 in front of it, but I don't even have time to try and take a look at him, cause 2.3 seconds later (or at least that's what the TV tells me) there he goes again. The good news is, only Bottas passed him. The bad news is he almost crashes into Carlos when he comes out of the Pit Lane.

Some of the crew were still celebrating the fast pit stop when they realized what happened. I let out a gasp. They touched tires but Carlos seemed to have managed to get away from Daniel, quickly returning to his side a moment later but struggling to keep it up. Dan, on the other side, seems unbothered. He keeps gaining speed, even though the pit exit is right on the first turn.

"Take it easy now mate, even if Sainz passes you, his time is not enough to stay in front" the engineer informs Daniel, clearly worried that the risk doesn't justify the ends.

"Understood" Daniel responds.

We're on lap 30 now and just as the engineer said, Carlos is a full 2 seconds behind Daniel. Bottas still in front of him (which is frustrating for me because he had just overtaken him before the pit stop), then Hamilton, and finally Max.

"Daniel" the engineer calls him. "How're the tires?"

"All good"

"Good. Ready to race, mate? Hamilton's going to box now"

"Before Bottas?"

"Yes, that's confirmed"

"Understood"

I listen to the conversation between Daniel and the engineer closely, but I can't say I know exactly what the implications are.

"Bottas' going to second, Daniel to third again. Let's hope for a slow pitstop for Hamilton, so when he comes out, he comes in third and races Daniel. That's the best-case scenario, so he needs to gain speed now" Blake explains to me.

"Got it" I confirm to him. "What about Bottas? He should box on the next lap right?"

"Yeah. If Daniel overtakes him still on this lap, the difference will be too big for him to recover after his pit stop. Hopefully" He tells me.

There's a lot of 'hopefullys' and 'best-case scenarios' in this conversation, but I'll take it. I start to silently pray right away, eyes glued to the screen to see exactly what Blake predicted unfold: Hamilton pit stops, Bottas and Daniel are the firsts to go up on the positions, then Carlos, Alonso, and Gasly. The first turn comes again and Dan seises the opportunity to overtake Bottas, who, to his credit, is fighting real hard, but Dan isn't letting him take back his position.

Dan is P2 now. Max is almost 3 seconds in front of him. Hamilton comes out of the pit lane behind Gasly, it should take him long to again his positions.

"Bottas to box on this lap mate" the engineer announces.

"Not worried about Bottas. What about Max?" Daniel answers. A few moments of silence follow.

"Box confirmed for Max on this lap as well. Just get closer to him" the engineer instructs.

"Understood" Daniel answers.

"Come on, baby" I cheer silently again.

"Fuck! He's gonna make it" Michael yells. "Come on Daniel!"

Bottas is 2 seconds behind Daniel, and on the big straight Daniel manages to shorten his time difference to Max to 1.8 seconds. The next thing I know, Max is coming down the pit lane, quickly followed by Bottas. Daniel is P1. I can't believe this. Carlos is P2, but he hasn't boxed yet. Surprisingly enough, Alonso is P3 and, not so surprisingly, Hamilton is already P4 and gaining speed.

"Alonso hasn't boxed yet" Blake comments. That's bad news if we were hoping for him to defend his position against Hamilton. I take a look on the TV and they're showing the conditions of his tires, which to me doesn't mean anything.

"Will he be able to hold him?" I ask Blake.

"Not sure, he's tough though and doesn't want Hamilton to win, that's for sure" Blake answers me.

Then we hear Max passing outside, had almost forgotten about him.

"That took him longer than normal" Michael comments and we look at the screen, his pit stop was 3.6 seconds long. An eternity for the Redbull team. But awesome news for us. Bottas had already left the pit lane, his pit stop was 2.4 seconds long.

The grid is now Daniel, Carlos, Alonso, Hamilton, Bottas, and then Max. Alonso is still holding Hamilton back. Normally, I'd guess Carlos would box soon and maybe even Alonso, but since I know Carlos has some personal motivation against Daniel, I feel like he's going to hold on the longer he can and the same goes for Alonso regarding Hamilton.

We're at the final 10 laps now and nothing has changed, except Carlos is dangerously closer to Daniel now. Alonso still hasn't let Hamilton go by him, repeating the Hungaroring events. I hear the signal of the radio, indicating we're about to hear some communication between Daniel and his engineer, and my chest tightens. It's Daniel's voice that comes on then.

"Something wrong. I'm losing power" Fuck. No.

"Sainz is at your tail. Can you hold on?" the engineer asks.

"I don't know. Fuck. It's just not working. How much's the difference?"

"Less than 1 second"

"Fuck. Why hasn't he boxed yet?"

"His tires are in real bad condition. But I don't think he's going to do it now"

"I'll put some pressure on him"

"Negative. Negative. Stay away"

"Not going to touch him. Pinky promise" Bastard. I can hear the smirk in his voice, even though this is extremely dangerous and insane pressure, Daniel's still having the time of his life.

9 laps to go.

8 laps to go.

Carlos almost overtakes Daniel.

"Engine's not good. Can you do something?" Daniel asks.

"Negative. 7 laps to go mate, just hold it"

"Understood"

On the big straight of the 51st lap, Carlos overtakes Daniel, but then on the next turn, Daniel takes back his position. The sequel of turns that follows is the most nerve-wracking thing I've ever seen in my life, they're so close to each other, and at such a high speed that if they simply touch tires they would fly off the track and everything would be lost to both of them, maybe even their lives.

"Hamilton passed Alonso, mate. Watch out" the engineer informs him, and I look at the screen. Fuck.

"Fuuuuck" Daniel says on the radio.

It's the 52nd lap now, only 4 more to go and Carlos doesn't even signal a pit stop. He's going to try to make the whole race without it.

"Ferrari is not happy with him" Michael laughs a dark laugh. I knew he had a history of being stubborn but this is too much.

"His tires are at less than 10% integrity. How is he still going?" I ask.

There's the big straight again and Carlos falls a bit behind Daniel, but I've watched enough to know that that doesn't necessarily mean a good thing. Just as I predicted, he tries to use Daniel's vacuum to gain more speed and overtake him, Daniel doesn't let him through and get in front of him, making him almost go off track. That would be a "normal" movement, except Hamilton was using Carlos' vacuum in his favor and, when Carlos is forced to change directions, Hamilton hits his back left tire, which makes it blows off and it's a mess from then on.

Daniel is far from the whole ordeal by now, safe and sound, thankfully. But Carlos spins in the track, taking Hamilton with him. They both go off track and Max flies by, followed by Bottas, Charles (where did he come from?), and then Alonso.

"Are they alright?" It's the first thing that comes up to me to ask.

"Fuck! That was crazy. Is everyone ok?" Daniel asks on the radio.

"Positive. Everyone's ok. Keep going, mate. 3 more laps to go" the engineer informs him.

"Who's behind me now? Bottas?" Daniel asks.

"Max. But he's at least 2 seconds behind, we should be fine" I hear the engineer say and it's like I can almost breathe again. Daniel's going to win this thing. He's so close now.

"It wasn't Daniel's fault, was it? Can they punish him in some way for the accident?" I ask Michael.

"Don't know. He was defending his position, but he's been closing in Carlos ever since the begging of the race. Depends on how Ferrari and Mercedes spin this, they'll try anything that favors them" Michael explains to me in a worried tone.

They're in the final lap and Daniel's been clearly losing speed. Something's wrong with the engine. But it's the final lap, just a few more moments, come on baby, you can do it. Max is so close to him though, I wouldn't be surprised if the winner was declared based on the replay of the finishing line. The big straight comes up and Dan has to stay out of Max's front, so as to not give him any advantages.

I can barely see it, but at the same time, I can't take my eyes off the screen.

"Full force now mate, final sector. You can win this" the engineer says on the radio but Daniel doesn't respond. Max is right by his side, he's going to pass him.

There's smoke coming out of his car, the whole thing is going to blow off any second now. Oh my god, please just a few more seconds.

5 turns to go.

4 turns to go.

3 turns to go. Max overtakes him. Shit.

2 turns to go. Daniel wins his place on the podium back.

Final turn. Daniel's in the front, barely. They cross the finish line and the whole garage explores with cheering. There are people running outside to wave at him. I can only smile and hold my own head like it would fall off otherwise. He did it. He fucking did it.

"Woo-hoo! Yes! Yes! Fuck yes!" I can hear Daniel on the radio, screaming his lungs out.

"Good job mate. Spectacular work. First-class, really! Well done!" the engineer cheers on.

The next thing I know, Michael is hugging me and lifting me from the ground just to puck me back down and Blake lift me up again. I can only laugh at their excitement. I'm so happy for Daniel I can barely grasp it!

"Let's go!" Blake puts me down and runs outside the garage. I follow him out, to the place where Daniel is stopping the car, a bunch of smoke coming out and some people with fire extinguishers around it.

He's got his fists up, celebrating. But is still inside the car. Then he takes off the steering wheel and handles it to one of the mechanics waiting outside. He gets out of the car and stands on top of it, smokes still coming out from behind. It's a nice picture. I just hoped he got away from that thing before it explodes, but it's a nice picture, can't deny it.

Then he jumps down and run towards the crew, jumping over them, helmet still on. Everybody is celebrating and cheering, I can only laugh and clap at the scene before me. So much joy and happiness going on, the energy is amazing! Then I can see Daniel looking around, but since his helmet is still on, I have no idea what he's doing. Somebody seems to understand though and they wave at me, calling me to come closer. I approach, but I'm still unsure, don't want to get in the middle of the team's celebration. But Daniel grabs me, pulling me closer and hugging me. I just laugh, can't barely see him with the suit and helmet still on. He's saying something, but I can't understand a thing.

"What?" I laugh at his attempts to communicating with me. He opens his helmet visor and repeats.

"I fucking won baby!" He yells laughing.

"I know! I know! You won Dan! I'm so proud! You're the best baby!"

"I need to get this thing off" he says struggling to get the helmet and the balaclava off, when he finally manages to do it, he jumps over the fence that was separating us and hugs me again, lifting me in the air and kissing me deeply, making everyone around us cheer even louder and I smile against his lips. I wrap my legs around him and he keeps kissing me, only after a few seconds do I pull away to breathe and he touches our foreheads. I laugh again, just enjoying the feeling of pure happiness for him.

"I'm so proud of you. You were so good. This is crazy" I whisper to him.

"Get used to it, cause there's more where it came from" he answers kissing me again.

[edendaphne]

“Discordant Sonata” Chapter 18

>>Click here to read on Ao3<<

>>Click here to read on Wattpad<<

——-

CHAPTER 18: AFFETUOSO

 Music glossary:

 Affetuoso: to perform with passion and emotion

**Chapter illustration by @corgi-likes-chat​ **

----

(Mood Music: “Christofori’s Dream” - David Lanz)

Adrien’s eyelids fluttered open, a sleepy smile still present on his face. He breathed out a long, contented sigh, stretching his limbs out wide enough that they poked out of the bedcovers. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d slept so well.

Last night, after Marinette awoke him from his most harrowing night terror to date, he’d fallen back asleep and something remarkable happened: for the second time in years, he’d actually had a pleasant dream. The only other time he hadn’t suffered from his usual nightmares ever since becoming Chat Noir was on the first night that he’d arrived at the Dupain-Cheng residence.

He tried to think back, wondering what might have caused this, not just last night, but back on that first day Marinette had brought him home. What did these two occurrences have in common?

His mouth quirked to the side and his brow furrowed, deep in thought, trying to remember. He wasn’t exactly in the best frame of mind when he’d arrived a couple of months back, given all that had happened when he ran away from his father; so it was no surprise that his memory of that night was hazy at best. Nevertheless, he hoped to find a correlation; if there was one, maybe he could figure out how to repeat it.

His thoughts were interrupted by a gentle hand sliding across his midsection. Disturbed by his movements, a smaller body rolled toward him, settling comfortably on his chest and breathing out a drowsy sigh.

He looked down and there she was: sweet, lovely Marinette; one of the dearest and most important people in his life. The raven-haired girl stirred, letting out a small whine; Adrien stilled, subconsciously holding his breath, not wanting to wake her and accidentally reveal his identity.

This became much harder when she reached around him, her fingers lightly skimming across his rib cage. His muscles tensed and he bit back a laugh; why did he have to be so darn ticklish?!

He readjusted himself, trying to shuffle out from underneath her; but she clinged to him like an overgrown barnacle, even in her unconscious state. I guess she’s a cuddler, he thought, and he couldn’t help but smile about how well that suited her.

It was still pretty dark in the room, as the sun hadn’t risen yet. He glanced over at the wall clock; he still had about an hour and a half before he had to report to work at the bakery, so he didn’t have to rush to get ready. Relieved, he sagged back down onto his pillow. He could relax for a little longer, he supposed.

Deciding to check his notifications while Marinette slept, he gingerly reached towards his nightstand to grab his phone, careful not to disturb her. He’d deactivated all his social media accounts since running away from home, so there weren’t very many notifications; there was a school-related email and a couple of late night funny memes from Nino.

Adrien checked the Ladyblog next. No news about any akumas this morning, thankfully. However, there were a few blurry snapshots of the previous night’s attack. He scrolled down for a bit, then stopped, his eyes popping open as he focused his attention on a particular photo.

He couldn’t suppress the lovestruck sigh that escaped his lips when he stared at a picture of Ladybug. His Lady was breathtaking, her eyes so ethereal, her smile utterly resplendent. She was indescribably beautiful, both inside and out and there was absolutely nothing he would change about her. He was hopelessly smitten, no doubt about it.

A few months ago, he would have berated himself for feeling this way about his mortal enemy. But his entire life had been turned upside down since then, and he wholeheartedly embraced this unexpected development.

The next photo was taken after the akuma was purified and the Miraculous Cure had set everything back to where it should be. Ladybug had seen that Alya was about to snap a photo, so she grabbed Chat and turned him around to face the camera, wrapping her arm around his shoulders. She grinned widely, and did a peace sign with her free hand. So cute.

He glanced over to his own face and instinctively grimaced. He was winking at the camera with a goofy, cheerful salute, not bothering to channel the suave, sophisticated mannerisms of a proper model that he’d incurred over the years. God, I’m so cringy, he thought.

Nevertheless, he saved the picture onto his phone. It was the first photo of them together like this, as opposed to impersonal ones taken by the media from afar, or during press releases and interviews.

It had only been posted a few hours ago, but already it had thousands of likes and comments. He didn’t dare look through those, however. Not since he first discovered the kinds of things people wrote about Chat Noir, both before and after his change in alliances. It was better to avoid those, lest he ruin his day reading about how much some people still hated him.

But he remembered Marinette’s words from the night before. She was right; he had to have hope, and believe that things would slowly get better. Attitude was everything.

Speaking of Marinette…

He looked down at his roommate once again. By this point, she’d slinked and climbed almost entirely on top of him, utilizing him like a mattress. His eyebrows scrunched together, and he wondered how in the world he’d be able to slip out of bed undetected.

All the stealth-based videogames I’ve ever played have prepared me for this moment. I got this!! he thought, hyping himself up.

Taking a deep breath in, he rolled over to his side, managing to slide Marinette’s ragdoll-like form back onto the mattress. She made a small noise and he froze, electricity crawling up the back of his neck. A few tense moments passed, and her stirring subsided, her breathing becoming slow and even once again. He exhaled, just now realizing he’d been holding his breath.

Freedom!! Adrien celebrated as he stood, stretching his arms high over his head, taking care not to hit the ceiling lights. His skin felt grimy with dried sweat from the night before; a shower was exactly what he needed right now. He tiptoed over to get a change of clothes from the dresser, giving the occasional glance towards the bed to make sure Marinette was still asleep.

As he made his way to the bathroom, he stopped by her side, a warm smile spreading across his face. He bent over and gave the top of her head a small kiss. Where would he be without her and her family? She and Sabine especially went out of their way to help him feel at home, to make him feel like he belonged, instead of treating him like a nuisance, or like some freeloader just taking up space. He loved them all so much; he vowed to himself to make it up to them someday.

He pulled the bedcovers up to Marinette’s shoulders so she wouldn’t miss the extra warmth too much, then made his way to the bathroom to start the day.

--

Marinette stirred, enveloped in softness and a familiar scent of spice and fresh rain. Eyes still closed, she extended her arm, reaching for the oversized cat pillow on her bed that she always liked to cuddle.

Her searching hand found something soft. Aha! She brought it closer, snuggling it tight, then began to get comfortable again. But then, her pillow started poking her cheek, over and over and over. The pillow’s poking only intensified when she tried squeezing it even harder. How rude!

Wait... what?

A single eyelid groggily slid open, meeting a small pair of eyes of a distinctive shade of green. A rather frazzled-looking Plagg stared back, his expression unamused from being squished between her and the pillow she was hugging.

“Sorry, Plagg,” she slurred sleepily as she pulled away to give him some space. “What are you doing here?”

He crossed his little arms, raising a brow. “I live here, remember?”

“But why are you in my room–– oh, wait…” she stopped, the memory of last night starting to rush back to her. This wasn’t her room; it was Chat’s. She’d slept in his room last night. And the bed she was lying in was his bed. These were his blankets and pillows, and they carried his scent. Heat rose to her face and a multitude of imaginary butterflies swarmed in her stomach as she realized that she’d actually spent the night with him, albeit under less than ideal circumstances.

And then a second realization dawned on her: Chat Noir was gone.

She sat up with a start, her head whipping back and forth to search for him. As she was about to panic, she heard the shower running in the en suite bathroom, punctuated by some cheerful humming. With a heavy, relieved sigh, she laid back down, careful not to squish the tiny cat god next to her.

“By the way, Little Bug,” Plagg murmured, meekly rubbing the back of his head. “Thanks for helping my kid last night.”

“Oh, of course, Plagg!” she replied. “I’m always happy to help however I can.”

He gave her a melancholy smile. “I just wish there was more I could’ve done. I tried waking him up myself, but he couldn’t hear me at all, no matter how hard I tried.” He sighed, twisting his mouth into a pained frown. “He doesn’t deserve this. He's already gone through so much.”

“Plagg, no, it’s okay! You did your best, and I’m sure Chat knows that too. I’m just glad I was able to get through to him. It was lucky that I happened to be downstairs at that time. Chat couldn’t ask for a better friend than you.”

Plagg grinned widely at her. “I always knew I liked you,” he remarked, scooting closer and nuzzling into her.

Marinette smiled back, returning the hug and kissing the top of his head, followed by providing him with some gentle scratches behind the ears. He let out a small, contented purr as he leaned into her hand.

After a few moments of hesitation, Plagg spoke again, “Little Bug, there’s... something else you need to know.”

They pulled apart, and Marinette eyed him with trepidation. “What is it?”

“It was too dark, so you didn’t see it, but–” he said with a grim tone in his voice, “–I need to let you know what really happened last night.”

“Huh?” Marinette’s eyebrows furrowed together in confusion. “What do you mean? I know he said his night terrors aren’t usually this bad, but was there something else?”

A dark look flickered on Plagg’s face. “Hawkmoth tried to akumatize him last night.”

Marinette felt like she’d been dropped into a vat of ice water. “W- WHAT?!” she sputtered. “B-but how is that possible?! Akumatized?? He was asleep! Hawkmoth can’t akumatize people who are unconscious!!” She paused, pondering the possibility. “Right…?”

“It’s tricky, but not impossible,” Plagg replied. “Hawkmoth knows about Chat Noir’s nightmares, so he must’ve sensed his opportunity and finally taken it last night.”

Marinette brought a hand to her temple in disbelief.

Plagg continued, “I don’t know why he decided to try it now, instead of when he first ran away. And what if–” he gulped, and his voice quavered slightly as he continued, unable to conceal his fear, “What if he tries it again? What if he tries it every night?”

“No… he wouldn’t… he can’t!!” Marinette cried, staring at the bathroom door, her mind racing a million miles a minute. She clenched her fists as she tried not to give into the feelings of dismay and anxiety that were clawing away at her. “Plagg… What do we do?! Hawkmoth’s patterns seem to be getting more erratic and desperate recently. Is he under some kind of deadline? Why is he doing this??”

“I can think of a couple of reasons,” Tikki answered from across the room.

Marinette practically leaped off the bed in surprise due to Tikki’s abrupt entrance. “Tikki!” she exclaimed.

The brightly colored kwami hovered towards them and elaborated, “Firstly, as Chat grows older, his powers will continue to get stronger, as will yours, so you’ll be more difficult for Hawkmoth to defeat as time goes on. Secondly, I think the effects of misusing the butterfly miraculous must be catching up to him as well. His desperation suggests that maybe he thinks he’s running out of time.”

“Out of time? What do you mean?” Marinette asked, confused.

Plagg sighed. “It’s his health,” he answered. "He wasn’t doing very well even before we left. Slowly but steadily, it’s been getting worse for a while.” He turned to face Tikki. “You think Hawkmoth believes that he’s gonna… you know... soon?”

Tikki shrugged in response, her expression blank.

“Oh… I see,” Marinette said, her voice almost a whisper.

Her mind raced, a torrent of emotions crashing into her simultaneously, like a rowboat in a tempest, slamming into a cliffside without respite.

She wasn’t sure how to feel about this new information. Her chest felt tight, like it did when she wanted to cry. Should she feel happy or sad that her mortal enemy was getting sicker and sicker, to the point where his life was potentially in danger? Was it okay to feel–dare she say it– relieved?

What was she supposed to think? As a hero, was it more important to be merciful, or was it more important to be just? Her heart felt like it was being pulled in two completely opposite directions. Despite hating the man with every fiber of her being, part of her thought that maybe dying was too extreme a punishment. And yet, at the same time, the hurt, embittered part of herself thought that maybe dying would be too easy, like he was getting let off the hook instead of being forced to acknowledge his wrongs and feel remorse for the horrible things he’d done.

For years, she’d dreamed about the day when Hawkmoth would be defeated and his miraculous confiscated. It was supposed to be a happy time, full of rejoicing and excitement. But she’d never considered the possibility that Hawkmoth would be defeated by an entirely different force, one that she had no say in how or when it happened. It didn’t feel fair. She hated feeling this powerless.

Her thoughts were interrupted by a brief tug at her sleeve. She looked down at Tikki, who motioned towards the bathroom with a small nod. It was then that she noticed the noise–or rather– the absence of it, which could only mean one thing: Chat Noir had finished his shower, and he’d be coming out of the bathroom any minute now.

“I think that’s our cue to leave,” Tikki whispered.

Marinette nodded. She turned to Plagg and whispered, “We’ll talk more later. I’ll call Master Fu later today and see if he has any advice.”

“M’kay. See ya,” he replied with a small wave. “Bye, Sugarcube.”

Tikki looked back and gave him a reassuring smile, then followed Marinette out the door.

Plagg hovered towards the windowsill while he waited for his charge, plopping down with a heavy sigh. He leaned against the window, taking in the many colors of the dawn sky, which looked almost too bright and vibrant for his liking. How dare the heavens look so beautiful while he felt so miserable inside? The day hadn’t even really started, and yet the only thing he wanted to do was to just crawl back into bed. He dearly hoped that the heavy, uneasy feeling in his gut would go away soon.

(A short while later)

Work at the bakery had been lively and hectic today; so much so that Chat Noir had to be reminded when his shift was over and that he needed to head to school. He gave Sabine a parting hug, the latter thanking him for his hard work and giving him some encouraging words as she helped dust the flour off his suit and hair.

Chat retrieved his cloak from a coat hanger by the door and stepped into the stairwell that led to the living quarters, so that he could retrieve his school supplies and exit through Marinette’s balcony trap door as he normally did. That was definitely one of the plus sides of working in the kitchen while transformed; he could wear his school outfit underneath and not require a change of clothes or a shower when he was through. He could merely detransform and be good as new.

As he ascended up the stairs, he heard a familiar deep voice call out to him from below. Chat froze, then turned around, trying to keep his nerves under control.

“Could I speak with you for a minute?” Tom asked.

Uh-oh.

“O-of course, Mr. Dupain,” Chat replied, trying to keep his voice even despite his nerves.

Tom’s face was mostly neutral, but his body was rigid and there was a hint of gloom in his eyes. Chat did his best not to cringe as he stood in front of the much taller man who, despite not being a superhero, looked like he could toss him clear to the Eiffel Tower if he felt like it. To prevent himself from fidgeting, Chat finally opted to stick his hands inside his pockets.

“What is it, sir? D-did I do something wrong?” he asked. “I was running a bit late, so I apologize if I didn’t put something back in the right spot. O-or did I mess up an order?? I’m sorry, I can go back and fix… whatever it is!”

“No, everything’s fine; it’s something else,” he answered, and Chat felt the stiffness in his shoulders ease a tiny bit.

However, it came back full force when Tom didn’t say anything else. Chat’s heartbeat sped up as they stood face to face in silence, unsure of the route this conversation was about to take.

What else could he be in trouble for? Did he find out Marinette had fallen asleep in his bedroom yesterday? Oh no… Did Tom think he and Marinette had… done something unseemly together last night?! Was he getting kicked out of the house?? His mind raced and his chest thumped, and he prepared himself to beg on his knees for forgiveness if need be.

A few agonizingly long and awkward seconds later, Tom spoke again, “Chat Noir… I wanted to apologize to you.”

“Oh, I see. Wait… WHAT?!?” Chat felt like someone had yanked the carpet out from underneath him. “Apologize?? What for?”

Tom lifted his arm to rub the back of his head, his entire posture taut as a bowstring. “We didn’t really get off on the right foot, you and I. You’ve been nothing but cordial and polite, and all I’ve done since you arrived is give you the cold shoulder, and for that I’m truly sorry. I wanted to clear the air and start over, if that’s okay with you.”

“Mr. Dupain! N-no, please, it’s okay!” Chat sputtered, his hands waving frantically. “I totally understand why you would have reservations about me living here, o-or even interacting with you guys at all! They’re totally justified concerns! I mean, up until a few months ago, I was still working with Hawkmoth; so the fact that you even allowed me into your home at all is incredibly kind of you! I’ve never felt any ill will towards you, I swear! You were just doing what any good father would––” he trailed off, trying to keep the melancholy out of his voice, “–would do.”

Tom winced and sighed heavily, crossing his arms. “That’s exactly my point, though. It may have been justified at first, but that was back then . I tolerated you for the sake of my wife and daughter, but I was always suspicious. I should’ve given you a chance instead of just judging you for no reason, especially after all this time. So I wanted to try to make it up to you.”

It was then that Tom brought something shiny out of his shirt pocket. It was an adorable little keychain shaped like a croissant. But wait… no, it wasn’t just a keychain, Chat realized. There was a key dangling on the end. A house key. Tom handed it over, doing his best to try to conceal a timid smile.

Chat gaped at him, reeling from what was happening. “I… I don’t know what to say. That is so generous of you! Thank you, Mr. Dupain,” he replied meekly, staring into his hands at the key. HIS key.

He felt the man’s large hand pat him on the shoulder and Chat looked up, meeting his soft, forest green eyes. “Please, call me Tom.”

Chat had to consciously fight the urge to let his jaw drop. If he wasn’t dreaming last night with Ladybug’s revelation, he was surely dreaming now. “Y-yes, sir! Uhh, Mr. Tom, sir. Uhh, I mean…” he stammered, still not recovered from having been gobsmacked out of nowhere.

The older man gave out a hearty laugh. “Just Tom. And please, if there’s anything you need, just say the word. Even if it’s just someone to lend an ear. You’ve got a good heart despite the bad hand that’s been dealt to you, and you have so much potential. We’re happy to have you in our family, even if you’re only here temporarily. Just know you’ll always have a home here with us.”

Chat’s heart swelled with affection, so full that it felt like it might burst, and his eyesight became blurry with unshed tears. He threw his arms around the giant man in front of him, someone who he never thought would fully accept him, squeezing hard.

“Thank you, Tom! Thank you so much, I’m just–” he let out a shuddering sigh then continued, voice cracking, “–thank you.”

Tom squeezed back firmly, giving him an affectionate pat. Failing to hide a sniffle, he then added, “I should let you get going, I don’t wanna make you late for school.” The pair pulled apart, and Tom ruffled Chat’s hair. “Be safe out there, kiddo.”

After saying their goodbyes, Chat bounded up the stairs, practically floating with glee. He’d missed this feeling; the feeling of being part of a family. As he emerged onto the rooftop balcony, he took a deep breath of the crisp autumn air, his heart full of excitement and hope.

He arrived at the school in high spirits and a huge grin on his face. He detransformed in a discreet location and practically skipped to the school’s entrance; then he entered the campus, carefree, joyful, and blissfully unaware of the dark eyes that followed him inside.

[forever-rogue]

Idk if you’re still taking Bucky requests, but I came across a quote and I feel in love with it because it just screamed Bucky to me. It read: “there is nothing as beautiful as seeing someone who has been unlucky, finally being loved so effortlessly by the right person” if this sparks anything in you, I would love to read it 💜

Pairing | Bucky x Fem!Reader

Word Count | 1.9k

Warnings | dad!Bucky, slight language, slight suggestive theme

Masterlists | Bucky, Main

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Bucky bit back a yawn as he closed the car door and headed towards the front door. The smell of spring, the freshly mowed grass and blooming flowers overwhelmed his senses along with the warm summer sun hitting his skin. This was nice, he realized, the calculated simplicity and domestic nature of it all. He hiked his bag on his shoulder, the gold in his vibranium arm glinting brilliantly in the slowly dying light of the day. He didn’t bother to hide it anymore, somehow long past that part of his life. At one point he never thought he’d reach that point in his life and now he had the world in front of him. 

Walking up the stairs, he smiled to himself as he could already smell something delicious cooking through the open windows. In a vain attempt to keep the household from falling into complete and utter chaos, he slowly opened the door and tried to tip-toe inside. He managed to get about two feet inside and kick off his work boots before he heard an exciting squeal followed by a few loud woofs. 

The pitter-patter of two small feet and four paws quickly reached him as Falcon, the trusted family dog, and Emily, your oldest daughter, ran down the hall towards him. Any stress he had remaining quickly melted away at the sight of two of his favorite beings as they almost knocked him over in their rush. 

“Daddy!” an excited shout was followed by another bark. He bent down and scooped the small girl in his arms, the weight of the world off his shoulders as she wrapped her little arms around his neck, “hi daddy, you’re home!”

“Of course I am,” he propped her on his hip and studied her sweet little face. She took after him with his dark unruly hair and ocean eyes, but the rest he swore was all you, especially that sweet smile, “I’ll always come home to my sweetest girl. Did you have a good day, baby?”

“Yeah,” she nodded excitedly as he brushed her hair out of her face and pressed a kiss to the top of her head, “mama and I painted and then we planted some new flowers. She said she picked them out because they reminded her of you!”

“She did, did she?” he couldn’t stop the grin that spread from ear to ear as his heart fluttered in his chest. Even to this day you still managed to make him weak in the knees and set off butterflies in his belly. He held Emily tightly in his grip as he bent down to give Falcon a few pets, causing the dog to rub against his legs as he wagged his tail, “what would I do without my little hellraisers?”

“Mama says that’s a bad word!” Emily looked at him with wide eyes and he chuckled softly before holding a finger to his lips.

“It’s our little secret,” he whispered as she nodded, “do you know why this secret is okay?”

“Because it’s not gonna hurt anyone,” she asked as he nodded. She gave him a wide gap toothed grin as he set her back down, “will you play with me later, daddy? Falcon wants to have a tea party!”

“Of course,” he promised his daughter as she held tightly onto his hand, “now go and get cleaned up for dinner. It smells like it should all be done soon.”

“Okie dokie,” she dropped his hand and motioned for Falcon to follow her instead, practically bouncing up the stairs. 

Bucky sighed in content as he shook his head before slowly making his way into the kitchen where he was sure you were. He found at the island, brows furrowed in concentration as you chopped vegetables for the salad. Your baby boy was slung around your chest, and despite the commotion from Bucky’s entrance, he was fast asleep. A lump welled up in his throat as he watched the sight. It would be nothing special to most people, but to him it was everything.

You looked so beautiful, even in your sweatpants and t-shirt with your hair a chaotic bun as you hummed to the baby under your breath. You looked tired and he felt bad for a moment; leaving you with a toddler and a baby was a ton of work and he would have gladly stayed home with you and helped, but you were insistent that he work if he wanted. You’d never hold it against him, he knew that.

As soon as you sensed you his presence in the kitchen, you turned to him and gave him a soft smile, and his own features softened even more, “hello, my love. I’m so glad you’re so home!”

You set down the knife before slowly making your way over to him, careful not to disturb the baby as he immediately leaned down to kiss you. Your whole body was practically humming from his touch as you stole you a few more kisses, “rough day? You should have called me and I could have come home, honey baby.”

“It wasn’t bad actually,” you promised, watching with nothing but adoration in your eyes as he stroked Stevie’s chubby little cheek, “the chaos duo was on their best behavior today and the little one has been sleeping most of the day. I think he wore himself out from all his fussing last night.”

“Miracles do happen,” he laughed lightly as his hand went to your face and he gently stroked your cheek. You grinned at him, keening into his touch like a cat to the sun, “you are so beautiful.”

“Shut up,” you playfully pushed his chest before hiding your face behind your hands. Funny, how even after all this time he still managed to make you feel nervous and shy, “I’m in my ugliest mom clothes which I’m pretty sure these sweats have permanent puke stains, I haven’t showered today and I look like I haven’t slept in five years. Hardly beautiful.”

“You are the most gorgeous woman I have ever laid eyes on regardless of all of that,” he insisted softly, reaching for your hands and pulling them away from your face. Your whole body flushed with pleasant warmth as you looked into his eyes, “and I love you more than anything in this world.”

“You’re just saying that ‘cause I let you knock me up twice,” you joked as he playfully rolled his eyes, “god, Bucky, how do you still make me feel like this?”

“Like what?” he asked as he slowly moved to undo the sling from your chest and take the baby from you. Stevie made a few small sounds before cuddling up on Bucky’s chest. 

“Like I’m still falling in love with you every day,” you whispered as you leaned in and let him wrap arm around you as well. He kissed the top of your head before sighing in content, “I guess I am. We’re a little different every day - we’re definitely not the same fools from when we first met, huh?”

“I mean, we’re married and have kids, and the whole you know, typical suburban thing going on,” he teased, “so I’d say we’re pretty different. But you’re still my favorite pain in the ass.”

“James!” your eyes widened before the two of you broke into a fit of giggles, “I will get you back for that later!”

“Oh, I definitely count on it,” he promised, “now, go and take a few moments to yourself, shower or whatever, and I’ll finish dinner and get the kiddos and Falcon settled.”

“Whatever would I do without you, my love?”

“I think the better question is what would I do without you, honey baby?”

You blew him a little kiss as you all but ran towards the stairs in order to fit in a quick shower. Sometimes even ten minutes of peace and quiet would suffice. Bucky watched you go with a soft smile on his face, before turning his attention back to his softly cooing son, “your mama’s the best person in this entire world, I hope you always know that.”

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

“What?” you could feel Bucky’s eyes on your back as you brushed your teeth in the bathroom en suite. He was sitting in bed, winding down with some television as he waited for you, “I can feel you checking out the goods, Barnes.”

“That’s because I am,” you could practically hear the cheeky smirk in his voice, “it’s not wrong to admire, is it?”

“You’re too much,” you dried your face off before making your way back over to him. He offered you a lazy smile as he pulled back your side of the blankets and made room for you. You were only wearing his shirt and a pair of old cotton panties but he was watching you like you were the best in this world. Because to him - you were. The end all and be all, “James? What’s wrong, honey?”

“Nothing,” he whispered as he immediately reached for you and gently pulled you into his lap. You made a small sound of surprise but easily gave into his touch, “nothing at all. I’m perfect.”

“Hmm,” you leaned in and pressed a light kiss to his plump lips, gently tugging on his dog tags, “me too. I don’t know if I’ve ever told you this, but I kind of like you a lot.”

“Is that why you married me? Had two kids with me? Got the dog?” he raised a brow as you carded a hand through his dark locks, scratching lightly at his scalp, “I bet it was all for the dog.”

“He didn’t hurt,” you joked, gently stroking his cheek, “but you aren’t so bad either. I love you, Bucky. So much. I hope you know. I hope you know you deserve this, everything we have - the whole world.”

“I…” he paused for a moment, suddenly feeling overwhelmed as you showed him so much tenderness and delicate love, “I love you too.”

“Hey,” you put your hand under your chin and turned his face up towards yours, “I mean it James Buchanan Barnes. You have been through so much, so much that other people forced on you, and you deserve happiness. You deserve all the happiness this world has to offer. I know you have some bad days, and I understand that, but I want you to know I will always be here for you and I will always love you. You are my best friend, my husband, the father of my children, you are my everything.”

“I don’t deserve you,” he took your hand in his and pressed a gentle kiss to your knuckles.

“Yes,” you insisted softly, “you do, James.”

“I-”

“How about for one moment you hush up,” you pushed him back against the headboard and pressed a few gentle, lazy kisses to his lips, “and just listen to me. And let me love you.”

“I love you, honey baby.”

“I love you too, James.”

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

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