#so I’ve been thinking about whether the things I have lined up for E make sense or not | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

neutron-stars-collision · 1 year ago

Text

Deadlines & Commitments

Neil x F!Reader

Chapter 4 - North Greenwich Underground Station

Masterlist; Chapter 3 Summary: Neil's brief disappearance does nothing to extinguish the sparks. As he returns, you make a series of discoveries about each other and grow ever so much closer. Warnings: Swearing, E-rated language, ridiculous amounts of flirting as per usual. Buckle up bc we're amping the pace a little... ;) Author's Notes: Well... that was a long break between the chapters 🙈 My apologies, turns out that having a job takes away the little joys in life like writing silly stories. Anyways, here we are, at last. With another 10.7k. And this one's packed with many good, fun things ;))) Some of those scenes had been months in the making (if not years, considering I first mentioned this AU to Shet in like 2021? I think?). So, yeah. They had it long time coming. More cameos, more nonsensical POV changes and, above all, more certified idiocy by them two kids. Hope you enjoy and let me know what you think? 💕 Taglist: @hollandorks, @kristevstewart, @stargirl25 (let me know if you want to be added)

What Neil’s departure from London did not do was change the way things worked between you. Although you only had meagre information about his whereabouts (such as that he was within the same time zone but in a different country), there was no sense of a breach building in the space of that strange yet solid connection. With the anxieties surrounding the imminent ‘Don Quixote’ premiere keeping your blood pressure high daily, you more than enjoyed being able to pick up your phone and message him whenever possible.

He did not always respond immediately, but it was not a must. What mattered was that Neil eventually got back to you. Never disclosing any information about his work trip, apart from the fact that it was warm there even in mid-October, he still made the effort to keep up with your antics. In that sense, the insanity of the date you had risked changed absolutely nothing.

But it also changed everything.

It was as if your free will chose to conspire with the soul’s desires to get what they wanted. Namely – Neil. Because as soon as you had even begun considering breaching the line separating friendship from every other kind of relationship, your brain decided it was done.

Being his girlfriend was not on the list of priorities or wants, but getting in his pants definitely was. It was almost freeing to admit.

The only question left after all that soul-searching was whether Neil wanted you like that, too. Sometimes there were no doubts about that, either.

Almost a week in, with the ballet previews looming on the horizon and no chance of sleep anytime soon, you huffed an annoyed sigh and picked up the phone from your bedside table. Bleary eyes registered the hour (five past midnight) as you opened apps randomly, already giving up on the promise of sleep. It took you another few minutes to make up your mind, open the texts and stare at the conversation with Neil. It had been a few hours since the last exchange concerning the warmth of the climate wherever he was. You had been (fruitlessly) trying to make Neil send you a picture. Of himself. Not necessarily without clothes, but that was the dream. And a girl was allowed to dream, right?

Squinting at the screen, you hesitated for another millisecond before typing out the simple question:

/ 🏹, 00:15 am/ Are you missing me yet?

Neil did not make you wait for long.

/✝️, 00:26 am/ Obviously.

/✝️, 00:26 am/ I’m barely coping here, sunshine.

/ 🏹, 00:29 am/ Gee, you’re making it too easy.

/✝️, 00:30 am/ Making what too easy?

/ 🏹, 00:33 am/ Missing you.

/ 🏹, 00:34 am/ See, I thought my cheeky line would get a lukewarm response, so I was prepared to tease you further.

/ 🏹, 00:34 am/ And now I’ve no quips to offer.

/✝️, 00:39 am/ Apologies. I’ll do better next time.

/ 🏹, 00:40 am/ I’ll make sure of that.

/✝️, 00:42 am/ And what punishment do you propose?

/ 🏹, 00:43 am/ I’ve always wondered what you’d sound like if you begged.

/✝️, 00:44 am/ It could probably be arranged.

/✝️, 00:45 am/ I’ve no qualms about getting on my knees for a beautiful woman.

/✝️, 00:45 am/ But that would hardly be a punishment.

/ 🏹, 00:48 am/ Yeah, but if I let you have that and then left you… on your knees, so painfully hard with no release… How would that feel?

/✝️, 00:51 am/ You win this one.

/✝️, 00:52 am/ And yes, I’m blushing. Fiercely.

/ 🏹, 00:59 am/ Good, I was hoping you are. Goodnight, Neil.

As you hit send on the last message, your head hit the pillows with an audible ‘oof’. Your cheeks burned; the blush invisible in the dark yet still very much there. That was the problem with Neil and your chats. It was impossible to say when they would turn in that direction. When you would both lose control and follow a line of conversation that probably never should have happened. Not that you were complaining.

It was good to know what you could expect from Neil. If things happened the way you wished, they would. Admittedly, he’d look good on his knees. That was a fact.

That night you only got five hours of sleep, but who counted it anyway. What mattered was that you had some excellent dreams. Dreams that you hoped would end up prophetic.

On other days, your conversations were a little more serious. Like that early afternoon when you just finished the final in-costume run of the Cupid variation and exited the ROH to wander the streets of Soho. Whenever you felt close to losing your sanity, the walk around those familiar spots always did the trick. It was easier to breathe, to hope that you would not fuck it all up when the curtain call came. To believe that imposter syndrome was nothing more than a vile bitch.

Sighing against the thoughts muddling your brain, you took out the phone and immediately noticed the new message:

/✝️, 1:49 pm/ How’s the garden of the Dryads coming along?

/✝️, 1:50 pm/ It probably goes without saying that you’re my favourite ballerina.

/ 🏹, 2:06 pm/ Damn, that’s high praise. Especially considering that I’m the only ballerina you know.

/ 🏹, 2:06 pm/ I think the garden is coming along nicely. Not so sure about Cupid, tho.

/✝️, 2:08 pm/ I call bullshit on that.

/✝️, 2:09 pm/ I just know that you’re brilliant.

/ 🏹, 2:12 pm/ Doubt, she said.

/ 🏹, 2:12 pm/ ‘Cause like… How do you deal with the overwhelming weight of expectations?

/✝️, 2:18 pm/ I mean, I panic and lose it instantly, but generally speaking, I think you just sort of… ignore it and trust you are good enough.

/✝️, 2:19 pm/ I know that you are, Cupid. This role was made for you.

/ 🏹, 2:22 pm/ Elaborate, please. I need my ego stroked.

/✝️, 2:23 pm/ Well, she sorts of saunters onto the stage and has a minute to dazzle everyone, yeah?

/✝️, 2:24 pm/ Which is exactly what you did to me.

/✝️, 2:24 pm/ You’ve got this.

/ 🏹, 2:26 pm/ God, you’re irreconcilable. Better come back so I can force you to sit through this.

/✝️, 2:27 pm/ Working on it as we speak.

A smile painted itself on your face with an inerasable stroke of brush. Neil’s constant support and cheerleading were a welcome surprise. Sometimes, your meeting almost felt like a divine intervention. That is if you believed in such things. Because the odds of gaining both a fascinating man to pursue and a friend were quite low. And yet.

As you looped your steps back towards Covent Garden, you made the mental note to visit the box office and add a request for the guest list. It was a rare enough event to have someone you could invite to the performance. And have the right to believe they would come. You were not going to squander that sort of chance.

***

The whirring ceiling fan was starting to get on his nerves with its endless sputtering. And it was not even working, as far as Neil was concerned. The sweat still clung to his skin and trickled down his back to a point where he seriously contemplated ditching the shirt. And that rarely happened. Especially not on the job, with the whole squad confined to a medium-sized safehouse.

The bustle of the city streamed through the windows, cracked open so they could let in fresh air while still having a chance of keeping them safe from snipers and the like. Granted, one could never be fully prepared for an inverted shot, but it was worth trying not to get killed. Especially during a mission that technically was just a recon. Though Neil knew better than to believe The Protagonist when the man claimed something was perfectly safe. He meant well, sure. But despite the appearances, he did not know everything.

So, the windows cracked open three inches had to do. Neil sighed, annoyance digging deep beneath his skin to stay there for a little longer. It was another one of those boring, yet technically productive afternoons in the safehouse. Today, the task was to plan a hypothetical pincer movement. Just in case, they said. Well, Neil sure did hope the case never came to be.

He glanced at the blacked-out screen of his phone, the muscle memory betraying him as he picked up the device almost mindlessly and opened the conversation with Cupid. It had been a few hours since the last chat, which was pretty usual. They did not need to talk all the time. Neil knew that. He also knew that it was probably better they did not talk constantly. Considering that 3 out of 5 conversations always ended up dirty, up to the point where he was blushing like an idiot. And, sometimes disappeared in the bathroom to deal with some troublesome effects of those chats.

Yes, considering all that, Neil knew it was best they took some breaks. But also-

“Blondie, can you give us a hand with this?” the yell from further inside the apartment acted like a bucket of cold water tipped over his head unceremoniously.

Neil whipped his head up, glaring at the open doorway. Unfortunately, being referred to as ‘blondie’ was becoming more frequent. The petulant nature urged him to ignore it, but he knew that was hardly the last one. With another long-suffering sigh, he heaved himself out of the armchair and called back:

“I said I’m coming,” granted, that was over fifteen minutes ago, but everyone could get distracted. Right? “Would it hurt you to ask nicer?” he stalked down the corridor toward the living area with an arched eyebrow.

It was not surprising to meet a mirroring expression on the faces of Ives, Wheeler, and Jeremy sitting in a trifecta of judgment. Neil had no doubts about his place in that makeshift courtroom.

“Yes, when you’re slacking,” Wheeler dropped the disapproving glare with all the air of nonchalance and pointedly glanced at the table covered with maps and blueprints.

Neil had no choice but to sit down in the remaining chair and offer an apologetic pout to anyone willing to hear him out:

“I’m not slacking. I’m just-” whatever excuse he could whip out on a whim got interrupted prematurely.

“Otherwise occupied with your girlfriend. Yes, we know,” Wheeler raised her head once more with a dismissive wave of hand, making Neil consider the possibility that she was close to losing it right there and then.

That possibility was always worrisome, for no anger could compare to that of his friend. Especially when she was pissed off.

But that careful consideration was nothing in the face of the two realisations brought forward by that simple assumption. Firstly - Cupid was decidedly not his girlfriend. Secondly – fucking Ives.

Neil glared at the man in question, hoping his eyes would reveal the murderous intents hidden underneath as his clarifying statement broke the awkward silence:

“She’s not-” he never finished that sentence (perhaps for the better), for the harsh sound of his ringtone filled the room with cacophonic clamour. Neil scrambled to pick up the phone without as much as glancing at the screen, “Hello?” the tentative opener sounded ridiculous even to his ears.

Soon, it was clear he should have checked the caller before picking up.

“Hi, Neil,” Cupid’s silky tone caressed his ear through the device.

Neil knew she did that purposefully, solely inspired to make the idiot inside him blush and giggle like a loser. Make no mistake; Neil was certainly a loser. And an idiot.

Once he felt the shock pass enough to ensure he would not drop the phone he repeated the greeting.

“Umm, hi,” from the corner of his eye, Neil could see the accompanying trio stare at him without trying to be covert about it. Absolute assholes “You’ve never called me before” trust him to state the obvious.

For a second, Neil considered faceplanting onto the table. Equally, the idea of jumping out of the window sounded appealing. The thoughts of potential demise were interrupted by Cupid’s reply:

“I know. I just thought it might be fun to spice things up,” she was definitely enjoying this and the damage she has caused. It was audible in the lightness of her voice, the vowels curled by a cheeky smile he could hear as she asked, “How’s your day?”

No longer happy to ignore his audience, Neil turned towards them with another glare. All three stared back, with Ives going as far as shooting him a knowing smile.

“It’s fine, except for my team being desperate to berate me,” Neil directed the venom in his voice at the trio as Wheeler casually got up from the table and put the kettle on.

The light chuckle from the phone almost made him feel better about it.

“That’s rude,” her remark contrasted with the laughter he could hear in her voice. Yet it was too late to raise the alarm or prepare for what would follow, “Would it be better if I reminded you what a good boy you are?” as soon as Cupid finished the question, Neil felt the full-body reaction she wanted.

A shudder ran through his spine as his face flushed pink. On a last conscious thought, Neil leapt up from the chair and paced towards the window, hiding from the group. A half-swallowed groan broke through his mouth as he tightened his fist, hopelessly trying to forget how those two words sounded on her lips. It was pathetic.

The more tragic outcome was that now Cupid had even more blackmailing material in her arsenal.

“Jesus Christ, you’re evil,” Neil knew he still sounded wrecked.

There was no way of hiding that. Of making her forget this had just happened and the conclusions she could draw from it. Neil barely resisted the urge to smash his head into the window.

“Oh, so it would help,” as expected, Cupid sounded delighted by what had transpired. The cheeky smile he liked way too much was undoubtedly present on her face as she added, “Not so dully noted” may he rest in pieces, apparently, “When are you coming back?” the question sounded almost out of place.

Yet even in his muddled mind, Neil knew it was genuine. That she wanted to know. If that fact meant anything at all, he did not know. And he tried his hardest not to think about it too much.

“Why? You miss me?” ignoring the chorus of ‘awws’ behind his back, Neil allowed himself to ask.

Even if only for emotional validation. Because while she has hinted at it before, Neil was never tired of being reminded. The whole thing with her might have been hopeless, but it did not change how he worked. How his heart ticked and what beat it chose. Tragically, romanticism was tricky to get rid of. Neil experienced that first-hand.

“You know that I do,” Cupid did not mind humouring his whims as she offered a simple admission without a fight.

With all his predictability, Neil could not hold back the idiotic grin from making an appearance. Sure, it had no future, but that did not make him less eager to play along. What’s the worst thing that could happen? Famous last words and all. Probably.

“I should be back in a week. More or less,” that was the hope, anyway.

The few stray thoughts that had somehow escaped the web spun by Cupid, and her attention reminded him about the work still left to be done. Like the fucking pincer movement plan. With threebastards taunting him mercilessly. So much fun.

“Fab. I got you a great seat for the premiere, so… You know what to do,” the hopeful note in her voice was worth the future pain.

He had no doubts about it. The fact was that Neil was looking forward to the ballet. The hazy memories of seeing ‘Swan Lake’, aged six, hardly compared to the Royal Ballet company. It was a good enough reason to attend. The other excellent reason was Cupid herself, but that was best unsaid. And unthought. Somehow.

“Got you,” ignoring the ridiculous thoughts, Neil offered her a smile she could not see and a silent prayer cast into the heavens that he was not lying unknowingly.

“I know you do. You’re a good boy, Neil,” Cupid’s strike came with no warning.

Yet again, she dropped her tone a notch and whispered the damned two words with a breathy sigh. The metaphorical nail to the coffin this time was how she said his name, almost caressing the letters. And yes, this time it worked, too.

Neil had the mind to faceplant into the window and groan with frustration. The inescapable blush warmed up his cheeks as his body shivered. Some… particular parts of his physique also showed interest in what was happening, eternally oh so eager to betray his wish to stay unbothered.

“For fuck’s-” the choked curse got swallowed by the mightiest effort on his side as Neil took a steadying breath and asked, “Why?”

As if happy to punish him, Cupid laughed.

“Because it’s fun,” the unspoken duh made him both more annoyed and more bewitched by her, “I’ll let you work now, but…” as did the carrot dangled in front of his face like the sweetest of baits.

Always the idiot, Neil could not possibly ignore it.

“Yeah?” he could hear her take a deep breath as if steeling herself for a difficult admission.

“I’m glad we’ve met,” Cupid whispered the confession without as much as a pause between the words.

“Me too,” his reply got lost in the static as she hung up.

Letting out the breath he did not know he was holding, Neil lowered the phone onto the windowsill and stared at the city outside. Well then. The call would take a while to process; that was unquestionable.

“Aw, aren’t you two cute?” Ives’ teasing threw Neil out of that pleasantly fuzzy mind space with all the grace of an elephant.

He turned around with the glower at the ready. This time, he could not bite back the curse:

“Shut the fuck up,” on an afterthought, Neil added, “Please,” noticing the soldier open his mouth for a quip, he dropped his tone to a warning timbre. That called for a final caution, “Unless you want to start looking for a new physicist,” his glare slipped over the trio before Neil settled at the table and unfolded the blueprints without another word.

***

When that awaited text from Neil came, bearing the information that he was back in London and happy to meet you whenever you did not jump for joy. Definitely not. What you did do was grin and discuss the possible rendezvous immediately. When that Tuesday afternoon arrived, with the glory of a decent rehearsal and a good coffee in your paper cup, you happily bypassed the crowds at Green Park and skipped the steps down to the correct platform.

That twenty-minute walk to the station was a blessing, just as much as a curse. When Neil proposed the time you could meet on the train, you did not correct him about your location that day. Or that grabbing the Jubilee line would be entirely off the quickest route back home. You just accepted the time and place and ignored the voice at the back of your head reminding you that this was not how you usually behaved.

It could go fuck itself.

Once you settled on the platform, one glance at the watch told you the next train would be the right one. The strange giddiness sparked in your veins, but you blamed it on the three-week gap between the meetings. It was just that, nothing more. Obviously.

The autopilot carried you through the motions until you had boarded the carriage and came face to face with the cause of all this idiocy. Neil smiled, instantly clocking you before you had even placed both feet inside. It was impossible to keep your face neutral, returning the grin and manoeuvring around the commuters to sit next to him on the three plastic chairs facing the sliding doors.

Then, as if seized by insanity, you propelled your body forward with the arms coming up around Neil’s neck to embrace him tightly. His freeze took approximately twenty seconds to thaw as he returned the hug with equal strength. You could feel the warmth of his breath hitting the crook of your neck and making you fight back a shiver that would not do. Instead, you let yourself breathe him in, rest in the moment that was potentially a mistake. Still, you were not going to treat it like one. Not when the warmth of his hands seeped through the clothes as they rested on your waist.

When the lurch of the train reminded you of reality and all its flaws, you ruefully disentangled from Neil and met his wary gaze. His blue eyes scanned your face as if looking for clues towards the reasons for the madness you just allowed yourself. When that offered no answers, Neil broke the silence with a careful observation:

“I didn’t know that we’re doing hugs,” his impassive face offered no clues either, triggering a wave of uncertainty you had to smother.

Because what if you went too far? What if that was not what Neil wanted?

“We are now,” the confidence was missing from the statement, making you add a crucial question, “Is that okay?” you could hear the insecurity in your voice, betraying the worries.

They disappeared the moment Neil flashed you a smile, his hand lightly patting your knee as a complement to the simple reassurance:

“Sure is,” lowering his gaze to catch yours, Neil winked.

Thank fuck. It surely made life much easier. Or the plans you might or might have not made regarding him. Now that the crisis had passed, you shifted in the seat to find a more comfortable position and allowed yourself a selfish look, measuring him up as usual. The slight tan line revealed by the rolled-up sleeves confirmed what you did know about his disappearance. The minor tiredness in how he carried his body strengthened your guesses. The rest of him blinded you as always.

Especially the three buttons left undone, revealing a strip of his chest. And inspiring ungodly thoughts in your head. Ignoring that what could not be addressed. Especially not right now in a carriage full of people. You switched your attention to the other crucial topic. Everything was better than being arrested for public indecency. At least you did hope so.

“How was the trip?” you noted the shift in Neil’s posture.

How he strengthened in the seat, the mask back in place. Although his mystery had fallen into the background over the acceleration of your dynamic, it was still very much present. You had to figure him out. Had to crack the case. Even if it killed you.

For now, though, simply asking mundane questions had to be enough.

“Well… it was fine. The usual” the answer did not help much, however.

Neil looked as if he knew how enigmatic it sounded but could not do anything about it. Upon your questioning look, he only shrugged and offered no further details. This time, you could not let the moment pass without a comment. You rolled your eyes, a frustrated huff interrupting the silence with petulance:

“God, you couldn’t be any less mysterious if you tried,” although anger was not one of the present emotions, you knew Neil would understand the message as you glared at him without heat.

He winced as if admitting to the guilt you hinted at and turned to you with a more open expression on his face:

“Sorry, it’s uh… maybe one day,” Neil met your gaze meaningfully, making you keener to believe him.

You held his gaze for a beat, even if only to have an excuse to look into his eyes and see Neil without the veil of pretence. It was easy to hope one day he would tell you more. That there was one day, somewhere along the line, waiting for you. That whatever was happening would not burn to a cinder in two weeks and leave you bereft. As things like this tended to do.

“I’ll hold you to that,” before breaking the eye contact, you reached for his hand.

It was another insane reflex that was difficult to explain, even to yourself. Yet, still, Neil went willingly. His long fingers tangled with yours without resistance and allowed you to rest your joined palms between the seats, almost like a beacon to whoever was curious about your meeting. And you could see the nosy stares, the inquisitive grandmas eager to judge and label everything and everyone existing within their vicinity.

You used the warmth of your connected hands to anchor you in the present as Neil asked:

“How’s the imposter syndrome? Did it fuck off at last?” the softness in his eyes could undoubtedly be fatal.

As was the way he knew what to ask and hit the jackpot without even trying. Because, of course, the feeling of not being good enough did not disappear. Of course, you still got up every morning with the vague desire to approach the ballet director and tell her you are giving up. That you cannot do this. It almost seemed like Neil could sense your thoughts.

Which was both terrifying and appealing, if you were to be honest. It would make your job easier if he knew exactly what you were thinking. About him.

“I wish,” the suffering sigh was a cheap trick, but viable in your books, “I still think I’m going to embarrass myself, but well,” not willing to give up the comfortable weight of his hand in yours, you offered Neil a one-sided shrug “Can’t exactly capitulate now” the desperate edge to that sentence did not escape his attention.

Sure, you would not actually give up, but that did not mean you were not half-heartedly wishing it happened anyway. Ideally, in the form of someone else doing the job for you. Pathetic, innit?

Neil squeezed your hand, capturing your attention without needing to try at all. The frown was still present on your face, its force turning the corners of your mouth downwards. As always, Neil seemed to see through all that you were not saying. He met your gaze (which was a feat considering you were happy to look anywhere but at him) and spoke:

“I wouldn’t let you,” there was an edge to his voice, a steely resolve that told you the conversation was gaining another layer.

A different destination to the one you had expected at first. Although, with how your chats recently played out, it was to be anticipated. Probably.

Without giving yourself the time to overthink, you leaned closer to Neil and placed a hand on his thigh. You could see his eyes widen upon the move, the pupils blowing up in the quickest form of flattery a man could give you. Sharpening your smile to the perfectly saccharine variant, you delivered the prepared lines:

“Oh yeah?” his thigh muscles tensed underneath your hand as Neil’s mouth fell agape without him being fully in control of the reaction. It was adorable. And an ideally ripe ground to lay the final strike, “You’d force me? Have your way with me?” the sparks in his eyes were a pretty addition to the already gorgeous picture.

At that moment, you knew that you had missed this. No texting could ever replace the real thing. The back and forth with the arresting strength of his eye contact and the unpredictable suspense of what would come next. Like the sudden softening of Neil’s features and an unexpectedly tentative counter to your bold questions:

“If you’d let me,” he swallowed hard as if desperately trying to get rid of the thoughts in his head and simultaneously unable to shake them off.

As if ripping the thread connecting him to you and shortening it at an alarming rate was causing Neil physical pain. The revelation acted like a hot poker pressed against the tender skin of your palm. It was difficult to shrug it off as if it was nothing. It nagged and prodded until you could do nothing but stare dumbly at him, feeling every passing second like a wasted beat of time you would never get back.

Before you could get your shit together in any way, it was too late. Neil had already jumped to conclusions, as you worried he might. His brows furrowed as his teeth nibbled on the chapped bottom lip in a familiar nervous tic. Slowly, as if navigating a mined battlefield, he shifted in the seat, widening the space between you by a fraction. You noticed it anyway.

“You don’t mind that this sort of thing keeps happening?” the question was completed with a vague gesture, slashing the air between you awkwardly.

The inflexion offered no space for doubt. Neil concluded that you very much did mind. That somehow you were not an active and eager participant in the heavy flirting and mutual teasing. Neil was an idiot.

And you had to put that point across instantly.

“Why would I mind?” without thinking, you let your fingers repeatedly stroke his forearm as you leaned back into his orbit to confess what ought to have been obvious, “I mean every word I say to you. Including all that post-Watershed talk” it was delightful to see your favourite smile disrupt his frown.

At the same time, it was nice to have it out in the open, no longer unsaid and implied. Because you did mean it. And you did want it. Whatever Neil would offer, be it a friendship or more. The choice was his.

You could pinpoint when the weight lifted off his shoulders and let him breathe deeper. You stared as Neil absorbed and processed the information, his blue eyes showing a spectrum of emotions. Some were unreadable. Other more obvious, like the devilish sparks that always guaranteed the conversation would take a curious turn. Or the cautious hope, making him look so much younger and innocent. Your unoccupied hand itched with the desire to brush his golden locks from his forehead, so you tightened it into a fist hidden in the coat pocket.

Just like you hid everything that had no place in your life.

At the periphery of your attention, you could register the called stations. Or the fact that your stop was mercilessly getting closer. Only one question could make you forget the reality altogether:

“So, what would you do if I kissed you?” when Neil asked, you were glad you had never forced yourself to look away from him.

That hesitant hope was still there, lightening up his eyes. You let it pull you in, as there was no need to search your heart for an answer. It was fair to assume Neil knew that, too. The question was only a preliminary. But it was still admirable he asked. People rarely did.

You shrugged, highlighting the evident conclusion he hopefully had already reached. It would have been easy to close the gap and let that be the answer. Too easy. It was enough that you could hardly ever look away from him, constantly drawn and arrested by his eyes.

Forcing yourself to break the spell, you met his gaze and offered him an impassive smile. If only to keep up the façade for a little longer.

“There’s only one way to find out, Neil,” you hoped that was enough, that he would understand the ball was back in his court to do as he pleased.

You also hoped Neil came to the right solution. Sadly, that did not seem to come to be just yet. One glance outside the window alarmed you about the surroundings and that you were arriving at your station. The frown twisted your mouth downwards as you risked a glance at Neil. The disappointment in his eyes told you he already caught up.

Two choices were waiting at your disposal. You could either stay, miss your stop to find out what would happen next. Or you could choose cowardice and leave the carriage, delaying the fateful moment a little longer. Definitely not forever.

It was hard to say why you chose the second option. Why you stood up without as much as a look at Neil and feigned a cheery farewell that felt foreign on your tongue. Later, you were keen to pretend it was just the influence of the moment. A sudden spell of insanity.

“Oops, that’s me. See you soon,” it was a miracle that you did not trip in the haste to get out.

You barely registered the surroundings as you bolted towards the sliding door and stepped onto the platform, missing the gap by mere millimetres. It was pure luck that you did not walk into any poor soul as you attempted to get away from the train as fast as possible.

You did not get the time to flee. All because you did not consider one thing – Neil had a choice, too.

When you felt a hand take yours and pull you back, there was that split second of panic. Your disoriented mind rapidly flicked through at least ten different disastrous scenarios, starting at a random appearance of Liam and ending at a violent assault you were about to be subjected to. Only then, at the very end, your brain pushed forward another observation. There was something familiar about that handhold.

Before you had a second to follow that thought, the interrupter pulled at your hand, making you whirl around to face them. Your widened gaze fell upon the undone tortoiseshell shirt buttons and wandered up the neck to land on Neil’s blue eyes, patiently staring back at you. It took you another second to understand what happened. And another one to begin processing what it could mean. Why he did it.

Without being aware of the movement of your body, you stepped closer to Neil, tightening the bubble you both had created in the middle of the platform. People bypassed you as they rushed to the train with the beeping doors hastening their steps. But that hardly mattered. It was just white noise. Unimportant and ignorable.

Unlike Neil, who closed the gap between your bodies to mere millimetres, and wordlessly repeated the question from before. The answer did not change. You offered him a tiny nod, not feeling the need to speak. The surrealism of the moment could not be labelled anyhow.

From the second you had tasted Neil’s lips, you knew it would not be something you could forget. That the feel of him would burn into the cortex of your brain and stay there to haunt you for eternity. You were right.

Your eyes snapped shut as soon as he closed the distance and covered your mouth with his in a soft kiss. His gentle and pliant lips caressed yours attentively without effort, making you cling even closer to him. Your arms came around Neil’s neck as your fingers toyed with the hair at the nape of his neck. It took another second, a blissful beat of existence, to make you kiss him back. Just as carefully. Just like you never kissed anyone before.

Neil’s relief came through in a short gasp, let out into your opening mouth, and the warm weight of his palms came up to rest on your waist beneath the open coat. Following the logic you did not understand, you tilted your head and allowed his prying tongue to lick into your mouth. The liquid heat traversed your veins, warming up your skin as Neil took his time to map out the inside of your mouth. Suddenly, the instant connection you felt made sense. Things clicked into place as you breathed the taste of him and breathed out the uncertainty. It felt right. Good. Unforgettable, even.

It felt like no first kisses and endless one-night stands ever did. And that made no sense.

Soon, that first kiss evolved into another and then the next. The platform, the people and the noise faded into the background as you swapped kisses, barely interrupted by quiet groans and swallowed gasps. On its own accord, your hand ventured up to tangle in his hair, grabbing a fistful of the golden locks and tugging in time with a particularly hungry nip taken out of Neil’s bottom lip. The reward of a barely stifled moan was more than worth it.

As was how Neil held you close and returned your kisses with equal zeal. He matched your energy and pushed you further until the remaining part of your conscience worried about being arrested for public indecency.

When the burn of your lungs excelled that of your soul, you placed a palm over the centre of his chest and pushed Neil back. Just a fraction. Just to catch your breath. His answering whine felt like another spark of pride, making your eyes glow with self-satisfaction. That was better than any other form of gratification you could think of.

When you finally forced yourself to blink your eyes open and look at Neil, you were met with kiss-bruised lips and darkened blue eyes, showing nothing else but hunger. At least ten increasingly ridiculous religious metaphors battled for leadership in your mind, but you pushed them all aside. The most accurate comment went to two simple words, pushed forward by the strength of your soul’s crudeness. Fucking hell. In the best of meanings, that is.

Following deeply rooted instincts, your tongue darted out to thoroughly trace the expanse of your bottom lip. And get remains of his taste, that you had already started missing. As far as kisses had gone, this one was pretty damn spectacular.

Neil seemed frozen, his eyes fixed on your mouth as if that was the only thing he could do. Admittedly, it was adorable. Yet, still, you decided to break the spell, the only way you could think of:

“I think your train has left,” you glanced over his shoulder, noting the expectedly empty platform.

Only now, when the haze of the kiss (or rather a whole make-out session) had begun to lift, you could understand what had transpired. And that Neil was keen to delay his return home for the price of a kiss. Or for the hope of a kiss, for clearly, he did not think he would get that far. Idiot.

You could see it now, back on his face. The slight disorientation and confusion suggested Neil could barely believe that what just happened was real. He blinked twice, then again, as if forcing himself to wake up and met your gaze with wide eyes. Without thinking, you allowed the hand you had pressed flat to his chest to venture up, stopping when your fingers started grazing over his neck. That was the trigger Neil needed to return to reality. He seized your adventurous fingers in a loose hold and placed your joined hands back over his heart. You could feel it racing.

“I’ll wait for the next one,” Neil offered you a half-smile, the uncertainty shining through the tentative joy in his eyes.

It was not something you were used to. Usually, after a kiss like that (never even preceded with a question, because who the fuck still asked for kisses?), you only ever got smugness. And an attempt at a smooth transition to sex, which did or did not succeed, depending on the participating party). Never uncertainty. Never shyness. Never contentment with what happened without pushing you for more.

You didn’t know what to do with any of it.

“No regrets?” the question was also one that you never asked before.

Not after something as trivial as a first kiss. But then, nothing was the way it usually went with Neil. That much was quite clear.

“Not really. You?” as if sensing your growing uncertainty, Neil did not hesitate before answering the question.

He squeezed your fingers, still wrapped in his palm and met your gaze with something almost resembling confidence. Somehow, that was enough. You took a fortifying breath to gather courage and discard the doubts. There would be more than enough time to deal with them later. Hopefully.

For now, there were other things to do and say. Like answering Neil’s question and reclaiming the conversation from its sombre paths. Especially since no cell in your body regretted the kiss. Or any other thing you had ever said or hinted at to him. It is just that somehow, somewhere along the line, your normal confidence had been wiped off the table. And it felt like it was never to be seen again. Not like before.

You hoped to ignore that bit of revelation, too.

“Nope. I’d offer a coffee at mine, but… I think some things need a better build-up,” you hoped the chaos in your head was not easily seen as you dropped the line with an attempt at the usual smoothness and met Neil’s eyes with remaining poise.

You meant that, too. A part of you, the same that had difficulties ending the kiss, wanted to continue it wherever it may lead you. You were quite sure you knew where it was going. And you certainly wanted that. But, at the same time, rushing into it seemed… wrong. As if the fact that you also wanted to be friends with Neil needed a little more respect. A little more time.

You could tell he understood from the way Neil nodded, his eyes still blown out by the darkened pupils.

“Agreed,” he shook his head slightly as if trying to clear it before glancing at the timing screen over your heads. Whatever the impact those 7 minutes of waiting had, the next thing Neil did was to heave a sigh and set his weary eyes on you, “Actually, I might walk back home. Should probably clear my head,” a small smile lifted the corner of his mouth.

Without overthinking the act, you seized his hand and started for the stairs. Just because you were not yet taking him home did not mean you could not drag out the goodbye. Right?

Right.

***

Although the kiss was not forgotten and only added to the general restlessness, you never mentioned it again. It was another layer added to the sprinkled, complex mess that was your relationship. A tiered cake that had so many flavours it was impossible to label it using a concise, less than five-word description. It just did not get discussed.

That was both a blessing and a curse, considering that with mere days left till the public Don Quixote premiere you could barely handle one type of stress and uncertainty. Let alone two. The reality check deadline crept up on you without warning, catching you pacing the flat for over an hour the evening before the official pre-premiere. The event always happened at least a night before the opening soiree and was reserved for the press, Royal Ballet directory and special guests of honour. It also meant that every detail of the performance had to be up to par if one wanted to continue advancing the career in the company. Which you did want. Desperately. It was just bloody unfortunate that the usual insanity of anxiety now was interlaced with something else.

Something that made you stop the pacing and pick up the phone only to open the messages and stare at the text conversation with Neil. It had been a few hours, and considering the 9 pm on the clock, you had a fair right to believe that he might be asleep. Maybe. But that could hardly deter the part of your brain that tended to get ahead of itself. Especially fuelled by stress and anxiety.

Without letting yourself falter, you typed the question:

/ 🏹, 9:04 pm/ Are you still up?

Luckily, you only had to hold your breath for an answer (or a lack of it) for less than 5 minutes. For that, your lungs were eternally thankful.

/✝️, 9:08 pm/ Is this the moment you ask me for dick pics?

A ridiculous guffaw broke the silence of your flat, along with that necessary intake of oxygen. Conversations like those still happened daily and only increased the want you could not get rid of if you tried.

And you didn’t try. There was no point to it.

/ 🏹, 9:09 pm/ Nah. Not yet.

You were having fun, chatting the shit on the daily with someone who seemed more than eager to keep the ball going. That was partially why you reached out on a whim, desperate to get out of the flat even for a little while. After all, asking Neil offered a fifty-fifty chance of an entertaining evening. All other intentions did not have to be disclosed. Even in your mind.

/✝️, 9:10 pm/ That’s a relief.

/✝️, 9:10 pm/ How can I be of service, my lady?

/ 🏹, 9:11 pm/ You’ve no idea, babe.

/ 🏹, 9:12 pm/ I was thinking of going to the dance studio, that’s open till midnight. Do you want to come?

/ 🏹, 9:12 pm/ You’ve said you wanted to see me dance so…

After sending the third message, you put down the phone and exhaled. That nervousness residing in your bones was new. It was almost as if it mattered what Neil’s answer would be. As if you cared whether he would say yes to the tentative proposition. None of that had ever happened before.

The urge to faceplant into the pillow was derailed by the buzz of an incoming message. With embarrassing speed of reaction, you read the texts:

/✝️, 9:15 pm/ Happily.

/✝️, 9:15 pm/ When and where do we meet?

You grinned. As you copied and pasted the location pin into the message, you could already feel a different type of nervousness enter your system. It was time for Neil to see you dance. You would also see him for the first time since the kiss. It was high time someone covered this topic on wikiHow. Or, at least, you thought so.

***

Although the Royal Ballet had more than good enough facilities at the Covent Garden building, the company could also use a studio by the Southwark Underground Station whenever you felt like it. Conveniently, that alternative place was open till midnight on weeknights, offering a one-in-a-million chance to run over the choreography for a billion times more before the pre-premiere. Without an audience of your fellow ballet dancers and their critical eyes, at that.

The other perk to the external studio was that nothing stopped you from bringing someone from the outside along. Nothing except for maybe the deeply rooted fear of showing Neil what you could do. Or couldn’t do.

That fear had not left through the Uber drive from your flat, growing in force from the moment you set your eyes upon Neil waiting outside the studio with a smile on his face. You exchanged the usual niceties, bypassing the awkward tint to the interaction with an avoided hug and nonsensical commentary from your side.

The nerves seemed to reach the peak as you left Neil in the main ballet studio room, the space lit up sparsely to maintain the strangely surreal atmosphere of those late autumn nights in London when nothing seems to be tangible and real. Having left the house in a pre-planned rehearsal outfit, you only took off the unnecessary layers, leaving you in a simple bodice and a wrap mid-thigh skirt and pulled on the woollen leg warmers to keep the chill at bay.

Luckily for your racing heart, the ritual of putting on and lacing up the pointe shoes always did its magic, allowing you to centre yourself and take a couple of deep breaths. Until there was nothing left but to march out of the changing room and connect your phone to the speaker, the right track ready for you to press play.

But before you could go that far, you made the mistake of locating Neil in the room. He had settled on the floor opposite you, his back pressed to the mirror-covered walls of the studio. He stared as you entered the invisible stage and offered you an encouraging smile. A slow, gentle warm-up was a valid opportunity to falter. A necessary step you had to take while also admitting that it was convenient. Although, Neil’s attentive gaze following your every move was much less convenient.

Once you had run out of all other options, you started the music, put down the phone and took up position. Desperate to rehearse as much as possible, you chose to go through the entire dream sequence at the end of Act 2. As always, the Minkus score did its magic, helping you settle into the movement and almost forget about everything else.

You followed the steps with practised ease, hearing the dull thud of pointe shoes hitting the hardwood floors with each landing between the orchestral notes. When the cue to finish was near you were almost out of breath. The pearls of sweat clung to your temples as the sweetness of exertion burned through your muscles and tendons. When those final notes rang off in the quiet studio, you held the finishing pose and waited for the music to end. The resulting silence was deafening.

Slowly, as if pained to do it, you opened your eyes. Neil was right where you had left him; his gaze seemingly never trailed away. But the exact look on his face was different. Instead of the ease and unbothered nonchalance he tried to emit earlier, Neil was now speechless. Dazed. His mouth was still agape, and he had to remind himself to close it before swallowing hard. You tried your hardest not to let that get into your head. You failed.

“So… what do you think?” unable to keep quiet for much longer, you released the question into the ether with a permanent frown and a minimal level of conviction.

It seemed to be what Neil needed to wake up from the stupor. He shifted, pulled up his knees to his chin and eyed you with a bright gaze. The desire to look away rose with every minute, but you tried to endure it. Somehow.

“You’re brilliant. Do you know that?” the matter-of-fact tone threw you off kilter, bringing out an automatic (albeit manic) grin from its hiding back onto your face.

Neil mirrored the expression instantly, only widening your smile in the process. Feeling the need to move again, you flexed your calves, completing a set of rapid changements. Only once that was done you could attempt to answer the question.

“Maybe,” you shrugged, unwilling to stray onto that sort of honest territory just yet, “It doesn’t hurt to hear it again, though,” unable to ignore that one voice at the back of your head that had not been convinced, you asked, “Was it actually… good?” the emphasis on the word was automatic.

You could tell Neil saw right through your faux nonchalance as he smiled, a different type of fondness shining in his eyes. That, too, was best left alone for now. The observation was shelved among others of its kind in the darkest cavern of your brain. Ideally left alone for good, never to be touched or thought of again. Just in case.

Neil’s gaze never strayed from yours as he offered you an answer without a hint of exasperation:

“As far as my virgin eyes could tell, it was perfect,” the corner of his mouth rose in the makings of a familiar smirk.

It eradicated any illusions that he did not know what he was saying. Or the effect the sentence would have. You closed your eyes against the sight, hopelessly willing the inconvenient feelings to disappear.

By now, it was painfully clear that Neil could be a bastard when he wanted to. It was just another thing that you liked about him. Perhaps too much.

For a second, you debated following the easy way out he had offered. It would have been effortless to take up the tone and turn the conversation into yet another pleasant back-and-forth that could potentially lead you past the talking. Past that one kiss, that had lowkey driven you insane with the promise of potential.

But the doubts were still there. They still clouded your mind like a flock of hungry birds of prey hunting for a bite of flesh. And Neil was the only person you could talk to and know he would listen. That he would care. For some reason, it was a crucial thing to share. An important topic to raise. Here and now.

“Allow me to ignore that double entendre potential for a second,” your apologetic frown was accepted with a subtle nod and meaningful glance.

“You’re excused, Cupid,” Neil grinned, evidently taking pleasure from the nickname you became fond of.

Especially because it was him, who bestowed it on you.

“Thank you,” shaking off the sudden rush of affection, you completed the gratitude with a cheeky addition, returning Neil’s smirk, “Sir,” only once noted his answering blush, it was safe to delve into what you really wanted to tell him. You took a deep breath, completing half a pirouette to face the mirrors on the wall and asked, “Do you ever feel like you’re just constantly pretending? Like the whole ‘fake it till you make it’ deal, except you never stop faking it?” training your gaze on the hardwood floors, you stared at the tips of your pointe shoes.

The worn-out, ragged edges caught your attention for a split second. You took a mental note to break in the brand-new pair and prepare them for tomorrow’s show. On the periphery of your vision, you could see Neil’s reflection. You could feel him staring, the intense gazing boring holes in the back of your head. But not even that could make you turn and face him.

“Pretty much every day,” Neil’s reply made you look up, meeting his eyes in the reflection. That was not an answer you had expected, “I’ve found that sometimes, if you’re lucky, all that pretending can fool the brain, too,” he signed off the addition with another reassuring smile.

Still, the scepticism reigned free as an unbidden scoff tore from your throat, forcing you to swallow down the sudden desire to retreat from the conversation. Years of practice did not seem to share Neil’s thesis. Things never got easier. You doubted they ever would.

“I’d hope so. Except that, I’m not sure I am that lucky,” that was a given, an undeniable fact of life like the laws of physics or the ignorance of the Tories. Unchangeable. The familiar wave of frustration threatened to pull you down as you allowed the insecurities to speak their part,“I may appear as a fucking cool cat, confident and all, but… I’m not,” hearing the broken note in your voice, you swallowed hard, unable to look at Neil anymore. There was only one final thing to add, “And I wish I could be,”

There. The curtain has fallen, revealing the truth underneath. Now, it was clear Neil had no illusions left about you. No reason to think of you highly. Somehow, you felt lighter. Sure, still unable to meet his gaze, even in the reflection, but it was better that way. Now, when you did disappoint him somewhere along the line, for whatever reason, it would be much less surprising.

You had no doubts whether that moment of disappointment would happen. It always did.

“You have every right to be. Because you are” when Neil spoke, at first, you did not register it. His words flew right over your head before being caught by your heart, desperate to find anything to hold on to. Only then did you hear what he said. You looked up in time to see the remains of the fading blush on his cheeks, “If that even makes sense,” he shook his head slightly as if scolding himself over the awkward reassurance and stood up. The tense shoulders betrayed the lightness he still tried to emit, “Trust me when I say I feel useless and stupid every minute of every day,” the weariness in his voice clashed with the disbelief you felt when hearing what he said.

That made no sense. The turmoil made you turn around in a half-pirouette and face Neil with wide eyes and mouth agape. Your brain was experiencing severe computing issues, the smoke almost sizzling out through your open lips.

He was none of those things. You barely resisted the urge to close the miles between you and shake him by the shoulders, all the while screaming at him to stop saying such bullshit. You did not do any of those things.

“But you’re… you,” instead, you gestured vaguely towards him, armed with words that were not enough.

No words seemed to be apt to describe him. Neil was just… impossible. Ineffable in his wonderfulness. Much better than anyone you had ever known. But that was something you could not say. Not now.

“In my books, that’s not necessarily a good thing,” Neil glanced at you with tired eyes, kicking around at nothing as he slid across the parquet in his socks.

When you entered the studio, he started unlacing his shoes before you could protest. Said something about not wanting the cleaner to have more work. The comment made you smile too brightly before you excused yourself into the changing room and hid your face in the palms of your hands. That state didn’t seem to have passed.

In an effort not to do anything stupid, you backed away till you could feel the barre against your back. Only then you met his searching gaze and made sure to show Neil the extent of earnestness on your face:

“It is. I’ve never met anyone like you, Neil,” the admission was met with a surprised double-take, so you decided to soften the tone with a stupid addition, “The hottest priest in London and whatnot,” you did mean that one, too.

Neil’s huff of laughter felt like a dodged bullet.

“Funny,” the bright sparks in his eyes confirmed the praise with doubled force, making you turn back towards the mirror to avoid being blinded by the strength of his affection. That stuff could be dangerous, “You’re the hottest ballerina in London, so we’re even,” once you registered Neil’s words, the silky tone of his voice that had not been there just a second ago, you knew that trouble was coming.

Out of the corner of your eye, you could see him close the gap. The warmth settled in your cheeks as you felt the comfortable heat spread around your body. That pleasant anticipation ignited in your bones with every step Neil took. Somewhere, at the edges of reason and logic, you knew you still had a choice. You knew that whatever he had envisioned in his mind, could easily be stopped with one word from your side. What was the problem?

Mainly that you didn’t want him to stop. Did not want to cut short the moment slowly blooming into something crucial. You could feel it buzz beneath your skin as Neil took the final steps towards you and leaned in. His hands came to rest upon the barre, millimetres from yours. Not quite touching but enough so you could not ignore his presence. You could feel the heat from his body as Neil pressed his chest to your back and whispered into your ear:

“A cool cat,” in normal circumstances, the call-back to your rant would have made you laugh.

But those weren’t normal circumstances. Not with Neil’s proximity, his hands slowly tracing invisible lines up your arms. You could feel his breath on the nape of your neck, creating goosebumps effortlessly. And the thing was – this wasn’t anything new. It was far from the first time someone had done this. Far from the first time you had been tempted by someone who desired you. But it was the first time they seemed to take their time for it.

Your head felt dizzy with the revelation as Neil’s fingers lightly brushed the neckline of your bodice and journeyed down. It was a first in the fact that he did not even try touching your breasts, instead respectfully settling over your ribs and tapping a vague rhythm over your heated skin. Without searching your heart, you knew that you did not mind it. Not one bit.

You covered one of his palms with yours, firmly pressing it against your waist and raised your head to seek Neil’s gaze. He was already looking back at you, the blue eyes of his eyes dark and consumed with something you wanted to call hunger. The same feeling could be easily found on your face.

“Are you trying to seduce me?” you frowned at the hoarseness of your voice and the breathless tint to the question.

For the first time, it was impossible to fake your reaction. Impossible to pretend you were not affected. Neil’s answering smile, full of confidence and mischief, made that discovery seem fine. Not troubling at all.

“Is it working?” the warmth in his eyes made you feel safe, not threatened by the potential of what could happen.

Not viable to the pains of consequences. That seemed enough.

Enough to make you gently tug at his hand, asking for the freedom of movement to turn around and face him. Only then, with Neil’s curious gaze beaming down on you like a desirable spotlight, you placed his palm back on your waist and offered an honest reply:

“I think you already know,” as proof, you picked up his other hand and guided it to press against your chest, feeling the rapid heartbeat.

The wolfish grin you received in return was worth any leftover sense of shame and embarrassment. Neil leaned in, and just as you were about to close your eyes, awaiting another life-changing kiss, he left a promising peck on the edge of your jaw. On its own accord, your hand tightened over the wooden railing as you exposed your throat for his use.

Neil wasted no time leaving a trail of kisses down the slope of your neck, only just being careful enough not to leave marks. Each kiss felt like a hot poker pressed against the tender skin of your neck, blazing hot and impossible to shake off. You closed your eyes, letting the sense take in the sensation of his tender care. Of the contrasting burn of stubble, scratching at your skin with a delicious sting.

Every kiss took time, only then to be sealed with a lick of his tongue, eliciting your quiet gasps and barely kept in groans of pleasure. The wave of insanity rose, threatening to take over your brain, save for one consistent thought. One revelation.

No one had cared this much before.

Letting go of his hand, you tangled your fingers in his golden strands, lightly tugging to gain his attention. The answering groan was sure to enter the library of sounds and images you liked to relieve in private. But before you could attempt to formulate the desire painted across your face, the door to the studio creaked, disrupting the silence.

You gasped in shock as Neil took half a step back, warily eyeing the doorway. A thousand curses lodged themselves in your throat as a silhouette of an older man, armed with a bucket and a mop, peered inside the room with a scowl. Fucking Rich, the Janitor.

The older man scanned you both from head to toe and sighed.

“It’s closing time, kids. Go home,” his gravelly voice acted like the much-needed bucket of cold water.

As he turned back towards the darkness of the corridor, you met Neil’s eyes. The depths of exasperation visible there told you this business was far from over. You certainly hoped so.

#neil tenet #tenet movie #tenet #tenet 2020 #neil tenet x reader #neil tenet fanfic #neil x reader #neil tenet imagine #tenet fanfic #robert pattinson #robert pattinson x reader #robert pattinson x you #robert pattinson x y/n #robert pattinson imagine #deadlines & commitments

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jjsstars · 2 years ago

Text

thiamweek2023: Day 5, The Pack

|| for @thiamappreciationweek event

|| tags: lowkey stiles bashing but it’s more him just being a dick yk, references to liam’s parents not being supportive of him being bi (nothing graphic)

“Him? You’re dating him?” Stiles scowls and Liam’s jaw clenches, gripping Theo’s hand tighter because he feels like he’s going to pass out or burst into sobs- the smell of concern wafting off of Theo helps nothing.

“I know he’s not part of the pack y-.” The yet gets cut off.

“Damn right he’s not. What the hell Liam?” His eyes tear away from Stiles and his harsh words, landing on Scott instead, he doesn’t look nearly as upset. Thank god.

“My parents don’t know, please don’t tell them.” It softens something on Lydia and Kira’s faces; Liam can’t tell if it’s how normal-teenager that sounded or them getting more okay with the fact that Theo and Liam are dating.

“We’d never, don’t worry.” Lydia assures and gives a smile that probably shouldn’t be as reassuring as it is considering Stiles is all but seething next to her.

“Like hell we won’t- you’re dating a murderer!” It makes Liam’s stomach drop- whether it be the idea that he might be outed or the way Theo’s whole body tenses up hearing what Stiles called him is up for debate, but Liam’s pretty sure it’s both, and probably a million other things about this situation.

“No you won’t.” It’s the first thing Theo’s said throughout this whole thing, his voice sharp and eyes even harsher.

“He speaks! I thought you were going to sit there brooding while Liam tried to convince us you’re not the monster I know you are.” There’s already so much anger built up in Liam’s system, specifically towards Stiles for how he talks about Theo, that the comment almost sends him spiraling into something that’d earn him a forced cold shower a year ago- but Theo rubs his thumb across Liam’s knuckles and that helps, it always does. He wishes he could shove it in Stiles’ face and show him that Theo isn’t a monster, that he cares, that he deserves a second chance, that he’s already changed significantly.

“Out Liam to his parents and I’ll have a lot more to say.” It must just dawn on Stiles that what Liam meant by not telling his parents is that he’s not out to them yet as his face falters, shaking himself out for a moment before he gives a short nod.

“I- I’m not going to out him. But I’m not okay with you two dating.” A beat passes where Stiles and Theo hold too strong eye contact before Scott interrupts them by clearing his throat.

“Stiles that’s enough, if Liam’s happy and nobody’s getting hurt then we’re all going to do our best to support him and Theo.” He says easily and turns to look at Liam and Theo head on, holding a hand up to Stiles’ open mouth as he was obviously going to start arguing.

“I’m not promising it’s going to be easy or there won’t be tension for a little bit, but I’m happy you guys are happy. And I’ve seen that Theo’s already been changing, I know he’s not a monster.” Liam would go bear hug Scott right now if he wasn’t in a room full of people that are still divided on opinions about his relationship- he thinks Scott gets it anyways.

“Thanks Scott.”

“I can give him a chance for you Liam but one step out of line and I’m killing him.” Ever so blunt, Malia gives a short nod and eyes Theo for a moment, she’s not lunging to rip his throat out so Liam will take what he can get.

“We gave Peter a second chance, I don’t see why we shouldn’t give Theo one too.” Lydia isn’t looking at Theo or Liam as she says it, instead staring straight at Stiles with a challenging look in her eye. Sometimes Liam forgets how scary the redhead can be with just a simple expression and crossed arms.

“Fine. But when he goes evil again, I know he will, I’m not going to let him off easy.” It’s a middle ground and that’s all Theo and Liam were really looking for from this conversation— they knew the pack wouldn’t be jumping up and down with support, but no blood has been shed and that’s enough, and Liam knows they’ll come around more. Eventually.

#thiamweek2023 #thiamweek23 #thiam #liam dunbar #theo raeken #teen wolf #jj writes

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carmenized-onions · 1 year ago

Note

chapter 1 - going back to my roots!! (spoilers for those who haven’t rear the most recent chapter)

the way you mirrored that first sentence with the mikey - EVIL

if it’s a love confession she should definetely answer😁 - imagine if it was…imagine that

if carmy knew her neighbourhood wasn’t peaceful he’d have her in his apartmentment at once!!

But a part of you is relieved it’s a thing that’s broken, and not her - oh this hurted

“The doorknob on the inside, broke off. And right now, or, more like, 5 minutes ago, the handle on the outside broke off too.” - the way it all goes back to her, mikey and richie ugh your mind

Now that’s an uncomfortably familiar voice. - RICHIEEEE. ugh reading it with all the contexr is just wow!!!powerful stuff

Nobody has to know you’re wearing pajama shorts under this - lowkey hot tho😁

an older woman smoking and having an emotional spat - donna!! makes sense that chippy never met her but oh i wonder how that would’ve gone

She gently slaps your cheek - tina is so cuteee

You’ve never said his name to him - the way everything makes sense now oooof

love the switch up between “Sweetheart, I need you to stand up for me, Carmen Chef Sir.” and “….Who the fuck is Tony?”

“Aye… Cousin?”- i used to think the cousin was for carmy but it’s for her 🥹🥹🥹 my fave besties 🥹💕🫶🏼😭 (also i’ve had two dreams now about richie being my best friend… yeah the mental illness is,,,)

Girlfriend? Probably - that could’ve been you already if you listened to mikey’s advice but i guess claire had to happen *for the plot*🙄

“You’re just. Cold.” - sobbing actually

you lower your arms— But. He opts to place his chin on your shoulder - 😭😭😭 them!!!!!

retaining - the bold on retaining 💀💀💀

definitely a virgin - ajajsjejrjri not for long (well i can dream 😁🫶🏼)

sweetheart, asshole - so true 💕💕

omg remember back when the chapters were this short (compared to the newest ones)yeah me neither. love you love your dedication!!<3

this is the best day of my life, getting people's re-reading thoughts is the best experience of my life AND FROM YOU TOO LU!! LOVE YOU!!!

ANyways. CHAPTER 1 THOUGHTS BUT WITH C O N T E X T now.

I can't remember if I always planned to mirror the intro line with Mikey. I'm pretty sure I did? I think I went back and forth a couple times on whether or not it was stupid-- And it very well might be, but I know it makes everyone rereading mad so I think it was worth it and good and cool of me.

Everyone gets so hung up on the love confession line now it makes me so happy. I'll be so fr I didn't plan Squidink to happen in the beginning-- Though I did originally concept this whole series as x Syd before switching lanes, I don't remember when it locked in for me that I was going to be gay about it. Probably Zero Pulse? Yeah probably.

carmen's gonna crash tony's credit score on purpose so she has to move out: canon-- canon i said it it's canon! kidding

THE DOOORKNOOBBB this I always planned-- I don't know if they go over it in canon but fr why the fuck did the inner knob break off so easy that's so deeply concerning man.

RICCHIEEE, he IS powerful stuff bro.

"lowkey hot tho😁" so tony is now a character and it's Tony x reader now, i see?

DONNNAAAAA, it only makes sense for Tony to be in a rush and avoid Donna in this opener, but I do also wonder how violently different this night would've gone if she listened in on their convo for like even two seconds.

It's extremely funny to go from "i need to be so nice to this kid, he meant everything to my best friend" to "what the FUCK are you yapping about?" in two seconds.

I THINK A LOT OF PEOPLE USED TO THINK RICHIE SAYING COUSIN WAS FOR CARMEN, I remember for chapter 2 so many people going awe he calls her cousin-- baby, always has! Also were you a handyman in those dreams be HONEST!!!

smh chip if you simply just followed big bros advice you could probably be living together by now but NO Carmen had to get with the ACTUAL DOCTOR instead of the EMT!!!! bro loves women in healthcare

JUST COLD!!!! JUST COLD!!! man if i had a hat i'd throw it and i literally wrote all this. The little descriptions Mikey gave of his siblings were also honestly some of my favourite bits to write from this first chapter. Had to look at me and my two brothers and go how would I honestly describe these two and how brutal would I be about it? 100% older brother Mikey has to humble Carmen's ass with a ALWAYS EMPHASIZED R E T A I N I N G. He's proud but like. come on you didn't get them, carm.

i miss the days of short chapters. though I think we're kind of going back to it if not taking a brief pitstop of short. This next one I pray to god is under 10k i'll 86 myself i swear to god. LOVE YOU!!!

memes are so good, who the FUCK are you cousin!!! sydney's new apartment in S3 should be free-- rent should be free during pride month actually that's the law also i'm pretty sure everyone IS making sex up anyways anyways do i have a piece of wip i could give you my darling let's see

oh i do but i'm gonna be so fucking mean about it.

WHAT THE FUCK ARE THEY YAPPING ABOUT!!!!??? WHO KNOWSSS (i know)

anyways i have to pack up from work and get the FUCK out of here see you all later conspire over this screenshot losers love u

#yapping #ask #popcornpoppin #extensive yapping #chicagos kindest comp #chicagos kindest #onion wip

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nani-nonny · 1 year ago

Text

Tiny snippets that didn’t make it to the current apaf or the other storyline for apaf :D

Well, there not exactly tiny snippets… one of them is 2k words long hehe

But I’ve been holding on to these long enough, especially since we’re finally getting into the “learning how to be a dad” phase of apaf in a few chapters :D

Have fun reading! vvvv

This dialogue is from the other storyline, aka apaf 2.0 (/hj) aka aka the plot line we avoided lol

”No, Dad, you should take it, I really shouldn’t—.”

“Hush, Big Blue, be kind to her.”

“Her? How do you know?”

“I raised four boys, I think I know a girl when I see one. Now, take her. She needs her father.”

“No, I’m not her dad. I can’t—I shouldn’t.”

“Why not?”

“What if… what if I mess up? What if I’m not cut out for being a dad? No—I mean, I’m not ready.”

And this is 2k words of a snippet, also for plot 1 aka the plot where CJ dies :( and Leonardo tries to heal from that recent death that haunts him :D but anyways, this is a different opening to how Leonardo wakes up in the lair after stealing the key and passing out. This time, Leonardo isn’t immediately stressed by CJ’s disappearance, but he is stressed about CJ’s death.

“————! No!”

Leonardo turns, eyelids scrunching tightly closed.

“Come back!”

He reaches with heavy hands, desperate to grab onto the voice.

“Leo!”

His hands shake, fingertips burning as if he reached into the heart of a flame.

“I’m sorry…”

He can feel his throat closing in on itself, muting any sound he tries to make.

“I’m so sorry…”

—chirp! Peep peep! Chirp!

Leonardo was sleeping on his side when he heard the sharp, distressed chirps of a small creature. The chirps beckon him, cry for him to come and help. Scared. Scared. Help, it cries.

And without realizing it, he’s rising out of bed. Perhaps out of pure instinct or some kind of fatherhood that was pushed deep down surfaces in this moment as his body flips its switch to high alert. The only thing on his mind that manages to make itself known is to protect.

Protect Draxum’s treasure.

He chirps in response, weary eyes blindly searching for the small turtle.

Where? Protect. Come. Protect.

But the second he kicks his feet off the bed, he hears the small chirps from behind. He turns around, flops onto his stomach—wincing when a sharp pain erupts from his torso at the movement—to reach the other side of the bed and easily catches the small turtle just before it falls off the edge.

The turtle in his hand releases a small, surprised chirp. Safe.

He exhales a sigh of relief as he sits up, careful with the baby in his hand and holds her close to his plastron. He looks around as his heart begins to calm, slowing to its normal pace.

He’s in a room, unfurnished with all the unopened boxes and lack of decorations. It’s quite literally a bed-room as the bed is the only piece of furniture that is of use. But the room he recognizes to be an abandoned train car, cleaned out and left with nothing but its skeleton. The windows have been blocked out with newspapers to prevent any light from coming in, and the sliding door was replaced with a raggedy blue curtain.

He doesn’t recognize this place to be the lair, so he doesn’t have a clue where in the hell he is except for what could possibly be a subway station.

He looks down to see his torso is covered in bandages, clean and pristinely wrapped around his shell. His pants have been replaced with clean sweatpants, his utility belt with his pockets nowhere to be seen. Even his sword is out of sight, and whether the tied masks on the hilt were noticed or not, he wasn’t sure.

But more importantly, the small creature resting in the palm of his hand.

He looks down at the small turtle, stares at the sleeping face that distortedly mirrors his own. The rounded head, the familiar red crescents that signify a red-eared slider, the small beak—a turtle mutant. Although, he doesn’t have that skinny, stretched diamond-shaped stripe that rests barely above the middle of this mutant’s eyes.

That, in itself, is enough to relieve Leonardo that this isn’t his child.

It’s not possible. After all, he never got close to anyone like that. And with the war against the krang, he would never dare to bring a kid into that world. Especially not after… that situation.

And yet Draxum did. It must have been Draxum, he was the one to hand the child over with the order to protect it. He died passing the child over to Leonardo without warning.

Protect Draxum’s treasure…

And here he is, a mutant from the future with a child in his hand. But the slider specifically remembers handing the small child off to Splinter.

Leonardo looks down at the small turtle, surprised it can be sleeping so soundly after almost falling off the bed and making those distressed sounds. And what the hell was that? When was the last time he actually made turtle noises? He thought he had forgotten how to do it.

If Mikey were here, he’d hear no end to it.

“If he was here…,” Leonardo mumbles aloud only to finish the thought, He would know what to do with this.

The child makes a strange sound, snapping Leonardo from his thoughts. In the palm of his hand, the child is shivering and he realizes the noise must have been a sneeze.

“How are you catching a col-oh…,” he questions the child before he realizes mid-sentence that he did dive into the ocean at night. In his defense, he didn’t know he had been carrying a child in his arms. He thought it was some priceless artifact that Draxum didn’t want destroyed or taken by the krang. Hell, he thought it was going to be something to help him in retrieving the key—better yet—destroying it.

But where did Draxum get this child? Did he rob someone?

Feeling the small child shiver in his hand, he pushes the ceaseless questions aside and exits the subway car. Slipping through the curtains, he’s immediately blinded by the bright lights of the subway station.

“That’s right… the new lair,” Leonardo realizes as he takes note of the unopened boxes scattered everywhere.

Down the pathway, he sees more train cars lined up on both ends of the platform. Four cars in particular are color-coded with the familiar colors of himself and his brothers, and he recognizes the lobby room-changed-to-living room. It still has a few unopened boxes, some are opened and barely cleared of a handful of items. The skate ramps and the game table is lit up from a recent game of air hockey.

There’s a wet caution sign set up in the middle of the room on top of a recently mopped part of the floor. Was that because of him?

A few steps closer and Leonardo notices a note taped onto the other side of the caution sign, “Leo did it”.

Under that note, he sees another that says, “Days without a Leo incident: 0”.

Leonardo playfully glares at the second note and laughs dryly, “Haha, funny.”

“No, stop, don’t touch that! We don’t know how long that’s been there,” a younger Donnie’s voice yells from a nearby room.

In response, a symphony of Ewwws and Grosssss erupted from the same room, and Leonardo followed it to find himself walking into the kitchen.

Inside, four turtles are standing in the midst of an unpacked kitchen only filled with a fridge, a stove, a few uncleaned kitchen counters, and a large rectangular dining table. Three turtles are gagging and holding their hands over their mouths, clutching utensils like a wooden spoon and a rubber spatula as the stove continues to burn whatever sits on the skillet.

Crouching on the floor is a smaller Raphael than Leonardo remembers, hands over his mouth as he chews slowly. The snapper’s eyes seem to scan nothing as all thoughts are focused on whatever is in his mouth.

Donnie looks so much more like Leonardo’s photo of April’s first day of college. The purple tech shell, the uneven goggles, the purple stripes on his upper arms and thighs—even the ridiculously drawn eyebrows. The softshell has yet to grow into the same build as Leonardo, and only has the lanky, toned muscle that Leonardo doesn’t remember being so funny to look at. Had they always been so oddly shaped in their teens?

The softshell turns away holding his mouth closed to keep from gagging anymore, but freezes when he makes eye contact with Leonardo. Donnie swallows nothing and stares at the elder slider.

Leonardo blinks, a little uncomfortable with Donnie’s eyes locking on him in what could only be shock or possible amazement? He’s a little uncertain because Donnie hasn’t blinked. Or moved. The teen just keeps staring. He feels like they’re the perfect reenactment of a car and a deer in headlights—frozen and too afraid to make any sudden movements.

Suddenly, the small child sneezes, breaking the staring contest between the two and Leonardo sets the child onto the dining table. Donnie nudges the closest brother, which happens to be Mikey, who was too focused on the “all kinds of bad” that could come from eating an old, soggy piece of unknown meat from an abandoned subway station.

The box turtles pivots on his heel until his eyes meet Leonardo’s, his draw dropping immediately. His eyes flicker between the small child that searches for Leonardo’s hand, and the huge, towering mutant slider that is Leonardo. He nudges the smaller slider at his side, whispering a sharp psst!

The younger slider points at Raph’s mouth, “Spit it out Raph! That’s gross and you’ll get sick.”

The snapper shakes his head vigorously as he continues to chew—how much longer does he need to chew?

Mikey pushes Leo, making the young slider stumble forward. The young slider pushes the tails of his mask off his face as he looks over his shoulder, “Mikey! What the hel—llll…. oh.”

The slider’s annoyance dies in seconds as he, too, has locked his eyes on the elder slider standing near the dining table.

And there it is. It’s almost like staring at a reflection of the boy he used to be. The red and yellow stripes that distortedly mirror his own, the blue mask—his youth. The kid should be—what?—sixteen? Seventeen? Somewhere in the teens if the little guy looks the same as his photo.

“Hey… uh, morning?” Leonardo finally greets, making the snapper flinch.

The snapper looks over his shoulder, mouth full of the unknown meat and swallows. He rises to fully stand, wiping his mouth as he does, and smiles sheepishly. “Oh, morning Leo,” he greets cheerily.

The snapper’s eyes trail to the small child laying on the table in the fetus position. He glances at his brothers for a response, and Leo is the first to respond.

Immediately striking up a confident smile and a step forward to match, Leo sweeps his mask’s tails off his shoulder. “G’morning ‘Older Me’, I see we haven’t lost our devilish good looks,” he greets with what Leonardo can describe is an expression too confident for how ridiculous he actually looks.

The smaller Leo walks up to Leonardo to rest his arm uncomfortably on the elder’s shoulder, he motions between them with his free hand. He marvels at his nails as he says, “So, what do we call you Big Man? Winter Soldier? The Mutant Watchmen? Turtle Titan? Terrapin Warrior?”

Just as the smaller Leo is about to come up with yet another horrible nickname, Leonardo’s hand envelopes the entirety of the younger’s face. “Let’s just go with something simple, save you the thinking. Leo, Leonardo, Nardo, Leon, pick your favorite.”

The younger Leo pries Leonardo’s hand off his face and slaps the large hand away. “Get off, get off, Grandpa,” Leo hisses as he bats away the calloused hand.

Donnie steps forward with excitement flurrying in his eyes, his hands are folded together but pointer fingers extended at Leonardo. He can’t hide his giddy smile as he asks, “So… are you a clone? Or another mutant that looks exactly like what Leo might look like when he’s older? Or are you from the future? If you’re from the future, how did you get here? I thought Leo’s portals only work with destination and—.”

Leonardo lowers Donnie’s hands and interrupts, “I’m from the future, and I didn’t make the portal to the present.”

Donnie’s hands fall to point at the small child now shivering on the dining table, “And that…?”

Leonardo doesn’t look back at the child and answers a little too sharply for the softshell’s liking, “It’s Dad’s.”

“‘It’?” Raph questions, his eyes glancing back at his brothers again.

“Doesn’t matter,” Leonardo interrupts and quickly adds, “Where is he? Does he have the key?”

“You mean Dad? He went to the surface to pick up some things with April for the… for his kid?” Raph answers for the turtles. He points to the stove, “Are you hungry? Pops said we should make you some food.”

Leonardo looks at the stove that is starting to release an alarming amount of smoke from the skillet. He points to the stove and asks, “Would the charcoal happen to be my breakfast?”

Mikey pushes past his brothers in a panic and cries out, “My omelet surprise!”

Wasn’t that fun? Anyways, another tiny dialogue snippet from plot 1 that I ended up not liking, which didn’t matter in the end since we didn’t choose plot 1 lol

“What’s more important the key or your daughter?”

“The key, of course!”

F!Leonardo didn’t mean this inherently, but he was very stressed at that point when the lair was attacked by the Foot and the baby was injured in the attack :(

Let’s continue the stress and angst! Here’s another plot 1 snippet :D

“I can’t, Dad… I shouldn’t,” Leonardo admits in defeat.

Splinter sets the baby in his lap, accepting Leonardo’s defeat but he questions, “Why not?”

Leonardo swallows. “Because what if I fail her too? What if I’m the reason she… —I can’t. I don’t know if my heart can take it. I’ve already lost so much. And you might be here, but not like how you were—are?”

The slider shakes his head and looks away from Splinter and the baby. “I lost my kid, Dad. I can’t take her in, it wouldn’t be fair to her. She deserves a father that will love her and protect her, someone who will dedicate their time to her. I can’t do that for her. Not while the pain is so… so fresh. I… I’m losing the fight. And I’m not sure I can get up anymore than you tried to pull me up. I’m sorry.”

Here’s a snippet that I removed from the canon apaf storyline because I decided to move it along a little faster. Before they find out that CJ was hiding with the Foot Clan, Leonardo wasn’t supposed to abide to Leo’s demand of letting him tag along. Leonardo was actually going to reach his breaking point in his stress because he had been searching my alone for weeks and nearly explodes on Leo—in a sad way, not anger hehe.

“Because Casey’s all I have left!” Leonardo snaps suddenly.

The elder slider momentarily freezes when he realizes what he has said, wrapping his fingers around his sword’s hilt in an awkward attempt at hiding the bandanas. He swallows, realizing he has dug himself a whole deeper than the trenches. “I… Sorry. I didn’t mean to say that. I should have worded it better. But believe me when I say I care. I care so much. Maybe a little too much—to the point where I’m only thinking straight ahead and instead of everything else around me.”

Leonardo winces at the way his words come out of his mouth, but he continues, “And I’m sorry that it’s hurting you. I really am, but it’s been really hard and I’m trying not to focus on… other things when Casey is the only one here. I promise when we reach CJ, I’ll take the time to—I don’t know—process? —everything? I just really need CJ to be okay. If he’s okay, then I can finally breathe. Alright? Can you give me that at least?”

Leo’s eyes flick downwards to the elder’s grip on the multicolored hilt, finally noticing the red and purple bandanas. Shit…, he thinks, I’m an asshole.

Wasn’t this fun? A lot of stuff was avoided because we picked plot 2 for apaf hehe, and we’ve moved faster onto the “raising baby” part

Although, I do miss the potential angst that could’ve been in plot 1 lol

I’m not sure if these were already shared or not hehe but it’s nice to go through them again

Sorry for the bad grammar or spelling if you spotted any, I didn’t bother to edit these haha

#(accidentally) played american football with my newborn #rottmnt #rottmnt snippet #a lot of reading lol #tldr: bunch of snippets

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mybrothercainmybrotherabel · 1 year ago

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Exploration

TW: hanging, colonial gun violence

Jasper led the way through the woods of the Human Realm with his friends Dexter, Kirce, Archie, and Blythe behind him. Was he using this excursion as an excuse to show off?

Perhaps a little.

Out of the five of them, he had the most experience in the Human Realm. So when Kirce, the girl he had a massive crush on for the past six months, started talking about how much she wanted to visit, he had jumped on the opportunity to be a guide.

“It’s kind of creepy here, isn’t it?” Dexter said. He had been reluctant to agree to come in the first place, ever since people started going missing a few years ago rumors were circulating that the Human Realm was no longer safe.

“What do you mean?” asked Archie.

“I figured in the Human Realm we would see Humans.” Dexter said, “But we’ve been walking for at least a mile and I haven’t seen anything. It’s weird. It makes the hair on the back of my neck stand up.”

“You can always go back if you’re too scared.” Blythe teased.

“I am not scared!” Dexter retorted quickly. “If anyone should be scared it should be you. You don’t even have a palisman yet.”

Blythe, who was Dexter’s younger sister turned red. “If you brag about that stupid thing one more time I’m going to shove the whole staff up your…”

Kirce’s palisman, Toadles jumped on Blythe’s head and croaked loudly.

“Knock it off,” Kirce said, “You two are worse than children.”

Jasper’s palisman, a blue jay named Elinor rolled her eyes. Jasper smiled at Kirce, to show that he agreed with her and was happy that at least the two of them were mature and reasonable. Kirce however wasn’t looking back at him, his heart sank a little.

“What was that?” She asked.

“What was what?” Jasper followed her line of sight, he couldn’t see anything out of the ordinary.

“I saw something move in the trees.” Kirce said.

“It was probably just an animal,” Jasper replied,

“There are a lot of them over here.” He hoped whatever she had seen was familiar to him, he would love to have the chance to impress her with his vast knowledge of Human Realm fauna.

“What if it’s a human?” Blythe asked excitedly. “I’ve always wanted to see one!”

“It could be a witch hunter.” Archie said, “OoooOOOOoooooOoo….”

He wiggled his fingers right behind Kirce’s ear. Kirce elbowed him in the stomach.

“Knock it off, it’s not funny!”

“Kirce, I have been coming here for years,” Jasper reminded her, “and I have never seen one of these so-called witch-hunters. Relax. Most humans will go out of the way to avoid you, and the ones who don’t are more curious than dangerous.”

“Hmm…” Kirce didn’t looked convinced. “Toadles, go check it out anyways.”

Blythe rolled her eyes. “Worry wart.” She said, “No offence, Toadles.”

Toadles responded with a croak, though Jasper did not know him well enough to tell whether or not he was offended.

What happened in the following few moments happened so fast that Jasper could hardly keep up. There was a loud cracking noise immediately drowned out by a scream of anguish as Kirce nearly collapsed onto the ground. Jasper rushed to her side as Dexter and Archie cast a plant spell to pull whoever was hiding out into the open. A human boy fumbled to hold onto his own strange looking staff as he was hoisted into the air by Dexter and Archie’s vines. He dangled by his ankles and the staff slipped from his hands and clattered down amongst the tree vines. It took Jasper a moment to realize that the boy’s staff was dripping in bright green magic. Palisman blood…

Kirce was nearly hysterical.

“You’re going to pay for that!” She screamed, summoning fire to her hands.

“Kirce, stop!” Jasper grabbed her arm.

“He killed Toadles!” Kirce screamed, “I’m going to kill him! I’M GOING TO KILL HIM!”

Dexter, Blythe, and Archie all turned to try and console Kirce, or restrain her. Jasper had heard it said that the pain of losing one's palisman was enough to drive a witch mad with anguish. Kirce wasn’t thinking straight. In the state she was in, she could easily lose control and end up hurting herself or one of them. Jasper was too preoccupied trying to calm her down that he didn’t even think of watching the human. The next thing anyone knew, the human had escaped.

Kirce ripped herself away from her friends’ restraint.

There was a loud bang that rattled Jasper’s eardrums.

He saw Kirce’s body fall back and hit the ground as if time had stopped moving properly.

“KIRCE!” He screamed, he fell to his knees beside her. Blood poured from a hole in her chest.

Her eyes stared blankly at nothing.

Jasper shook.

She was dead.

For a moment no one could move. No one could breathe. No one could think.

When thoughts returned to Jasper’s mind they all repeated the same thing.

He killed Kirce.

The human killed Kirce.

Fury filled Jasper’s mind and body.

The world seemed to turn red, red like the blood blossoming across Kirce’s dress.

Instantly, Elinor transformed into a staff in Jasper’s hand. This human was going to die. He was going to pay for Kirce’s death with his own blood.

Before they could act there was another boom, like the one that had killed Kirce. More humans rushed forward from the trees, several of them carrying the same staffs that the boy had. Others had various other weapons.

Outnumbered, Jasper mounted his staff and took to the air.

A moment too late he realized that Blythe did not have her own palisman yet.

He summoned shards of ice around her to try and fend off the humans, Dexter and Archie each summoned their own defenses, but there were too many humans.

“BLYTHE!” Dexter screamed, as his sister was pinned down by the mob of angry humans.

“We have to go!” Archie shouted.

“Not without Blythe!” Dexter insisted.

Jasper dove for his younger friend.

BANG!

Before his eyes, Elinor exploded from the front of his staff. He felt it in his chest.

One moment she was there, the next she was nothing but a spray of bright green magic.

One moment his heart was beating, the next it was shattered like the shards of palistrom wood that flew back to hit his face.

The world was spiraling.

There was no up, no down, no future, no past.

Just that moment of watching Elinor explode in front of him.

He felt an arm around him, but was too disoriented to realize it was Archie’s until they were almost back to the portal. They crossed the threshold and collapsed into the red grass on the other side.

“We have to go back!” Dexter shouted. “We have to go back!”

“Are you insane?” Archie asked, “They’ll kill us!”

“They have Blythe! They have my sister!”

“Did you see how fast they murdered Kirce? That human didn’t even draw a spell circle. Blythe is probably dead already.”

Dexter jumped on Archie and started punching him.

“She’s my sister!” he screamed, “She’s my little sister!”

Jasper was still in shock, still covered in the splatter of Elinor’s blood, but Dexter was right. They couldn’t leave Blythe.

He forced down his own grief and tried to keep his hands from shaking as he pulled out the vial of Titan’s Blood and re-opened the portal.

“You’re mad.” Archie said. “They’ll kill you, too.”

“If she’s still alive, we have to try.” Jasper said.

Dexter and Jasper returned to the Human Realm. They stumbled through the underbrush, trying to follow the sounds of shouting. Jasper felt half asleep. The world seemed like a blur of nightmare and reality.

They caught up with the crowd of humans. Dexter tried to run ahead, but Jasper held him back, evaluating the scene before moving. Jasper didn’t think there was anymore room in his mind for horror. Between seeing Kirce’s body lifeless on the ground and watching Elinor explode before his eyes, it seemed impossible for any more atrocities to take place within such a short amount of time.

Then he saw Blythe’s body.

She was hanging from her throat in the branches of a tree as the Humans gathered around. Her face was bloated and purple, blood seeped from her eyes which were bulging out of their sockets. Jasper had just enough sense left in him to body block Dexter before he could run out and expose them both. He put his hand over his friend’s mouth and wrestled him back deeper into the woods. They managed to make it back to the portal before Jasper vomited. Before he knew what was going on, Dexter was on top of him. Jasper didn’t even feel the first couple of punches. He wasn’t even fully aware of what was going on until Archie pulled Dexter off.

“You said it was safe!” Dexter shouted. “You told us the Human Realm was safe! You had been there dozens of times! You said there was nothing to worry about!”

Jasper tasted blood in his mouth. His brain still couldn’t quite connect the pain coming from his face with the blood pouring from his nose or the fists that just assaulted him.

“I…I thought…” He struggled to speak, “I…Nothing like this had ever happened before…”

“Blythe is dead!” Dexter screamed, “Kirce is dead!”

“I…” The world still didn’t make any sense. Jasper was shaking.

“It should have been you!” Dexter shouted, “You were the one who led us there! If anyone should have died, it should have been you!”

Jasper couldn’t disagree.

He was still in a daze when he stumbled home. Upon seeing the blood covering him, his mother ran to his side. His little sisters stared at him in terror. Both of them were still in their nightgowns, stuck in the house after catching the common mold at school. If they hadn’t been sick, surely, they would have gone with. Evelyn was older than Blythe by two years after all. What if they had been there? They would be dead now, too, just like Blythe and Kirce were.

Jasper couldn’t breathe. He broke down. None of the boys talked to each other again after that. None of them fully disclosed what they had seen. Jasper made a new palisman, and Blythe and Kirce’s deaths were chalked up to tragic accidents. But Jasper never forgot, and he made a vow to himself that he would never lose anyone else like that again.

#caleb wittebane #toh #my brother cain my brother abel #the owl house #wittebros #wittebane brothers #philip wittebane #evelyn clawthorne #the brothers wittebane #Sad Jasper

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makesometime · 2 years ago

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twenty questions for fic writers

I was tagged by the lovely @icescrabblerjerky

1. How many works do you have on AO3? 396! I had no idea I was so close to the big 4-0-0.

2. What’s your total AO3 word count? 1,161,641 since 2011

3. What fandoms do you write for? The top five above the ‘expand fandoms list’ section on my dashboard are: Rusty Quill Gaming, Terra Nova (the terrible 2012 TV show), Assassin’s Creed (Odyssey), Stranger Things and Baldur’s Gate 3. Honourable mention to Final Fantasy 14 which is likely to inspire more in me at some point.

4. What are your top five fics by kudos?

You are the reason I stay alive (Stranger Things) at 1,557

Hold me deep beneath your waves (Our Flag Means Death) at 1,237

Broken Regrets (Castlevania) at 1,219

Swallow my breath and take what is mine (Castlevania) at 967

You kissed me just to kiss me, not to make me cry (Our Flag Means Death) at 936

Amusingly, none of these feature in the top 5 for comments. Those are all Rusty Quill Gaming, which doesn’t surprise me at all. Of all of them, only 2 feature in the top 10 for comments.

5. Do you respond to comments? I always do, yes!

6. What’s the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending? I don’t think I ever write an angsty ending, because I am a happy ending queen. In fact if I search my almost 400 fics for the word angst, it only features in 7. I suppose Shield (An)other (RQG) would count but it was written from a place of bitterness so the angst is really all self-imposed.

7. What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending? This is actually a harder question to answer, because that’s what I always aim for. The first one that came to mind though was I don't know where this road will end, but I'll walk it with you, hand in hand (RQG) because it was probably the last time I was truly happy with what was happening in RQG and I think it shows in the story. Everything since has been me fixing canon, with equally happy (blissful) endings.

8. Do you get hate on fics? I am very lucky - I’ve only ever had one comment that tended towards the negative and that was because I mentioned a canon female love interest too much in a m/m fic. That one got deleted.

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind? Heck yeah I do. Of all my fics, 179/400 are rated E and 39/400 are M. I write all sorts - from soft to hard kink and everything in between. It’s also the far easiest thing for me to write.

10. Do you write crossovers? What’s the craziest one you’ve written? I only have two, my favourite one is probably 34 Tite Street which is a TMA/RQG crossover. I did write a Hades (game)/RQG crossover which is probably a bit crazier.

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen? There was once upon a time that I’m pretty sure an RQG fic was heavily inspired by one of mine. But that’s okay, I don’t think it got much attention and I wasn’t going to throw my weight around about it.

12. Have you ever had a fic translated? Yes! One of my favourite fics for a very small fandom (Appropriate Punishment from And Then There Were None) was translated into Russian.

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before? Very many things, with some truly wonderful friends <3<3

14. What’s your all-time favorite ship? Absolutely Zoscar from RQG. Nothing has inspired me quite like them, and nothing has got me so many wonderful friends.

15. What’s a WIP you want to finish, but doubt you ever will? I only have three on ao3 and tbh I don’t really want to finish any of them.

16. What are your writing strengths? Characterisation - I have been writing long enough that I can trust if something isn’t working, it’s because I’ve fucked up the characterisation at some point. Whether that’s a line of dialogue that doesn’t sound right, or a whole section of ‘they wouldn’t fucking do that’, I have to fix it to make the fic work.

17. What are your writing weaknesses? Like Miri, I hate description so very much. I feel like I’m bad at it and I make it boring.

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language for a fic? I don’t mind unless it’s not translated. There have been a few fics I’ve seen in my time where another language has been used as a purposeful exclusionary tactic and no translation was given. (An RQG one comes to mind - the smugness radiating off of it was repulsive.)

19. First fandom you wrote for? Gosh, probably Stargate SG-1. Many many many years ago, you’ll forgive me for not checking ff.net to get a precise date for myself, but it was at least 20 years ago…

20. Favorite fic you’ve ever written? This is very hard to answer! I love all my children equally. Most recent favourite? Not broken, just bent, and we can learn to love again for Baldur’s Gate 3. Overall favourite is probably Pieces of me are pieces of you for RQG <3

I'll tag @sky-kiss, @wordsandstrangeways and @gorgongorgeous if you would like to!

#fic writing

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cleverhottubmiracle · 6 months ago

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Here at GQ Recommends, we spend countless hours toiling in the e-comm trenches to curate cool things to buy so you can shop like one of us, whether you’re looking for a new suit or a fresh 3-pack of boxer briefs. Our unrivaled window shopping brings you everything from the best new menswear to the hottest menswear deals. But do those selects always align with our own personal order histories? They do not. So we thought we’d give you a tantalizing peek into our very own actual non-imaginary shopping carts, courtesy of our absolute favorite purchases of the entire year, 16 products that GQ staffers enjoyed the most in 2024.Ian Burke, Senior Commerce EditorJ.CrewRugby Shirt With Striped PlacketI've always liked rugby shirts, but since I started coming into the office three days a week, I've really leaned into the look—probably to a fault. (If outfit repeating is a crime, I'm getting multiple life sentences.) 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The new haircut eventually went multi-platinum in my DMs. Sometimes, I guess, you have to roll the dice a little.Martin Mulkeen, Global Commerce Category DirectorWrangler13MWZ Cowboy Cut Original Fit JeansA few months back I picked up my first pair of Wrangler's after a colleague tipped me off to a ludicrous sale, and boy, I haven't been this excited about breaking in stiff-as-hell denim since walking into the ocean in A.P.C. New Cures 15 years ago.Michael Houtz, Art DirectorTodd SnyderItalian Suede Snap Dylan JacketWhen I saw a black suede Dylan surface online for half the price (NWT!), I said to myself; don’t think twice, it’s all right.Gerald Ortiz, Style Commerce WriterKlean KanteenRecycled Stainless-Steel Water Bottle with Loop CapAs much as I liked my old water bottle, I'm trying to limit the plastic in my life. 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The desert inspired remix of the Suede Classic is both super comfortable and has a unique faded red (pink?) colorway so I find myself constantly wearing it. With Lewis Hamilton joining Charles Leclerc next season, Ferrari is probably the coolest F1 team to rep on your kicks.Stephanie Tran, Visuals DirectorSaint LaurentNour SlippersI got the last pair in a textured leather at the SoHo store and they're the most elegant shoe I have laid eyes on in 2024. Maybe ever!Michael Nolledo, Associate Commerce DirectorStudio NicholsonSorte PantsHow big should your pants be? It’s a terrible dilemma. After a few seasons of my bottoms getting bigger and wider at the expense of my poor legs, I spent the last year on a serious hunt for my preferred fit, trying on a pendulum swinging's worth of different silhouettes. Turns out my appetite for wide-legged pants is still strong because the best ones I bought all year were these big honkin’ high-wasted chinos from Studio Nicholson. It has a perfect weight for all temperatures. The peached cotton fabric rumples handsomely. And the exaggerated single pleat could cut a man. They’re the most voluminous pants I own, and somehow also the most versatile. It could be easy to scoff at copping pants as spendy as these, but regrets, I have none.Tyler Chin, Associate Lifestyle EditorEngineered GarmentsTrucker JacketCorduroy is a year-round fabric, and I'll die on that hill, even if it means I'm all shriveled up in the middle of August while wearing cord shorts. I guess fall and winter are the best times for the fabric, and my trusty new Engineered Garments jacket has been waiting for its time to shine since I bought it back in January. It's the perfect boxy fit, slightly cropped to hit right above my waist. It's lined and heavy, good enough to keep me warm when it's around 40 degrees, but works great as a middle-weight layer under an overcoat when it's really truly corduroy season.Yang-Yi Goh, Style EditorEasy CowboyCustom Leather Tote BagSometimes, the algorithm really does deliver. One fateful day last December—during that interminable, vacuous week between Christmas and New Year’s—I had entered into a near-unbreakable symbiosis with my couch, buried beneath a freshly fallen layer of Ferrero Rocher wrappers, when I spotted something intriguing on my Instagram Explore page.It was a rolltop duffel bag, exquisitely crafted from undyed natural leather and covered in a sublime smattering of handpainted illustrations: a trio of greyhounds on the racetrack here, an ’80s Toyota pickup there. A couple taps later, I’d learned that this was the work of a fella named Erich, a.k.a. Easy Cowboy, from my hometown of Toronto; a few more taps and I’d sent a DM asking if he’d make me an everyday work tote.And boy, did he ever. Two months later, I picked up my glorious new It bag, which Erich had painstakingly decorated with a jumble of words and images I’d picked out—some aspirational, like the old-school Volvo station wagon I hope to own someday; some goofy, like Kermit the Frog in a cowboy hat; some meaningful, like the name of my late and deeply beloved pup Ziggy. It’s been a joy to carry to the office every day this year, not merely because it’s exponentially more functional and distinguished than the worn-to-threads New Yorker tote I’d used previously, but also because the leather deepens and ages and grows more beautiful with each use. I can’t wait to find out just how good it’ll look five, 10, even 50 years down the road.Reed Nelson, ContributorNothin' SpecialNOrange Double-Knee PantsI got a pair of Nothin’ Special’s NOrange Double-Knee Pants in July and they became one of my favorite pairs of pants immediately. They’re handmade in Brooklyn by designer Ryo Matsuoka, and you’ll find more consideration in a randomly selected square inch of these tanks than you will on most pants in their entirety. I’ve treated mine with the kind of reckless abandon that normally gets documented in a police blotter, and they somehow look better than they did on day one. (I also dry them regularly, without consequence.)Avidan Grossman, Senior Commerce EditorDr. Dennis GrossAlpha Beta Ultra Gentle Daily Peel PadsExfoliating is good for your skin. We know this. You know this. 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norajworld · 6 months ago

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chilimili212 · 6 months ago

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pesterloglog · 1 year ago

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John Egbert, Roxy Lalonde, Calliope

Prologue, page 3

JOHN: she looked alright. mostly just tired.

JOHN: at least she seemed to have enough energy to babble at length about philosophical gibberish, and things about canon and such.

ROXY: lmao

ROXY: guess she filled you in on all the ultimate self junk then

JOHN: the what?

ROXY: the shit where she starts knowing everything and feelin bad

JOHN: oh. that’s not the term she used. she just kept describing it as a condition.

JOHN: you haven’t been feeling anything like that, right?

ROXY: what getting to know my ultimate self?

JOHN: yeah.

ROXY: man ive barely got a hold of my basic ass self

JOHN: heh.

JOHN: yeah, she said she was the only one going through this, that she knew of.

JOHN: poor rose.

JOHN: at least all that medication seems to be keeping her sort of functional.

JOHN: she said it wasn’t like that!

JOHN: i mean... she said it was under control.

JOHN: well, what the fuck do i know. the only illicit substance i’ve ever done is lick that STUPID trickster lollipop.

JOHN: NEVER AGAIN.

ROXY: yeah w/e

ROXY: cant say its much my business anymore

ROXY: rose and i arent as close as we used to be

ROXY: maryams been keeping her real busy since they got hitched

ROXY: they both vanished down the brooding caverns and that was p much that

ROXY: only since she got sick and spent more time at home did we start talkin more again

ROXY: its been great but our conversations have been a lil bit upsetting

JOHN: so, are you and callie still living at the same place i last saw? the one near the tower?

ROXY: yup

JOHN: that’s cool.

JOHN: it’s a nice place.

ROXY: yeah i like it here

ROXY: ive thought about it but ill probably never wanna live in a different kingdom

ROXY: still feel most at home around the chess guys

JOHN: makes sense.

JOHN: that’s about how i feel about the salamanders.

JOHN: which... i realize actually makes no fucking sense.

ROXY: haha

JOHN: they lead simple lives.

JOHN: i don’t really care for the chaos of human or troll cities.

ROXY: neither do we

JOHN: uh, so...

CALLIOPE: ahem.

CALLIOPE: john!

JOHN: what?

CALLIOPE: please forgive me if i come across as impatient. bUt if we are finished with the pleasantries, i believe yoU have a choice to make.

JOHN: huh?

CALLIOPE: the choice as to whether yoU will go defeat my brother, or stay here.

CALLIOPE: have yoU decided yet?

JOHN: there’s a choice??

JOHN: i was just assuming i had to go.

JOHN: because if i don’t, then...

JOHN: a lot of stuff will stop being real. or i mean, stop being canon?

JOHN: to tell you the truth, i’m a little confused about what will happen if i don’t go.

JOHN: but it sounds like it will probably be bad!

CALLIOPE: that may be so.

CALLIOPE: we are not here to caUtion yoU aboUt the conseqUences of yoUr decision either way.

CALLIOPE: bUt there is always a choice!

CALLIOPE: roxy and i merely wished to invite yoU here for a nice hUman picnic, and show oUr sUpport for whichever decision yoU make.

ROXY: tbh its a relief to finally be doin this

JOHN: it is?

ROXY: mm hm

JOHN: how much have you actually... talked about this? i mean, how many people knew this was going to be a thing?

ROXY: just us and rose. well dirk too i think

ROXY: shes been talkin to me about it a bunch

ROXY: and him too but i dunno how much

ROXY: hes got like

ROXY: “thoughts” about all this shit

ROXY: but whatever thats not important or even remotely surprising

ROXY: bottom line, rose has been tormenting herself about having to tell you

ROXY: im just glad she finally said it so she can rest

ROXY: now its up to you

CALLIOPE: yes. take all the time yoU need.

CALLIOPE: again, we aren’t here to inflUence yoU. it’s very important that the decision come from yoUr desire to go throUgh with it, one way or another.

CALLIOPE: any tampering coUld taint the resUlts.

JOHN: taint the...

JOHN: wait, what?

ROXY: so whatll it be john

ROXY: john u ok?

JOHN: ...

ROXY: looked like you were gonna pass out there for a second

CALLIOPE: of coUrse! what was i thinking.

CALLIOPE: this decision is far too important to be made on an empty stomach.

CALLIOPE: here, before yoU choose which path yoU’re going to take, yoU shoUld decide what yoU’d like to eat!

CALLIOPE: i have packed a wide variety of provisions. easily enoUgh to satisfy even the most ravenoUs picnic-goer’s appetite.

CALLIOPE: behold, an array of savory delights for the carnally inclined.

CALLIOPE: or perhaps something for yoUr sweet tooth, if a lUst for treats is what stokes yoUr desire?

#homestuck #homestuck epilogues #john egbert #roxy lalonde #calliope #prologue #page 3

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weepingvoidpenguin · 4 years ago

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Unfortunately Yours

Summary: When you and Bucky successfully infiltrate a HYDRA auction, you’re told to stay another day due to max capacity on the jet. But how are you going to survive a night alone with this insufferable Super Soldier? Especially considering the miniscule size of the room and the obvious dilemma presented; who gets the bed?

Warning: S M U T , the smuttiest thing I’ve ever written, language, spit kink, daddy kink, ptsd symptoms, slight voyeurism, slight exhibitionism, hate-s e x, rough, more like enemies-to-lovers kind of thing, gagging, m!receiving, f!receiving, lots of receiving lol, 18+, M

Word Count: 10.6K (Whhhyyyyy)

Your body burned with exhaustion and the sheer weight of your extremities felt enough to drag you to the floor and mirror a coma with the length of your hibernation. You no longer had the minimal strength required to pick up your feet properly which resulted in the sound of shuffling to fill the small, and by small you meant miniscule, room you’d been assigned to.

Well, you and Bucky had been assigned to.

You’d both played your parts well enough over the course of the last few hours. You’d sauntered into the ran-shacked looking bar with Bucky’s arm tossed lazily over your shoulder, his distaste for the assignment evident on his face, but he’d cleared it away the second his foot crossed the threshold. He pulled you in tighter to his body and raised his chin into the air, emitting the energy of a man not to be trifled with. You’d portrayed your role as a damsel just as, if not more, convincing as Barnes’ opposite. Your shoulders hunched over and your steps were small and quivering, the wig on your head a tool used to curtain the hair in your face.

You were the lamb to this White Wolf.

Word had traveled through the dark and twisted grapevine that a certain showing of sorts took place tonight and a high-ranking target was rumored to be amongst its audience. You and Barnes were on the first flight to Germany within minutes.

Bucky had pulled you through the crowd moving along to the thundering music in the background and halted at the edge of the bar. His grip on your shoulder tightened once he’d caught the man’s attention and you winced, his fingers digging a little too deep for your liking.

The bartender scanned you over and took in your frame, making you feel smaller than you had already displayed yourself to be. It took him a while to conclude but when he took in Bucky’s domineering gaze, a look as if to say Deny me, I dare you, he nodded once and wrote something down on a napkin, sliding it over to Bucky.

Scum. All of them.

You nearly blew your cover trying to throw Bucky a look but you refrained from the hellfire clawing its way out of you. You had to be perfectly in control, emotions and beliefs aside. You were a damsel and you had to make certain they believed that. You knew they were watching; they always were.

“Relax,” Bucky hissed, pulling you under his arm and bringing his lips to your ear.

“When you pretend you’re the one being put up for auction, then you can tell me to relax,” you muttered, never looking up from the ground.

“I have been.” When you paused your movement, he pulled away to scan the room, “Nothing’s gonna happen to you. I promise.” He led you backstage and turned the corner to a dimly lit hallway, barren of any decoration in sharp contrast to every other section of the building, “Besides, once they realize how insufferable you are, they’ll be begging me to take you back,”

He opened an iron door and pushed you into the room, sending you tumbling down onto the carpet. He tsked, stepping over you and not looking back after shutting the door behind himself. You counted thirteen pairs of feet and judging by the way some of them were turned towards you, they had to be watching. You observed your hands for a second, counting slowly until you figured you’d stalled long enough and sent your trembling gaze to the exit. Bucky let out a low chuckle and clasped his hand around your upper arm, launching you back onto your feet and twisting your body to face him.

Oh, darling, German fluently escaped his tongue and you nearly rolled your eyes at the condescending tone settled in his words, You know better than that, don’t you?

His hold tightened and you winced, holding back the whimper in your throat. If you saw any hint of a bruise forming on your arm, you would give him hell later . . . and possibly even if you didn’t.

You bit your tongue and let him lead you towards a leather chair before he pulled you swiftly down onto his lap where his hand remained on your thigh, brushing the inside softly. Had you not been so annoyed, you’d have been humiliated at all the stares devouring the scene unfolding before them.

Good girl, he drawled and pressed your back flat up against his chest where he could put you on display.

You knew you should’ve been annoyed, or at least settled so into your role as his temporary whore-for-sale that the sensation coming alive between your thighs shouldn’t have made an appearance. But sometimes, the way Bucky brought his voice down real low and cooed an insult or jest your way just had an affect that your body would not deny. It kept you awake a lot.

Instead, you swallowed hard and let yourself be splayed against him. You ignored the scent of sandalwood in his cologne.

Your body trembled from the cold breeze floating around in the room and you shifted in Bucky’s lap to block everyone’s sight from the way your chest reacted to the change in temperature.

Don’t be shy, he murmured and removed your arms from your breasts, letting the thin, practically see-through fabric show you to the world.

“Buc-” You started, your panic creeping through the cracks at the cheshire sneers sent your way, but at the first sign of your discomfort, he retracted his hands and twisted you around gently, throwing your legs over the side of the chair and spreading them but forcing your upper half to face him. Effectively, cutting your chest off from their line of sight.

You trembled out a sigh and he grabbed your face tightly, drawing your eyes to his. He examined you, his hardened gaze shouting words he couldn’t currently say. But you understood. He could be a jerk, but he wasn’t a bad man.

Your body instinctively leaned into him for warmth as another breeze engulfed you, resulting in a shiver that made its way up your spine. “Are they still looking?” you inquired and he gripped your neck with a ferocity that made you squirm in his lap. Fuck.

He pulled your ear to his lips and licked the helix. You whimpered. “No,” he whispered, running his thumb along your jawline, “But if you don’t quit fucking squirming you’re gonna have a problem, Doll,”

You opened your mouth in question when you felt a sudden twitch on your backside and you swallowed. Hard. He never broke eye contact with you, instead choosing to raise a brow in mocking. Your chest heaved up and down and how you could feel his breath grazing on your cheek almost had you rubbing your legs together for some form of desperate friction. No, you had to keep yourself composed, keep the act going. But he’d seen it. All of it.

You nod your head and slowed your breathing down until he released his grip around your throat and turned his attention towards the dim stage. You leaned back into him and followed suit, making sure to keep your attention downcast and appear disheveled.

“There,” Bucky whispered after a few minutes and you lifted your head only to find the man you had come all this way for walking straight towards you.

Like a moth to a flame.

“How much?” The older man inquired, his grotesque gaze settled on your spread legs.

Bucky looked up at the balding man as if this was the first time he’d noticed his presence, “I guess you’ll just have to wait and see, won’t you?”

The man lifted his brow, or what would’ve been, and smiled wickedly, “I’ll give you double your price if you give her to me now,” he offered, his eyes slithering up to the apex of your thighs and this time you didn’t have to fake the shiver running up your spine.

A small smirk formed on Bucky’s face and he waved his hand dismissively at him, “Get in line,”

The old man sneered but Bucky was right, most everyone had their attention fixated on what was happening currently and it was apparent there was, indeed, a line.

Bucky rested his gloved hand on your upper thigh and gripped tight, whether to refrain from hitting the guy or just to touch you, he wasn’t sure but he couldn’t keep you away when the man said, “I’ll give you four times the asking price but I want her now,”

Bucky’s grip on your thigh tightened and you squeaked at the pain, jumping slightly in his lap. “How about I give her to you for free for ten minutes and you tell me if you can handle her,”

You jerked your head towards Bucky and furrowed your brows. Free? Dick. You nearly scoffed.

The man gripped onto your calf and you shifted to kick his hand away when Bucky’s own shot out and and ripped his off of you, “Don’t touch my stuff,” he spit and the man let out a yell but that only spurred Bucky on and he tightened his fist, “Until terms are agreed upon, she remains mine to do with as I please. Understood?”

The man nodded hastily and Bucky threw you off his lap when he stood up. “Anyone else?” Bucky shouted to the room, daring others to test his limits when it came to you. After a few moments of silence Bucky scoffed, “I didn’t fucking think so,”

Bucky’s grip on the man remained and he stared down at the hunched figure, “Now, you,” he addressed and the room remained silent. This was allowed here.

Normally, merchandise couldn’t be touched until it was purchased. No buying before the auction, no discussing what you’re offering, no negotiating but most importantly don’t try to steal from anyone. These are criminals and that being said, they handle things amongst themselves. They know the rules and the risks they take breaking them.

So, when Bucky drags the poor bastard away, you follow right behind him. Not a protest to be heard. Bucky throws open the door we entered through and finds the nearest room before chucking the HYDRA agent inside and locking the door behind you.

The room was brightly lit, with all four walls a dull cream color and dark brown couches strewn casually about. There’s no real order to this place. All cement corners and LED bulbs. Pure business.

“Let ‘em know,” Bucky orders and you turn around to argue only to find the man pulling a gun out of his jacket pocket.

You jerk suddenly and kick Bucky square in the stomach, launching him towards one of the couches just as a shot rings out. You blanch at the sound, the noise filling your head and drowning everything else out. You hear yelling but you can’t make out the words, only the panic intermingled within them. Your hand reaches out around you and you grip the small button lined into your thin clothing, pressing it four times how you’d been instructed.

Everything moved slowly and people began filing into the room. How did they get here so fast? No. It wasn’t possible, they were a quarter mile down the road, there was no way they were your backup.

Hands began flying in the air and you were picked up and dropped multiple times, each time landing harder than the last. You tried to blink back the spinning but the blows landing on your face and torso made it all the worse.

Instinctively, you threw your hands up to protect your face and fought to find some footing to help. Bucky was good but he wasn’t a God, he would need help. When the first blow met your forearms you reached out to grasp the hand and used your other to drive your fist right into the person’s nose. The bone crunched under your blow.

You took a hit, then another when you managed to analyze the enemy’s fight pattern and waited until he left himself open before driving your knee into his rib cage. He bent over in pain and you grabbed him by the hair, hearing another crack when you shoved your elbow upwards against his nose.

You heard a shout and whipped your head over to see Bucky on his back, a looming figure with a gun aimed straight towards him. You galvanized towards them and threw yourself in the air, using your weight to kick him off of Bucky when another shot rang out.

Bucky shot up and crushed the gun with his metal arm. You scoured the room for the familiar HYDRA agent but found him nowhere. You shot out of the room, knocking into an opposing wall as you turned the corner and ducked when the sound of a bullet whizzed past you.

This is not going good. You had lost your target and rummaged through room after room until you’d become lost. Fuck. Where the hell did he run off to? You winced after breaking out into a sprint but pressed on, not allowing yourself to slow down. There was no way you were going to fail this mission, especially after coming so close to success.

Sweat trailed down your face and your muscles screamed at you to halt, their exhaustion beginning to wear you down. Your breathing grew rapid and your vision blurred and just as you went to lean on a wall to rest, your shoulder exploded out in pain and you collapsed with a cry.

“Dirty whore,” the HYDRA man seethed, a cane raised over his head. He brought it down and you spun to the side, feeling the air breeze past your ear.

Your hand latched onto the cane and you shoved it into his gut, pushing him away. SHIELD wanted this guy alive, so alive they would receive him. That didn’t mean he had to come in one piece though.

You tore the walker out of his hand just as he tumbled onto his ass. You stood up, grunting along the way and hovered over his body, fear sprawled along his features.

“You can either stay still or get beat with your own cane, it’s your choice,” you offered, aching to bring the walker down onto his face. “Please test me. Please.” You begged.

His gaze shifted between you and the weapon and he brought his trembling hands up in defeat. He must’ve been an agent of some Intelligence branch because his fighting abilities were evidently subpar at best.

You sighed, sad to see the opportunity go but brought the cane down none the less. “That’s unfortunate,”

You turned your attention to the sound of running coming around the corner and moved to drag and hide your captive in a nearby closet only to roll your eyes when Bucky came ‘round. You tossed the cane back and forth between your hands and smiled proudly towards the agent on the floor.

“Look who I caught,” you toyed and were met with a grunt.

“Only because you let him get away,” he retorted, pulling the balding man up to his feet.

Everything began to slow and the hellfire you’d kept under mounds of ice had finally melted through its freezing cage. “What?”

He turned his back towards you and trudged the hesitant man behind him towards the exit.

“I said,” you hollered, not caring how the halls carried your echo, “What?”

“I heard what you said,” he called back to you, not bothering to turn around.

And there you were left, frozen and dumbfounded for five solid minutes before you could pull yourself together enough to stomp your way back towards the rendezvous point. You remained hazy for the most part while debriefing. You tried to recount everything but the way your anger engulfed you in its flame obscured your memory so you kept it short.

It was quickly brought up that SHIELD captured more HYDRA agents than expected and were gonna be at max capacity so you and Bucky had to stay at a base a few miles down the road. You grumbled in compliance but Bucky didn’t respond, not even a godforsaken grunt.

What SHIELD had failed to mention though, was that this bunker was clearly meant for one. It barely counted as a room. There was a small bathroom in the corner just big enough for a shower and toilet. No sink. And a small counter with just enough space for a stove, microwave and radio. If you were to lay down vertically or horizontally you’d nearly be touching wall each way. Not to mention the singular bed.

And that’s how you got to where you were now. Miniscule room. Exhausted body. Drained mind. Patience long gone.

You huffed and dropped your bag in front of the entrance before walking to the bathroom and turning to slam the door closed. You turned the faucet on and ripped the wig off, discarding your clothes in a pile before stepping into the shower. The warm water was nice and welcoming but your body already felt aflame so you twisted the knob and held your breath when the cold stream trickled down your body. It was difficult to breathe at first, but your body soon adjusted to the temperature and you began wiping the muck off your skin with the bar of soap supplied. But that’s all the was supplied. Clearly, this place was meant to be a quick pit stop.

You sat on the hard floor as the water streamed onto your body. You could nearly fall asleep to its rhythm; It was only when your head hit the wall that you realized you were so you begrudgingly stood up and shut off the water. You grabbed the only towel in the bathroom and pat yourself dry, noticing just then that you left your clothes outside.

You let out a long sigh and twisted open the doorknob to find Bucky toying with the radio on the counter; not even purposefully, just looking for something to do while he waited.

You opened your mouth to ask him to hand you your bag but after what he said to you earlier you’d sooner eat hot coals than ask him to do anything for you. You stepped out of the bathroom, towel wrapped neatly around your chest and you bent over to open your bag. The shuffling on the radio stopped.

“You could’ve at least left me some warm water,” he grumbled and you rolled your eyes.

You searched in your bag for the fresh clothes residing there only to turn around when you found them and have the bathroom door shut in your face.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” You shouted, pounding your fist against the door.

You could hear the water running and you groaned, pounding harder. The door opened for a split second and you were hit in the face with the clothes you’d left inside only for it to instantly be slammed shut again.

You punched the door with all the frustration built up over the past few hours and felt the wood crack with your force. Why did this man have to be incredibly baffling? You were not nearly paid enough to deal with such an unbearable partner. He would have you bald from stress before you knew it.

You spent the next few minutes grumbling to yourself after you changed and scribbled your frustration onto a small notebook you took with you everywhere. It was only when you heard the water shut off did you remember something. You still had the only towel. A villainous smirk tugged at your lips and you placed the folded towel on the edge of the bed, away from the door.

Then you heard the creak. “I will walk out naked if you don’t give me the towel,” Bucky threatened.

You shrugged despite him not being able to see you from your position on the bed, “I’ll just laugh at your dick,”

“You weren’t laughing earlier,” he shot back.

Oh. So he did remember. Good. You thought he’d gotten amnesia within the past few hours, maybe he was just too ashamed to mention it.

“Too disgusted to insult. Plus, I was playing a character,”

“Fine,” he responded and quickly came into view, haughtily sauntering over to your side and you shouted.

“Dear God!” You held the towel up to block your sight of his barren body. It was disgusting. He was all wet, hair dripping onto his muscled torso, water gleaming off his taut skin, 5 o’clock shadow drenched and straight out of a wet dream. Jesus.

“Prude,” he commented, snatching the towel from your grasp and wrapping it around himself.

“Respectable,” you corrected, crossing your arms and shoving him away. “You get the floor,”

He lifted his duffle off the ground and rummaged through it. “Then I get the blanket,”

“You get fuck all,” you stated, flipping off the lamp beside you and snuggling into the warm cot.

When the shuffling stopped and the bathroom light was shut off, you shut your eyes and let the wear of the day grab at you, lulling you into the beginning of slumber. That is, until the blanket was hauled from around you, damn near throwing you onto the floor. You shouted out and caught yourself last minute.

“Barnes!” You yelled, steadying yourself and reaching over the edge to grab the blanket back. Your hand fisted at the faux fur and you pulled with all your might to no avail.

He swatted you away as though you were a pesky fly and reached over to turn the light of the lamp on. You glowered at him and stood, wrapping the blanket around your arm and pulling upwards. Your arm strained to its capacity but the man on the floor didn’t budge. Only turned his back to you and shut his eyes. You reached over yourself and flipped the switch of the lamp, once again immersing yourself in the comforting darkness.

Bucky stiffened and opened his eyes then turned and froze you in your spot with his stare. He reached around and lit the lamp, slowly retracting his arm and daring you to turn it off again. So you did.

He yanked the blanket from your grasp and threw you back onto the bed, bringing light into the room. “Light stays on,” he growled.

“No! You’ve had your goddamn way since you stepped foot into this room. Light goes off and I get the blanket!” You shouted, not concerned about anyone else hearing considering the room was soundproof.

“No. You get the bed so I get the blanket. Tell me how that doesn’t make sense,” he countered.

You didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of admitting that it did, in fact, make sense. The floor here was wooden and clearly uncomfortable, plus he hadn’t even argued about the bed situation.

You retreated, “Fine, light still goes off,”

“No,”

“Yes,”

Silence fell between the two of you but you weren’t budging. Barnes had faced plenty of monsters, he could handle the dark.

“I need the noise to fall asleep,” he admitted and it was then you could hear the slight hum the bulb emitted.

You didn’t speak for a while but reared back and pulled out your phone, “What do you want to listen to?” You scrolled through a few sounds you had stored on your phone, “We’ve got: nature sounds, frequencies, guided meditations, etc. You name it, but I’m not sleeping with this forsaken light on,”

Bucky studied you, his expression changing a mile a minute but the one of indifference conquered, “Rain,”

You nodded once and selected the audio, placing the phone face up on the nightstand and turning the light off for the last time. Hopefully. You hunkered down into the thin mattress and reached down, grasping at the thick blanket. When you pulled, there was some give. He’d let you get just enough needed to cover your body if you laid at the very edge and your hand hovered in the air when you laid your arm over the side.

Minutes flew by with your eyes shut and the exhaustion slithered over your body but your mind ran wild with the events from earlier. You tried not to get angry or sad or . . . bothered. Your breathing deepened when you began to succumb to your body’s fatigue and you drifted inch by inch into the welcoming void lulling your name.

You didn’t hear when he shifted, only managed to register the faint tracing of his fingertips on your hand before finally giving out.

You weren’t sure what time it was when you opened your eyes for the first time that night. This regularly happened. You’d wake up multiple times during the night to shift positions or throw off the sheets, no matter how insignificant the desire, your body always found a way to wake you for it.

You opened your eyes slowly to a hazy vision and blinked at the sitting figure on the floor, “Bucky?” You croaked, bringing a hand up to wipe at your face, “What time is it?”

“It’s almost one, go back to sleep,”

“What are you doing?” You persisted, ignoring his demand and sitting up slowly, “Why aren’t you sleeping?”

“Couldn’t,”

A heartbeat. Then another. And another. He didn’t care to elaborate.

“Do you want the bed?” You offered, stretching yourself out and already placing yourself down on the floor, “It’s too hot up there, anyway,”

His attention turned to you for the first time but you’d already began closing your eyes, not really having the energy to argue with him. You could hear shuffling from his spot and the ground disappeared below you, strong hands grasping your body and lifting you up to place you gently back onto the cot.

“I prefer the floor,” he insisted, wrapping the blanket around you, “Besides, you’re a horrendous liar,”

You didn’t hold back the singular chuckle, your haze still enveloping you. “Then why aren’t you sleeping?”

He sat at the foot of the bed, his hand hovering over your leg in hesitation, “It’s complicated.” He dropped his hand to his side.

“Isn’t the rain helping?” you mumbled, your sight now adjusting to the dark.

“Yes,”

“Then what?”

“I just . . . don’t want to wake you,”

“Well, I’m already awake if that makes you feel better,” you jeered, a small smile forming on your lips.

“It doesn’t,”

“Nothing does,” you retorted, the inevitable annoyance you always felt when conversing with him already made its way up into your tone.

He scoffed and stood from the bed, placing himself in the same spot on the floor with his head leaned up against the wall and his arm resting on his perched knee.

“Oh, so now you can’t handle a little attitude,” your tone came out incredulous, “You didn’t have any issues earlier when you blamed me for that guy’s escape. Which, he didn’t even get to do, might I add,”

“I was projecting,” he replied, gaze still focused on the door opposite to him.

You blinked, “Are you so tired that you’re actually admitting to being a dick?”

“I know I can be a dick, but you threw yourself straight into the line of fire twice today. So I don’t really give a shit if I was mean to you,”

“I only did that because you almost got shot twice today. Don’t take your anger out on me for your incompetence. Just say ‘thank you’ and move on already,”

“Incompetence?” His head jerked in your direction. “What was incompetent was that you couldn’t keep yourself composed,”

You sat up. “What in the hell are you talking about? My behavior is what got our target to basically give himself up to us! It was me that trapped him, not you!” His composure tensed and you crossed your arms over your chest, “You’re just mad your dick got hard so if anything you’re the one who couldn’t keep their compos-” His hand was wrapped around your throat and you were pinned to the mattress before you could finish your sentence.

“Shut the fuck up,” he hissed at you, his face mere inches from yours.

“Why?” You spoke hoarsely around his tightening grip, “Does the Big Bad Wolf not like that he was turned on? Who’s the prude now?”

“Turned on?” He spat, his free hand resting by your head to cage you in, “You think what you did earlier turned me on?”

You grasped at the hand around your throat and pried slightly to speak, “Fight me or fuck me, Barnes. But stop lying to yourself, it’s getting old,”

The room seemed to freeze over and Bucky paused. His hesitation was enough to elicit the fire from earlier and your legs squirmed a little underneath him. God, you hoped he chose the latter.

Then his lips crashed against yours.

You squeaked at the sudden onslaught but threw your arms around his shoulders and pulled him in tighter against you. He dropped when you intertwined your legs, his full weight pressing against you deliciously. You ground up against him, your core aching from the previous hours and the small friction elicited a moan from the both of you.

“So impatient,” he scolded, bringing the hand from around your throat down to your hips and pressing you into the bed. “What a whore,”

His breath danced along your cheek and you mewled at his words. Gods, he was going to be the death of you. Or the beginning.

You breathed in deeply, his sandalwood scent intoxicating you in a manner that alcohol never could. When you drank, you were just drunk. But when you took a sip from the tall glass that was Bucky, it brought you to life. Your body sang melodies wherever you were plastered against each other and your skin burned with need.

Touch me, your body screamed, touch me.

“Fuck off,” you groaned and Bucky jerked your head to the side, exposing your neck for him to scavenge.

The goosebumps that danced across your skin when he ran his warm tongue up from the curve of your neck to the bottom of your ear brought an arrogant smirk onto Bucky’s face. You ran your fingers through his hair and tugged when he reached a particularly sensitive spot that had your legs shaking when he kissed it sloppily.

Your mouth hung open in silent pleasure and your breaths were short and rapid, your body betraying all forms of control you previously had over yourself. The hand that wasn’t residing in his hair trailed down his muscled arm and you gripped at the brawn this man possessed. His skin reminisced lightly of silk despite the rough texture of his hands.

The same hands that now made its way into your hair and tugged at the strands at the base of your neck, jolting your chin higher into the air. Your grip tightened around his biceps and the strength they emitted sent a pool rushing to your core. You continued hunting until you found the hem of his black, cotton shirt and you made your way up his taut abdomen. You let out a sigh and he jumped lightly at the sensation of your cool fingertips across his scorching skin. It was a nice contrast for him.

You gripped at the shirt and hastily ripped the cotton upward. Bucky broke away from his descent down to your chest to let you remove the fabric and you’d suddenly wished you’d turned the lights on first. He mimicked your action and tossed your shirt in a deserted corner of the room to potentially be abandoned. You gasped when the cold air of the room grazed upon the perked mounds of your breasts.

His lips returned to their spot on the dip of your neck and his tongue slithered down in between your breasts. Your breath hitched when his wet muscle made its way up to the apex of your chest. His right hand mirrored his tongue and swirled around your nipple, his teeth pulling eagerly every so often and you hissed at the delectable pain. Your eyes devoured the scene unfolding on your chest and you reached over to flick the light on, desperate for a clearer image.

Bucky halted and his metal arm reached over to switch the light back off but you swatted his hand away and he backed up lightly, his irritation evident on his face.

“I want to watch,” you grumbled and shifted up to bring your lips back up to his. He let you. He pushed back lightly with his own lips and leaned in sync with your movements. He parted his mouth slightly and you followed suit, letting him lead his way into yours with the same muscle he’d just had flicking across your breasts.

The light went off.

You pushed him away and shot towards the switch but metal met your wrist firmly enough to keep you in place. “Bucky.” You wrestled against his hold and turned your full attention back to the figure hovering above, “I want to see you,”

Despite the darkness, you noticed his mouth twitch but his grip on your wrist remained solid. You sprawled back onto the bed and wrapped your free hand around the back of his neck and pulled him down onto you, pressing his surprisingly soft lips onto yours. You broke apart, his lips a hair’s breadth away from your own. “I want to see you,”

He didn’t move, only scanned your face over a few times and you brought him back down into a kiss. This one wasn’t like before. This one was warm, soft, patient. A ballet compared to its previous mosh pit. He danced along with you, an admission hidden somewhere in his tenderness.

You hadn’t realized you’d been freed of his hold until you were wrapping that arm over his shoulder and the sound of a light humming began.

“Fucker,” you jeered and the previous gentleness dissipated.

“Shut up,” he ordered, pinning you back onto the bed and resumed his ministration on your breasts.

The moan slipped past your lips at the sight and your chest heaved upwards, desperate for more stimulation. You licked your lips at how his mouth encased your nipple, his tongue flicking against the perked skin and you dropped your head back, shutting your eyes. You centered all of your attention anywhere that his bare skin touched your body and rubbed your aching clit against his v-line.

Your chest was pressed against the mattress before you could register what happened and the hard smack that met your ass evoked a yelp. Bucky pressed fully against your backside and he ground his dick down into your ass. He groaned at the sensation and you raised your ass onto him. You yelped again when Bucky ripped your leggings down and smacked the exposed skin on your ass.

“Try something like that again and I’ll gag you around my cock ‘til you’re crying,” he growled, “Understood?”

You nodded, wide-eyed and a mewling mess from the threatening promise of this God.

“Good girl,” he cooed, rubbing at the raw skin. “Now stay still for Daddy,”

Bucky’s hand lingered on your reddening ass and the mattress dipped when he shifted to your side. He traced gentle circles onto your backside and pressed his lips on your shoulder blade, the butterfly kisses making their way down towards your spine and then lower. Your breathing grew uneven from the sheer amount of restraint you displayed. Your grip on the edge of the bed tightened when his tongue dragged from the point where your thigh and ass met all the way up to the bottom of your spine.

“Fuck,” You shuddered, white-knuckling the blanket beneath you.

Your skin blazed when you were met with another harsh slap. You mewled at the sensation, loving the fire that spread across your flesh and relaxed when his metal hand cooled the area.

Then his teeth bit into the cooling flesh and you jerked away despite yourself. Bucky tsked lowly and you chuckled at the hint of fear sprouting in your chest; you did not want to see whatever sinister expression resided on his face.

A strong hand gripped the roots of your hair and hauled you up. You followed his direction and knelt onto the ground between Bucky’s sprawled out legs, settling in your new position.

“Oh, Doll,” he chastised, “you were so close,”

“That shouldn’t count,” you retorted while Bucky pulled the blanket off the bed and lifted you up with his metal arm, shoving the barrier between your knees and the hard ground.

“But it does.” His hands dove into his underwear and sprung his cock out onto your lips. “Now get to work,”

Your eyes widened at the sight before you and you had to physically hold back from gulping. You were ashamed to admit your mouth watered in anticipation. You lifted your hands from his sculpted thighs and wrapped them around his length, enveloping just the tip past your parted lips. Bucky sighed and twitched in your mouth.

You welcomed him in fully, or as much as you could anyway, and got straight to work, not bothering to act abashed at your desire. Your tongue swirled around his tip and you leaned into him until he hit the back of your mouth but you continued on, gagging around him when he’d gotten inside your throat. Bucky groaned when your throat tightened around him and he threw his head back, using his flesh hand to guide you up and down his shaft, showing you what he liked and didn’t.

“Fuck, Doll,” he groaned, “Just how I imagined your mouth would feel,”

You pulled off him to comment when he shoved you all the way down to the hilt and you threw your hands up onto his thighs to hold yourself back. He used his metal arm to hold himself up and thrusted up into your salivating mouth desperately. He continuously hit the back of your throat and thick saliva coated his cock. Just as he promised, tears prickled at the corners of your eyes and he didn’t stop until your cheeks were drenched in the liquid.

You let your jaw hang open, your tongue no longer swiveling around meticulous spots that you knew would make his legs buckle. No, you let him have the reigns. Let him fuck your mouth ‘til your throat grew bruised and jaw ached with fatigue. You committed his cries of pleasure to memory, the sounds euphoric to your ears.

He lifted his head and stared down at you with half-closed eyes. He was in heaven and you knew it. He watched you, how the tears trailed down, how your hands gripped at his thighs, how you stuck out your tongue just as you’d made it to the base of his cock to lick his balls in the most intoxicating way. Fuck. You were the intoxicating one. You brought out this side of him. This carnal desire that became him until he’d had to step out of the room just to compose himself. And he didn’t like being out of control. That’s why he always kept you at an arm’s distance.

But now, watching as you sat between him with your mouth agape like the good girl that you were for him, he knew he’d never deny himself this pleasure again. Especially since you were so fucking good at it.

He groaned, pulling you off his cock and grabbed tightly at your cheeks, nearly pinching your mouth together. “Tongue out.” He growled, waiting for your compliance.

Your jaw ached with exhaustion but you managed to stick out the wet muscle as he pulled you closer into him and watched when he parted his lips above you, letting the saliva trail down from his mouth into yours.

“Swallow,” he ordered.

But it was already done, and you left your mouth hanging open for more.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Bucky grumbled, putting his face right up against yours and feeding you once again; this time with a sloppy kiss that coated both your mouths in saliva.

He brought you up from the floor and tossed you onto the bed before settling between your legs. The excitement in your eyes grew and he indulged in every minute of it. Bucky’s hand trailed down from your lower abdomen right above your pubic bone and pressed his palm into your neglected clit. The cry you let out was the unholiest thing he’d ever heard.

He slid his finger under the waistband of your underwear and flitted his gaze back up to your eyes, “Can I?”

You nodded eagerly, dumbfounded that he would even ask and fought the temptation to grab your phone from the nightstand and record everything that was about to unfold.

At the first nod, Bucky slid your underwear down your legs and made a show of bringing the material up to his face. Your own went red hot and you hid behind your hands, poking through every millisecond to shamefully watch. He threw the panties into his open duffel and you squirmed in anticipation.

“Remember the rules?” Bucky asked, brow lifted and already descending to your inner thigh.

You nodded again.

“I need to hear it, Doll,” he mumbled, kissing the inner part of your thigh, each placement closer and closer to where you needed him most.

“Yes,” you whimpered out, “I remember the rules,”

Bucky wanted to dive right in, he really did, but the way you sprawled yourself out so vulnerable for him, it incited a new pace that he wanted to follow. So, he did. He looked at you for a few moments, watched how the anticipation danced in your eyes, how your legs shook in wait and how you were already so goddamn wet for him.

“This all for me?” he teased, mesmerized at your desire for him.

You dropped a hand down to your side, near where his hands were wrapped around your thighs to keep you in place - and against his face. He cocked his head to the side, waiting for your answer.

You nodded sheepishly and when he lifted an eyebrow in mock confusion you said, “You. Just you,”

Like music to his ears. Just him. You weren’t for anyone else. He thought he felt his heart palpitate.

He lowered himself down to your core and kissed your lip, drawing a desperate plea from you. You couldn’t wait anymore, couldn’t deal with the teasing. You were wet enough, needy enough, ready enough to take him, all of him. You’d been ready damn near the moment you first laid eyes on his arrogant smirk.

“Buck - please,” you cried, drawling out the final word.

The first kiss placed upon your soaked cunt erupted a sigh of relief and you laid back on the pillow, your eyes closed and mind gone with the sensation of those sloppy kisses blessing your needs. He flattened his tongue on your lips and licked upwards, stopping when your hips twitched into his mouth.

“Sorry!” You apologized, fighting the desire to grind into his wet muscle. He’d just gotten started and you certainly didn’t want it to end so soon.

He lifted his gaze up to you and you bit into your fist at the view, using the extremity to hold back your moans. He flicked his attention down again and repeated his motion, lapping at your fluids ‘til his beard was soaked in it. He shook his head into your cunt and his nose rubbed along your clit. The mewling that left your mouth urged him on and when you felt his muscle prodding at your entrance you threw your head back.

“Please, Bucky.” You begged, bringing a hand up to tease your nipple.

He prodded some more, his tongue gliding up from your clit and back down to your entrance, poking through enough to frustrate you. He wanted you to break for him. To lose all composure and control and just let him. He wanted you to submit to him but it wasn’t just that, it was more that he wanted to destroy you for any future experience you may have without him. He wanted you to come back to him, to need him, to beg for him and leave you with the understanding that nothing - no one - could compare to him. He wanted you. To himself.

So, when he could no longer refrain and had to use his metal arm to hold your hips down from squirming beneath him, he slipped two thick, rough fingers into your begging cunt. And the sound you emitted caused that carnal instinct to claw at the barriers caging it in.

Your hand shot down, tangling itself into his hair and pushing him harder against you. He allowed it. Your thighs held him in place, crushing him with your soft skin and he groaned at the warmth you gave off. You pulled your hand away from your mouth and grabbed at his metal one resting on your pubic bone, pulling it up to your chest and wrapping his fingers on the sensitive bud for him to tease. He slowly retracted from your chest and brought it back down onto your hips and you huffed in annoyance. You looked down at Bucky but his eyes were shut, completely engrossed in the feast before him. You bucked when his fingers glazed across that sensitive spot inside your velvety walls.

“There!” You cried, your fist tightening in his hair when the all-too-familiar wave of ecstasy began to pool together, waiting for its release.

Bucky complied, dragging the pads of his fingers up against that spot over and over again. Your legs caged him in tighter as his tongue swirled over the hyper-sensitive bundle of nerves and you cried out at the way your body tensed.

“Fuck,” you cried, your hands desperately grasping onto Bucky’s metal wrist and tugging at the roots of his hair. Bucky’s groan of pleasure was what tipped you over the edge.

You gasped when the pool building released, your body shaking with euphoria and the flood crashed down onto you. And apparently, onto Bucky as well. He pulled his mouth away but continued rubbing at your clit when warm liquid squirted onto his face and his expression of surprise mirrored your own.

When Bucky looked up at you, your face burned with embarrassment and you threw your head back, using your hand to cover your countenance. Not to mention the sight of him with your juices all over his mouth was one of the hottest things you’d ever witnessed.

Bucky chuckled at your sheepish apology and removed your hand from your face, bringing his soaked mouth up to yours and having you taste yourself. You devoured each other, your arms wrapped tightly around the other, pulling so fiercely at the innate desire to become one in shared pleasure. He could feel his pride swell at your hidden confession. You’d never squirted before and he was lucky enough to be the one to give you that experience for the first time.

You clawed at him, divulging in the warmth his body radiated and intoxicating yourself in everything that was Bucky. You couldn’t get enough of it, of him. It was nearly too much.

His hand trailed up to your gaping mouth and he inserted his fingers, “Clean them,” he ordered.

Your hand gripped his wrist and pulled his fingers deeper into your mouth, never breaking eye contact with him, loving the way he ate up everything he was seeing. You noticed the way he swallowed.

He retracted his hand and wrapped it gently behind your head so you were resting on him. He brought his full weight down onto your body and a warmth emanated in your chest when he brought his lips up against your forehead, each kiss closer and closer to your lips until they met their destination. When you parted your mouth against his, it wasn’t merely an action of carnal desire, it was like you were exchanging life forces. Merging and meeting in a manner that had your body exploding and crying out for more of the faint familiarity. Like seeing an old friend for the first time in years.

Bucky looked down between your bodies at where you were about to connect before staring back up at you, taking you in as if he would never have this opportunity again. His thumb brushed your cheek and came to a rest on your bottom lip. “Ready?”

You chuckled, “Fuck me,”

He shoved inside in one clean motion and a breath of pleasure slid past both of your lips.

“Fuck,” he groaned, his hand tightening slightly around your neck and he pulled out slowly then shot back inside and you moaned.

You were still so sensitive from your previous climax that every brush against your clit sent you into a whirlwind of pleasure, the sensations shooting through every nerve in your body.

“Bucky,” you whined when his pace quickened and the sheer force of his thrusts drove you deeper into euphoria.

He filled you just right, his girth and length impressive and you wondered why you hadn’t tried to screw him earlier. He slid past your tight walls, each thrust causing the room to echo with the sounds of skin slapping and moans of ecstasy.

He kept his actions controlled, not wanting to build up to something so intense just for it to fall short and end fast. No. Despite how good you felt wrapped around his aching and swollen cock, despite how warm and welcoming you were, how you spread yourself out for him to consume, he had to leash himself. This was going to be just as good for you as it was for him.

He kissed you one last time before gripping the back of your knees and bringing your thighs up to your chest, a shout of praise falling off your lips. He was drunk on the sight of his cock going in and out of your cunt and he threw his head back with a groan.

“What a fucking pretty pussy,” he breathed out and you whimpered, biting your lip at the welcome profanities.

At this angle, he was fucking against your g-spot and using his pubic bone to rub against your clit and watching the thin layer of sweat sheen off his skin was all too much to keep yourself put together. His eyebrows scrunched together and you caught him taking in your form, watching how your pleasure displayed itself on your face for him to bear witness to. Only him.

He growled at the intrusion of thoughts that came to him. He pictured someone else in his position, someone else witnessing you so vulnerable and open to them, someone else fucking you and making you beg for them. It disgusted him. He brought his torso down and latched his teeth to your neck, biting down hard enough to have you tearing up.

“Mine,” he growled into your ear and lulled his head forward when you tightened around him.

A sinister smirk came to his face and he licked the shell of your ear, your breathy moans feeding him, “You like that?” He asked, pistoling further into your cunt and you shouted at the increase of pace, “You like when I tell you who you belong to?”

Your mouth hung agape and the one arm wrapped around his shoulder pulled him closer to you, your desperation for his warmth taking control. “Fuck . . . off,” you hissed between breaths.

He pulled out and yanked you up by your hair, twisting you around and pressing your torso into the wall but keeping your ass propped up for him to admire. You hissed at the pain when a sharp smack met your ass and your hands gripped at the wall for any way to ground yourself and prevent from becoming putty in his hands.

Another hard smack met your ass and you lurched forward to get away from the sting. Bucky kept your head pinned to the cement, his hand holding your cheek from scraping the wall but applying a pressure that had your tongue lolling out of your mouth.

You moaned at the intrusion in your pussy and he plummeted in and out, a mix of your grunts and groans bouncing around the room. His pace constantly changed. One second it was fast, the next it was slow but filling, going so far as to hit your cervix a few times and leave you a crying mess under his hold. Your shoulder scraped along the wall and you fought to push away only to have your chest slammed harder against the cement.

You brought a hand out, reaching behind yourself and grasping for Bucky’s hip, pushing him deeper into you when he slowed. Your nails dug into his flesh and the sound of his hiss shot straight to your core.

“What a goddamn whore,” he spat, bringing his teeth down onto your neck and you gripped at his hair.

You laughed at his statement, “You’re the one that can’t get enough of this pussy. Why so desperate to claim it? Afraid I'll fuck someone else?” Bucky pulled you back and slammed you against the wall with vigor, causing you to flinch

He stopped his thrusts altogether, “My patience only goes so far, Doll,” he threatened, tugging at your hair and you bit back a cry, “Choose your words wisely,”

You nodded hastily, the rough texture of the wall digging into your cheek and splitting skin. You wriggled up against him to continue moving but he retracted completely and flipped you over so he was laying on the bed and you were straddling him.

“Move,” he ordered, his hands digging bruises into your waist.

You leaned over, pressing your chest against his to lift your hips up and down on him but he pushed you back up and held your arms behind your back to keep you in place. You whimpered but the cry quieted when you rubbed your clit against him and your pussy clenched at the friction. You moaned out a breathy fuck and swiveled your hips around his, noting how much deeper he filled you in this position.

“Buck-” you huffed, eyes glued to the glistening abs beneath you. “I’m gonna cum,”

“Already?” He jeered, an eyebrow raised in amusement.

You’d lost all energy to sneer at him, your focus solely on how the sensation grew and began pooling in your cunt. “Cock . . . so good,” you breathed out, barely able to keep yourself from melting into him.

“What was that, Doll?” He stilled your movements and you groaned in annoyance.

You wriggled in his hold and you could tell by the furrow of his brow that he was fighting to keep control as well. You leaned over him, your lips hovering over his, “Mine,”

His grip flew to the back of your neck and he crashed your lips onto his, giving you full reign again. You bounced your hips on his dick, slamming down vigorously and rubbing your clit in effect. It didn’t take long for your climax to build again.

“’M gonna . . .” you whispered and Bucky placed you back up, gripping your hips and swiveling you around how you were earlier.

“Cum, Doll,” he allowed, “Cum all over this cock,”

You cried out, your toes curling as the dam in your core snapped and your climax washed over you. You hadn’t realized your fingers were intertwined with Bucky's until you came back down from your high, your chest heaving for breath.

He sat up slowly and pressed his lips against your neck. “You’re beautiful,”

Your body tensed at his words and you pulled away to give him a look of confusion. But he didn’t take his statement back, only slipped his hands around your back and gently placed you onto the bed, hovering over you.

He moved with caution, like his gentleness might scare you off if he touched you too tenderly or stared too long in admiration. But he couldn’t help it, he did admire you.

He spread your legs open and nestled between them, pushing into you slowly until your hips met and you both breathed out. His movements weren’t nearly as brutal as they were earlier, these thrusts were slow and deep and full of intention. He brought his torso down onto yours and you wrapped your legs around his waist, bringing him closer to you.

He ran his hand, the only one he allowed himself to touch you affectionately with, through your hair and stared down at you, waiting. His gaze shifted between your lips to your eyes and he ran his thumb delicately along your mouth.

You looked at him then, really looked at him with fresh eyes and your heart leapt into your throat at the realization. “Kiss me,” you whispered and he lowered himself onto your lips, setting off an explosion in your chest.

“I’m yours,” he whispered, not able to bring himself to look at you, “I’ve been yours,”

You opened your mouth to respond but he silenced you with a deep thrust and a moan erupted instead. He quickened his pace, watching where you connected and pushed deeper and harder, your cries of pleasure driving him. He had to fuck you, he couldn’t love you, he couldn’t make love to you, just fuck. That’s it. He couldn’t allow himself to replay your look of shock at his confession, though the scene would surely be on loop for the next few days until he could get over it. Just fuck. Nothing more. Not with that look of disbelief on your face.

He held himself up with his forearms but you pressed him against you and wrapped your legs tighter around him. “Harder,” you whispered and he complied.

He groaned when your tits bounced and brought his mouth to a nipple, the faint taste of sweat lingering on your skin. You brought his metal hand up to your chest and made him grip the flesh there but he pulled it back and placed it beside your head instead.

“Bucky,” you whimpered and grabbed his hand again, bringing his open palm up to your lips and placing delicate kisses on the metal. “You can feel with it, right?”

He nodded, hesitance sprawled on his face.

“Then touch me,” you urged, bringing the hand down between your bodies and pressing the cold metal against your clit, “Feel me,”

His brows furrowed slightly but the look of your certainty forced him to dismiss his own perceptions of his body; or rather, that arm. And when he began rubbing circles into your bundle of nerves the expression on your face made him hate it a little less. Only a little.

You stared up at him, his pace growing erratic and sloppy and you knew he was close. “You wanna cum?”

He nodded, his hot breath coming out haggard and strained. You placed your hand on his cheek and brought him up to your kiss.

“Then cum,”

He shook his head, “You first,” he swirled his finger around your swollen clit and you gasped at the force of his thrust.

Your body tensed and you centered all your focus on his ministrations, “A little more pressure,” you directed and he quickly found a pressure that had you wobbling in the knees. “Close,” you murmured, gripping Bucky’s side and bringing your lips up to his neck to pepper the skin there.

He groaned and judging by the way his dick twitched inside you, you knew he wasn’t far behind.

“Bucky,” you whispered, pulling his attention towards you and his gaze brought you closer to the edge, “I’m yours,”

He blinked and his pace faltered for half a beat. He examined your facial expression, like he didn’t believe the words you’d spoken. Not like he couldn’t believe them, but like you’d said them just to appease him.

You placed your forehead against his, closing your eyes and taking a deep breath to center yourself in the haze of this fucking. “Yours,” you repeated, all the emotion residing in your chest poured into the singular word.

And then he was back to drilling you into the mattress, a new vigor fueling his thrusts. You cried out and Bucky pressed his sweaty torso flat against your own and it felt like the essence, the being, in your chest intermingled with his own and all the climaxes you’d previously experienced couldn’t hold a match to the flame, the intensity, the rawness of the one that washed over the both of you in that moment.

Bucky moaned out, his hips bucking into yours and you rode out both of your highs. The sensation consuming and overwhelming and welcome on both ends as it flooded through your bodies, meeting at your point of contact.

His arms flexed above you with the ferocity of his climax and the display had you writhing beneath him, already desperate for more.

“Buck,” you whispered when his breathing evened out after he collapsed onto you.

He didn’t respond, afraid it had all been a dream, a trick, despite still being inside you. He didn’t want to move, didn’t want to shatter the perfection of this moment. What if you’d only said that to get him to finish faster? What if you’d only fed him what he wanted to hear? What if-

“Buck,” you repeated, pulling him from his daze and he lifted his head only slightly. You gripped his chin lightly and forced him to look you in the eye. “You’re . . . mine?”

He wanted to shake his head, to tell you that he got caught up in the moment but instead he said, “Yours,” because he knew anything else would be a lie and he was tired of lying.

You studied him and nodded, “Yours,” you stated, already rolling your eyes from the smirk forming on his face, “Unfortunately,”

He brought your face to his and planted a tender kiss on your lips. He started shifting his position and grabbed the underwear he’d been wearing earlier before pulling out and using the cloth to clean the mess pooling out of you. But not before taking a mental picture, of course.

After a few minutes of laying together, his hand playing with a few strands of hair, you felt the warm welcome of sleep beginning to drag you into its embrace. You opened your eyes groggily and looked up at Bucky who was already looking down at you, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

“I know about your night terrors,” you whispered and his actions halted momentarily before returning to brush through your hair, “I hear you sometimes. And I understand why you don’t want to go to sleep but,” you sat up slowly and placed the thick blanket down on the floor, dragging the pillow down with you and patting the open space beside you, “you should rest. I’ll be here to calm you or stay up with you. Whichever one you need,”

He didn’t move at first, his ears drowning out any thought he could have while processing what you’d said. He’d stayed silent so long you’d thought you’d crossed a line.

“I can always sleep on the bed if you’d prefer, though,”

Bucky shook himself from his thoughts and edged closer to the floor, slowly descending into the available space and wrapping the blanket around the both of you as much as he could. “No,” he said, “I want you here,”

You hummed in response and snuggled into his waiting arms, lightly wrapping your own around him, making sure to kiss the part of himself he hated the most before fatigue swept you up into its clutches. Bucky followed soon after.

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