#the layer management is a fucking nightmare on there holy shit

[dandybambiandy]

That’s far too similar to what Dave said to you before he went off to destroy Cal, if he’s trying to be like Dave then this could be— —bad.

[redrikki]

Teen Wolf Rewatch 2.09 Party Guessed

Lydia's opening layered hallucination nightmare hallucination was terrifying! For those of you who are keeping track, there have been 4 moons in the show thus far, thus making it the full moon in April, aka the pink moon. The vibes for the worm moon are better though, feels like a rebirth, so that's what they went with.

I like to rag on this show for the writers not being able to keep track of details, but they're actually pretty good at foreshadowing. They set up Victoria's suicide and the knife she prefers over pills back in 2.03. The rave was on Friday night and the full moon is on Wednesday. Victoria has had 5 days to talk to Allison, but while she's bad ass enough to kill herself for family honor, she's too much of a coward to explain how she came to be bitten or why she isn't even going to try to manage her condition. The scene is set up like a tragedy and I feel for Allison, but fuck her for real.

Let's talk hallucinations. Allison confronts her stalker and then is stalked by her shadow self. Holy self-loathing and internalize mysogony, Batman! She hates her weaknesses and fears her darkness. Stiles sees his dad ranting about how killed his mother and ruined Noah's life. Guilt for having gotten his dad fired mixed with lots of self-loathing for being a "difficult" kid and a dash of fear about his father's alcoholism. Scott sees Allison making out with Jackson and then the kanima. Manifestation of his jealousy and possibly a fear that Allison is only into him because she's a monster fucker. Jackson sees his faceless bio parents and has his face erased. Clearly that's about his lack of sense of self and also the realization he's being erased.

Derek gets his wolves ready for the full moon. Boyd did his homework! Derek articulates the idea that the three states of wolf are fluid. Pain jolted Scott back to himself, but not Erica or Boyd for some reason. Isaac figured out his anchor first, even before Scott did. It's his happy memories of when his father wasn't a piece of shit. Not sure how I would about that. How the fuck does Lydia know where to find Derek let alone find the strength to get him from there to the Hale house?

Stray thoughts: Jackson breaks through enough to warn Lydia, but he does it at school when it's supposed to be spring break. Stiles is still working the case and he and Noah figure out the swim team connection.

[moondirti]

im sick. im feverish. im throwing up. im fucking hyperventilating holy shit

lev, you truly never, ever disappoint. every single one of your fics leaves me aching with some sort of cotton-mouth, afternoon nap delirium. i don’t know what to do with myself, usually, but this one has sent me reeling into a whole ‘nother dimension entirely.

i aDORED THIS, if you couldn’t tell. not just adored; loved, treasured, revered. you have such a way with words and prose that strings along borderline lyrically. you are a wonderful person and a phenomenal writer and i am at such a loss for words that i hope any of this is even comprehensible.

Complacency is a death sentence in a world like this. 

rIGHT OFF THE BAT you managed to capture Joel’s character perfectly. the fact that this entire thing took place from his perspective and not one bit sounded out of character is a feat in of itself, but the way you managed to add another layer to the man we all know and love? goodness. this did not feel like 10k words at all (in the best way possible); at no point did i ever lose interest. i sat down to read this and did so in one sitting, unmoving - hell, my arms have pillow marks like i just woke up from a 12 hour night.

He's calamity in ageing grey, and she's the ripe, forbidden fruit he's not allowed to bite. Poisoned apple. Cherry sweet. 

and do not get me started on the dynamic you’ve laid out for MC and Joel. i love her. I LOVE HER. she’s femme fatale in a way that feels real; because not only do we get romanticisation, we also get the pain, the weakness, the vulnerability. as much as i enjoy innocent damsels, joel absolutely wouldn’t, and so to have her be so beautiful and ‘unassuming’ only to imbue her with so much darkness is the perfect perfect direction.

(also, the way her monologues about her beauty only to huff out that she’s nothing to him? it’s giving Joel for sure)

(and, lately, make Ellie so incensed with anger, she cuts him to the core and spills his choleric blood out onto the pavement where it hisses and sounds just like Tess). 

also, i feel like this goes without saying but i wanted to give kudos anyway; the fact that u didn’t just erase ellie or tess or the canon from this fic !! please, it was perfect. the undercurrent of hurt joel feel’s from ellie’s scorn, the mistakes and comparisons he makes with reference to tess. the nightmares of MC getting infected, and the violent imagery that intrudes on him that so closely resembles sarah’s death on outbreak day. you’ve truly given us the version of joel we know - the one we love, from the games and the show. it makes it so much easier to sympathise and fall into his stream of consciousness. ur a fucking wizard babe

Beautiful even as the cordyceps split her skull into blooming monkshood in hideous grey and plum. Pale and lifeless; a marionette on toadstool strings. A puppet in fluorescence. 

and how can i have a reblog without leaving immense praise for your PROSE? HI? HELLO? there’s nothing i can say that i haven’t said already, before, but i just need to emphasise how in love with your writing i am. ur one of my favourites; not just in the COD fandom, not just for TLOU, or on tumblr, or on the internet, but of all goddamn time. you inspire me in a way no one else can and i can only hope to write something as beautiful as this one day.

When he's finished, covered in blood and aching, and satisfied, he drives an ice pick through their skulls (the same thing, he finds, that caused the hole in her side), and leaves them to rot. 

this is so him. ‘satisfied’ YES! GIVE ME DARK JOEL

"Call me an old man again, and I'll spank your ass, little girl."

a tear just ran down my leg tbh. This was so hot i had to take a breather

The bubble encompassing her, too, and he knows that he'd mourn her in the same hushed breath as the rest. 

I'll outlive you, old man. 

(He's never wanted something more in his life right now than for those words to come to fruition.)

listen, i know i praised u for sticking with canon lev, but i swear to god - that scene better not exist in this world. thanks. (this fully made me sob by the way. im not even kidding. its the combo of a rough week with this unfiltered angst and i want u to know I appreciate u for it)

(He only dreams in black and white, but when he closes his eyes and dreams of her, it's in a startling palette of browns, reds, and blues.)

ATROPHY | Joel Miller x F!Reader

》 SUMMARY: It's her, him, and the beats in between. A slow simmer of sex to something more. Something he isn't quite ready for, yet knows he can't let go of.  》 WARNINGS: 18+ SMUT (mild); allusions to death, assault; female gendered reader, female gendered anatomy; minor game spoilers; Joel isn't bad at feelings – he just doesn't want them. Joel is tired™ 》 WORD COUNT: 10,9k

His grief, sorrow, the ones that he tries to shove into a box marked apathy, are worn in the crevasses that line his weathered face. Deep canyons make him look ages older than he is. He wonders if she can see them. If she can peel the divots back and uncover the festering sickness, the rot, that sits in the folds. 

It's his own fault, he thinks, for stuffing his grief in the same place he keeps his worry.

》 NOTES: I did something different with my writing. It's still a Reader insert, but. I tried third person instead of the usual second. also, how this ballooned up to nearly 10k is lost to me since it was just supposed to be smut?? I had this clear image of older Joel laying in bed, his guitar leaning against the wall, catching the light of the sun as you slowly rode him, and now? I don't even know. ⤑The gif is mine. Please don't take or repost without permission

MASTERLIST | FAQ | AO3

Complacency is a death sentence in a world like this. 

Lazy Sundays spent between the warm, damp sheets. Boredom. Afternoons strumming his guitar on the front porch. Sleeping in. Drinking at a saloon in town. Music. Laughter. 

It doesn't exist. 

Shouldn't. 

And yet—

His guitar sits, abandoned, in the corner of the bedroom. The wood still carries the heat from his thumb this morning when he played a song alone on the porch. Eyes bleary, full of sleep, of rest, as he took in the varicoloured dawn cresting through the indigo sky.

Those same weathered, beaten hands that strummed the chords to Hurt are now occupied again. One perched on her hip, skin sateen soft and plush, full and warm and clean from the shower last night as she bears down on top of him in a quiet cadence, a muted, languid dance. The other cups the swell of her breast in his palm, nipple still damp from his hungry mouth, and flushed red from his teeth. 

This should just be a fantasy. 

A dirty thing in the recess of his mind when he has a moment to himself breathe. A thought, a whim. Something to needle away at the last vestiges of his consciousness when he sees her in the wild—vibrant, young, and free—and then sullied in the back of his head when he leans against a tree, and thinks of the dirt on her skin, the blood on her delicate hands, and how they'd taste under his tongue.

But this isn't a dream.

When he sleeps, he dreams in black and white. The only colour that bleeds through is red. Blood red. Pulpy and vicious. Ugly. Garish. It splatters across the pavement where he laid Sarah down, where he lost Tess, and everyone else he never promised to save and still couldn't. 

He knows this isn't a dream when he blinks his eyes open, and she's there. Sitting atop him in a kaleidoscope of colour, drenched in ochre from the still rising sun. The only red is her blistered lips, the rough burn between her thighs from the scrape of his beard, and that sinful little tongue that slips between her teeth when he slides in deep. 

And then—his eyes drop to her side—that ugly wound that cuts her flesh, ripped over the seam of her ribs. 

He's awake. Lucid. 

She's much too heavy to be something carved from fantasy. 

He doesn't say this, of course—Joel isn't stupid, and for someone so considerably smaller than he is, she packs a hefty punch in those slender fingers that curl into a fist barely the size of an apple. The sharp jab of a rusted, blunt knife. Knows where to hit him, too. 

He tucks it away, and lets his hands explore, feeling the tangibility of her weight, her presence, under the tips of his bloodied fingers. 

(Broken on the same teeth that caused her to hurt.)

The knob of her hip bone juts out through her flesh, and he grazes it with his thumb, feeling the soft curve. 

Real, he thinks. Flesh and bone. 

He can feel the flutter of her racing pulse under his hand when he kneads her breast in his hand, and lets her nipple graze teasingly over the rough skin of his weathered palm.

The tight clench of her around him—pussy a perfect knot around the base of his cock, all pretty and tied tight like a bow—is another stroke of realism his dreams, nightmares, fantasies, could never imbue. 

It's a present he's sullied more times than he can count, each touch another tally to the neverending number of sins that pile higher than the hollow skyscrapers in Boston. 

Joel feels each breath that leaves her heaving chest. Each gasping hiccup of his name when she raises her full hips up, and then slide back down the length of him in a slow, languorous roll until he nudges against the seal of her womb, and steals the air in her lungs. 

It's real. 

A paradox, then. 

One of those things that shouldn't happen, but is. Like her, and him, and everything else in between.

He knows what the others in town say when they see her—pretty and soft with a ginger touch and a sweet curl of a voice when she whispers his name. It doesn't make sense for her to be all wrapped up in him, following along behind like a shadow to a man who's cut from ashlar, and reeking of rot. Ruin. 

He's calamity in ageing grey, and she's the ripe, forbidden fruit he's not allowed to bite. Poisoned apple. Cherry sweet. 

(He wonders if they'd recoil once they saw that her insides were gnarled; acrid and sour; bitter melon. Lemon drops.

That she is far more like him than they could ever dream.)

They glare at him from the corner of their eyes when she swells like a lighthouse in the midnight gloam at the sight of him wandering back from patrol, eyes all bright and beaming, and beautiful—Christ. 

She's a picture, he thinks. 

One of those pinup girls he'd find in dirty magazines as a kid. When he and Tommy would sneak a peek behind the barn, away from prying eyes. A portrait of lust. Desire in high gloss. 

A classical beauty—the type that would make men drown themselves at sea. A starlet in the golden age back when it mattered. 

Writers' muse, maybe: she would have been the girl everyone talked about—the one that eluded the tortured artist, made him pine. 

Hemingway would call her brutal. 

Cat in the Rain. 

(She liked his old, heavy face and big hands.)

He doesn't know much about poetry but he knows she's the type who could make a man want to stain his fingers in ink just to capture the curve of her lips when she smiled. 

A vixen. Hellion. Lilith. 

Her voice is a song when she says his name. A hymn. 

Dangerous. 

He doesn't know when this started. 

Maybe, when they brought her in with the rest of the group she was travelling with. Beaten down, hungry. Clinging to life with frostbitten fingers. 

Her eyes were flat; a stagnant pond. Lips a grim, blue line. Placid. Gone. She'd been out there for too long to ever find comfort behind walls, and he knows the feeling of trying to crawl out of your own skin when people stand too close. 

She scoffed at the idea of this place, of sanctuary. Resentful and derisive. He could see the distrust in her clenched jaw, balled fists. This world was a whim—evanescent—and what they gathered from the rest of the group, survival hadn't been easy outside of safe zones.

Wall after wall fell, she said, tone flat. Blank. Haunted by ghosts still lingering in the canyons of her eyes. Stopped believing in stuff like this after a while. 

Her eyes were stained—jaundiced and red, filled with burst blood vessels—and raw from how hard the edges of her knuckles had dug into the flesh of her eyelids. They spoke of sleepless nights. Ones interrupted by her own sense of survival, hyperarousal. 

He knows the feeling of jerking awake whenever his brain starts to lull, to slip into that dangerous facsimile of security. 

Pipe dreams. She wears her fatigue like its armour, wielding the brunt of her exhaustion like a shield. 

(Sleep often feels like a bad habit for people like her, like him.)

But like him, it waned slowly. 

The chips in her veneer cracked, split, and he saw the incipient filament start to seep in. Complacency. Comfort. 

A few months in, she stopped being so defensive when they invited her out for drinks, and when they talked about dinner parties, and birthday celebrations. Derision was still a heavy weight in her distant gaze, clutched in bleached knuckles like a claymore, when she looked at them, a touch incredulous. 

Joel understands the feeling. 

The itch in your guts, the discomfort in your chest. It festers, doesn't it? 

Children play close to the fences, making up games of tag, and hide and seek, as if those things with broken, pustulous faces weren't skulking within arm's reach just a breath away. 

This whole place is a vacuum. The interior is covered in thick molasses; stuck in stasis. They pretend that birthdays and holidays matter. Dance around the saloon at night with drinks in hand. Pale ale. Old booze. 

It's rigid in its structure: patrols that span the entirety of a day—from dusk to dusk in three shift increments—and daily checks of the fences, the gates. Trading with other communities. Rules. Regulations. 

It gives the idea of safety. Of security. 

(But the bruises on his hands and the gash in her side are proof that it's sometimes not enough.)

Slowly, though, as the days wore on and the fences stood proud and tall and secure, she softened. Tucked it away with a smile, and started saying, I'll think about it instead of clipped jerks of her chin, or nothing at all. 

Joel doesn't know if she ever really did think about it like she said she would. 

Broken promises carry a distinct sound. One he knows all too well. 

She never showed up despite the invitations. Never came to celebrate. 

She stood by the fence, and looked out, eyes wide, mouth flat. The coil in her shoulders, the tremble in her hands, reminded him of a trapped animal. Cornered, and tense. 

She'll bite someone eventually. 

(He just never expected it to be him.)

The tension didn't flee the crease of her eyes, but she tried to integrate herself into the fold, the community. Slowly. Slowly. 

He took stock of her in the same measure he does everyone new who wanders in. Assessing. Watching. Cautious. 

He could tell right away that she was a wildcard. A lit match slowly burning down the wick in a sea of gasoline.

Pretty, he finds, despite himself. Drawn in by her allure; a coruscating light in the middle of endless, unfathomable grey. 

He catches sight of the weathered face that blinks back at him from the frosted windows, hazy and thick with condensation that make the grey in his hair, his beard, look startlingly whiter than it was ten seconds ago. It's a jarring reminder of who he is. What he's done. 

It's not insecurity that keeps him from seeking her out, but self-preservation. Some people, he finds, just have this magnetism about them. A beacon. A light. A gravitational pull that drags you closer and closer. 

And hers is purely primal. Animalistic. She smells of sex and sin and makes him think of object permanence when everything around him had been clouded in the sharp shade of ephemeral grey. 

She's a fractured mirror. Medusa in the making. 

Joel's always avoided broken glass. 

(Ladders. Black cats. Cracks in the pavement. Pretty girls who swallow everything like a black hole—)

Too sweet, he finds. Forbidden fruit. Tart, ripe, and sugar dipped. 

(He never had much of a sweet tooth, anyway.)

Through his observations—necessary, he tells Tommy when he catches the way Joel's gaze follows her around when she moves; limbs ballerina lithe, swan songs after dark: just because we let them in, doesn't mean we can trust them—he finds out everything he needs to know. 

A rusted sign on the side of the road says, stay away. Danger in dulcet. Soft and sweet. A perfunctory bow in battle before the deadly blows come. 

He oscillates between finding her both too soft and too hard, and it's the unknown that makes him wary. 

She's a caged animal. Everyone is just kidding themselves if they think she's domesticated. 

Somewhere in the throng of people milling about, drinking and dancing like the world wasn't in shambles, she finds his gaze, matches his stare. 

Most people looked away. 

But she's not most people, is she? 

No, she's dangerous. Pretty in a way that's entirely too ethereal for the broken remnants of what remains. Left behind. Mouldering until death claims its victims. Until the spores released from the earth itself burrow in the rucked lines of your head, sprouting up like flowering buds. 

She makes men want. 

And while the pickings might have been slim, Joel knows there are several (and maybe a little more) above him in terms of desirability. He's older. Gruff. Rough around the edges without any whim of changing, or scouring himself down so that his jagged pieces don't pop something as tender and sweet as her. 

He doesn't put himself in the same bracket. Despite Maria's insistence, Tommy's needling, he isn't a bachelor. 

Hasn't made himself available.

And he isn't. 

Not since Tess. Not since—

None of that matters. He's too old to think about romance, about skin and sex, and warmth. And more.

The thought of it all leaves something sour twisting in the gnarled rot of what remains inside his chest. 

Despite that, or maybe in spite of it, she comes to him. 

(Somehow. Somehow.)

She asks him to dance, and the breathy tone of her voice tastes like a lit cigarette; it plumes nicotine in the air. Second-hand smoke. A contact high. 

He finds it disarming when she laughs after he says no. Firm. Hard. Dismissive. 

Not in your lifetime, sweetheart. 

The unspoken stay away rang clearer than the echo of her laughter. 

And that was that. 

But she came back. 

("If not a dance, then how about a drink?"

"Wastin' your time, sweetheart."

She grins, then, soft and coy. "Not much else to do with it these days besides chatting up a handsome stranger."

He pretends she didn't make him choke on his drink, and eyes her warily instead. Dangerous, he thinks. The type that just doesn't quit. One who is just small and malleable enough to slip inside the tiniest splinter.

Just like a raspberry, she'd rot fast. Festering. Clouded white and infectious. Worse, in many ways, than the parasites outside of the walls. 

"Just don't get your hopes up." He settles on after a moment, a lull, that makes her blood-red lips curl up like the curve of those stupid hearts dangling overhead. 

And hates that he doesn't really know if he's still just talking to her or the wandering eyes in his own skull when he says it.)

He doesn't know why she takes a liking to him of all people. Of all men. He might be out of touch with the reality they live in now, always on the fringes of waiting for things to buckle at the knee, and collapse into ash, but he isn't stupid. Oblivious. 

Joel sees the way she stares at him. Open, wanting. Curious. 

She shouldn't be. There's nothing in him—nothing left. His insides are polluted, gnarled. Ugly. A gurgling cesspit that doesn't know how to fix, only dissolve. Consume. He's acidic. Caustic. 

Bad for anyone's health. 

He can't keep anyone safe, and all he knows how to do anymore is push people away, and lie (and, lately, make Ellie so incensed with anger, she cuts him to the core and spills his choleric blood out onto the pavement where it hisses and sounds just like Tess). 

He's a patchwork mess of a man sewn together with a churlish hand. The broken pieces are borrowed and maligned, but they sometimes feel like they fit when he shifts, and spits enough contempt to keep everyone else from getting too close, and—

It's enough. 

(He likes it that way.)

But she—

His hands grip her tight sometimes—too tight—and the stains he leaves on her skin set his teeth on edge. It's too much like ownership. Possession. 

(And he finds the colour that blooms on her flesh to be too fucking pretty to ever sit comfortably in the gnarled pit of his guts.)

"Don't worry, Joel," she whispers when she catches him staring at the marks he left behind. Dark and ugly. Contrition tastes of old nickels. "You won't break me that easily." 

It's a bad decision. 

But he was never known for his good choices, and when she fluttered her eyes at him, hand pressed to his chest like she were allowed to touch him, he crumbled. 

She didn't give him much of a choice to fight back when all she asked for nothing but the warmth of his skin, and the taste of him on her tongue. 

Pleasures of the flesh. It's easy. Simple. He fucks her behind the saloon, rough and dirty, and swallows the sounds she makes against the brick like they're just for him. He takes her home, and knows that when he's nestled between her thighs, it's as close to heaven as a man like him will ever get. 

And then—it's over. She leaves. He pretends to sleep. 

Rinse. Repeat.

It carries on this way for nearly two years. Distant, cold. He can't remember the last time he had anyone warm his bed, but it takes the edge off, the stress and pain of Ellie's distance, her mistrust, and hatred, and she asks for nothing. 

She lets him grab her when he wants. Lets him bend her body into whichever shape suits him best, and says nothing about the fingerprints that he leaves behind, the astringent tang of rot when she slides out of his bed, his hands, and out the door. 

He lays back, the same hand he used to grip the back of her neck when he fucked her into the mattress now resting under his head, and he pretends doesn't feel colder now than he did before. 

There is no promise of forever. There's no promise of exclusivity, or monogamy, but he knows that she hasn't fucked anyone else since she got here, that those pretty thighs only ever parted for him, and he's too worn down to entice anyone else who wasn't looking for a sleazy fuck against a tree into his bed, anyway. 

Complacency begets comfort, security, wants.

They settle down in their borrowed homes, in their borrowed beds, and think about making the most of their borrowed time.

In that, they yearn. Family. Togetherness. Everything they had before they tried to drag into the now. Forcing a square through a round hole. A mismatched puzzle piece into the slot it wasn't made for.

Sometimes, they get lucky and it slips through. It distorts itself into something different, and new, just to fit through the preconstructed crack.

Joel doesn't think about then. He thinks about now. A broken world no closer to resolution, absolution, than it was thirteen, fourteen years ago. There is no roseate veil over his eyes; everyone else can see it. 

He isn't the type of man someone brings home. The one you push and push until he fits through the front door, and back into normalcy. Stagnancy. 

And she's not the type of woman who'd ever try. 

He likes that about her.

Poisoned candy apple. Pretty on the outside and rotted within. 

There is no future outside of the way he fits inside of her, and this is as permanent as the blemishes he leaves on her pretty skin. 

Then he dreams, and it's of her.

Lifeless, blue. The way her head splits open is beautiful in that macabre sort of way horrible things sometimes are. Flowers burst behind her eyes, petals budding out of the hollowed space that once made his chest stutter when the sun caught the crevasse of black that split from her pupil and bled into her iris. A small stream of ink. 

The canyons of gradient colours are now filled with blooms of enoki. Red amanita curls out from her ears. 

Where he once laid his palm over her chest is now a gaping hole flowering with a pulsing mass of candlesnuff and staghorn. 

Death cap where her heart once beat. 

Beautiful, he thinks, even as he howls her name.

He wakes up drenched in a cold sweat, and the curve of her name heavy on his tongue. His knuckles pop when he fists the damp sheets between his trembling fingers, but the ache feels good. The sting reminds him he's alive. Whole. 

He's awake, but the nightmare doesn't end. The sight of her body lingers in the back of his head when he strums his guitar and plays a song for the demons within. He thinks of her when he forks over the expired box of condoms he found on a run, and listens to Jesse ramble about how Ellie is doing in exchange for the loot. 

It's her he sees. 

She blinks at him, eyes that same shade that sometimes makes his breath hiss between his teeth, and then her crown caves in. Forehead splits down the middle. One half stands where it was as the other falls over on her shoulder. 

Fractals spill from the plumule that was once her brain stem until the two halves are bleached white like dead corals on a ruined reef. 

The flowering toadstool quivers. What was once her—wit, charm; that uncanny ability to make him feel like the ground beneath his feet was crumbling—is a mass of spores. Polluted. Rotted. 

Where she once stood is a puppet. Dead. Gone. 

Her head tips. Ink spills from the putrefying blood vessels, congealing in the air. It spools into a circle. A black hole. 

He lifts the gun, and feels nothing at all. 

Everything he could have felt, feels, is syphoned into the needlepoint of no return, the place where she once looked at him, and said, I don't want anything from you, Joel. I just want you.

He wakes before he can see the aftermath of pulling the trigger. 

A fluke, maybe. But it happens each night after that. 

He knows, then, that there's no turning back. 

Permanence doesn't belong in this borrowed home, but she somehow drags it through the foyer and into his bed, anyway. 

She stayed over last night. 

Joel doesn't think he tried to let go when he collapsed into the bed beside her, arms woven around her sweat-slicked back, locked tight like a pair of shackles that mean about as much as a prison or the law these days.

It was cold. Late. He didn't want her to walk back in the snow all alone. 

That's all. 

But Joel isn't a gentleman, and despite how much he wishes he wasn't, he's egregiously self-aware. 

He knows he's in trouble when it just makes sense to keep her close. When it's easier to have her within arm's reach than it is to meet at the front door, and let her in. 

(When he sleeps better if he can feel her burning skin on his.)

"You're thinking too much," she gasps, eyes lidded and heavy. Drinking him in. 

Joel doesn't know what a pretty thing like her sees in a man like him. 

He can't offer her anything except the cold comfort of a warm body, but even that is null. He knows there are younger men prowling outside her door, just itching for an opportunity to make her look their way. 

(She never does.)

"Yeah," he rasps, the word sticking to his teeth. "Never been much of a thinker."

"Really? Ain't that a surprise."

His hand slips from her hip, palm swatting at the soft flesh of her ass. The sting makes her tighten around him like a vice. 

"Watch your mouth."

The way she gasps his name, breathy and aching, makes him stifle a groan between clenched teeth, her voice rolling over him like warm sea breeze. 

She's a lot, he thinks, and yet—she asks for nothing. 

(Nothing but him. One of the things he can't give her. Won't.)

Still. 

Her nails press into his damp chest, catching on the smoked dusted patch of coarse charcoal hair. Bracing herself against the swell of his ribs, and slowly rocked back into him, taking him deeper and deeper into her soaked, tight cunt. 

The pulse in his neck throbs out of his skin, a tick she likes to press the flat of her tongue against and drink up the briny droplets of his sweat. He can see the want in her eyes when he catches her staring at the column of his throat, the way she bites her lip like it's a substitute for how badly she wants to sink those same teeth into his flesh. Mark him as her own. 

Possession. Ownership. 

Sometimes, he catches the glossy, rotund image of himself in the inky puddles of her pupils, blown wide with feverish desire, and he can see the same expression, the mien, captured in her startling hue. 

Mutual want. 

It's easier to give in sometimes. To let go. 

He can't, though, and selfishly, he knows she'll never ask. She will bite your lip, the inside of her cheeks, and your tongue until it's raw and bloody before she lets the words slip through the gap of her teeth. 

(He feels the rough, chewed ridges on velveteen flesh when he rolls his tongue between her ivory teeth, swiping over the insides of her cheeks; broken skin split and metallic—a testament to her own selfless desires.

He tastes it on his tongue long after she's gone. Wet pennies. Dandelion sour.)

It knots inside of him. She'd ruin herself before she asked him for more. 

Maybe somewhere in his avoidance, his distance, she knows he's ruining himself by just giving her this much. Nothing, and yet—

Everything to him. 

An impasse, then. Uncrossable when he's already two feet out the door. 

"Joel—"

"I know, sweetheart," he murmurs, low. Rucked gravel. Falling rocks. It jars him how easily he responds to her. She says his name, and he'll drop anything in his hands to get to her quickly enough. "I know." 

The wound on her side pulls taut when she moves. It draws his eye like a beacon. Makes him grind his teeth together until it sparks pain down his jaw, the enamel sawed to the raw nerve. 

His hand slides over her molten flesh, trailing over the soft curve of her waist, until his thumb brushes the seam that keeps her insides from spilling out. The swollen, bruised skin is warmer than the rest of her body. Glossy where it tugs against the black threads keeping her whole. 

Joel didn't go with her on this particular trade. She went with some new kid they'd picked up, all varsity grins and clean hands. He seemed so damned eager to get her attention in the pub. Her age, too. 

Made a pretty couple, Ron said. Fucking loud mouth Ron. 

He was supposed to go, but when the kid caught him in the corner, nursing a beer that sat in his guts like a stomach ache, and said, hey, man, can I take your spot? he didn't know how he was supposed to say no and still cling to the degrees of separation he wedged between himself and the world. 

So, he raised his mug to his mouth, and forced himself to drink, to nod. 

Knock yourself out. 

The flash of sadness that flickered over her face meant nothing at all—nothing—but he felt something churn inside of his rotted guts. Atrophy, he thinks. He isn't meant for this. Doesn't want it. Need it. 

She's a bigger liability the closer she gets. A slow-moving black hole consuming all of the counterscarps he dug until nothing is left but crossable rubble. 

It's better, then, to cut it at the root before it infects the rest. 

So, he does. 

Maybe, he expected something different. For her to call this thing what it was, and then demand more of him, yell and scream and beg for the things he wouldn't give her—if only so he could break her heart into pieces, and force her to let go. To stop. 

Force himself to do the same. 

But she doesn't 

It's a quiet acquiesce; a little more than a nod, and a grim line of her pretty mouth. Okay, it says. If that's what you want. 

And that's what she always says, isn't it? If that's what you want, Joel. Whatever you say, Joel. Sure, Joel. Okay, Joel. 

A spitfire in ochre. A bright lighthouse in the middle of the grey sea. 

(The only person she dims for is him.)

Joel doesn't see her off. Doesn't say be careful or come back safe because words like those don't fit between his teeth. They aren't meant for the nothing between them. The chasm of everything she can't pry from his gnarled fingers. 

She leaves with him. 

He drinks alone. 

Despite whatever nonsense Tommy says, spouted over rationed potatoes and deer meat stew, he isn't sulking. 

"Let your girl go out alone? Unlike you, brother."

The way the words sat in his chest felt like an anvil. 

"Ain't my girl," he muttered. He wanted to be angry but all he felt was numbness. "Ain't my anything."

It's Maria who gets under his skin when she scoffs.

"Joel Miller, you're the biggest dumbass I ever met, save for your damned brother. Gonna push a good thing away and die alone." 

"No one asked you." 

Maria tries to fill in the blanks of something that doesn't exist. 

It peels back the gossamer from his eyes, and he sees, then, the way they skirt around him and her like it's something. As if his name is permanently attached to hers. 

He pretends he doesn't feel the burn in Maria's glare when he doesn't see her off at the gate.

It doesn't matter. It doesn't. 

He isn't there when she comes back, and hates, even more, that he feels something prickle inside his chest when Maria catches him near the stables, and says, I expected more from you, Joel.

It doesn't feel good when he bites back, that's your problem, Maria. Shouldn't have gotten your hopes up. 

Joel lives in his vindication, in his pettily forced indifference. She hasn't come to see him, anyway, and he's sure that she and Varsity jacket are meeting at the pub for that date he'll never give her. 

Doesn't matter, he thinks. And then, if only to burn himself in the flames, he adds: better this way. 

She'll know when he's not there. She's smart like that. Know him in ways he doesn't think anyone else ever could. Ever wanted to. 

(He hates it, and her, sometimes, for it.)

She'll understand. She might corner him one day with that dry ire dripping from the corners of her mouth, patronising and grim, and she'll do what she does best when she strips him bare and leaves him to rot. 

Her eyes are cobra pits. Her teeth leak venom. 

But she won't push. 

It'll simmer out when she blinks, knowing that this is it, and she'll say: okay, Joel. 

Okay. 

He braces for it—hates that has to because that means something, something he isn't ready to acknowledge—and—

And it's all moot. 

She never shows up at the gate. 

It punctures something in his lungs when Tommy looks up at him, face ashen and worried, and says: "she didn't come back. They didn't come back."

It takes an hour to find her, left for dead and beaten within an inch of her life by the side of the road. A wound in her side—a gaping hole he swears he can see through. Milky bones poke through, drenched in red, and—

His heart doesn't stop, but a piece of it breaks off and lodges itself in his throat. He can't swallow. Can't breathe.

Something curls out from the moon-white line of her rib. 

A bud, he thinks. Distant. Warbled. A saprophyte. 

He has the image of her in his head. The same one he sees when he closes his eyes and falls into a fitful sleep. 

Beautiful even as the cordyceps split her skull into blooming monkshood in hideous grey and plum. Pale and lifeless; a marionette on toadstool strings. A puppet in fluorescence. 

"She's—"

Tommy's hand reaches down, fingers curling around the sprout. 

Don't— not Tommy, too—

He pulls back, and Joel catches the tremble in his joints, the whites of his knuckles, when he spreads his fingers. 

In the palm of his hand sits a leaf. 

A leaf. 

The bark that leaves his chest tears right through the clot in his throat. Rips him open from the inside out. 

"A fucking leaf—"

He carries her back, and doesn't let go until the doctor is there, urging him out of the room. 

"You'll get in the way." 

He sees the looks they give him when he passes, but Joel never cared what people think. 

Doesn't plan on starting now, either. 

He's on the wrong side of fifty, and has more blood on his hands than the looted bars of soap could ever scour clean. He knows who he is, and maybe, maybe, knows what he wants, and Ron's loud mouth never meant much to him, anyway. 

Joel gets a name when she's sleeping after surgery—lucky, he overhears, got there in the knick of time, any later and—and brings nothing with him when he leaves. He won't need it. Doesn't want it.

He finds them chatting over an open fire, and beats them to death with nothing but his bare hands. 

He doesn't burn them. Doesn't bury them. 

When he's finished, covered in blood and aching, and satisfied, he drives an ice pick through their skulls (the same thing, he finds, that caused the hole in her side), and leaves them to rot. 

They say nothing about the blood on his shirt, or the broken, mangled fingers of his hand. He's content to leave them. To feel the agony as his broken bones split through cracked skin.

(He thinks of her—broken, blue—and clenches his hands so tight, the pain makes him blackout.)

He only lets Maria patch him up when she hisses about infection, and blood poisoning. 

Says nothing at all about what he'd done, where he'd gone. 

She doesn't ask. 

When she's finished, she says: "woke up yesterday."

He knows. Still: "that right?" 

"Gonna go see her?"

"Don't need me crowding around her bed."

"Maybe she, for some reason, wants to see your ugly mug."

"She tell you that?" 

"Didn't ask about you, if that's what you're asking." She snorts. Shakes her head. "Both a'you are really perfect for each other, you know?"

"We ain't." 

Her brow raises. Something prickles across her expression. "Huh."

"What?"

"Nothing," she shakes her head with a small smirk. "Just… didn't know you knew the word we, is all." 

"We done here?"

He doesn't go to her. 

Stubborn as an ox, she comes to him. 

She says nothing about the bandages on his black and blue hands. Nothing about the way he can't make a fist through all the swelling. Her hands are soft, and warm, when they wrap around his. Small, delicate. A baby deer cupping the paws of a grizzly bear. 

His eyes flash with something that tastes of the same rotten satisfaction he felt gnarled inside of his chest when the man who left her for dead on the side of a road wheezed as Joel broke his nose, and then battered the broken bulb into a messy, mushy pulp. 

He didn't stop until grey matter leaked through the holes. 

She knows what he did. He feels it in the way she stares at the black, swollen mess of his fingers. Bones broke on teeth, on a fractured skull. 

He doesn't regret it. He doesn't even think he enjoyed it much, really. 

It had to be done. Had to. 

They took a life. Varsity Jack, she tells him. Stabbed in the heart when he tried to defend her with the same ice pick that ripped through her flesh. 

Her tone is flat. Empty. 

He sees bruises on her knuckles, those little fists were her only defence against them, and the red welt on the man's face makes sense now. 

He feels proud. 

She's not broken—battered, beaten, torn to pieces—but she still stands, whole, intact. Resilient. Strong. 

(A survivalist. The only time she ever alluded to more was to tell him that he was worrying for nothing. That, above all, she would survive. Outlive him, even.

"What are you so afraid of, old man?" A cheeky wink. Her tongue dips out, and touches the upper corner of her lip. "I'm gonna outlive you, anyway."

God, he thought, he really hopes she fucking does.)

It doesn't surprise him to see her eyes cloud with anger, arsenic white, when she brings his hands to her lips, pressing a soft kiss to his knuckles. Anyone else might have asked why. Said thank you, even. 

She just murmurs, "I hope they suffered." 

Saccharine sweet. 

Rotten to the core. 

He saw the same shade of calamity in her eyes when she wandered in, grim and distant, as the one that stared back at him in the mirror. Her complicity in this doesn't surprise him. If anything, he wonders if she's angry he left nothing behind for her. 

The thought makes his lips quirk in a needle of something he hasn't felt in a long time. 

"They did."

The words are uttered like a promise. His busted pinky twitches, and it makes her smile. A bloom of petal pink flowering across her face. Soft and tender. The swell of a sea mark burgeoning out in the gloom of grey. 

And all for him.

Joel pulled her in close. Closer still. 

(Too close, maybe, because now he doesn't know how he'll sleep without her by his side)

His thumb slips over the tumid skin poking out from tight, black sutures. The threads are the only thing keeping her together. 

Beneath it is a bruise. Black. The tip of his thumb presses against the cresting peak. Knuckle to skin, it's a perfect fit. 

(In all the same ways he and she aren't.)

"I'm okay, Joel," she whispers, and the thick, dulcified tone of her voice shakes him from the labyrinth of his mind. 

His grief, sorrow, the ones that he tries to shove into a box marked apathy, are worn in the crevasses that line his weathered face. Deep canyons make him look ages older than he is. He wonders if she can see them. If she can peel the divots back and uncover the festering sickness, the rot, that sits in the folds. 

It's his own fault, he thinks, for stuffing his grief in the same place he keeps his worry. 

"Yeah," he intones, and he isn't sure if he's speaking to her, himself, or a god he hasn't spoken to since he was eighteen and Sarah got sick for the first time. Maybe everyone, all of them, all at once.

It makes her huff. "Am I losing you already, old man?"

"Ain't that old," he bites back, hips lifting when she slides down. It makes him nudge something that has her eyes fluttering, mouth dropping, slack. Her nails catch skin when they rake over his chest. 

Sex has always been an outlet. A comfort. It blankets that part of his head that never quiets—failures, failings—and offers a respite from it all. Her weight on his hips, chest, thighs doesn't dull it all but buffers it. 

White noise in his ears when her nails rake over his skin. The scent of her clings in the air around them—sex, kerosene, cinder, ash: the scent of a wet forest after a wildfire scorched the earth—and clots out the fetor of decay, of mildew, and moss, the earthy tang that reminds them of death. Of them. 

It's a distraction. Distance in skin, sweat, and heat. 

It's just sex, just—

"God, Joel," she gasps loud, sharp, when he pitches his hips into her, blunt and unforgiving, and hits deep. Carves out the shape of him in her soft, fluttering flesh, and tries not to get lost in the thick scent of her. 

It dusts over everything until he still smells her even when she isn't here. 

Temporary made permanent. 

It's the very thing he runs from finally catching up. He feels the graze of fingers ghosting over the nape of his neck when he looks at her, poised and centred above him. Aphrodite in flesh and bone. Her fingers prickle his skin with their sharp tips, and the indents left behind are soothed over when she gasps his name like it's something special. Meaningful. An orison murmured in the quiet box of a confessional booth. 

The curtain rustles. 

"Yeah," he grunts, low and filthy; the noise sticks in the back of his throat when he feels her tighten up around him. A little apple-sized fist of pleasure. He flexes his thighs, hands grasping her tight, and knows he's going to keep her here again tonight. "Fuck, sweetheart—"

The way she moves is liquid. Mercury. He watches, eagle-eyed and enraptured, as she squares her shoulders, and takes him to the root. The base. 

Her presence in his life atrophied his defences until they lay scattered on the sheets that reek of her. In the folds of his pillow where he rests his head at night. The featherlight wood of his guitar when she leans over his shoulder, and says, play me another one, Joel. 

He's a dog without an owner. A stray mutt on the outskirts of town, wandering through the city in search of sustenance. 

She's the one who keeps feeding him. Lays out a dish just for him, and scratches her nails behind his ears until the curl of his lips subsides. A slow broiled trust. He stops showing her his canines, his claws, when she shows him the vulnerable curve of her neck, and lets him mark her skin with his touch. 

Joel will mourn her the same way he does everyone else—achingly empty, and tearless—but he thinks, now, that he might think of her once, and then never again. He's selfish. Always has been. 

(Can't afford not to be when she looks better bearing his mark. When he sleeps easier with her breath in his ear.)

Just sex. The words are weak in the back of his head, and he feels the shaky resolve begin to crumble, chossy wobbling under unsteady feet, when her head falls back in a mockery of prayer, the utterance of his name heavier than the sins on his shoulders. Just sex. Just—

The grille falls, and shatters into smelted pig iron at their feet.

—it's just her, him, and the beats in between. A slow simmer of sex to something more. Something he isn't quite ready for, yet knows he can't let go of. Won't. Not now, not ever. He won't give her anything, nothing but the touch of his hands, and the weight of his body, but it's juxtaposed to the worry heavy in his chest, the anger still lacing the broken bones in his fingers when his thumb brushes the curve of her wound. 

It splits in her ardour. The bottom scab tugged too much, lifting from broken flesh. 

Ichor pebbles on the seam. It pools an angry merlot against the indigo scab, but when it slides down her flesh, it's Phlegethon red. 

His thumb catches it. It's warm, and sticky. He smears it over her quivering belly, and fights the urge to try and lick it clean. Knows, somehow, it would taste of Lethe. 

Joel's teeth ache when he grinds them together, tongue lashing across the ivory seal. He's thinking too much—abstracts, concretes; they blur together in a cacophony of want, take, run, hide—

Keep. 

"It's okay," she says again, as if all his secrets laid bare. As if the talons digging into his flesh somehow tapped a vein, an artery, that leads directly to his stem, and she's syphoning the thoughts in his head with the same ease that she steals the breath from his lungs. "It's okay, Joel. It's—"

She doesn't finish. Her words are shorn, bitten at the grain when he reaches up, holding her around the waist, and brutally fucks into her weeping cunt with the finesse of a starving man invited to a feast fit for a King. 

It jostles her. Breasts swaying, head bobbing back and forth as he nearly lifts her off the bed with the force of his thrusts. 

The brutality of it screams one shrill echo of it isn't. None of this is okay. None of it. 

She's chiselling him open until he's a raw wound exposed to the unforgiving air. Until he bleeds and thinks of her. Until the only sound that drowns out the terror raking across his synapses is her voice when she murmurs his name. 

"We're fine, Joel—," it carries the flavour of axiom. Aphorism when she says: "we'll be okay."

She trembles over him, muscles straining to keep up. This isn't her taking; despite being perched above him like a queen astride her throne, she gives. Lowers herself the way he likes. Circles her hips until he sees white behind his eyelids. 

The weight of her feels like an anvil. The heat is enough to liquefy his bones. 

"Keep goin'," he rasps the words out—a strange limbo of being both an encouragement and a demand. It lacks the bite it had before, when he'd bend her over and fuck her until he was satisfied, until the howling in his head, and the ache in his bones was eased with the soporific gossamer only sex could give him. "Just like that, pretty thing—"

It's a slip. An accident. 

Her rhythm stutters. Her ribs expand wide under his palms; ballooning up so much he wonders if she's trying to burst them at the seams or float away. Irrational, of course. Sex makes him stupid. Makes him hungry and needy, and has him feeling like he's almost, almost human, and—

He holds on a little tighter. 

Pretty thing. Her lips form the words in a soundless exhale. Pretty thing. She's used to him calling her all sorts of sobriquets smeared in a palpable stroke of derision. It's not contemptuous, but he makes his mockery of it clear with the flout in his tone. Sarcastic, caustic. 

Sure thing, beautiful. If that's what you want, sweetheart. Go on then, gorgeous. 

She always wore the same sour twist to her lips, the exaggerated eye roll. The heavy huff. 

It was never flirtatious, never complimentary. 

This—pretty thing—is the softest he'd ever regarded her. 

He watches her throat bob when she swallows, eyes tracing the nervous flutter as she struggles to grasp the concurrency of his words, the way he said them. Their meaning. It flickers through those depths that threaten consumption whenever they dust over the length of him. Thinking. Thinking. 

They were always abstract, but his words are concrete, and she isn't sure how to carry the heavy cinder he drops on her. Her fingers are used to the ephemeral weight of his scorn; the delineation of distance—unspoken but unignorable. Unequivocal in its separation. 

"Wow," she breathes, tremulous. She grasps at normalcy but he can see how much those two words have rattled her. She swallows again. Eyes narrowing. Viper pits. "Getting soft in your old age, huh?"

Joel isn't ready to acquiesce. 

He pitches his hips up, letting her feel the solid length of him—blunt, burning iron—and feels his chest flutter when she whines, head dropping back as he bludgeons into her core. 

"Fuck, Joel—"

He isn't soft. Isn't malleable. He's made of carbonised grief, anguish, despair. Reinforced with volcanic clinkers running rivets of apoplectic fury. 

He isn't soft. Isn't what she deserves, or needs, or should even want—

But the way she says his name is pyrolysing. 

Cinder. Soot. Ash. 

He spent so much time holding firm against the walls to keep her out, he never bothered to filter the air he breathed. She clots in his lungs. The scent of her builds. A mass forms. Metastasises inside of him. 

Her hands fall there, palms drawn to the steady thump of his beating heart. It drums under her skin, a stuttering rhythm that makes her own chest swell with her shaky inhale. 

His slide, rough skin scraping over her soft flesh. She burns hotter than the acorn stove in the corner of the room, and he feels the heat simmering in his veins. Scents the sulphur and volcanic ash in the air when she leans down, bending at the elbows to press her lips against his. It's chaste, as far as their usual kisses go. Biting and vitriolic. As if being sweet, tender, was forbidden. 

Maybe it was. He doesn't know what he'd have done if she kissed him like this back then. Honeyed rich, and molasses slow. It tastes like smoke but reminds him of the rock candy he'd make at home with Tommy when he was young. 

She moans into his mouth when his hands slip around her waist, her thigh. He holds her steady, and rocks up into her to the same tremulous beat as her clumsy, fragile kisses. The vibrations buzz on his bruised lips, and the tingle of her voice washing over him makes his cock twitch inside of her. 

The press of him, unyielding and firm, against her soft, soft walls makes him grunt. Another noise pulled into the cacophony of them. It's lower than anything he's ever made before. New. Novice. 

Fucking her now feels marginally different than it had only yesterday. It's raw. Vulnerable. 

He thinks of a slow burn. A candle wick. 

Wonders, then, if she feels it, too. This rawness that sits in his thundering chest; a scraped-out, hollow feeling that draws in more and more of her until the crater is filled with the essence of her sweat, the heavy breaths she tries to stifle in her throat to keep kissing him like she'll never get the chance to again. 

And that must be it. 

This isn't what he normally gives her—bruises and bites, beard burns over the delicate softness of her flesh; he leaves her kiss-bruised and drunk off of the taste of him, malt-heavy and whisky sour. 

Intimacy is saved for moments when she cums around him, tightening up like a strung bow in his archer's hold; when she squeezes herself into the nook of his shoulder, whimpering as he fucks her through her high, and chases his release in the spasming clutch of her willing body. When he cums, painting her stomach, her thighs, her ass, with the stain of his spend, the only physical proof he'd been inside of her, and smears the wet mixture of them on her heated flesh, still buzzing with the aftershocks of her orgasmic haze. 

It's reserved for the microcosm carved from their shared release, drenched in the glow of the chemical slurry that saturates their brains, releasing endorphins until they feel nothing but the buzz of each other. Skin to sweaty skin. Each breath a gasp. 

He lets her linger in these soft moments. This singular dissonance sits incongruously with everything else between them. But then she shifts. The microcosm that filmed around them bursts. 

She slips away after he does, slowly leaning over to pull on her discarded clothes, and wipe the stain of him from her body. 

His fingers itch for a cigarette when he watches her through lidded eyes as she stumbles around on fawn legs. 

She always hesitates for a moment. Joel often wonders if she's waiting for him to ask her to stay. 

He never does. She leaves. 

(Rinse. Repeat.)

But now—

"Easy, now," he murmurs, tongue slipping through the gap of her teeth to chase her taste. "Don't rush this, sweetheart."

Everything about this is unlike him, and she moans her disquietude into the scant space between them, brow knotting together when her stitches pull, and he leaves a bloodied trail across her waist, knuckles split and bleeding anew. 

They're both bloodied, he finds. Drenched in each other's sweat, spittle, and blood. 

It makes dizzy. Makes his fingers dig into her flesh, holding her closer to his heaving chest as he takes. His hips raise off the bed—a clumsy slant into her welcoming sex, and he feels her shudder when he hits deep, cock nudging that soft place inside of her that always makes her forehead crease. 

He can't see it when she leans down, peppering wet kisses across his grey beard, and painting hard through her nose when he presses the flat of his palm against the base of her spine and fucks into her with sharp, unrhythmical thrusts. 

"That's it, take it just like that—," he grinds the words off, and tastes the condescension in his tone. 

In response, she bites down on his pulse point. 

Another break in the routine. The rules lay scattered around them, smouldering embers of this incipient beginning to something neither of them is ready for. 

Her hands wiggle out from between their chests, bringing them closer together than before, and when she tangles her fingers in the damp curls behind his ears, he swears he can feel her heartbeat echoing through his ribs. 

He spears himself into her faster, seeking that place he knows will make her melt—

"Joel, oh—ah, fuck—"

—and once found, he cruelly angles the head of his cock into it, rasping out words of patronisation into her ear. 

Good girl, he says, and groans when her cunt tightens around him like a nautical bow. Taking me so good. Gonna cum for me? Gonna cum around my cock—

He can feel his release brimming up like a fever in his veins. White-hot and arctic cold. It sets his nerves on fire, and the pressure of her around him makes him see pure white. 

He thinks of church on Sundays when she chants his name like a hymnal—Joel, Joel, Joel—and finds nirvana when she sinks her teeth deeper into his flesh, unmarked and unclaimed until now. He'll have the perfect impression of her teeth embedded in his skin, and thought alone makes that gnarled spool inside of him loosen. 

Joel is taken by surprise when she cums—voice a shaky, shrill howl of his name, and the sound of it, the blood that stains his beard when she turns, baring her teeth and pressing them flat to his jaw, makes him grunt. It's raw. An oozing wound.

She flutters around him like the beat that echoes through his bones, and feels a hunger inside of him grow. 

The uncoiled knot inside of him rears, once dormant and dead to the world, now gnashing its jowls at the hands that prodded it from its slumber. Rapacious. A black hole when it yawns. 

The town knows she's his. Has since she sidled up to him, all soft smiles and viper eyes, and asked him to dance, for a drink, and what's a handsome man like you doing in a place like this? Got anyone I should worry about, Joel? Wanna dance? Wanna fuck—

And they know, now, that he's hers when he carries her in his arms, and knocked his forearm into the necks of anyone who tried to pry her from his clutch. 

They know. They know, but it's not enough. 

He wants to mark her, stain her. Leave her with the permanent smear of him on her pretty skin. 

Fuck—

This wasn't supposed to happen, but the keen awareness comes much too late. 

He fucks the frustration into the tight clutch of her willing, forgiving, body, and tries not to come apart at the seams when she mewls his name like he's just as much of a burden to her as she is to him. Bankrupt. Bereft of the walls and the rationale that kept him lightyears away from everyone else around him (until Ellie, the hospital—this place that reeks of stagnancy and burrowed into his marrow), he crumbles in her hold once more. 

His release hits him like a sucker punch to his gut, and the force of it makes him ache.

He doesn't pull out like he always, always, does despite the contraceptive she has, and spilling inside of her spasming cunt feels too much like heaven for him not to come apart at the seams. For him not to shatter into pieces when she pulls him closer, and murmurs, that's it, Joel. That's it—cum for me. Just let go, I got you—

And for the first time in a long time, he does.

It's an awkward assemblage of limbs that don't fit together, bodies that are too incompatible, but he tugs her down onto the mattress beside him, and makes it work. She rests the flat of her palm over his sweat-slicked chest, nails raking through the dusted grey smatter of hair on his chest. The inside of her thigh is wet with him, with her, them, when she slides it over his hip. 

Her head rests on soft tissue where his arm and shoulder meet, ear nestled into his armpit. His arm around her back, fingers resting on the curve of her elbow. It's then, when he finds his thumb brushing small circles into her dewy skin, that he realises what this is. 

Cuddling, he thinks, a touch derisively, in the apocalypse.

It was never a burning release, the aftermath of that intoxicating chemical bath of endorphins, oxytocin, and then a quick until next time. 

Being trade partners for most of the scheduled shifts—his brutality, and her knowledge of survival made them a perfect match outside of this clumsy moment of intimacy—meant that she often stayed for a few hours afterwards discussing plans, and who to barter with next or the places they haven't yet scavenged. Lying naked beside each other, shoulders sometimes brushing as they spoke—that was the extent of their post-sex ritual. 

This, he knows, is new. Different. 

It has the same cadence as last night when his massive hand swallowed her wrist in his palm, and he said, just sleep here, but it's a syncopation. Lighter, somehow, than the gruff way he demanded her company, the brutal divot between his brow. 

She moves, slow and languid, and for a moment he thinks about letting her leave. Repairing the chasm that crumbled between them into heaps of broken ruination and anguish, her hand brushes his when she pulls away, and he knows he won't. 

For such a massive presence, she's surprisingly small in his grasp. The bump of her wrist bone fits snug against the broken, swollen knuckle of his middle finger when he folds his hand around hers. 

The hitch in her breath, the rapid flutter of her pulse beating against his too rough, too worn palm are the only measure of her hesitation, her confusion. 

They're not themselves in this moment. 

The moor around him collapses. A sinkhole forms. 

He clings to her and drags her under with him.

The words won't form on his lips. His throat is bereft of what he feels in his marrow, unable to utter them aloud, to make them real. As if speaking his burgeoning desires is somehow worse than a death sentence. 

Wanting in this world is dangerous, and ruinous, but when Joel sees the dawning realisation buoying to the surface in those unfathomable black holes, he knows there's nothing more worrisome, more deadly, to him than her insatiable appetite. Her desire for more. 

More—

And just him. 

Something in her gaze splinters. Cracks. Her shoulder slump in something that tastes of the same defeat that taints the pinch in his brow. 

"You are getting softer, Joel Miller," she takes a stab at a joke but her hands shake too much for it to land properly. "Who'd have thought all it would take is old age and mortality—"

"Shut up," he grumbles, and fights the thrum of satisfaction that spumes in his veins when she lays back down beside him. "Didn't hear you complainin' this much five minutes ago."

"Yeah, well—" her hands settle on his chest, fingers carting through the damp, matted hair. "There's a reason I'm always on top, you know. Worried you might throw your back out." 

"You say that like I haven't already." 

Her chin scraps over the soft flesh where his bicep meets the curve of his shoulder, eyes bright in the morning sun that smears rays of ochre across the bridge of her nose.

She's pretty, he thinks, and feels that same gnawing in his guts, that same hunger, when she dips, and presses a kiss to his skin. 

"Poor baby," she coos, brows drawing together in mock sympathy. "I can't believe a little missionary ruined you so badly. Guess I should take better care of the elderly."

"Wasn't the missionary," he huffs. Her skin is soft, tacky, when he runs his fingers over her shoulder. "It was carrying your heavy ass home."

"Did my heavy ass snap your hips, too—"

"Christ," he bites out, but it lacks any heat. "You just never shut up, do you?" 

He hears the click in her throat when she swallows. 

"Guess you'll just have to shut me up, won't you, old—"

He presses his lips to hers, and steals the goading words from her quivering mouth. 

"Call me an old man again, and I'll spank your ass, little girl."

The condescending tone is thick, but where he expects her indignation over the same words spoken to her by everyone else when she said she wanted to go with him on runs—stay here where it's safe, little girl—it instead makes her suck in a sharp breath between her teeth. He feels the vacuum of it against his lips, and blinks up at her. 

"Did you like that—"

"No," she snaps, and drops her head to his chest. "God, Joel, you really know how to ruin a moment."

"Is that what this was? A moment?"

"Yes," she volleys back. "You don't think it was?"

He swallows down the tang of panic that salts his tongue, and presses his lips to her crown instead. 

"Ain't much of one, was it?"

"We'll make a better one," she murmurs, the lilt of a promise heavy in her words. 

When she settles in his fold, cheek laying flat against his chest—hiding her embarrassment he tones with a particular thrum of fondness so sweet it makes his teeth ache—he folds his arm over her shoulder, keeping her tucked into the bracket of his body. 

She's too small for him to ever be a perfect fit. Too hard inside that pretty little head for him to ever wiggle through. Too soft for him not to ruin her completely when he holds her too tight in his hands that overlap in a way that sometimes makes him dizzy, feverish with want, with fear. 

She doesn't click in the same way Tess does—did. 

A silent agreement of unspoken distance. Never ask for more, it hissed because you'll be brutally disappointed. Never hunger because you won't ever be satiated. Don't yearn. Don't want. Don't, don't, don't—

No, she doesn't click. She doesn't fit. Not with him. Not at all. 

(Tess left him whole. 

She devours.)

Consumes. 

Her eyes are black holes, and ever since she looked at him through the fanned ring of her lashes, and said: you won't break me that easily, he's been standing on the edge of her event horizon waiting for that perfect singularity to swallow him whole. 

(He thought her pull would happen quickly. Instantaneous. 

But she's been ripping him apart the entire time; morsel after morsel until all that remains is raw nerve. Scraps.)

A slow descent into comfort, kinship. 

She's on the same plane of existence as Tommy, Ellie. Maria, too, he supposes, a touch begrudgingly. His circle widens, expands. The bubble encompassing her, too, and he knows that he'd mourn her in the same hushed breath as the rest. 

I'll outlive you, old man. 

(He's never wanted something more in his life right now than for those words to come to fruition.)

For the first time since the walls reared, since the gunshot that still echoes in his ears like a reminder of his sins, his failures, Joel thinks of tomorrow. And the one after that. And after that. 

He thinks of her, and them, this, in the afternoon. Over old stew. Tommy's laughter. Maria's knowing glances. Ellie's anger. Her scorn. Distrust. 

Wasting the night away in the bar that's always several octaves too loud not to make him tense, antsy. Watching her dance around the room, ballerina nimble with a sprinter's pace. Listen to her joke and laugh with the men who look at her a touch too long, and a shade too intense, and—

Bringing her home after. Back here in this small house where he rots. Where he plays his guitar as if the chords of Hurt would ever be enough to drown out the bullets and the bloodshed. The clicks, the groans. The scent of moss, and fungus. 

Taking her to bed in the sheets that hasn't stopped smelling like her since he fucked her three times over Christmas until she sobbed into his pillow, and begged him for respite. When she brushed the grey hair from his temple with fingers that wouldn't stop trembling despite the ease in her grin, and the polynya in her eyes as she regarded him with more than just desire. More than just sex and sweat and the comfort that comes with losing yourself to the chemical high of another body tucked into the crevasse of your own. 

She doesn't fit. She doesn't belong. 

But fuck—

He knows he's gone when he can't imagine her anywhere else. 

"Sure," he says, and wonders when she let herself into his life, into the gnarled remanants of his chest. "Whatever you say, sweetheart."

(He only dreams in black and white, but when he closes his eyes and dreams of her, it's in a startling palette of browns, reds, and blues.)

[hyunjilicious]

what is and what should never be [bucky barnes]

A/n: ok, so. Im really fucking insecure about this. I literally poured my heart into this fic. I'm genuinely unhappy with the beginning, but I promise you, it gets better!! I don't have it in me to rewrite it for the 4th time. I really hope you'll still like it though. If you ask me, this is the best fic idea I even had. Please, please, if you enjoyed it, let me know!!!

Summary: It was you and Bucky. An unlikely couple that shared equally disturbed pasts. When you get a day off, your paradise turns into hell as Bucky's nightmares return, leaving you alone to deal with The Winter Soldier. (FLUFF, SMUT, ANGST) 12k

Warnings: 2 smut scenes - they're graphic but not extreme, fluff, angst, violence, mentions of death and suicide, blood, a fight scene - also quite graphic but it was written to serve the angst. I don't want to spoil the ending, but if you really connect with the characters, you will not hate me!!

This day had been long awaited. After months of back to back missions and endless efforts to climb up the greasy pole of US social standards, words failed to describe how ecstatic you were to know, that for the next 24 hours, your whole schedule would fully be in your hands.

You had the freedom to do just about anything you wanted, and the simple fact that the rest of the avengers left to deal with some paperwork excited you to no end. You woke up when it was time for them to take off, and made a snarky remark about heading to the gym - something along the lines of having a productive day centered on self development.

Just about 20 minutes later, you and Bucky, now also alone in the Stark Tower, decided to start off your day on the right foot. He offered to make protein smoothies as you changed into something comfortable and fitting for a workout, but neither of you got their job done.

You had no idea how that happened, but before you knew it you were wearing your sports bra and still had your pajama pants on, moaning on the counter of Tony's kitchen as Bucky had lodged himself between your legs, hungrily exploring the heated skin of your neck, peppering you with bruise marks that represented his adoration for you. "You heal fast anyway" he shrugged, pulling you closer and digging his teeth into your flesh, sucking profusely and eliciting an erotic moan from your lips. 

With every new hickey he left, another one would disappear, which in turn would make him even more frustrated, “The hell should I do? Tattoo hickeys on you!?” he groaned, moving up your neck. You caught his cheeks into your palms and kissed him back, smiling as he kept getting more and more aggravated. 

It didn't come as a surprise when the blender went berserk, splattering fruit pulp, almond milk and protein powder all over the pristine walls of the room - both of you have long forgotten about it. 

The way Bucky cleaned the mess was the epitome of not giving a shit, and you couldn't find it more endearing. He bitched and whined his way through the whole process, and tears formed at the corners of your eyes at the ridiculousness of the half assed job he just did. 

You eventually reached the gym - of course, against all your pouting and begging to put off this session. "Doll, you're the only avenger who can't fight. A punk on the street could snap your purse and there would be nothing you can do"

Wrong, he was not. You couldn't fight - but at the same time that didn't mean you were defenceless. It was your immense power that for months on end made your teammates consider you a liability. The energy that surged through your veins had been too great for you to handle, and in fact, it still was, but now, thanks to the joined efforts of Tony and Bruce, there was a way for that power to be contained. Their solution came in the form of two massive shackles wrapped around the length of your forearms. They were made of dimeritium and kept all kinds of energy from leaving your body. But, even so, that energy was in full form, buzzing inside every fiber of your being. And so, while wearing them you couldn't attack anyone, but there wasn't a way for them to harm you either. That field of energy protected you from every kind of damage and wounds you had ever encountered, ranging from fist fights to automatic rifles to guided grenades.

"I'm the only one that doesn't need to know" you huffed and puffed, annoyed but still determined to get this first training session done with.

But that never happened. Halfway through your warm up rounds, your teasing side awoke and it took you about ten minutes to go from batting your eyelashes and flaunting your ass, to nonchalantly cupping his cock into your hand.

No one could blame Bucky for not even trying to stop you. Bless him, he did everything he could, but he was never able to resist you. And probably never will be.

By the time you were done at the gym, both your bodies were coated in lecherous layers of sweat, no of them being from actually working out. It was only a matter of time until you managed to break his self control and he had you sprawled on all fours in the middle of the boxing ring, moaning your soul out as he pounded your pussy. 

The momentum made your whole frame rock back and forth, your hair falling around your face, "Holy fuck-" 

The room vibrated with the vulgar slaps he afflicted on your bare ass. You arched your back and cried his name out loud, "Come on, Bucky- I- harder please-"

"How are you already so needy?" he chuckled, caging your waist between his strong arms and pulling you up until your back reached his chest. "I ate this pussy this morning before we got out of bed"

"You know I love your tongue-" you giggled out of breath as you tried to look at him over your shoulder. "But it doesn't compare to your cock"

"What does?" Bucky rhetorically questioned before picking up his pace. He kept slamming his hips into yours, fucking you at full force as with each thrust, his cock rammed against your walls hard enough to make you see stars.

"I'm really fucking close, Buck" you whined, feeling your knees start to refuse to maintain your weight any longer. 

"Don't cum yet" he panted, "Wait for me"

"Fuck, fuck, fuck-" you cried out loud, liquid pleasure seeping out of you in the form of fresh tears streaming down your cheeks. "Please-" you whined, "I can't hold it anymore, I'm-"

"Not yet, baby" Bucky groaned, easily stopping you from wiggling around in his hold. His thrusts became sloppy and the orgasm got the best of him. He buried his face deep in your shoulder as his high forced guttural moans to rip from his throat. 

As he filled you up with his cum, as much as you wanted to comment about him making you wait and then not even bothering to tell you you could cum, you couldn't. Your eyes rolled back in pleasure and your chest heaved as the spiral of bliss seemed to go on and on, tons of ecstasy propagating in long painful waves across your body.

"Fuck-" Bucky panted as helped you up, "I could get used to days like this. We should retire"

"I'm not retiring-" you teasingly shook your head, "not until you find a way to give me a baby"

"I'd give you all the babies" he retorted, tugging your hand.

It caused you to lose your balance and stumble into his chest, "I love you"

"Love you" Bucky kissed the top of your head and spun you around. With his palms on your hips, he started guiding you towards the door, "Let's get you cleaned up"

And then, another wave of unproductivity followed. You showered, ordered pizza, whined about how there was still some smoothie left on the floor, and after you warned him about it, your face fell as Bucky stepped directly in the middle of the puddle of almond milk. He was fuming, the incident wiped any traces of happiness off his face. He mumbled something about that being the last pair of comfy socks he had left and something about Tony's devices being a constant pain in the ass. 

He went on and on until you ambushed him with kisses up his neck and shoved your hands under his shirt. In an instant his bickering turned into soft giggles as he innocently relaxed under your touch. You eventually cleaned up the mess and tried to make yourself busy. Nothing worked, you weren't in the mood for anything and at the same time, even though you did absolutely nothing all day, you felt a wave of tiredness envelop you.

At about 4pm, and you Bucky had already been lazily laying in bed, a mess of tangled limbs under the fluffy duvet. Your conversation started from the tactical gear he swore would look better on you than on him and then wondered how you didn't know how to sow.

"I'll hit you" you threatened.

"I'm sorry" he laughed, holding onto your forearm as it was resting on his chest, "But you know how much I love it when you get angry at my misogynistic jokes"

"It's rude" you scoffed - you didn't mean his jokes, but the fact that when he grew up, women were not anywhere near where they are today. 

"You know I don't mean it"

"I know you don't" you laughed, "Otherwise I'd have actually hit you"

"Don’t worry" Bucky said, "I'd hit myself if I was that stupid"

"Cute" you smiled, kissing his shoulder. Looking up at him, you promoted your chin against his chest, "Do you miss it? The 40s i mean"

He thought about it for a second. "Nah" there was a bit of nostalgia in his tone, but you believed him. "I've kinda made my peace with the fact that everyone from my old life is gone. I wouldn't want to go back now. I got you. I got all of you guys. I'm good now, really good"

"I'm glad" you beamed, feeling yourself warm up from the inside just thinking of the progress he made. After a few seconds, you spoke up again, "But what about the society? Like the day to day life? How do you like the 2010s?"

"I can't lie" Bucky laughed, "I liked Romania better. Much simpler."

"You lived in a dead beat apartment, hiding everyday" you scoffed, "How was that better?"

"I don't know… maybe it was the simple life. Apparently I'm all about that"

"You'd move back there?"

"If you came with me?" he questioned, looking down at you. There was genuine sincerity in his eyes and a hint of a smile at the corner of his lips. "Wouldn’t even think twice"

"Maybe one day" you sighed with content. You snuggled back against his side, and closed your eyes. "We're not done avenging yet" you mumbled.

He didn't say anything to that. You didn't know whether he was getting lost in thoughts or if he was starting to drift off, but you would have been fine with either. When he spoke up again, you didn't expect the conversation to take this route.

"About Romania…" he sighed, "What made you come with Steve back in 2016?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean-" he muttered, rubbing his light stubble, "I know why Steve came-" Bucky chuckled, "And Sam's all up his ass, so there's that. But what about you?"

"I-"

"I'm aware of the rift I caused between you guys back then. So that's why I'm asking. What made you stand by Steve from the beginning?"

"I knew how much you meant to him. And I know how this is going to sound, but I felt sorry for you, Buck. I know what it's like to be alone, to have everyone turn against you. You deserved better"

"Love-?" he called softly, his voice nearly breaking. "What do you mean you know what it's like to have everyone turn against you?"

As you maintained the eye contact, you felt tears prickle, "I know it wasn't fair of me to keep my past a secret, but-"

"You don't have to tell me if you don't want to-" he said softly, his eyes warm. The pain was readable on his features, he hated how your whole demeanour changed.

"It's not that I don't want you to know, it's just that I hate talking about it. Gives me nightmares."

"Then we can just drop it" Bucky murmured, gathering you closer.

"I wish you could know without me telling you" you laughed, "You make everything better and easier. I should've told you, I know. It isn't fair to you. We've been together for almost two years but as far as you're concerned I didn't exist until I joined the avengers. I don't even know how much they know. We never talked about it"

"Love, listen to me. I'm here whenever you want to talk about it. You didn't do anything wrong. There are a lot of things about me that you don't know either. We're not those people anymore. No one can blame us for trying to escape out past"

"Yeah, you're right" you sighed.

Gathering your power, you pushed yourself up and settled beside him, with your legs crossed. You grabbed his hand pulling it into your lap, and intertwined your fingers with his as you spoke.

"Forget the official story, there's no truth to it anyway"

"I really didn't believe your mum was a criminal and that you were in a mental asylum" he joked.

"Good-" you smiled, his words lifting the atmosphere a bit. "Truth is, I don't know anything about my parents. But I have my assumptions. I grew up in that soviet facility so I never met them. I was told it was owned by a group of socialite scientists who wanted our help"

"Our? Who's we?"

"There were 7 of us"

"Did they have the same power as you?"

"Approximately. When we were younger, we used to comply and do everything we were told but as we grew up, things started to change. We weren't happy. Who could be? Considering we were being held in cells and studied like lab rats. We started to act differently and some might even say we tried to rebel, but that didn't work obviously, and that's when the restrictions began. For the last 3 years I spent there, there hadn't been a day where the temperature passed 0°C." 

Your skin crawled as you recaled the endless nights you spent shivering your way to sleep. Everything around you was ice cold. But it wasn't for the sole purpose of torturing you. It was your only weakness. As the temperature dropped, so did the movement of the atoms that made up your body - eliminating your powers to the point where you were barely alive. 

"One day, as spring came, we wanted to break out. We made a plan, and figured that as soon as we were out, we'd be fine. We were wrong. We were off about the weather and they got us before we even exited the perimeter. That's when the avengers heard about us."

By now, Bucky's eyes were wide with genuine curiosity, his mouth agape as he took in the information you provided. With every word you spoke his grip tightened around your fingers and his eyebrows gathered even further. There was discomfort and anger in his features, but he didn't interrupt you once.

"After that, the restrictions got tougher. We realised there was no way out. A lot of things came together in that small time frame. I realised what that place actually was days after we tried to escape. My friends - or that's what I thought they were, figured out another plan. Why fight when you can just eliminate the premise?"

Bucky moved his lips but no words came out. He cleaned his throat and sat up a bit, "What- what do you mean?"

"They tried to kill me" you said, plastering a sympathetic smile on your lips, hoping it would make it easier for him to hear.

"What the fuck. Why?"

"I think my dad used to be part of that team. And I think he made me the way I am. Now I don't know why he wasn't around anymore, but that team wasn't trying to get us to do anything. They were trying to make more of me. So if I was dead-"

"There would be no reason to keep the other kids…" Bucky finished the sentence for you.

You nodded.

"And what happened?"

You bowed your head trying to find a way to put your words together. Bucky didn't rush you, just reassuringly rubbed his thumb across your knuckles, waiting. When a tear from your cheek slipped and landed on the back of his hand, you looked up and took a deep breath. "I killed them. All of them."

He didn't say anything. Didn’t move a muscle, as he waited for you to continue. 

"I didn't even want to do that, Buck" you sobbed, breaking down. "I killed over 20 people because I was afraid. I didn't even move. I was in the corner of my room the whole time, but everyone who approached me was fried to death. I don't even know how I did that. I was just scared"

"Oh, baby" Bucky cooed, pushing himself up to wrap his arms around you. You fell against his chest, crumbling in his embrace. "I hope you know that was not your fault, ok?" he asked, rubbing your back. "You were just a kid, alone and afraid. It breaks my fucking heart, those bastards. Please don't feel sorry for them"

"I feel sorry for the other kids"

"They tried to kill you, Y/n" Bucky countered, "If you hadn't killed them, I would've gone after them. All of them"

"They were desperate..."

"So were you!"

"I can't help but feel like a monster sometimes, you know? Like I'm reckless and out of control. There are times when I'm all happy and excited about what tomorrow would bring, and then i remember what I did, and I have a hard time fighting away the thoughts that try to tell me I don't deserve that"

"What you deserve is the fucking world ok?" Bucky said, tilting your chin so you could see just how serious he was. "This past couple of years, you saved hundreds of lives and I know for a fact you did it out of the pure kindness of your heart, not because you wanted to make up for anything in the past. You're a fucking angel. You're the embodiment of good, you hear me? I know you. You'll never understand how much respect I have for you, and how in awe I am with the kind of person you are. Please, don't ever think less of yourself. Ever, ok?"

Tears rolled down your cheeks as his words proved to be much more than you were able to hear at that moment. "Thanks, Buck. That's sweet of you to say-"

"It's not sweet of me to say, it's the fucking truth" he scoffed, but he somehow managed to make it sound loving. "You didn't even fucking try, but just being around you made me feel like a person again. You're amazing, Y/n. We're all lucky to have you. I'm lucky to have you."

"You're gonna make me cry" you sniffled, curling yourself into a ball against his chest, "I know you were in a dark place when we met. I'm glad I managed to help you through it"

"You pulled me through it" he sighed, tightening his hold around you. "I went from wanting to die, to thinking that I didn't even deserve the easy way out. Look at me now."

"Buck, stop"

"I love you so fucking much" Bucky laughed. 

His whole frame shook as he pulled you back down, safely holding you between his arms, "You're amazing" he added, kissing the top of your head, "Perfect"

"I said, stop" you chuckled, slapping his side, "I get it, you like me, can we-"

"I adore you" Bucky cut you off after grabbing the sides of your face between his palms. "And thanks for trusting me. I know it wasn't easy for you to talk about your past, so thank you. I'm always here for you. If there's anything ever, I got you, ok? Forever"

"I got you too" you added, kissing his cheek and then moving along his jawline, "No matter what happens, you'll always have me on your side. I'm all yours, Bucky"

"Yeah, you are, doll. All mine"

After that talk, how you managed to fall into a deep sleep will always remain a mystery. Nightmares didn't make their way into your mind, and you settled for a dreamless slumber, actually fully content for the first time in a long while.

But not everybody processed grief the same way. And if Bucky mentioned earlier that he was lucky to have you, as you were pulled out of your sleep, you realised that he wasn't as lucky as you were when it came to the mysteries that creep up on you when you least expect them.

-

"Wake up sunshine"

The sound reached your ears, but it wasn't Bucky's voice, so you just groaned in response and rolled over to the other side, completely pressing your face into the pillow.

"Buttercup, it's time to wake up"

The voice seemed uneasy, as if the person speaking was actually terrified. You opened your eyes wearily, and were met with the usual, complete darkness of your room. 

"Come on, Y/n" they spoke again. You turned to see one of Tony's maintenance robots hovering above your body, one small screen lit up on its front. Blinking a few times to rid yourself of the sleep still lingering in your eyes, you managed to make out the faces of Tony and Steve, both staring at you.

"What's going on?" you mumbled.

"You've got incoming," Tony announced, and then shook his head at whatever someone next to him had said. The microphone wasn't performant enough for you to hear what the other person said, but it was not like you cared.

"Incoming what?" you questioned, still confused out of your mind.

He turned his attention back to you, "The asshole"

You frowned and Steve scoffed, "Y/n, it's Bucky. He's not well"

"Wh-" you mumbled, your head snapping to the side, only then realising his side of the bed was empty. You shuffled your arm around the sheets, still warm. "What- what happened?"

"He's gone rogue, Y/n" Steve announced, genuine worry and guilt audible in his voice, "You need to make sure he doesn't leave. You need to stop him"

Tony's workstation. You needed to get the shackles off your arms if you wanted to stand a chance, "Tony? How do I take these off?" you asked, pointing to your cuffs.

"Already taken care off" he nodded, "Get to my desk, it's unlocked. All you need to do is actually get there. If you can"

"If I can-?" you began asking, but a loud explosion sound cut you off, causing the bed to shake as a wind blew through your room. "What the fuck!?"

"He may have found the grenade launchers" Tony smiled bitterly.

"Y/n," Steve called for you, "Please, be careful. And call us. Me and Nat will take the jet but I don't know-"

"Don't worry" you shook your head, jumping off the bed and rushing to your closet. You chose the first clothes you saw laying before your eyes and put them on, ready to go look for Bucky. "I got this, I promise"

"Oh, and Y/n?" Tony said, making you turn to him at the last minute, "Try not to fry my tower"

You nodded and refrained from making any promises you didn't know you could keep. 

As soon as you walked out the door, the sound of automatic rifles going off became deafening. Stepping over piles of broken glass, you made your way to the emergency staircase, heading to Tony's lab. You did so with maximal caution, knowing that if you were spotted, there would be no going back.

Descending the last remaining flight of stairs until his work station, a rush of adrenaline surged through you, knowing just how close you were. Silently rounding the corner, your eyes landed on Bucky's frame, easily holding one of the remaining SHIELD agents up by the neck.

He turned to look at you, eyes cold and empty. Not even rage. There was nothing there. No expression, no empathy, no feeling. It was as if he was dead. This wasn't him. 

"Buck-" you panted, raising your hands up in the air, signaling surrender. You eyed Tony's desk, determined to stall him until you managed to free yourself of the cuffs.

You took a cautious step to the side, hands still up in the air. Bucky watched you as the man struggled against his hold, legs spasming uncontrollably as he kicked and squirmed, even though it was so clearly in vain.

"Don’t mind me-" you smiled, sweat flooding your pores as you slowly approached your destination. "I'll just-"

"You'll just what-?" Bucky groaned, flinging his victim with impeccable ease. The agent's body flew across the room, crushing into the only device that had the power to help you get through this. As the work station crumpled under his weight, so did your hopes of getting out of this. 

"Bucky, hey-" you mumbled, afraid of pissing him off, "I-"

"Who the hell is Bucky?" he frowned, starting to march towards you. Your blood ran cold, knowing you didn't have what it took to keep up with him. You were never able to dodge anyone's blows, let alone his. When he reached you, his hand instantly reached around your neck, lifting you off the floor, "SHIELD?" he asked after taking a look at your attire. Although not carrying the emblem, it was probably the only explanation that made sense to him.

"Well, um-" you huffed, holding onto his wrist in hopes of not running out air, "No, not SHIELD"

"Then who are you?" he growled, tightening his hold on your windpipe.

"Fuck-" you gasped, kicking your legs, even through he didn't even flinch when you hit him. "You're not gonna believe this but, um-"

"Try me"

You looked into his eyes, hoping it would serve as some kind of a memento, that maybe he'd remember you. "You know me, Buck. It's Y/n, I'm- your girlfriend?"

Even saying it made you feel weird. This killing machine, apparently hell bent on wrecking havoc, was not the man you loved, and you cringed just imagining his reaction to hearing your words.

And it did turn out to be worse than expected, as he spun around, doing a complete 180° with your body before slamming you down on the floor. The wood cracked under your bones, knocking the wind out of you. The pain of the impact was excruciating, propagating along your body in waves of some physical agony you had never felt before. The sound of your bones cracking made you sick to your stomach. Your ears caught the sound of your arteries being torn as your organs collapsed.

And if you felt every inch of your body being shattered and destroyed, it was God's way of making you pay for your parent's mistakes, as when your wounds healed mere seconds later, the pain did not go away. Your nerve receptors still registered damage to the tissues, and no matter whether you were actually as good as new, your brain couldn't process that.

What consumed you the most was the fact that as you struggled to stand up, the pain of broken limbs lingered on. But you fought through it, gathered yourself and stood up, facing him again.

You winced with every muscle contraction, but eventually your eyes met his. He showed curiosity, along with something else. Something else which you wished wasn't determination to finish you.

"Can we-" you whimpered, extending a hand, "Can we talk?"

"Talk!?" Bucky raged, grabbing your wrist and twisting your arm to the point where he spun you around, your back pressing against his chest. "Not here to talk" he growled into your ear.

The hairs on your body stood as you heard his voice. Even though it was technically the same voice you loved more than anything in the world, it made you now shiver with a fear you've never experienced before. 

You didn't get a chance to sink too deep in your thoughts before Bucky raised your arm, dislocating your shoulder and busting your humerus into pieces. The pain cut your legs at the knees and you screamed in agony, falling to the floor at his feet.

"Stand up" he commanded, slamming his foot into your side. The momentum made your body roll away, until you settled back on the ground, face deep in the rubble. Your muscles pulled you to your feet with ease, but the pain coursing through you was immense, nowhere near close to what you thought bearable. You felt the skin being ripped from your body and when you looked down, your clothes were torn, soaked in blood, but your skin was intact. It was what you needed to keep going - to get inside your head the fact that you were fine, because at this point, the pain was one bruise away from making you faint.

"Bucky, please-" you cried.

"Stop calling me Bucky!" he yelled, starting to approach you again.

With every step he took, you slowly backed away. "Please, listen to me, just a second, please!"

He shook his head no, a demented smile on his lips as he closed in on you.

"Bucky-"

As a reply to your question, his fist flew up, slamming into your jaw, hard enough to throw you to the ground, "Why do you keep calling me-"

"What else do you want me to call you, huh?" you yelled at him, vision blurred under too many layers of tears. "Tell me, and I'll do it if it'll get you to listen to me."

"I don't want you to call me anything-" he cocked his head to the side, unstrapping a handgun from his thigh. He loaded it as you barely managed to crawl away, "You can take the pain. I respect that. Let's see how well you do with these lead bullets"

You saw them in slow motion, barely managing to duck your head behind the remains of what once was a heavy wooden bookshelf. The bullets missed your chest and face, but you saw them, felt them penetrate your skin, ripping through your muscles. 

The sound of your tissues being pulled to shreds made you feel sick to your stomach. As the bullets left your body, your wounds closed back up, leaving you a crying mess on the floor. Your throat constricted due to the wave of shock that hit your body, and your lungs started hyperventilating. Lightheaded and gasping for air, you struggled to crawl away from him, tears marching down your face and ending up on the floor, nothing but diluting the droplets of blood that had fallen from your body mere minutes before. Your heart was in overdrive and your vision blurred as every fiber of your being threatened to let you down. "Please-" you screamed, your voice breaking as you raised your hand for him, "Let's talk, please. That's all I want. Give me a minute"

But he didn't. He didn't even consider it. Instead, the force that controlled the body of the only man that ever managed to make you feel safe, tortured, destroyed and consumed your body for what felt like the better part of an eternity.

You had been thrown through walls, shattered windows, had glass shards lodged into your body from all angles. He unloaded cannon after cannon on you, used up all the ammo he had on him, only growing more and more annoyed when you refused to give up.

There was no way to know how much time had passed. Now you were standing by the window, inches away from the spot where two nights ago, you and Bucky clicked your glasses, smiling at how far you both had come. He laughed, saying he wouldn't have made it without you. And then he kissed you, confessing that the thought that maybe you couldn't have made it without him either, was what kept him going. 

And then there you were. 48 hours later, again, just the two of you. But now there weren't any champagne glasses between you, just his metal arm, wrapped around your neck, this time, as he said, for the last time.

"I don't get it-" he scowled, teeth gritted and frustration in his voice, "Why don't you fight me?"

"I can't fight you" you whimpered as your tears poured down against his cold hand, "And even if I could, I wouldn't."

"WHY?" Bucky screamed, and for a second, you thought you saw a crack there, a glister of emotion hidden deep in his otherwise beautiful eyes.

"Because I love you" you cried.

But there was none. He rolled his eyes and pushed you back, your body slamming into the window. You should've thought faster, been more witty and considerate, but terror washed over you and in the heat of the moment, you grabbed onto him for dear life, pulling him down with you, plummeting to the ground from what looked like the 70th floor of the Stark Tower. 

If until now you had been afraid of what you'd have to endure, it was now that you met true terror. You'd survive the fall, but he wouldn't. 

Even in the air, approaching the ground at a dangerous speed, he kept fighting you. Even in this state, you admired his determination - he had a job and wanted to get it done - even if that job was killing you. A man of his word.

By now, the pain was unnoticeable. If you wanted to keep him alive you had to act fast. Clinging to his body despite his vicious protests and ruthless blows, you used your momentum to turn the two of you around. And you did so at the last second, as before you knew it, your bodies crashed into the boulevard below, sinking down into the asphalt as it crumpled under your weight. 

The impact cut your breath away and there was a gnawing feeling all over your body, as if you had blades under your skin, pulling your body apart fiber by fiber. But you snapped out of it.

"Bucky!" you yelled, slapping his cheek.

He had fallen completely on top of you, his head pressed against your chest. He didn't move and the continuous buzz in your ears made it physically impossible for you to tell whether he was breathing for not.

"Bucky, please-" you cried, trying to move him so you could see his face. 

Nothing.

"No, no, no!!" you screamed, "You can't die, baby, please! Not like this, love. Please come back to me, Buck, I'm begging you!!"

You remained there and wailed, with him glued to your chest. Your arms had wrapped around his motionless frame, keeping him as close as you could. Nothing could have gotten you to stop. Tens of people gathered around the crater your fall created around your bodies, police showed up, cameras were pointed at your faces, but you didn't care. If he died, so would you. 

"You're all I have, baby-" you muttered, voice hoarse and dry from all the wailing and crying, "Please, you can't leave me. This can't be the end of us. Please, I don't know what to do, Bucky, please!"

You were soaked. In blood, and you didn't even know whether it was his or yours. God, how you hoped it all belonged to you, how the pool of blood you laid in was all yours. Tears soaked your face, pouring down your temples as your whole frame shook with your sobs, that was the true agony. You'd rather spend the rest of your days fighting for your life if it meant he got to see the sun again. You wished he'd hate you, rather than not feel anything at all ever again.

"Please-" you said again but this time your voice didn't even reach your own ears, you didn't hold that power anymore, "Please, you need to come back! You deserve so much better than this. You're the best man I have even known, you can't die like this, not today, Bucky. Not today!"

By now, the people around you had scattered. They knew your identities and for all the wrong reasons, feared you both. You were grateful for that now, you were alone with him again, as the sun began to set and a chilly New York night began to settle. 

Still, you didn't move. You still had faith. Or you were just stubborn. There was no way you'd pull away until someone either pried him off of you against your will, or someone that you trusted showed up promising they'd help.

None of them came, and you remained there, cradling his frame to your chest begging whatever God was listening, to bring him back. You didn't know if one of them heard you, or if it was just blind luck or fate, but you only realised his metal arm was lodged under your body when he moved it.

"Buck!" you cried, cupping his cheeks in your bloodied palms as literal life cursed through your veins. "Oh god, you're ok, you're alive!! You came back to me!"

You managed to hug him close one more time, before he pushed himself off of you. In the process of standing up, his eyes met yours for the briefest second. Again, nothing.

He gathered himself to his feet, wordlessly bending down to grab your hair. He forced you up and you instantly obliged, following him back into the building.

Once inside, he knocked you through a glass door, your body once again absorbing his fury. The pain had dissipated into a dull ache, and this time, you stood up faster. "I can do this all day" you sighed, the lie slipping past your lips with such ease, as if the energy inside your core wasn't running dangerously low.

"What did you just say?" he questioned.

He seemed taken aback, "I said that I can do this all day"

"Who are you?" Bucky yelled, marching towards you, determined to get answers out of you through nothing else but brute force. He slammed you back onto the floor, only to straddle your thighs and pick you up by the collar of your shit. "Why won't you just fucking die!?"

Circling your fingers around his wrists, you searched for his eyes, "Wanna know what keeps me alive?"

"Are you stupid enough to tell me?"

"I might be" you shook your head, "but I'll still tell you"

"Why?"

"Because I know you won't kill me" you cried, "I know you know me. I know you're in there somewhere. The man I love. I know you don't have it in you to kill me"

"Try me" he laughed, drunk with the power you were so willing to give him.

"These-" you panted, raising your arms in the air to show him your cuffs, "These are what's been keeping me alive but I know you won't-"

But you never finished the sentence. He didn't even think twice before ripping them off your arms and throwing them onto the floor, along with all the other mess you two had made.

You never thought he'd actually spare you. So it wasn't a surprise when the first thing he did after freeing you, was reach for his knife with the sole purpose of driving it through your chest.

But you were faster. You framed his face into your palms, releasing the energy from your body and allowing it to flow through his. It felt weird, wrong and chaotic, and the power surge wiggled itself out of your control, until a blast between your bodies sent you both flying back across the room, falling down onto the floor.

And this time none of you stood up.

-

"I leave them alone for what, a day?" Tony sighed, walking out of his Iron Man suit. 

"Holy shit!" Steve cried out, his knees betraying him as he tried to rush to you.

"No, wait!" Nat stopped him, "You can't wake them up until we get them somewhere safe. We need to make new cuffs for Y/n, and find a way to keep Bucky contained in case, you know… he's still not Bucky"

Steve was fuming with anger, nostrils flaring, "These are my friends you're talking about!" he exclaimed, pointing to your bodies on the floor, "Your friends too, Nat. You see them like this and the first thing you think about is restraining them!?"

"We need to make sure we're all safe" she sighed with sympathy, grabbing his hand for a comforting rub.

"You make sure you're safe-" Steve scoffed, "I'll make sure they're alive"

"Hey-" Nat stopped him, "If you touch her and startle her in any way, you die!"

Her words hurt him but he knew you never would. Steve felt his heart shutter just imaging what you must have gone through. He was ablaze with pure determination to prove Nat wrong, and to do right by you and Buck. "I carried her in my arms while she was passed out when we rescued her from that facility-" he fummed, pointing at you, "She never knew a man that didn't try to hurt her before. And when she woke up, she was afraid. Scared for her life. She cried in my arms and begged me to not let them take her again! She was never anywhere close to hurting me! She's good. So good. There's only good inside of her, I trust her to not hurt me more than I trust myself, ok? If I'm wrong, so be it. I die. I don't care. She deserves someone to look after her. If I had to chose, saving her would be the way I'd want to go"

His rant left Nat speechless. She just gave him a simple nod and stepped back. 

Carefully, he picked you up and carried you upstairs, as Tony put his suit back on and carried Bucky.

-

Never in your life had you woken up this fast. Your eyes snapped open and you sprung to your feet. 3 pairs of anxious eyes watched you, all of them ready to jump into action in case the situation called for an intervention.

"What-" you gawked, scanning the room, "Where is Bucky? Is he- is-"

"He's fine, Y/n" Steve assured you. He stood up and slowly approached you, arms outstretched. Your first instinct was to go for it, but when you reached him, you placed both your hands in his, and looked up at him with teary eyes.

"Are you sure?" you whimpered, "Can I see him?"

Sympathy took over his features, but Tony jumped in, "Absolutely not"

"What-" you turned to him, "Why? Did I-?"

"You didn't do anything wrong" Steve hummed, engulfing you in a hug even though you remained stiff in your spot. He rubbed your back, eager to soothe your worried mind, but you were too out of it.

“Can I just go?” you whispered, pulling back just enough so that he could see how serious you were, “I need to see him, please”

“Are you mad at him?” Nat asked with caution and your face fell.

“No!” you gasped, stepping away from Steve’s embrace, “No, not even one bit. I know that was not him, I know it’s not his fault. But when Bucky wakes up-”

“If he wakes up-” Tony sneered, roaming around the room. He nursed a glass of whiskey, as a mixture of disgust and exhaustion was readable on his features. 

“When he wakes up!” you spoke through gritted teeth. Determination coated your words and the hairs on your body stood as you refused to even think of the alternative. “He will wake up. And I have to be there”

“What if the Winter Soldier wakes up?” Nat asked.

“That didn’t stop me last time”

“Oh, no!” Tony butted in, stepping in between you and Nat, arms outstretched, “You know I’m not one to cry after money, but you and your pal left me with $37 million worth of damage. You two are one broken cup away from getting thrown into the streets”

The sum he mentioned made the skin on your back crawl. You didn’t even have $37 dollars to your name, but it made sense. Your body alone crashed through three TV’s, one gamma ray projector and if you thought about it, you remembered Bucky pulling apart one of the Iron Legion robots, and only the thought made you flinch. 

“So-” Tony said, “You two? Never in the same room again!”

“Take these off then” you suggested, pointing at the cuff on your wrists.

“Ha” Tony exclaimed, “A big chunk of that money comes from you frying all my electronics up until the 12th floor. Absolutely not”

“Tony, I’m serious” you whined, “He will hate himself. I need to be there! I need to make sure he doesn’t take all the blame on his shoulders”

He frowned, and sighed. He wasn’t an unreasonable man, and you hoped that core deep inside his chest really made up for a heart. And… it did. None of them were happy about it, but they finally accepted. Nat and Tony would have never probably given up if it wasn’t for Steve - right now, like so many times before, he really did seem like your guardian angel.

They ended up monitoring the room, and Tony waited for your signal, one hand on his cigarette, the other on the Iron Man suit. He was all talk - if anything was to go down and you would actually be in danger again, he wouldn’t even think twice before tearing his towers into pieces if it meant he could get you out alive.

And so you left, thanked them in the form of a simple nod, and headed down the dark hallways.

Oh, how you hated this.

What consumed you now had nothing to do with the pain you had endured in the past 24 hours. Its source was not physical, yet your whole body ached. You felt the weight of the world on your shoulders - and in some way, it was - Bucky was your whole world, and the fear of losing him breathed down your neck.

It had been about 20 minutes since you stopped in front of the door that led to the room he'd been confined in. When FRIDAY announced that Bucky woke up, you rushed over, only for a hazardous sense of anguish to stop you dead in your tracks. Judging by the way he sat in the corner of the room, his fingers aimlessly tracing every indentation in the handcuffs Tony had restrained him with, you had no problem telling which one of him woke up. He broke your heart. His room was equipped with 5 different cameras and 2 microphones. Completely unaware of them, he sat inches away from one, and your heart shattered, sinking 3 stories below when you heard him whimper.

It was soft and quiet. His whole frame shook as he wiped his nose with the back of his sleeve. He was hunched down, brown hair covering his perfect face, but still, his sadness brought you to tears. 

You heard him again. He sniffled as he laid back against the wall. His eyes were bloodshot, lips almost white and dry as his chest raced up and down. His muscles clenched and his feet bounced against the metal floor, it was a sight you never wished you see ever again. 

Softly, you raised a hand, and thought twice before finally knocking.

"Go away," Bucky called, voice all hoarse and dry as it broke halfway through.

You were able to see him on the small screen next to the door, but he had no idea who came to visit.

Out of instinct, you knocked again before typing in the password and ever so slowly walking inside.

Instantly, he looked up. He was surrounded by an air of darkness and despair, ever so obviously tormented to the peak of his capability.

He stared at you for a few seconds as his eyes watered, and then he gathered his lips into a straight line, shaking his head. "Please, go"

"Bucky, I-"

"Please" he cried, head falling forward as he toyed with the metal edges of his prosthetic arm. He shook his head, "Please, don't do this. Just, go"

You took a deep breath, only then entering the room far enough to actually be able to close the door behind you. Slowly turning back to him, your palms sweated as you had no idea what to say to him. 

"Can you talk to me, Buck? Please?"

He chuckled, "About what?" 

"About whatever it is you think you did wrong, I-"

As he heard your words, his hands instantly flew up to cover his face. He was, however, stopped, as the cuffs on his left wrist kept him from moving too much. While a new row of tears flooded his cheeks, his eyes met yours, "Look at me.. I need to be restrained while you're alone with me"

"Those cuffs would literally do nothing to stop you from escaping, and you know it"

"Maybe it's just a sense of reassurance"

"To who?" you scoffed.

"To them" Bucky responded, nodding his head towards one of the cameras. "I'm a monster" he added, wiggling his cuff restrained hand, "I'm a danger to everyone"

"Oh for fucks sake" you rolled your eyes, marching up to him. With absolutely no remorse, you grabbed his hand and harshly pulled apart the metal that had him restrained to the bed. Before he got a chance to say anything, you bent down, unclipped the microphone from the foot of the bed, threw it on the floor, and stepped on it, until it was nothing but a small pile of shattered plastic.

And you kept going, destroying the second microphone along with the 5 cameras on the walls as Bucky watched you with surprise. You finished by going for the door and locking it from the inside. "You think I'm afraid of you?" you asked softly, "For 6 hours you did your best to kill me and failed miserably. Look at me, I'm unscathed"

"Did you hear yourself?" he cringed, shaking his head, "I tried to kill you"

"Ok, I know I said that you did your best-" you said, mentally scolding yourself for the error in communication. "We both know that wasn't you. That wasn't you, Buck. It was Hydra. It was the winter soldier, not you. My Bucky would never-"

"Y/n-" he stopped you, "I know you don't see things the way I do-"

"But I see them the right way"

"Listen-" Bucky sighed, driving his hands through his hair. For the first time that night you actually saw his full face, his cheek and signature scowl, his blue eyes and the tilt of the corner of his mouth - your soul melted when you associated the picture with the words that came out of his mouth. "I can't blame you for being here. I can't. If the roles were reversed, I'd be doing the exact same thing. But, holy fuck-" he sighed, pausing to gather his thoughts. Bucky looked you up and down. His lips quivered and his head fell to the side as a sad smile appeared on his lips. "Remember this morning? How we talked about our hypothetical child?" he laughed and shook his head, "Even if I know we could never have a kid because we're both sterile, it was still the most beautiful thought that ever crossed my mind, Y/n''

"Mine too, Buck-"

"And what did I do?" he dismissed your empathy, "Two hours later I was unloading an AK-47 into your stomach, like the brainwashed maniac that I am!"

"Don’t say that!" you exclaimed, "Don't you dare think about things like this!"

"Why wouldn't I?" he threw his hands up in the air, "What does it matter whose fault it is? I get to live with the consequences."

"But-" you breathed out, "We can work through this. You did it before. You can't let something that hydra did dictate your life, Bucky. You deserve so much better. You deserve to be happy!"

"I tried to kill you!" he screamed, for the first time losing his calm and standing up to be at the same level as you.

"That was not you!"

"So what?" he huffed, "I was there, Y/n! I will never, NEVER get the feeling of crushing your bones out of my head! I felt your neck snap! I choked you with my arms! That is not something I can live with! I can't live a life by your side if every time I look at you I'm reminded of those horrible things I did to you!"

"Buck-" you cried, looking at him from behind too many layers of unshed tears, "Please, don't say that"

"I'm sorry" he responded in the same fashion, his pain coating every word he said. "When I close my eyes I see you laying in a puddle of blood. I can't stop hearing your screams of agony. Agony that no matter how you put it, was caused by my hands. That's not something we can live with, Y/n. You were not made for this. You really do fucking deserve someone that won't wake up one day and try to murder you in cold blood"

"And what do you deserve, Buck?" you quietly asked, searching for his eyes, "To live your life alone? Forever? If you had been with anyone else, this would have turned out so much worse. That cute barista three blocks down that always scribbles a heart on your coffee cup? She's cute, yeah. You deserve to be loved by someone, but if that someone was her, you wouldn't be drowning in guilt right now, Bucky, you'd be mourning her. Yes, you got troubles. Yes, you've got a past more fucked up than anyone else I have ever heard about. That's the kind of shit you can't change. But whatever you do from now on, is in your fucking hands and yours alone. Don't try to tell me you're not worthy of having someone, because that's the fattest load of crap I've ever heard. You're a good man! With a fucked up past! And a dark side that you need to fight! And you have me! I don't care you dropped Tony's piano on my legs, apparently I can take it! I'm here for you no matter what! You don't want to be with me anymore? Fine. But don't you dare push me away, thinking that a ruined future makes up for a ruined past"

"Who's to say I won't try it again?" he asked, "I don't know what triggered the transition. But what if once a week I end up trying to kill you-"

"Apparently you can't!" you laughed bitterly.

"Ok, so I can't" he nodded in approval, "Is that what you want? I should be your rock, your best friend, I should always be there for you. Do you want to have your whole world turned upside down whenever my brain decides to go berserk?"

"See, Buck" you sighed, "Of course I don't want that. I can't fucking stand here and tell you that I do. What kind of credibility would I have then? But you know what I want? You. You and whatever nazi shit that comes along. I want you. To help you. To have you with me. To see you everyday. If every Saturday at 10am you decide you want to kill me, you best believe I'm sacrificing my morning coffee just so we can kung fu around the living room"

He looked at you for a long second, the corners of his lips fighting a hard battle against the hint of a smile that started to show on his features. Eventually he caved and chuckled, shaking his head, "That was a bit funny"

"And fucking true," you cried, going for his hands and bringing them up to your chest. He winced, but you spoke up again, determined to not let his mind torture him.

"I love you, Bucky"

"How do you not hate me?" he choked, shaking his head in disbelief. "Can you seriously look at me and not get even the slightest instinct to run away?"

"Bucky..." you breathed out, cupping his cheek. "How could I run away when I've never seen you in more pain than right now?"

"You're an angel, you know that?" 

"I've been called a lot of things" you giggled, "Angel isn't one of them, but if that's what you want, I'll take it"

"Come here" he whispered, wrapping his arms around your frame. He had you nuzzle against his chest, his hold keeping you tight and secure. His heart beat against your cheek and your eyes watered again. There wasn't one thing in the world you wouldn't do for that heart - to make sure it keeps beating, and that it keeps the man you love alive. And content, above all. All you wanted right now was for him to accept the things that happened. You wanted to take whatever weight he was carrying on his shoulders, and put it upon yourself. "I love you so much, Bucky" you cried against his chest as your hold tightened around him, "I hate to see you torn like this. I don't want anything to ever happen to you. It terrifies me. I love you with all that I am. There's nothing I wouldn't do for you. You deserve the world, baby"

"So do you" he whispered, kissing the top of your head.

You felt his chest shake, a deep rumble echoed from the depths of his lungs. You looked up to see him fight back a sob, his eyes wide open, glossy and red, trained down on you, "I love you too much to do this, Y/n. I'm sorry, I don't think I can"

"No!" you gasped, pressing your face back against his shoulder, "Don't do that. You can't do that. No"

"We won't work, Y/n" Bucky said as he brought you even closer, "I can't look at you anymore. I can't look at you without dying inside. You don't want to live with me like that"

"Yes, I do!" you sobbed. "I'll work with anything you give me, I swear there is nothing more I want. Just you. Just you and me. Bucky, please don't do this"

He held you close for what felt like half a second, but rationally speaking, your legs were getting numb. You just stood there, clinging to his body, taking in his scent and listening to his breathing even out until he pushed you away. Oh, how you didn't want to let go. Ever. But you did, and choked back a sob as soon as you felt the cold air of the room brush against the part of your body that had been pressed to his.

"We should get some sleep, Y/n"

"Are you coming with me?" you whimpered, afraid of the answer he might give you.

Bucky shook his head, "I think I'll just sleep here tonight"

That broke you. The shock and terror cut your breath away. It felt impossible - the feeling of losing him. The amount of pain that surged through you. At that particular moment, you felt like cracking your chest open to grip your heart into your hand and pick apart the broken parts. But not even that felt good enough, you were fairly sure you'd be left with nothing. It felt like a slap across your cheek, like a cloth had been placed over your mouth and your legs cut at the knees. It felt like the end. 

Optimistic by nature, not even you could deny the reason he wanted to sleep alone. It was clear as day.

"If-" you mumbled, tears coating your face at their own free will, voice shaking as you barely managed to articulate the words over the violent sobs that ripped their way out of your throat. "If I promise to not do anything to try and convince you to stay… can you promise me that in case you decide to leave, you'll come and tell me first?"

"Oh, doll" Bucky broke down all over again, throwing himself at you again. He collapsed on top of you, molding his body around yours. "I promise, angel"

You just nodded. That was all you could do. It took another few moments for you to gather yourself and stop wailing, but you did, and then, with nothing else other than a sad smile, you left. 

Your feet carried you to your room, and you were ready to collapse on top of your bed. Eager to cuddle into his pillows. They smelled like that shower gel you got him and you hated it. You wanted his scent. Not even caring how ridiculous it sounded, you padded over to the chair in the corner of your bedroom, the one Bucky uses to discard all his worn clothes. 

You wanted to find a shirt he wore, one that smelled exactly like you knew him, but before you reached the clothes pile, your attention was drawn to the window.

Steve was standing there, facing the busy streets outside, hands in his pocket and his head turned in your direction.

"I didn't see you, sorry" you gasped, as your eyes accommodated to the darkness.

"It's fine" he shook his head, "I just figured you'd turn on the lights, you know, like the normal people. Didn't think I'd scare you"

"Yeah, sorry" you sighed, plopping down on the edge of the bed. "I did even think about turning the lights on"

He didn't say anything, but you saw him nod. He knew your pain. He lost enough in his life, and seeing his best friend sink back into his darkness was surely not easy for him either.

"Is he ok?" Steve eventually asked.

You shook your head, "He's too good of a man to be ok"

"That is Bucky" he laughed, and you couldn't help but do the same. The irony.

Steve's curiosity was palpable in the room. Words could not describe the appreciation you had for him for respecting your boundaries and not pushing you in a moment like this. But he deserved to know.

You opened your mouth to explain to him what happened, but as your mind processed everything all over again, you broke down. "I think he's gonna leave-" you cried.

Steve was quick to gather you in his arms, engulfing you in a bear hug, helping you stand on your own two feet. "What do you mean?" he asked, concern tracing his tone.

"I understand him, I do. And I promised I won't try to get him to stay if he doesn't want to. But- but I should've done more, Steve. I should've shown him somehow how much I love him. But I'm afraid he'll leave, and I don't want to live-"

"Hey, hey, hey" Steve hurried to stop you, petting your head softly before urging you to look up at him. "Bucky loves you more than I ever thought possible, ok? There's no question about it. I'm sorry I'm doing this, but I think he'll postpone it anyway"

"What?"

"The man wants to marry you, ok?" Steve smiled, "He asked Tony if he had any work for him so he could raise money. Can you imagine how that went down? He was red like a tomato, but he didn't think twice. James Barnes used the computer to look for rings for you. The Bucky I know? Never would've done this. You brought to life a part of him that no one else has seen before. He loves you. With all that he is. And trust me when I tell you, he won't stand to be away from you. You're his whole world, Y/n. He's my best friend, trust me when I tell you this is something you'll work through. I'll help, we'll all help. You're not gonna lose him, Y/n. He's so beat up about all of this because he loves you this much. He's all yours. If he decides to leave, I need you to be strong because he will be back. I got him back 70 years later. You just need to trust him. Trust his heart, ok?"

"Oh my god" you cried, "I don't know what to say"

"Don’t say anything" he chuckled, "We've been through so much together. All of us. Even if we try, nothing pulls us apart, ok? How many times has Loki died, hm?"

"God, Steve!" you scoffed somewhat amused and pulled back just to hit him, "Did you seriously compare Bucky to Loki!?"

"It got you to smile, didn't it?" he laughed. "But I'm serious. You've both been through so much worse than this. You'll get through this one too. And in case you ever feel like you won't, I'm here, ok?"

"Ok…"

Funny as it all was, it worked. He calmed you down - to some extent. Gave you hope you didn't know existed. If it wasn't for Steve, you probably would have not been able to fall asleep. And even though dreams didn't visit you, and you never relaxed enough to actually get some rest, you just dozed off. All clothed and curled diagonally on the bed, you cuddled Bucky's pillow to your chest as your eyes slowly fell closed.

When you opened them again, it was still dark out. You had no idea what pulled you awake as you struggled to sit up on the bed, but then you heard Bucky's voice again, from the doorway.

"Y/n?"

“Buck?” you gasped, turning around. Only his silhouette was visible, head hung low and hands deep in his pockets. He was leaning against the doorway, silently awaiting your response.

Right then and there, you felt your world collapse. Steve’s monologue made you actually fucking believe things would be fine, but here he was, keeping his promise. In the buttcrack of night, he kept his word, bidding you a much feared farewell.

“Is-” you sobbed, jumping out of bed and rushing towards him. You almost knocked him off of his feet when you flung yourself at him, but he was quick to reciprocate, caging you between his arms. “Is this it? You’re leaving?”

He didn’t say anything which frankly made everything worse. You broke down even further, clinging to his shirt as if it was the only source of oxygen keeping you alive - it sure felt like it.

“Look at me” Bucky urged you, tilting your chin up, “Please?”

You slowly lifted your head, your eyes meeting his.

“I’m sorry, I will make it up to you” he whispered, a frown settling above his tired eyes, “You’ll see”

“What does that even mean?" you questioned, tired and sick of this ongoing conflict that should not even have been an issue to begin with. "You don't have to make up for anything"

"I know you see things like that" he cooed, rubbing his thumb along your cheekbone. He spoke softly, his breath fanning against your skin, somehow, even in this situation, managing to calm you down. "But you can understand me too, right?"

"I don't want to" you shrugged, "I don't care. Why does it matter if I understand you or not if you're gonna leave anyway?"

"I'm not leaving, doll"

"What!?" you beamed, pulling away from his hold and grabbing his face in your palms, "You're not- but you're-"

His whole frame softened, "I'm not here to say goodbye, Y/n. I'm not going anywhere"

"Oh god" you gasped.

"Come on, come here" Bucky chuckled softly, bringing you back into his hold, "I'm staying here. I'm sorry for everything I put you through. You're the most badass woman I know and I managed to break you"

"I love you, Buck" 

"I love you more, Y/n" he sighed, "I'll make everything right, I promise"

"Oh, fuck" you breathed out relieved, "Just do whatever you want, I don't care. You're here. That's all that matters."

"And we also need to teach you to fight-" he added, "For real. And find a way for you to take those goddamn shackles off in case this happens again"

"Tony won't be too happy about it" you laughed.

"Fuck if I care-" Bucky said strenly, pointing at you, "Next time, you need to be able to stop me. And fast"

"Maybe it won't happen again"

"Maybe not" Bucky nodded, "But if it does, we need to be ready"

"Thank you" you said, "I know I didn't play this right. I know I literally dismissed everything that you must have gone through today. I'm sorry"

"You don't get to be sorry" Bucky stopped you, "Not after-"

"Then you don't get to, either!"

"Meh" he shrugged, "We'll see"

"Bucky!"

"I love you" he laughed, bending down to pick you up. He planted his hands on the back of your thighs, picking you up with ease and walking you over to the bed. You plopped back against the fluffy mattress with a huff, and giggled as he crawled his way on top of you. Instantly, his lips met yours. It was exhilarating, the kind that made your chest ache. You moaned against his lips as love transpired through his touch. It was overwhelming and the first happy tears of the day streamed down your temples as you arched yourself against him.

"I'm so weak for you, fuck" Bucky groaned, his right arm reaching around your back and pressing you against his chest. "You're everything" he added as he kissed his way along your neck, "I'm all yours forever, Y/n. I love you too much"

"I'm here, baby" you moaned, hiding your face into his shoulder, "You're mine, Bucky. All mine."

His lips didn't leave your body as he pushed himself up just enough to be able to reach the buckle of his jeans. The sound made your core ache, and your mouth watered.

There was no patience in his movements. He barely pulled his jeans down to his knees before ridding you of your pajama pants. He lodged himself between your thighs, his mouth instantly back on yours again.

"Come on" you panted, steading your arms against his strong back. Your legs found their way around his frame, ready to pull him closer.

When Bucky guided his hands between your bodies to align the tip of his cock with your opening, you whimpered in anticipation. Agonisingly slow, he trailed his tip along your folds before reaching your clit. With a blissful moan, he reached further up, tapping his cock against your bare cunt a couple of times before returning his attention back to you. 

"I got you, baby" he hummed, pecking your lips. "You ready? Is this ok?"

With eagerness, you nodded and wiggled under his weight, your pussy aching for him. "Yes, yes"

When you felt his cock push past your folds, you moaned out loud, your voice cracking with the pure pleasure that took over your being.

He eased himself in, going all the way until he all but knocked the breath out of you, and he stopped. Bucky reached down to kiss you again, his cock motionless, balls deep inside of you.

He bit down on your lip and you giggled.

"Felt your pussy clench around me, doll" he laughed, "You're good to me"

"You may be all mine, Buck, but I'm all yours too"

"Holy shit" he panted, shaking his head in disbelief. It was as if you weren't real. He'd have pinched himself, but if this was a dream, he really did not want to wake up. So he kept going.

Nibbling at the skin of your neck, he started to pull himself out of you. The slow pace was driving you insane. Your need grew so strong you felt everything. His breath, the way his hair tickled your chin, his strong around around your shoulders, his massive thighs rubbing against yours, every small vein along his cock that drove you closer and closer to the sweetest bliss you had ever known. 

He got you all worked up at an agonisingly slow pace, before his thrusts became more and more aggravated. You moaned with each thrust despite your struggles to keep quiet.

"You know how much I love hearing you, doll" Bucky shook his head as he drove himself back inside of you all the way, "Moan for me"

"Fuck, ok" you gasped, and closed your eyes as you started to fall apart. You gripped the bed sheets into your hands and pulled as he kept fucking you, deep and hard.

"You're so good, baby" he groaned, "So, so good for me"

He sunk his teeth into your shoulder, fervently sucking deep, maroon marks all ice your skin. Gutural grounds betrayed his air of self control as a plethora of curse words escaped his lips. "Taking me so fucking well. I can't keep going like this, you're too fucking tight-"

"Cum, baby" you encouraged, voice low and tender as you spoke against his ear, "Cum for me"

"Don’t have to tell me twice" he chuckled.

His thrusts started to become sloppy and irregular, as his eyes flew closed. You missed the blue of his eyes, but his mouth was slightly agape as he panted his way to an orgasm.

His chest heaved against yours, "How do you feel so fucking good?" Bucky cursed, eyes still closed as he barely managed to mumble his words between the numerous grunts of pleasure that forced their way out of his throat.

You gave him no answer, instead just clung to him tighter, "Fuck, Bucky, I'm close-"

"Come on" he encouraged, hurrying to rub your clit. His fingers found your bud in an instant, working experienced, familiar circles that almost drove you over the edge. "Cum with me, ok?"

You nodded, gathering your lips between your teeth. He kept fucking you, harder and faster until he had turn limp under his weight. You came as his name rolled off your lips, and he followed seconds after, pumping his juices deep inside your pussy. 

You felt his absolute pleasure as he breathed heavily against your shoulder. He kept going until you were both spent, and then fell down beside you. 

"Bucky-" you whined, turning over and curling into his side, the lack of contact making you more needy than ever.

"Yes, darling?" he panted, tapping your chin.

"Nothing. I just love you"

"Love you too, doll" he huffed, spinning you around so you laid on your back.

He effortlessly helped you out of your shirt and plopped down on top of you, his head resting on your bare chest. His warm, right hand cupped your breast as he closed his eyes. He wrapped himself around you, "Hold me" he muttered, "please"

"Always, Bucky" you said, engulfing him in the tightest hold you could muster. Only then did you feel him calm down completely, and there was nothing in the world you could ever ask for.

-

If you liked it, please reblog and tell me what you thought? :)

[has-gilgamesh-doneanythingwrong]

If you are still doing headcanons, Gil (any or all Gils), Ozy, Iskander, and anyone else you wanna add learning what strip poker is (if this hasn't been done already 😅)

Hello, anon! Thank you and dw this request hasn't been done just yet! Yes, you came just in time! I will be taking a short break soon tho.

LMAOOOOO XDD I love this request omg XDD more chaos in chaldea ensues. There will be a lotta Gilgamesh but i may lead the story from another character's P.O.V if that's ok ^^

Chaldea: Strip Poker Night

- The Chaldea Late-Nite Club. It was none other than a clandestine gathering within the canteen, in which servants would play daring games against one another and unleash their most scandalous confessions...it was the most hard-boiled, exciting arena for gossiping and drinking!

- In other words, it was Robin Hood's heaven. Slinking out of his room, with a cigarette lying lazily out of his mouth; Robin shuffles his cards as he makes his way to the canteen.

-Tonight was poker night a.k.a ROBIN HOOD NIGHT!!!

- When Robin Hood makes his way in the dead of night-with a nice pep in his step-he hopes to enjoy a nice game of cards with Billy, his favorite trio of Lancers and some of his other good friends, he is horrified to see whose gathered around the table on this particular occasion...

- "You certainly took your sweet time, mongrel. That cowboy was just elucidating us on your rather exemplary knowledge of cards!" As Billy mouths a quiet 'sorry' as he is caught in a rather painful headlock by a drunk Iskandar, Gilgamesh all but roars in Robin's face. "HURRY, YOU SHAN'T MAKE YOUR KINGS WAIT MUCH LONGER!!"

- 'Geh...of all the people to be at tonight's meeting...' What the hell was going on?! Reluctantly sitting next to an inebriated Ozymandias, who was speaking at length about his role as the sun pharaoh and his love of Nefertari to Arash (who was pretty sober); Robin Hood took an extremely deep drag of his cigarette.

- He'd be needing it, that was for certain.

- "Billy, 'fess up. What the heck's going on here?" Robin groans at the sight of the three drunk kings- Iskandar, Ozymandias and Gilgamesh- who were around his regular allies- Billy and Arash-and wonders how on earth they heard about poker night. 'So much for my fun...'

"Ah, you know. Just went for a nice drink, and this rootin'-tootin' barrage of kings followed me here when I said that I was gonna leave for some good old poker. And you know how they are. There's no stopping them..." Billy looked rather worn out.

"Who in their right mind would turn down an offer of poker, boy?!! GWAHAHAHAHA!" Iskandar was beyond wasted.

- "I see. Billy, you must've had a real tough time. You did well to survive them for so long." As they fist-bumped in solidarity, Robin Hood thrust his cards onto the table. "Leave the rest to me."

"Robin..." Billy was moved by his act of camaraderie.

- As Gilgamesh declares for them to get a move on, Robin explains the rules of poker to everyone; as he shuffles the cards. However, when he explains the concept of betting with chips; there is a great uproar.

- "How dare you assume that I would do something as pathetic as bet my funds on such a game!" Refusing to bet any money, Gilgamesh complained. "However, this game would be much too banal if we were to bet these fictional chips." He tosses the chips to the side in frustration. Gilgamesh wanted some real stakes to be tested here, not just imaginary coins!!

- Despite his suggestion, everybody is at a loss of words as to what they should gamble on instead. That is, until Iskandar comes up with a rather novel suggestion.

-He explains how during his time in the Fourth Holy Grail war, he enjoyed travelling with Waver to the store to buy new magazines. "In one particular magazine, I came upon a startling new discovery. In there, people play a game named STRIP POKER!!!" Iskandar explains the rules with gleaming eyes.

- As Robin's face pales as soon as the words are out of Iskandar's mouth (but idk why robin is ripped af); Ozymandias cheers with joy; as Gilgamesh slams his hands on the table. "I'm greatly impressed by such a suggestion, Iskandar. You truly are a great King!!!"

- Robin looks to Arash to comfort, but Arash seems well up for it. And when he points wide-eyed at the kings as he spins towards Billy- he catches Billy laughing. "Give it a go, Robin. I can't wait to see them make fools of themselves." Billy wasn't wrong there, however Robin didn't particularly want to make a pratfall against opponents as vicious as them, either!

- All in all, the game is a horrendous mess. Why on earth was Gilgamesh landing a straight flush every other turn? And why the hell was Arash almost naked by the tenth turn?!!! 'Shit...Well, we are up against people with some incredible luck...' Thanks to Robin's B+ luck stat, he was managing to hang in there, even if it was by a mere thread. Sadly, Robin had lost his entire upper layer of clothing.

- At current, Iskandar had lost only his cape...and the toga covering his lower half. Robin wasn't sure why Iskandar was so eager to remove such large pieces of clothing so early on within the game, but then again; Iskandar was quite the force of nature.

- As Billy was the youngest member of the group; he got to play as the banker who would keep a record of the bets. In other words, he didn't have to strip at all! With a wide smirk on his face, Billy basked in the glory of his lucky escape.

- Finally, Ozymandias destroys absolutely everybody's bets on a turn; and even Gilgamesh is forced to remove some of his armor. What is particularly amusing is that despite not wearing many clothes in the first place, Ozymandias has only had to remove his cape thus far.

- "Though I'm enjoying this game," Arash was still smiling despite the position he was in. "When will we stop? I'm not really up for losing all of my clothes tonight."

-'Wait, he's actually enjoying this?' Robin almost chokes on his drink. 'That Arash is one hell of a guy...'

- "FWAHAHAHA, we're not stopping until the cockerel crows! We're going until morning, mongrel. Although I highly doubt you'll last that long. Royal flush!" Gilgamesh was a man on a mission, aiming for the ultimate annihilation of everybody else.

- Overall, it is a rather fun (not for robin) and extremely competitive night that ends in none other than OZYMANDIAS' WIN!

- Somehow, Robin manages to lose in one piece, whilst Arash...well, let's not focus on that. As for Gilgamesh and Iskandar, they were now entirely topless; downing mega mugs of beer.

- 'That was a fucking nightmare.' Robin hoped that he'd never see them on poker night again.

- "You really have the devil's own luck," Billy claps Robin on the back, as he hands him back his cloak. "Your bluffs are top-notch, Robin."

"Well you know. Let's just say that I've met many tyrants in my past life..."

THE END ;3

[hermannsthumb]

Can I get something where Newt barges in on Hermann doing some yoga in the most scantily clad yoga gear ever...

ok this is for like 3 people and wholly inspired by the hermann tank top renaissance on side twitter this past week. 18+ under cut!!!

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

The good thing about living on what used to a pretty bustling base—Newt considers—is that the average athletic hopeful has their pick of at least three different gyms at any given time. And the good thing about that—Newt further considers, as he half-jogs down to the gym closest to the k-science lab—is that the rangers don’t bother with any gym besides the one directly off of their quarters, because it’s got the sparring mats and the nice equipment and all that shit. Look, Newt’s not exactly the most ripped guy in the world. Or even really very fit. When he feels the rare urge to hit the gym, he doesn’t want to be struggling over some push-ups while rangers with muscles as big as his head lift 300 pound barbells and bust open punching bags or whatever. It’s...degrading.

Lately Newt’s been hitting the gym more frequently than usual, on account of a something that passed between him and Hermann at lunch in the mess a few weeks back. Hermann had caught eye contact with one of the muscled rangers across the room, looked down at his little bowl of soup, and said—calmly—“He’s quite handsome, isn’t he?”

Anyway, that’s why Newt has to get all buff now. 

It’s disappointing to see that the gym lights are on, but maybe no one will take any notice of Newt if he sticks to a deserted, badly-lit corner or something. He’s so set on creeping inside undetected that he doesn’t even realize who it is that’s beaten him there that morning, until he hears a small, surprised “Newton?”

Newt looks up sharply. Hermann is on a yoga mat in the middle of the gym floor, his left leg stretched out far to the side, and bent halfway over to touching one socked foot. But that’s not what stops Newt dead in his tracks and sends a fiery jolt of arousal rocketing straight down to his stomach, and it’s not even the little grunting noises Hermann’s making as he goes: that’d be Hermann’s outfit. He’s forgone his usually twenty wrinkled old layers for a pair of baggy grey yoga pants and the absolute thinnest white tank top of all time, a tank top which shows off shapely, toned arms, a thin layer of sweat over each, and collarbones, and clings to a shapely set of pecs, which has ridden up just enough to show off a patch of pale stomach, with a small trail of light-colored hair leading down, and... “Newton!” Hermann repeats, shooting up in alarm. 

“Wha?” Newt says, and then he trips over a weight bench.

It’s one of their more uncomfortable trips to medical.

"Don’t tip your head back,” Hermann says.

“Thanks,” Newt says, except Hermann’s handkerchief is pinched to his nose, so it sounds a great deal more nasal. “I know, dude. Not my first rodeo.” He’s gotten his ass kicked for mouthing off in bars to jackasses more times than he cares to admit. He pulls away the handkerchief and scowls at the blooming scarlet stain, as if doing so might stop the source of it. It doesn’t; another splotch of blood lands on his hand, and he quickly shoves the handkerchief back into place. “Unbelievable. I’m gonna look so fuckin’ gnarly tomorrow.”

“Well, I suppose it’s an lucky thing you haven’t broken it,” Hermann says. “Or anything else, for that matter. How on Earth did you manage to do that, anyway?”

“I was thinking about,” Newt casts about for a suitable lie, “...kaiju. You know me. Haha.”

Newt had landed pretty flat on his face. The way Hermann had sprung into action would be admirable, really, and Newt would feel grateful enough to treat Hermann to takeout coffee for at least a week, if the act that necessitated fast action hadn’t been so completely and utterly mortifying. Hermann is still in his little yoga pants and tank top; he didn’t even remember to grab his shoes from the gym before he escorted Newt out. The knotted drawstring of the yoga pants is hanging well down his thighs. Skinny motherfucker. Since when has Hermann had pecs? “Aren’t you cold?” Newt blurts out.

“Cold?” Hermann says.

With a great deal of difficulty, Newt forces his eyes up from the swinging drawstring of Hermann’s yoga pants to his torso. His half-bare torso. With his shapely arms, and his shapely pecs, and his elegant collarbones. If Newt squints hard enough, he could probably see Hermann’s nipples through the white fabric. Especially now—the Shatterdome really is always so cold, with the A/C blasting, and Hermann is usually so sensitive to it... Oh, God, someone help Newt. “Because you’re in,” he says, and then swallows a few times, “th—that. Tank top.”

Hermann looks down at himself, like he’s forgotten what he’s wearing—like it’s inconsequential what he’s wearing—and hums. “I hadn’t really noticed—I was a bit overheated, I suppose, from my exercises.”

“Your exercises,” Newt says.

“Yes, my stretches,” Hermann says. “They do wonders for keeping my leg limber.”

Limber; Hermann is limber. Hermann, in his little yoga pants and tank top, grunting away while he stretches out, is limber. “I didn’t know,” Newt says. He’s started to feel a bit light-headed again, and hopes Hermann doesn’t notice the funny way he’s walking. He’ll be grateful when they get back to the lab and he can sit down a little, or maybe run back to his bunk and take care of his...problem.

They walk under one of the larger A/C vents; Hermann gives a little shiver. Newt forces his eyes all the way down to Hermann’s socked feet to avoid catching sight of any potential physiological responses in Hermann’s pectoral region. “Maybe you should put on a sweater,” Newt says, helpfully. He watches Hermann’s cane move up and down with each step. He’s never seen Hermann not wearing a sweater before. Not even at Shatterdome parties. Up until today, Newt would’ve thought that Hermann wore sweaters to the beach, some sort of special waterproof wool. Maybe he wears tank tops to the beach.

Hermann says something.

“Uh-huh,” Newt says. He thinks about the small beads of sweat that had been dotting Hermann’s exposed collarbones.

“Were you listening?” Hermann says.

Newt looks up. “No,” he says.

“I said we ought to go to the gym together, in the mornings,” Hermann says. He gives Newt one of his rare, blinding smiles, his funny mouth going lopsided. “It’s too bloody quiet in there. I’d appreciate even your company.”

Unlimited access to Hermann’s bare arms, his bare shoulders, his collarbones. Grunting. Stretching every which way. It sounds like a fucking nightmare, or maybe a hellish wet dream. Besides—Newt doesn’t go to the gym. Not like Hermann. Apparently. “Sounds cool,” Newt says.

Hermann looks pleased. Stupid, stupid Newt.

He jerks off furiously in the empty communal showers that night, thinking—extensively—about what it would be like if he was jerking off on Hermann’s stupid tank top instead.

They make plans to meet at the gym the next morning at six, with a trip to the mess hall for breakfast at seven after. Hermann, it turns out, has an extensive workout routine, but not quite an extensive workout wardrobe, and so—as Newt attempts a few puny sit-ups in his oldest pair of MIT sweatpants—he’s treated to another view of Hermann’s weirdly gorgeous arms straining and sweating in that stupid tank-top. He watches Hermann stretch and bend each leg and lift some of the smaller weights for ten minutes before he realizes that he hasn’t actually moved a single inch since sit-up number three. Hopefully Hermann hasn’t noticed. “You’re not tired out, are you?” Hermann says, having apparently noticed. He groans as he arches his back. He has a small birthmark on his left shoulder. “I don’t mind finishing a bit—”

“No!” Newt says. “Not tired. Just, uh—” Hermann shuts his eyes and groans again, a little louder. “Just—” Hermann’s tank top has ridden up, giving Newt a glimpse of that little dusting of hair, the elegant vee of his hips... Newt bites his lip to keep himself from saying something stupid. “I. Uh.”

Hermann, bent half-over, looks up at Newt through his pretty dark eyelashes. Newt cracks.

“Holy shit, dude,” he whines.

Hermann straightens up languidly. “Mm?”

He doesn’t even look surprised when Newt reaches out a fumbling hand towards his knee, nor when—a moment later—Newt surges forward to kiss him clumsily. Hermann’s mouth merely curves up in a smirk against his, and he fists the back of Newt’s ratty old t-shirt to draw their bodies tighter. “I’ve been wondering when you would do that,” he says, and his voice hitches up in a small gasp when Newt presses his kisses onward across his jaw. “You’re the least subtle man I know.”

“Don’t even care,” Newt mumbles. He nips some of the soft skin at Hermann’s throat and lifts his hands up to squeeze his biceps. They’re nice and sturdy under his fingers. Is this moving into new territory with Hermann way too fast? Maybe. Sort of. They’ve made out a few times at parties before, and once Newt gave him a discreet (fully-clothed) handjob in a kinda nasty alleyway outside a bar on his birthday, but nothing, like, serious. Though it’s not like this is serious. Lab partner stuff. “Holy shit, dude, I didn’t know you were so strong.”

“Strong?” Hermann snorts. He goes easily when Newt urges him onto his back against his dumb little yoga mat; his pupils are wide and dark, and a pink flush has started creeping down his neck. He drapes his arms over Newt’s shoulders. “I didn’t know you cared about those sorts of things.”

“I don’t,” Newt says. “I didn’t.” He tracks more kisses down the dips of Hermann’s collarbones, following that blush. “I guess it’s just you?”

He doesn’t wait for an invitation before rucking up Hermann’s tank top. He hasn’t got a six-pack, or anything like that, but Newt doesn’t really care, because Hermann’s pecs rock even more when they’re bare. He squeezes at one just to see Hermann make a face, and—laughing—ducks down to graze his teeth across the left one, taking care to catch at his nipple. Hermann hisses sharply and grabs at his hair. He looks a little silly with his top bunched under his armpits, but it’s kind of cute too. Newt trails his tongue across Hermann’s sternum and tries his luck at the other side, too, and is pleased when Hermann gives a full-body shudder after each. “Ah, Newton,” he moans. “I’m—sensitive—there.”

Newt kisses over the spot instead as way of apology. Then he starts to trail his kisses lower, down Hermann’s slightly concave abdomen, where the skin is luminously pale. Newt amends his earlier assumption that Hermann wears tank tops to the beach; he’s not sure if Hermann has ever even stepped foot on a beach. “Newton,” Hermann moans again. He gives Newt’s hair a little tug when Newt takes the drawstring of his yoga pants between his teeth. If he goes down on Hermann good enough, maybe Hermann will let him test out last night’s fantasy... “Mm. Be quick about it. We haven’t got all—”

The door to the gym swings open; two rangers, chatting away happily, step inside, and stop in their tracks when they catch sight of Newt and Hermann. Newt flings himself off of Hermann, but it’s too little too late. It’s pretty obvious what Newt and Hermann had been doing. “Oops!” one of the rangers says, turning their back to them. Their friend turns away, too, and laughs awkwardly. “Sorry, Dr. Geiszler, Dr. Gottlieb. We didn’t realize this was—uh. Occupied.”

Hermann yanks down his tank top. 

“No worries,” Newt squeaks. “We’re. Uh. Just about done.”

The door clicks back shut; Newt hears laughter. Hermann is covering his face. “Hand me my bloody sweater,” he says. “We’ll finish this later.”

[hongism]

mists of celeste ➻ four

➻ pairing: ??? x fem reader ➻ genre: space au, pirate au, space pirate!ateez, angst, eventual smut ➻ Word Count: 4.1k ➻ Rating: M ➻ Warnings: language, violence, guns and weaponry, blood, future warnings tba ➻ summary: Sneaking aboard the ship of a renowned space pirate may not have been the best idea, but you’ll have to make do with what fate has handed to you

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mists of celeste act one ➻ part four

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The air around you is stiff and unmoving, cold as ice yet you don't feel goosebumps rising across your skin. A dark night sky looms above you with its scattering of bright stars. Near the center of the indigo sea lies a brilliant red moon; bright in it's blinding color. Something about the scene is familiar, the clearness of the sky reminds you of something from your past. No clouds, no breeze, no sounds of nightlife.

It's a sense of complete and utter peace. Something damp seeps through your clothing, touching your skin and leaving you cold. You sit up and press your palms to the ground below you. Instead of meeting solid ground, however, you're met by water. It splashes against your bare legs, and you withdraw your hands from the surface in an instant.

Water?

You bring your chin up, glancing across your surroundings. It's a lake, a shallow one yes, considering that your legs aren't fully submerged and you seem to be placed in the middle of it. A chill runs down your spine. You know exactly where you are. The water beneath you runs black, and the enormous moon hanging in the sky is only present on one planet. It's only then, when you discern where you are, that you realize you're in a dream and not reality. You push yourself to your feet, nearly slipping on the slick mud beneath the layer of black water. With a quick glance down at your body, you see that a thin white garb clings to your skin. It's something you would never wear willingly, and seeing as there's an old man perched at the opposite side of the lake, you know that he must be in control of this realm.

You wade through the water in the direction of the man. As you get closer, his features become more clear under the vibrant red moonlight. A familiar face to go along with the familiar scenery. He prods at the pebbles along the shore of the lake with a crooked stick, paying you no attention even as you splash water across the rocks with your steps.

"It's been a while since I've seen you, old man," you greet, soft tone carrying through the air with ease in the absence of a breeze. The rugged form before you doesn't move. He continues to prod at the stones near your feet and pushes black water against your ankles. You wait a moment in the hopes that he'll look up at you and respond, but he still acts as though you don't exist.

"Daichi," you try again in attempts to garner his attention. It works this time.

His chin snaps up, a wrinkled face becoming clear before you, and blue eyes stare into yours. Piercing and cold, just as you remember from your last encounter with the aged man.

"Ah, Umiko." His wrinkled lips stretch into a smile, unveiling yellowed teeth that are only accentuated by the moonlight above your heads.

"That's not my name," you refute. Daichi continues speaking as though you didn’t say a word, eyes falling together as he smiles without cease.

“It’s been quite a whi–”

“I said that’s not my name,” you repeat with a bit more venom creeping into your tone. “It hasn’t been for a very long time.”

“Hmm.” He hums, looking up at you with those perceptive eyes. You can almost see your reflection in them, between the clear blueness and the gleam of the moonlight coming down on them. “Do you remember what it means?”

“Child of the sea,” you answer without hesitation, the words ingrained in your brain after hearing the phrase repeated over and over.

“Child of the sea. I wonder if your new name is as fitting for you? Y/N, is it?”

“It’s far more fitting than Umiko ever was,” you mutter in response, turning your head away from the old man.

“Have you done well, child?”

“As well as I could, and things are as good as they can be given the… situation,” you respond with a flatness to your tone that Daichi mimics with his next words.

“You’re not safe where you are now.”

“Here I thought you didn’t give two shits about my well being.”

“Umiko, listen to me. This is ser–”

“Stop calling me that and maybe I’ll listen!” Your voice booms throughout the clearing. The black water under your feet seems to quiver as you speak. Daichi’s eyes flit down to the ripples across the lake, then back up to you.

“Someone near you is a dangerous threat, one that you’ve never encountered before. You must be careful. Guard yourself wisely.”

“Worry about yourself, old man,” you reply, tone falling back quiet once again. “Besides, it’s pointless for the dead to worry about the living.

“You’re always so sure of yourself, aren’t you? So confident that everything will work out your way? Tell me, Umiko, did things work out your way on Eros the first time you were there? The second? The third?” Daichi pushes himself to his feet. He towers over you as his back straightens, the age seems to ebb away from his body as he moves closer to you. You tilt your head back to get a better look at the man. In his eyes lies disdain. It’s not the first time you’ve seen the emotion from the man. “I said tell me, Umiko?”

“And I said to stop calling me that.” You take a shaky step back, foot nearly catching on the slide of the mud again, but you manage to steady yourself before falling.

“A Siren is nearby, Y/N. You must be careful. He could invade your dream space at any minute. Don’t you realize that? This haven, this paradise, this dream so close to your heart is vulnerable. Guard yourself against him.”

“I don’t need your advice anymore, old man. In case you haven’t noticed, I’m an adult now and old enough to make my own decisions and give myself advice.” You spin on your heel, toes digging into the mud as you move, and face the opposite direction. Blinking down at the swirling waters under you, you take a deep breath before sharing your final words with Daichi. “There are no Sirens left. All they are is a myth, one that needs to die like every other myth in existence.” Your reflection in the water looks back at you, ripples across its face before you kick it away in anger.

Your words earn you no response from the old man behind you, although you weren’t expecting much in the first place. The dream is beginning to fade, darkness swirling into one large mass, but before the serenity around you can disappear entirely, you catch sight of something new. Amongst everything that is familiar and known, this is completely foreign. A new figure, shorter than Daichi for certain, but also bearing dark hair. He stands off at the other side of the lake, near the shore like Daichi had been, but his back is facing you. He bears garbs like yours, white and flowing despite the lack of a breeze.

In all the dreams you’ve had similar to this one, no one other than Daichi has paid you any visits. You know it’s too late for you to investigate now, the dream is dissipating too quickly, but that doesn’t keep you from breaking into a sprint in his direction. Feet splash against the water, bringing it up against your legs. Your running serves no purpose in the long run; before you even near the figure in the distance, your dream fades away and bleeds into white.

You jolt as though shocked, body lurches forward, and you find yourself surrounded by white all the sudden.

“Holy fuck!” The words, surprisingly, don’t fall from your lips. Instead, it’s the kind and gentle doctor from before, standing at your side as you come to again. “You scared the hell out of me!”

You don’t manage to respond, chest heaving as though you’ve just sprinted a mile in your sleep, and all you can do is lay back on the bed slowly.

“Are you alright?” Yunho inquires, one hand coming to rest on your shoulder as you fall back against the bed.

“Y-Yea, yea. I think I was just having a nightmare.”

“Well, I’m glad you’re finally awake now. I was worried I had accidentally put you in a coma or something like that. Your heart rate seems to be awfully low still – well it was before you woke up at least – but it’s not causing any issues. How are you feeling?”

“I feel fine, yea. No issues here.” You glance around the room with wide eyes. Things are still a bit hazy seeing as you just woke up, but it’s all clearing up rather quickly. “How long was I out this time?”

“What?” Yunho turns away from you, fiddling a bit with the tablet in his hands. “What do you mean by “this time”? This is the first time you’ve woken up since I conducted the operation.”

“No? That’s not right,” you refute. “I woke up some time ago and tried getting up but… something happened. I think someone stopped me? Someone with dark hair? He used a sedative shot on me.”

“Well over half the crew has dark hair, so you might need to be a bit more specific on that one.” Yunho chuckles at his own comment. When he notices that you aren’t even smiling, he clears his throat and redirects the conversation. “Your vitals were all stable throughout the day. I never noticed anything out of the ordinary, and neither did my assistant. It must have been a dream due to your fever since it didn’t completely break until yesterday.”

“Yesterday being?”

“Yesterday was day 3 of you being unconscious and day 7 aboard the ship.”

“Ah… so why – why did the captain withdraw his time limit?”

“Oh, he was never serious about that!” Yunho laughs again, then sets his tablet down. “I finished operating on you in 17 hours so I guess he was a bit impressed, but he was never going to actually stop me from helping you. He always says things like that but is never serious. Just wary of strangers on his ship, you know?” Yunho glances over at you as he speaks, and you nod in return. He moves closer to the bed, long fingers dancing over your forearm and toying with the catheter sticking out of your skin. “Your vitals are all stable and steady, so that means you’re pretty much good to go. I just need to make sure you’re all functional and such. Routine checks, yea? Same routine I use for every crew member.”

“What do you mean by crew member?” You ask with a slight tilt to your chin.

“Hm? I didn’t say that?”

“I-I – no, I’m pretty sure you di–”

“Let’s get you to your feet.” Yunho disconnects the IV from your catheter, tugging it out gently, then holds you by the forearms as he pulls you up from the bed. “I need you to walk to the end of the room and back, okay?”

“Why exactly?” Your legs feel a bit like jelly when you get up, but staying in the same bed for three days straight probably doesn’t help one bit. “It was my arm that was shot not my leg.” Yunho laughs as though you just made the best joke in the universe.

“That doesn’t matter. This isn’t about seeing if your arm works. I’m quite confident in my abilities as a healer, thank you very much. This is just to test your strength and see if your body matches your mind, not a test of the recovery of your injury. That will come later with Hongjoong and the Lieutenant.”

You relent with a sigh, twisting your arm so that you can grip Yunho's elbow in case you begin to fall, and move forward with hesitant steps. Yunho stays close to you as you walk, thanks in part to the death grip you have on him.

"How are you feeling so far?" He asks after you've taken a few steps.

"Just fine." The steps are coming easy so far but that relief doesn't last long. By the time you reach the midpoint of the room, the muscles in your legs are beginning to feel weak and shaky. Yunho moves with you as you stumble on your next step, his free hand darting out to latch onto your arm and support you further.

A ding and whoosh resound behind you two, and Yunho snaps his head towards the door. You follow suit a moment later. It’s San – the little Cheshire with the streak of white hair – who stands in the doorway, eyes narrowed and piercing as he scans the room before his gaze lands on you.

“Captain wants to see you, Healer,” he announces while keeping his gaze fixated on you. “If Y/N is up, that’s even better because he wanted to speak about her.” San nods in your direction but his words are unmistakably meant for Yunho.

“Couldn’t Captain come to the med bay instead? Y/N still isn’t strong enough to walk around much since she’s been bedridden for so long. Besides she only just woke up today.”

“Listen, I was just sent to fetch you and check up on her,” San says. He lifts his arms as though to defend himself, finally dragging his gaze off you.

“It’s not your job to check up on patients, San,” Yunho argues as he releases your arm and takes a step in the other man’s direction. “Here’s your checkup though: she’s not well enough to walk all the way to the bridge of Captain’s quarters.”

San’s expression remains stony as he blinks back at Yunho without moving. The silence is deafening until San decides to respond, matching the vehemence in Yunho’s tone. “I’ll inform Captain then.”

Yunho huffs when San spins around with an added flair of drama. Once the door slides shut again, you opt to speak up on the ordeal that just transpired.

“Are things always so tense between the two of you? This isn’t the first time I’ve witnessed you argue and I’ve only been awake for a grand total of 3 hours at best in your presence.”

“Just… a difference of personalities.” Yunho drags his tongue over his teeth, turning back to you. He rests a hand on your back and guides you back to the bed. “I save people. San kills people. That’s how things work. Our jobs. It’s what we’re supposed to do, what we’re here for, why Hongjoong recruited us in the first place. We’re polar opposites.”

“San and I aren’t much different then,” you say, tone quiet and eyes watching Yunho’s face for any change in expression. He shakes his head a few times.

“Quite different actually. San has killed people I could’ve saved in the past. Taken my patients from me and killed them without reason. You haven’t done that.”

“Is it the other way around as well?”

A laugh breaks through the tension of the room, and Yunho throws his head back. “Yes. If I’m going to save someone, then I will do just that. I’ve stopped San in the past.” He eases you onto the bed, moving to pick up the IV. You blink at him, only now noticing that there’s a certain brightness to him that wasn’t present when you first met him.

“Wait…” His hands hesitate near your catheter, eyes darting up to meet yours. “Has – has your hair always been blue? I thought – I could’ve sworn it was different when – was it just my fever?”

Yunho laughs again and continues his motions. “At least your senses are still intact even if your muscles aren’t. It was different a few days ago, yes. I just changed it because another crew member asked me to dye his hair, so I went ahead and joined in on the fun with him.”

“Wow, a healer and a hairstylist? Hongjoong got quite the catch, didn’t he? What can’t you do?” You joke as Yunho reattaches the wires.

“Not much, honestly!” Yunho responds with equal humor to his tone. “I’m good at everything really.” He sends a wink your way, and you nearly choke on your saliva. He has no shame. None whatsoever.

“Pardon?”

“You heard me. Don’t act shy on me now.” Yunho pulls back, a smirk playing at his lips and you don’t know how to react other than to swing your foot out. You hit him in the shin, his body bends in half, a choked laugh escaping from his parted lips. “Damn, okay then. Noted. Y/N and dirty jokes don’t play well. Could you try stretching your arms a bit? I wanna see how the right one is doing.”

You do as asked, moving and stretching your arms out to the side.

“If the stitches bother you or start coming apart at all, let me know. I can go in with laser stitching now that it’s been a few days. I wasn’t able to close it all the way initially so I couldn’t do laser stitching.”

“It feels normal,” you admit as you rotate your arm. “A bit sore, if nothing else.” Frankly, if not for the bandage around your bicep, you wouldn’t even know that there’s a hole in your arm; it just feels like you had an awkward fall on it.

“Good, good. I put you back on the IV just to maintain fluid levels. We can probably try to get you some real food and water today after Captain visits.”

“That’d be nice,” you murmur more to yourself than to Yunho. The minimal snacking you did over the first few days aboard the ship was nice and all, but a proper meal sounds much more desirable.

“Is your side feeling alright as well? I almost forgot to ask.”

“What? Oh, uh, I forgot all about that.”

“That’s a good sign! Not forgetting, but it must mean that you aren’t in any pain. I figured out what happened with that by the way. The pneumothorax was caused by a severe force to your left side. You likely got it after you were shot or while adrenaline was still pumping through you since you didn’t seem to be showing any signs of pain there. Do you remember getting hit in the side or anything like that?”

You stare down at the bed, rummaging through your brain for any memory of a close-quartered fight. The only thing you remember is getting in a small scuffle with the dark-haired man guarding the docking station.

He kicked me after I pinned him down, didn’t he? Must have. How else would I have gotten the injury?

“Yea vaguely.”

“Well, the details aren’t important. I fixed it all up regardless.” Yunho hums and moves around the bed to sit atop a small stool. He peers at you in silence for a moment. You stare back, matching his silence.

“Well this is awkward,” Yunho announces after basking in the quiet for a few minutes. “Maybe I should go back to the dirty jokes and innuendos.”

“No, no, no!” You protest in an instant. “Please don’t.”

“Ha! Here I thought they were gonna grow on you. What else is there to talk about? Captain is taking his sweet time walking over here.” Yunho taps his chin, eyes leaving yours to stare up at the ceiling instead. “Oh, where are you from? I’ve… well, there’s no nice way to put this really, so I’ll just spit it out. I’ve seen you on bounty papers before. Frankly, I know next to nothing about you aside from the information on the bounties. Which is limited to a list of your crimes and missing data.”

“That’s because I normally make a point to keep it that way. The less people know about me, the less likely it is for them to find me. Makes sense, yeah?”

“Makes sense but… it sounds like a lonely life. Always living in fear of who might see you or find you. Never telling anyone anything about yourself. Not being able to trust anyone because you worry that they might sell you out.”

“Go out and get a bounty the size of mine on your head. Talk to me about trust after that.” Your words come out with a bit more scathing fervor than you intended, but the point still stands. The difference between you and Yunho is the bounty. Yours is what? Three? Four? Five times the size of his? Not to mention you are wanted dead whereas Yunho is wanted alive.

“It wasn’t meant as an attack, Y/N. Honestly, it wasn’t. I feel for you, that’s all. I wouldn’t wish that kind of loneliness on anyone.”

You pause, eyes trailing over Yunho’s form as he brings his gaze back to you. Sadness lingers in his gaze, a sadness you wish not to confront, and thus you divert the subject again.

“What have you seen on the bounty papers?”

“This and that. They’re all the same, aren’t they?”

“I make a point of avoiding my own bounty papers.”

“Ha, that’s a fair goal.” Yunho chuckles and leans back, gaze moving for the ceiling again. “I’m from Kebos, if you’ve ever been there.”

“Of course I have,” you answer with a slight smile.

“Of course, of course. You’ve probably been to every planet in Aurum’s system.”

“I have, yes, but not to every city on each planet. I’m still too young for that.”

“Hmm, I was about to be even more impressed but I guess I’ll have to rescind that now. I’m from the biggest city on Kebos, Reinig. Have you been?”

“Only shortly,” you sigh as you push your head back against the pillow. “On military business.” None of your memories from the military are pleasant ones, memories you don’t want to revisit, and thankfully Yunho must get the hint that you don’t want to talk about it.

“Growing up there, I used to think it was the ugliest city but in the winter they put up all these lights. At night the lights make the snow change colors and look absolutely magical.”

“I went in the winter but there wasn’t much time to glance around at the scenery.”

“That’s fair, yeah. I think it loses its appeal as you grow older, but I wouldn’t know that for certain. I haven’t been back to see then in well over ten years I think. My mother… she used to take me to the winter festivals when I was little.” There is a tinge of sadness to Yunho’s tone at the mention of his mother. You know that feeling all too well, having been in Yunho’s shoes before.

Yunho’s ego seems to deflate before your very eyes as he frowns at the ceiling.

“Ah but you didn’t come to hear my tragic backstory.”

You open your mouth to respond and reassure the man in some way (even though you don’t know what to say in these sorts of situations), but the chance is stolen from you as another whoosh resounds. Yunho pushes his seat back at the sound and stands up immediately. You move as well, although only with your head.

There in the doorway stands the captain, his platinum hair parted down the middle and fanned over his forehead. He’s not alone either, a much taller man bearing black hair and paled skin at his side. You know that one, and based upon the glare of his eyes as he stares you down, he remembers what you did to him at the docking station. Seonghwa, was it?

You pass a cynical grin his way. “How’s the head, pretty boy?” You ask, drawing a lilt to your tone that’s meant to be snide. The man merely passes a genuine smile back at you.

“Feeling great, princess.” His smile grows as he steps into the room, the shorter captain following suit albeit absent of the pretty smile.

“Lieutenant. Nice of you to join us,” Yunho greets as he steps around the foot of the bed. You instinctively pull yourself up and sit up straighter. “Captain. You as well.”

“Let’s just get to business, Yunho.” Hongjoong steps out from behind the lieutenant’s back, dark eyes boring into you. “I want to get this over with.”

✧  ✧  ✧

a/n: hello hello it’s tuesday yaknow what that means :D i hope you all enjoy this chapter! i pROMISE things will be picking up in terms of speed from now on aofijeoijfdio let me know what you all think of this chappie!

tag list: @faeriewoobin​

consider sending me a ko-fi!!

This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International License.

[dragonrajafanfiction]

The Red Well (Part 3) Hearts and Minds

This is it folks! The MC is EMPOWERED! @rurifangirl

The smoke of liquid nitrogen was gone and people finally saw the true appearance of the holy skeleton. It looked like a crippled embryo. Its swollen head had a large single eye. What looked like a tail was actually a flesh-wrapped spine. Its ribs protrude outside the flesh layer, so it must have used these sharp ribs to insert into the host's spine and manipulate the body when it was parasitic. The holy skeleton did not die under the blade of Gathering Clouds. It twisted and made a "hissing" sound. The golden eyes flash at you, but in the glass capture chamber it could not touch any host that could be parasitized. Without the power of a body it was so weak it couldn’t escape through glass.

King General used a strong flashlight and peered through the outer layer of flesh of the skeleton. Inside the half-developed organs were faintly visible.

You could still feel yourself shaking, not only in fear of this thing and its hunger for you, but in fear of Ruri Kazama who was even stronger. Now you finally understood why Ruri Kazama offered to take you here, rob Herzog of the fetal blood and give it to you. It wasn’t just about saving your life. When you stared into his swirling pupils of red and gold, you finally grasped that this was about more than just survival. He wouldn’t stop at Herzog and Chisei. 

World Domination.

With you.

You have a nightmare vision of this unstoppable hybrid, killing everyone you know, piling them up like hay. Z understood his true nature. He warned you several times and each time you felt you had a reason to ignore him. His last words were “This one’s on you.”

You thought you were smart, strong, and quick enough to change and control your situation. But you were nothing compared to Ruri Kazama. Nothing!

There was only one way to free yourself...

"Look at it, how beautiful it is! What a perfect way to evolve! Before it was executed by the Black King, it actively evolved to live in parasitic form! It perpetuated its existence in this way!" The king pressed his hands on the capture pod and glorified the ugly parasite.

"Ah Excuse me!.” A voice from somewhere in this massive cave spoke up.  “..if the god is a parasite ...... then how does it help us evolve?'' 

 "It's not enough to find a parasite, you also have to find a host and food for it." The King smiled, "Only a very few hosts in this world can be parasitized by the god, such as Izanagi and Susanoo, but unfortunately the ancient descendants did not understand the great meaning of this parasitism and killed the god before it completely evolved into the new white king. It is not the god in this form that can give us the path of evolution, but the White King after the evolution is complete! We will see the new king ascend the throne and open a new chapter in the world!''

Pillars of light descended from the sky, enveloping you, the King General and Ruri Kazama in them. The helicopter's rotor blades cut through the rain curtain, a loud roar echoing through the well. It was a black helicopter with the cabin door open, and Gen Chisei sitting in the cabin, his long black trench coat whipping and flying.

At the last moment, Hydra arrived on the scene.

 Ruri Kazama, who had been silent, seemed to wake up from a deep sleep. His eyes lit up, and golden mandala-like patterns seemed to turn under them. He slowly lifted his head and looked up at the black shadow that had fallen from the sky, the gale blowing away the fringes of his Kimono to reveal his ribbed chest.

"Brother! Brother! You've come to see me? Are you here for my graduation?" He laughed wildly in the wind.

"Or have you come for my enthronement ceremony?" His smile tightened into a malicious grimace, leaving only biting ferocity, "With your blood to stain my vestments with your sacrificial red?"

Just like that, Ruri seemed to have forgotten about you. But he already told you what to do. 

Hide.

The ancient and stern language descended from the sky, just like the language of God echoing in the sky. The field of “Majesty" enveloped the Red Well, and tens of thousands of stainless steel wall panels fell off the well walls, pressing the king's wrath on everyone's head. The rules of gravity were forcibly changed. Everyone felt ten times their weight on their bones. 

You flee. You flee like you fled the soldiers in Black Swan Bay. The huge metal plates smashed down on the helpless Devil Clan elites. But you were not affected and you had the Sword of the Gathering Clouds to aid you. The super sharp master blade cut through the thick steal plates like paper as you headed for the safety cabins. You didn’t understand why you were spared Majesty’s influence. Was this payback for rescuing Sakura on the Tokyo Tower? Or did Chisei understand that you weren't exactly a willing participant in all this?

All around you the moans of the members of the Devil Clan were echoing. They were like souls trapped in hell.  You pause in your flight.

A young man had managed to grab your heel. His tears were pooling under his eyes. They were tears mixed with blood. His jaw looked distorted and broken. His chest was whistling with blood. He couldn’t have been older than you were, but he struggled.  “Help… me…”

Before you could answer a massive shadow loomed over you and a steel plate came down and smashed through his neck like a guillotine, sending his head flying clear off the platform into the well below.

This wasn’t fair. These were people. They didn’t know Herzog was bad any more than you did as a Black Swan Bay orphan. Again, your mind superimposes Black Swan Bay onto the Red Well. If Herzog had taken you to the capitol as promised, wouldn’t he still be your beloved father? Would he not have infected you with his distorted visions of evolution? These people were just trying to survive! They were all that was left of the Devil Clan. Everyone else was in prison!

What was the difference between them and you? They were just like you! They were being slaughtered like animals and they were just like you!

The Red Well suddenly echoed with a mighty roar that came from your wide open throat. It was plaintive and piercing like the cry of a lonely wolf or a mourning mother over her fallen child. It was full of sorrow but also fierce frustration that this shit keeps happening and you want it to fucking stop! Your throat stretched and rattled painfully. If you could stop the world with your voice, you would roar until your voice gave out!

Your eyes explode into a kaleidoscope pattern of black red and gold as the blood in your body finally takes full hold. Ruri’s blood has replaced your own. That blood was yours now and all the power that came with it!

Ruri was laughing wildly from somewhere in the cave. “Do you hear that brother! It’s just as it’s written! A rib was taken from a man and from it was formed into a woman! See! I can quote fairy tales too!”

Your hands seize a firm hold of Gathering Clouds and you spin and a dazzling horizontal arc! The secret of this mighty sword is that it could control the wind. One of the first emperor hybrids wielded it to push a wildfire set by his enemies back into them, burning them to ash. In this case, the sword produced a wind so powerful it knocked back all the massive steel plates. Even though they were heavy in normal gravity and ten times heavier under the influence of Majesty, this dragon-tail sword blew those plates away like they weighed no more than feathers! They scattered like dandelion tufts blown by a child!

There was nothing in your mind other than stopping this mindless slaughter. You didn’t care about the Devil Clan versus Hydra. In this matter, you had to agree with Ruri Kazama. There were no good guys versus bad guys. There were good guys in Hydra like Sakura Yabuki and there were good people in the Devil Clan, like Chime and Chance. The only evil that led both astray were Herzog and Bondarev. They should be turning those weapons on them! 

Chisei did not come alone. The heavily armed Hydra members followed Gen Chisei out of the cabin of the helicopters. They fired at the shaft wall with grapple guns and hung high from them, but Chisei Gen fell straight down. Kazama Ruri stretched the fuchsia-red sword in the air, Chisei’s twin blades made a dazzling ray of more than ten meters long, and the three blades fought against each other. The violent sparks illuminate the faces of the estranged brothers. Chisei’s  face is indifferent like a stone carving, but Kazama Ruri’s is like a bloodthirsty evil spirit.

Around them, gunfire and explosions continued. The Hydra Elites hung in the air by their grapple guns and pulled the trigger before they had even completed their fall. A hailstorm of bullets fell from the sky. The moment Chisei jumped out of the cabin, “Majesty” was lifted, but the engineering team and gunmen of the Devil Clan were cut down and suppressed by gunfire before they could get up and dodge. The Hydra elites were not going to spare anyone in the well. They were thugs among thugs, and now, even though they dangled from ropes, they hold their weapons as still and stable as professional assassins. 

A hurricane of violence had erupted in the Well of Bones. Ruri and Chisei’s blades were like lightning, the gun battles were like thunder, and you were howling like the wind.

You ran straight towards the wall, and then straight up the wall. Your face is like the mask of Medusa and your hair quivered like black snakes. You didn’t care how fast you were running, it wasn’t fast enough! People were still dying! If this were just up to you and just about you, you probably could have killed everyone in this well much more easily. That was how you were taught in Black Swan Bay. But now you’d been infected with a new philosophy.

The righteous philosophy of Caesar Gattuso! What was right mattered more than what was efficient. Human lives were worth more than the blood of gods! Your whole body felt like it was on fire as you cut through all the weapons of the Hydra members hanging on the walls. You were just as fast as Ruri was. Hydra leaders took aim at the Devil clan only for the muzzles of their guns to fall off and a strong breeze to shake them from the wall. You were able to easily outrun the bullets that strafed after you as you cut heavy weapons to pieces and cut them from their wires so that they would fall to the maintenance platform.

The surviving Devil clan members cheered as they crawled out from cover and picked up weapons to counterattack, and they aimed at the vital parts of the Hydra assassins, giving them fatal injuries while they were hanging in the air. But then those cheers changed to fearful confusion as this whirlwind of a woman descended on them and their weapons split in half even though they never saw you cut them.. “Stop fighting! Don’t you realize who the real enemy is?!” Your voice doesn’t sound like your own. It sounds like a mix of Ruri Kazama’s voice and yours, speaking double toned, like someone possessed.

“Traitor! She’s a traitor!” Someone yelled among the Devil Clan ranks

“Kill that Devil woman!” Came shouts from the Hydra elites on the wall.

Yelling erupted from every side of the well from both the Devil Clan and the Hydra elites. You’re suddenly enveloped by a hail of bullets from both sides who now viewed you as a dangerous enemy and united to fight against you. A rueful bitter voice echoed in your head. “Well, at least they answered your question. Their real enemy is you… apparently.” A strong wind burst out and the bullets of the Hydra and the Devil Clan shot back into their faces. Dozens of men on both sides on the conflict fell dead or seriously wounded in an instant.

You put one hand over your eyes. You cackled at your own despair. You couldn’t stop yourself laughing uproariously. Your laugh rose to an insane screaming pitch as you rose above the floor of the maintenance platform on a gale of wind like some sort of evil witch. “Fine… Fine! Have it your way. Tear each other’s throats and die here with no one to mourn you!” While you felt the evil of Herzog and the justice of Gattuso, you still had little patience for idiots.

“Leave her to me! I’ll take care of the rest!” A man darted forward. You could tell by his speed and the ferociousness in his eyes that this one was different. The sword he carried glow brilliantly as though it had been superheated. But to you he was just running like a child with a toy light saber. What mattered more was that he was a leader. He had influence.

You met him, but not blade for blade so as not to smash his weapon by accident. Instead you dodged while he struck at you again and again but you were like a ghost in the air. “Tell your men to stop fighting!” You say.

“I will not let you resurrect the god!” His blade suddenly burst into flames, extending its reach and sending a wave of fire at you. The fire ignites your dress, turning the white fabric to soot and exposing your midriff. Delicate white scales sparkled on your abdomen in the rain as though you were made of diamond. The man’s eyes widened in horror as you just absorbed what should have been a devastating blow.

“The god is already resurrected.” You tell him, your voice is shaking, pleading. The rain drops run down your face in a torrent. “You don’t understand its nature. I don’t think you can control it. If you don’t work together with the Devil Clan, you’ll never-”

Now it was the senior member’s turn to laugh. “Ha! Work together? Work with the greedy people who got us into this mess in the first place?!” He pointed the sword at you. His eyes blazing gold. “You’re just a child. We’ve been fighting this war for all our lives. Our sides were determined on the day we were born and I have sworn to follow my righteous path until I die!”

“These people are your family!” You scream desperately. “Chance’s real name was Ichirou Inuyama! He was Inuyama!”

You suddenly see his whole body glow like fire and his clothes burned away. Under his combat suit he was strapped head to toe in layers of plastic explosive! He’d prepared to meet a super-Devil like you or Ruri.

He howled against the wind. “DIE! DEVIL SCUM!”

Time seemed to slow as the raging ball of flame burned his body to ash and came towards you, and the roaring gale of Gathering Clouds bubbled outward to meet it. The force of the suicide vest was so powerful, the flames licked around your body, surrounding you in fire. But eventually, just as in the legend, the wind won out. The full force of the suicide blast flew away from you. Not only that, the blast was fed and accelerated by your ferocious wind until that fire  expanded into a fireball a hundred meters wide and heated up to nearly 2,000 degrees. It engulfed men and women who had thrown away their broken guns and pulled out knives and swords. If they didn’t have knives and swords, they fought with fists, feet, and bits of debris. They didn’t even look up when the ball of fire took them over and snuffed out their lives. The massive fireball left corpses and flames and devastation in its wake. 

But you didn’t mean it. You were just defending yourself.

A loud crash interrupted you before you could panic.  You jerked your head around and saw Chisei Gen standing under a shower of burning wreckage from a helicopter that was rolling down the wall. Gen Chisei did not dodge and it was too late to warn him.

 You run forward a few steps but the whirling blade that had broken off from the wreckage already chopped into Chisei’s shoulder, crushing the man flat to the ground as the rest of the blades cut in turn. Immediately afterwards, the crumpled black fuselage hit him and slid across the ground before finally crashing into the tall steel liquid nitrogen tank. Huge amounts of liquid nitrogen poured over the wreckage of the helicopter, frost spreading along the surface of the wreckage and rising up as a thick mist.

 The fuel tanks ruptured and the fallen wreckage was ignited. Electric sparks flashed and buzzed as if a thousand suns were burning at the bottom of the well, a wave of gas forcing everyone still alive apart.  Columns of light swept across the bottom of the storage well with columns of dust, fiery air currents and flying debris blew across the area.

The Hydra and engineering teams  of the Devil Clan were still fighting. They didn't even realize that the leader of the Hydra group had been killed in action. All of them were immersed in a great sense of mission and anger. No matter what the outcome of this fight was, no one could stop anymore. Even though you had the blood, the power, and the faith in justice, you felt lost and without any hope of victory.

You’re not even sure you wanted Chime to come back any more. Maybe this is for the best that he sleeps forever with his brother.

This was not Black Swan Bay. These weren’t little children running from explosions or cold-blooded men. These were adults. These people were choosing to kill each other. Even if they were deceived, they truly believed the deception. Even if you took all their weapons and tied them all up, they would still move and crawl on the ground in an attempt to tear at each other with their teeth.

The trap that Herzog had set was not this well. The burning man was right. The trap had been set and carefully laid in their minds and cultivated from the day of their birth. Just like the trap of the suicide pills. These people had to, not only choose to live and not seek death, but also choose to let others live and not seek the death of other people.

"So sad the end, ah... the family line that stretched for thousands of years, the guardian of Japan, just ended its mission.'' Herzog stands by the burning wreckage and laments in a poetic voice, "From now on in the world, there will no longer be any such thing as Emperor.”

"But no matter," he smiled faintly again, "Emperors were outdated anyway."

Ruri was strangely silent. With his brother gone, shouldn’t he be attacking Herzog?

Herzog hoisted the carrying case in his hand, the glass capture capsule is contained in that case. He has got what he dreamed of all his life. It is time to leave this well. You huff. What a magnificent bastard. He didn’t have to do anything to kill anyone here. Everyone was happy to do it for him, yourself included.

You stare at the sword in your hand. What a poisoned pill that sword turned out to be!

At that moment, a loud heartbeat came from behind him, like a sudden booming death knell, like something returning from hell! Hands covered in white scales pierced the metal skin of the wreckage of the helicopter, and crystal clear claws snapped around the head of the King General!

The flames in the wreckage sucked in and out, getting more and more fiery, as though something huge was breathing in the cockpit. Each time it inhaled a huge amount of air from within the wreck, it exhaled a gushing fire from it.

The suitcase fell to the ground. The King kicked and struggled. Not only is the pressure on that sharp claw increasing, but the sound of breathing was taking on a threatening aura. Kazama Ruri didn't move. Those dull, soulless eyes lit up again, and he watched with interest as the claw slowly tightened. The king's mask was crumbling, blood dripping down from the cracks.

The wreckage suddenly burst apart! The few people who approached the wreckage were immediately killed by the flying flames and debris.

Out of the firelight came the dazzling white shadow, someone who could no longer be called human. He was such a beautiful and hideous creature. He possessed gnarled muscles and rippling sinews that proclaimed what power was in this incredible body. The surface of the scales of his skin were like golden-red brocade in the firelight. The skin on his back split open. Slender bones opened up. Bloody wings stretched themselves out for the first time He was drenched in blood from this wing beat but the wounds on his back healed at a speed visible to the naked eye, after which the fierce and savage back muscles bulged.

The exoskeleton-encircled face could no longer smile or frown, and the newborn Chisei breathed up into the sky with a windy roar in his throat.

He was something between an angel and a devil, a mistake that should not have been made in this world.

 "Dragon's blood! You ...... you used dragon's blood?!" The General exclaimed.

Chisei’s voice was deep and echoing. "Yes, as an emperor, I can't kill you, but as a ghost, I can surpass the limits of an emperor." He said softly, "I've been a ghost slayer all my life, yet I didn't understand until this moment why those ghosts crave for power.''

He looked up at the dark night sky, rain pattering on that hard face: "When there is already boundless darkness where you are, how can you not fly to the flame?"

You gasp. Those words. Not those words! Those are Herzog’s words! Why was Chisei quoting the words of the dying Devil Clan? You reach out your hand. And then stop.  With a slight popping sound, the skull of Herzog broke like a water pipe. He threw the King's body on the ground and lowered his emperor-like golden eyes to observe. The corpse never moved a single bit.

The King surprisingly just died. And suddenly everything made sense. You were too occupied to think about it before. Didn’t Chisei fall helplessly before Ruri Kazama just hours ago? Didn’t Chisei always save Majesty to the end of the battle as an escape plan because it rendered him as helpless as a newborn kitten? In this instance, he’d thrown it out at the beginning! But he suffered no side effects. He wanted to kill Ruri Kazama so badly that he went against his own morals and principles.

Morals and principals were so troublesome. You think to yourself bitterly. They get in the way of efficiency. 

After what you’d seen of Ruri Kazama and after what you’d seen of the god. You didn’t believe you could survive here much longer and you didn’t think Chisei would win. It was best to escape while these two musclebound idiots solved their differences. Knowing them… they’d kill each other and you never got in the way of that before, and bitterly decide not to get in the way of that again.

Since Chisei didn’t suffer any from using his Soul Skill you decide to use your own Soul Skill. You press your foot to the ground and let the spiritual roots take hold without reservation. Mental filaments spread like vines and touch every part of the Red Well until you feel like you wear it as a second skin. You needed a way out. Then you could bury this place in magma. The magma wasn’t far from here. After all, it fed the god that caused all this. You would simply return it to its place.

A strange signature, like three footsteps, catches your attention. Someone had walked up near the rim of the well close to the machinery lift platform. You can’t see anyone, but they’re there. Who could be up there?

Your heart suddenly leaps into your throat and your memory throws up the scene on Tokyo Tower of Ruri beheading and then severing the body of the King in two only for it to pop up again in a second place! The person standing up on the platform was likely the real King! This body is a fake!

“Ha!” You snarl and take the Heavenly Cloud blade and strike the ground. It summons a huge tornado that lifts you off like a rocket. You really did have wings and you were going to  pounce on this King creature like and eagle and kill him for real. 

But this man was always prepared. What would he have for you? Bombs? Hah. Deadpool? Hah! There was nothing that could save him!

When you approach the rim of the well, it’s too late that you see the fine nano-fiber mesh that surrounds it. It wraps around you like a spiderweb, and clings tight as you collide with it and push with forward momentum. The Sword of Gathering Clouds slips from your grasp and goes falling back towards the well. Immediately your upward momentum comes crashing down onto the flat land that surrounds the Red Well and you roll several feet before coming to a stop next to an armored boot. Your hands are bound, your legs are bound. The nanofibers are crushing into your skin.

You stare up into the sky and a pistol is pointed right at your forehead. Herzog’s masked face comes into view. He waggles his fingers in greeting. “Hello.”

[occasionalfics]

the arrangement (1/1)

main masterlist | thor masterlist | ko-fi 

Summary: The past, present, and future collide when communication stops and your mind spins. But what happened? And what can you do to fix it?

Pairing: Sugar Daddy!Thor x Writer!Reader

A/N: I’ve basically only made posts on this blog to complain about how I can’t write anymore. This isn’t something I thought was gonna fix that, and I still don’t think it’ll make everything better (there are still at least 4 series I’ve started and never finished over the last year that might never see the light of day), but at least I got it out from start to finish. It’s only lightly edited because I genuinely just want to share it, so please enjoy it for what it is.

It’s also 100% wish fulfillment fantasy because I probably very much need to be cared for and dicked down.

Warnings: Mentions of sex (a lot of them), one scene that starts at the end of sex but isn’t super detailed or anything. Language. 18+ content ahead, read at your own risk.

Words: 7,536

You pretend to be asleep when he leaves in the morning. At first, when you started doing it weeks ago, you were just doing it to see what he was like when you weren’t looking. Just to confirm a few things that you didn’t want to have to go through his security camera feed to see because that would make you feel disgusting.

Every morning, he gets up at the same time (even weekends), showers and dresses, puts his pack together for the day, then sits on your side of the bed and bends to kiss you. It’s sweet. He asked if he could do it months ago, when this whole arrangement started, and you’d said yes thinking he wouldn’t stick with it.

But as far as you can tell, he has. Every. Morning. He makes sure to say goodbye to you, through kisses or words or both, every morning, even when you look and breathe like you’re asleep.

But two weeks ago, things at night have changed that don’t let you rest easy. It’s nothing drastic - nothing that makes you fear for your safety or anything - but...it’s enough.

He’s been coming home later each day. Minutes apart, like you won’t notice. He says less each night. Disengages from you earlier. You haven’t even had sex in a week.

A whole week!

That bothers you because sex is part of the arrangement. Now it s, anyway. You like it that way.

You were a struggling artist trying to pay bills and he was a wealthy Real Estate exec who’d happened upon a piece of yours in a literary journal that’d been mistakenly placed in his office one morning. Two pieces, actually; you’d written a poem and a short story for that edition, just to be able to go the extra mile and show what you were made of.

Thor’s always said he knew he needed to meet you the second he’d put the short story down. He’d contacted the literary magazine and its parent company and, finally, got through to someone with your phone number.

Yeah, it was really weird getting that phone call. Of course you were cautious to meet a man that’d tracked you down over a story, but he seemed genuinely interested in more of your work. It’d attracted you to him from the start, enough that you felt comfortable accepting his offer to meet in a very public cafe during one of their rush hours.

The rest was fate.

--

Dark henley, light jeans, pushed back dirty blond hair and the brightest blue eyes you’d ever seen. Holy shit you thought. That’s the single most beautiful man I’ve ever seen. And he was there for you.

The instant his eyes met yours, he recognized you. There was no chance to turn around, no time to even give thought to leaving. The beautiful man waved, smile gleaming as he stood to greet you. You felt pulled in by the atmosphere of him, like if this were to go on for too long, you might actually start rotating around him.

If only you’d known.

The energy between the two of you was electric from the start. He was kind, funny even, and his questions were never too much. He wanted to know what you were working on, was sad when you told him you had a novel in the works but it was too slow going to expect anything soon because work and home were too much for you to juggle them all regularly.

“My day job is kind of a nightmare,” you told him, hoping to wipe some of the disappointment from his beautiful face. “Like, I’m sure it’s actually not that bad, but it leaves me feeling...empty. It’s bad enough that, sometimes, I can't write. But I can’t afford to just leave it, so...writing takes a back seat.”

You knew it was too much to say, and yet, it felt like the weight of a whole planet was lifted off you once it was all out. Until another weight settled - the weight of losing your passion to the everyday grind of life.

“I know this isn’t how writing works,” he said, “but I was wondering if I might be able to commission something. Anything. I don’t have anything in particular I want - just...more of what you do.”

That caused you to pause. You’d never taken a commission before. You’d never even known it was possible for a writer, outside of journalism, really. 

“You want me...to write something...for you?” you asked him.

He nodded. “No stipulations. No word count minimums. Just...take twenty minutes every night and write me something. Here.” He pulled out his wallet and ignored your protests as you tried to dissuade him. He held out bills you didn’t even dare look at, and when you didn’t take them, he reached further and forced them into your hand, curling his fingers around yours.

You both stopped as electricity coursed through you.  His eyes met yours, his face set in the same expression of shock as yours, but then his hand closed tighter around yours, and he managed to get you to keep the bills as he sat back.

“Twenty minutes a night. Just get something out. It doesn’t even have to be good yet, because I know it will be, eventually.”  He winked. “In a week, we’ll meet back here and see what you’ve got. Deal?”

How could you deny him that? All he wanted was...your writing.

--

This morning, after he shuts and locks the front door of his penthouse apartment, you slowly rise. With Thor gone, the place is too quiet. Creepy, almost. And with how distant he’s been every night for the past two weeks, you doubly don’t like being alone.

You think about calling Wanda and having her come over, but you remember that she still has a day job. Natasha and Bucky and Steve and Sam all still have day jobs, too. You’re the only one lucky enough to have met Thor Odinson, to have him care for you like he does.

And god damn it, up until two weeks ago, you were so sure he cared so damn much for you, even beyond your arrangement. He’d moved you into his penthouse after you’d signed the contract your lawyers had drawn up together - just for an ultimate layer of safety for you both. He’d insisted you use his home office as your own because he never used it and preferred to keep his work and home lives separate anyway. He gave you a generous allowance, essentially still paying you for your writing, and got out of it only a handful of simple things you could give him.

First glances at everything you put to paper. Thor’s an excellent editor, even though it’s not his chosen profession. He’s honest and intellectual, funny and dedicated. He loves listening to you read what you’ve written that day - or did, up until two weeks ago - and you both cherish the time you spend going over additions and line edits, suggestions and the like. You think - or thought - it thrills Thor that he gets to be the first person - the only person in the world at the moment - to see your book.

Until two weeks ago, regular sex. Your lawyers were both anxious about adding that into a legally binding contract, so the two of you had agreed on a verbal basis that, yes, sex would be good. On the table, as it were. You’d both laid out your boundaries and talked about what you liked, and you’d thought you were compatible but...something’s changed. And you don’t like it.

Exclusivity. He promised he’d never keep you from your friends and family - and you’d promised the same - but romantically and sexually, the two of you were exclusive. It’s crossed your mind - and then been erased immediately by force - that...maybe he’s been distant because he hasn’t kept up this part of the bargain.

You wonder if this was enough. Or maybe too much? He’s...different now, and you’ve gone over what happened leading up to two weeks ago a million times in your head, but nothing stands out. Not anything that might make him lose interest without, you know, consulting you about it. You’d thought there’d been something in the contracts you’d signed about full disclosure when it came to discontent within the relationship, just so that issues could be dealt with or an amicable breakup could ensue without too much pain and misery in its wake.

Then...what? What’s changed his mind so recently that he barely even talks to you, let alone asks for your writing anymore?

--

The first day you’d lived with him - not including move-in day - was full of rest, disbelief at your situation, and a whole shitton of productive writing. You had an office! An office with a view of Central Fucking Park! Thor’s chair was unquestionably comfortable, and the surround-sound speakers he’d installed provided the perfect immersive sound to get you into your writing headspace.

Around lunchtime, it’d finally hit you that, entirely by circumstance, you were a full time writer. You were one of the lucky ones - like Harper Lee or Stephen King or someone else that didn’t have to work a soul-crushing job that sucked the life out of their eyeballs. You felt unstoppable. And you decided to order food in for lunch as a treat.

When Thor got home, you ran out of the office with a manila folder full of the chapterSSSS you’d written that day. More than one. To completion. Well, unedited, but still - thousands of words on paper in one day? You were too excited to keep it to yourself, even without him asking for you to share.

His smile reached his electric blue eyes. Thor put his bag on the kitchen counter, then swept you up and carted you off to the couch along the entry wall in the office. He kept you snugly in his lap while you read out your work to him - at first a little shy, even blushing at times - but growing in confidence as you went. He interjected with a few notes every few minutes, but mostly, he just listened.

When you reached the end of the final page, his lips gently touched the skin just below your ear. Tentative, you could tell, but cute. It lit your body up with goosebumps, had you putting your folder down to look at him. You breathed the same air for a beat before you asked, in a tinier voice than you’d expected, “What’d you think?”

His smile returned. “I love it,” he said. “I have some thoughts, but I see so much potential. I really believe in it, you know?”

“You do?” you asked.

He nodded. “Of course. You know I think you’re extremely talented. Gifted. I can’t wait for more.”

You let the folder slide off his lap and onto the seat next to him before kissing him. It hadn’t been part of the plan, but wouldn’t you know, it was amazing.

There was just something about someone so openly supporting your work, loving every step of the process with you that set your insides ablaze in the best way possible.

Thor broke the kiss just to say, “Apparently, I can.”

--

He hadn’t asked to read your new chapter the night before, but when you step into the office, you find the folder on the couch instead of the desk, where you’d left it yesterday. There’s a piece of paper, torn from inside a notebook, with a list of thoughts in Thor’s hand. Everything is fair and nonjudgmental, and of course it’s helpful for the next part you know you’re going to write.

Of course it is you think. The irony isn’t lost on you.

Still in your robe and panties - you’d hoped that would’ve been enough to seduce Thor last night and set things back to how they were before...well, yes, two weeks ago - you sit at the desk, open your computer (the one you’ve had since before this whole arrangement) and stare at the blinking cursor.

You want to write. You know what’s coming next for your main character. You have Thor’s list of suggestions - lists, really, as you have a file organizer full of sheets just like the one you found a moment ago on the corner of the desk - and your brain is ready to work, but something stops you.

Your stomach feels knotty. Your chest is heavy, and your eyes won’t focus. Writing is impossible  like this, but you can’t fathom doing anything else.

You get out one word. Another. One more. A sentence.

You freeze again. That sentence sucks. It’s wrong, and it should never exist. Thor would hate it.

Would he? Even if he did, he’d never say it like that...right?

The uncertainty inside you rises, and with it, insecurity. If he can’t even listen to you read anymore, if he can’t tell you to your face what he thinks of what you’ve written...are you even good anymore? Is he avoiding you because, suddenly, he no longer believes in you?

That seems drastic, but you can’t think of anything to counter it.

You sigh because, before  Thor, you never needed validation like this. You know it’s not that you must know if you’re still a good writer, but that you want his approval. You want, specifically, to make him happy with your work again.

Groaning, you know this book will never get finished if Thor doesn’t tell you what he’s thinking. Maybe you didn’t start this project because of him, but you’d written more and more because he’d asked (and paid) you to. You’d gotten through chapter after chapter because he’d encouraged and helped you. 

Because he’d said he believed in you.

--

It was a slow, slow day. You turned off all the clocks and taped over the one on your computer with masking tape so you could focus on the page, but not knowing what the time was didn’t make the words come, and it didn’t make the day go any faster. If anything, it slowed everything down even more.

When Thor came home, he called out for you, but all you did was groan defeatedly in response. You heard him chuckle to himself, and then he was in the office with you, standing just behind the chair you were curled up in, both of you facing the mostly blank page.

“I barely wrote anything today,” you said, covering your  eyes with the palm of your right hand. “I don’t know what’s wrong so don’t ask.”

“But there are words there. Read them,” he said, his command soft but true.

“I don’t wanna,” you mumbled indignantly. “They’re awful, Thor. I hate every single one of those words.”

“It’s only a few paragraphs you have to get through-”

“Ugh! Don’t remind me!” You lower your face to your knees, replacing your hand with the even less comfortable surface of your bent legs. And then you groaned like a baby,  whining because nothing you did all day would ever amount to anything.

Thor shook his head and simultaneously turned your chair to face him while he kneeled so he had to look up at you.

“Hey,” he said softly, poking at your shin. “Y/N, look at me please.”

You couldn’t deny him, but you didn’t have to lift your head completely. Just enough for you to peek down at him suspiciously.

“You wrote something today. That’s more than most people on this planet can say they’ve achieved.”

You scoffed. “Yeah right.”

“I’m being serious. Do you have any idea how in awe of your ability I am? Honestly?” When you didn’t respond at all to that, he reached out and gently rubbed your leg. “Babe, you’re an author. You create worlds and people every single day. Every day for the last few weeks you’ve written thousands of words, and that’s… Fuck, that’s more than impressive. So you had one day where you got out-” He looked at the computer screen, seemed to count, then shrugged. “Four paragraphs? So what?”

“I’m a fraud,” you muttered.

“No, you’re not. You’ve done so much work in so little time, I’m surprised this hasn’t happened before today. You’re a wildly effective and competent writer, and you’re going to finish this book. But you’re also going to have slow days. Even the slow days are days you still get work done, though.”

He let you sigh, but nothing else.

“Read them to me. And take tomorrow off. I will, too.”

That got your attention. You sat up a bit, still staring at him incredulously, only for a different reason now.

“Really?”

He nodded, then pushed himself up far enough to kiss you. “Really,” he promised under his breath.

--

No matter how you replay the last three weeks, the last month, the last two months, you can’t figure out what happened. What you did. What caused the change in Thor? Was it your writing, or just...you?

If it were you, thought, you can’t fathom why he still comes in to kiss you goodbye every morning. That hasn’t changed. It’s the only thing that’s stayed the same, in fact.

And it isn’t enough to calm you. It’s nice, routine, but it’s not…

You sigh.

It’s not late night conversations - pre- and post- sex - about art, both yours and otherwise. It’s not reassurances and validation and understanding. It’s just shallow but nice little act he can put on to try and make things seem normal. It’s the least amount of effort he can put into this whole arrangement, and it’s so fucking frustrating to know that.

You decide the computer is useless. Trying to write today is useless. You shut your laptop and push away from the desk, then get up off the chair and head back into the bedroom. You’re on autopilot when you go to  the closet and pull down a suitcase, not even thinking twice before filling it up with haphazard piles of your clothes from the closet and dresser. The thing won’t even close, but you don’t care.

With what’s left of your stuff, you get dressed. You decide Central Park is too pretty to just look at today, so you dress warm and head out, automatically double checking that your keyring is in your purse before getting in the elevator.

The sky is clear, and the air is crisp. You head into the park, taking in the familiar sounds and sights. Couples stroll past you - some more intimate than others - and you feel your heart lurch into your throat.

It’s fine you tell yourself. It’s not like you and Thor ever gave each other labels. You were official on paper, sure, but you were never, like, his girlfriend.

Maybe you should’ve been keeping distance this whole time. Just a little. Just enough so that, when something like this happened, you wouldn’t be so torn up about it.

You head by Wollman Rink and stop. Memories flood your head, and you shut your eyes to keep from tearing up. You can’t help it, since you feel so much on the outside of everything right now.

When you compose yourself, you get closer to the rink. You watch as people - mostly children today - twirl and skate around the rink, and you yearn for something you fear you might not ever  have again.

--

Apparently, Thor had been talking about you with his friends. Tony Stark in particular was excited to meet you, and who ever, in this entire world, got to put that on their resumè?

Stark put together this whole double-date. Well, Tony was the one taking credit, anyway. His finacè, a lovely, gorgeous redhead named Pepper, was the mastermind behind it all. Everyone knew it.

It was especially evident when your group made it to Wollman Rink and Stark put his skates on. Pepper twirled in tight circles around him, but the Billionaire Genius stood with his hands out, knees apart, and a slightly terrified look on his face as he tried to maneuver - not very well - around the ice.

You were a little wobbly at first, but Thor never took his hand from yours. Of course he was rather good at skating - besides writing, what wasn’t Thor good at? - so he mostly just guided you around the rink, keeping you close while also sometimes taking the lead and letting you drag behind him, just for fun.

After a while, he suddenly pulled you in close to him and took you by surprise, kissing you in the middle of the rink. You melted into him as much as you could in the brisk December night, and he caught every bit you gave. Your pink noses barely registered as touching, given how cold they both were, but you knew. It was always like that with Thor.

“Hey!” you both heard Tony yell. “Stop showing off, asshole!”

Pepper immediately chastised him, stating that the children now chortling around him were too young for such language.

A little while later, the group collectively agreed to call it a night on the skating and try to find some hot chocolate somewhere. The penthouse wasn’t far, so worst case scenario, everyone clambered up to your building and you’d make hot cocoas there.

Thor and Pepper offered to return the rented skates, and while you were slipping your boots back on, Tony took a second to get kind of real with you. If you hadn’t spent the whole night watching him and Thor bickering back and forth, you wouldn’t think twice about the serious look he was giving you.

“You really like him, right?” he asked.

You nodded without hesitation. “He’s… He’s so special.” You hadn’t meant to sound dreamy, but that didn’t stop your voice from taking on an airy quality. “I’ve never met anyone like him before.”

“Good, good,” Tony said, though clearly he had more on his mind. “It’s just- I know he likes you. A lot. Like, a lot a lot. He’s been talking about your writing for almost a year nonstop and, I mean-”

“Wait,” you cut in. “A year?”

You’d only met Thor three months ago.

“We didn’t know he was talking about you, at first. He’s just raving about some poems or something. We thought he’d, you know.” He pointed to the side of his head, then let his fingers flutter away as he rolled his eyes. “He just had to find you. But you don’t have a website or anything, not even to display your social media- I’ve got a few friends I could talk to about managing all of that for you, by the way, and-”

You cleared your throat as Thor and Pepper made their way back. They were far enough away still that, when Tony gauged their distance, he had enough time to turn back and quickly tell you, “He’s in it. For you. Be careful with him, okay?”

You didn’t know what that was supposed to mean, but you nodded anyway. Of course you’d be careful with Thor. You had a contract and everything. You’d been careful all along.

Something told you that wasn’t what Tony meant, though.

When you made it back to the penthouse for the night, you got into your warmest pajamas and slid into bed. Thor’d forgone a shirt, but he so did most nights. He wrapped you in his arms, warming your still cold skin on contact, and asked, “So what’d you and Tony have to talk about earlier?”

Be careful with him, okay? 

As the question rang in your head, you shook it. “He’s just looking out for you,” you mumbled, yawning through the last word. “He’s a good friend.”

“Sometimes,” Thor joked.

You managed to laugh, then snuggled in tighter. “I’m glad you have him. And me.” Your eyes shut and you stilled against Thor’s warm torso, breathing in his familiar, musky scent.

You swore you heard him mutter something else, but were too close to sleep to know exactly what it was.

--

A child runs past you, and the caretaker excuses herself as she hurries after the kid. You step back from the rink and head further into the park, keeping your arms in tight to fight off the chill. You find a hot chocolate vendor, glad to have something warm to wrap your fingers around for a while.

You stroll through the park hoping something might inspire a spark, but mostly just wanting to distract yourself. There’s an annoying poking thought in your head that, once you go back to the penthouse with your clothes all stuffed into a - completely open - suitcase, everything will unravel. Nothing will ever be the same. It scares you, makes you seek refuge elsewhere, pushes you deeper into the recesses of public spaces. You don’t register your phone pinging once in a while, or if you do, you choose to ignore it.

Eventually, the sun starts to go down, and you know you have to return home soon. Thor will be home soon, too. And even if it’s just to say goodbye…

You can’t finish that thought. It takes you a minute to process, but you realize that it’s not just because of the writing. Like, yes, his support and encouragement has meant everything to you, but it’s...so much more than that.

He believes in you. In everything you do. He’s kind and gentle and he genuinely seems to like you. He’s been generous and fun and wonderful for six months, and you’re not ready to go on without all of that.

Your feet stop moving because your mind is reeling as you think that you don’t want to go on without him...because you love him.

Your mind tries to fight off the emotion that bubbles in you, but your heart won’t let it. You have to feel this as you come to accept it. As you recognize that you don’t want to say goodbye, you can’t let him go because he’s the best part of your life. You love Thor Odinson, and maybe you’ve known it for a while. Or felt it or whatever. The feeling doesn’t read as “new” in your body, in any case. It registers as comfortable, like a huge, warm blanket wrapping you up and keeping you safe and cozy.

I love Thor.

Your mind, ever persistent, reminds you of the last two weeks. The distance. The silent notes, in place of the intimate reading sessions. The morning kisses that seem to have taken the place of steamy makeout sessions and hot, strenuous lovemaking. The gestures that now feel empty, filling you up with hot air instead of weighty reassurance.

God, how could you be so stupid? To think that someone like Thor would love you? Tony had said it all those months ago - Thor loved your writing. He probably just tolerated all the rest. Once he figured that out for himself, he withdrew, which is why he’s been leaving you high and dry and alone for two straight weeks.

Heartbroken and determined, you head back to the penthouse. The sun has set by the time you reach the building, but you ignore your shivering and numb fingers as you board the elevator.

Now you’re angry. Not angry enough to scream or make a scene, but angry enough to force  that suitcase closed and leave. Angry enough not to leave a letter, and apparently petty enough to make Thor beg for an explanation. Maybe you just want to see if he will.

But the moment you reach the door and realize it’s already unlocked, everything fades away. Everything. You’re hollow.

You enter the apartment and pull off your coat, but don’t bother hanging it on the rack beside the door. Your plan is just to put it on again in a few minutes anyway.

Thor comes out of the bedroom looking confused and sad. His brow is knit so tightly you know he has to be in pain. He stares at you, and you see his shoulders shake, but you keep your distance.

“Y/N,” he calls, despair and loneliness creeping into his voice. The mixture does something inside of you, but you try not to notice.

And you fail. You fail because there’s only one other time he’s ever called your name like that.

--

He was off the whole night. You’d gone through your regular motions, excited as ever to read the next chapter to him to hear his thoughts, but as you came to the end of the printed section, he sighed and hummed, but didn’t say anything.

“Thor,” you said gently. “What’s up?”

“Hmm?” He caught your eye for just a moment before gazing across the living room and shaking his head. “Nothing. Just had a long day, I guess.”

He’s had long days before, though. You know from experience that, on long days, he comes home and asks if you want to go out for dinner, then immediately asks to go to bed upon returning home. He promises you can read as much or as little as you want the next day, and you both normally just...go to sleep.

This was different.

You shut your folder, put it on the coffee table in front of you, and turned so you straddled his thighs. You were wearing a dress that day, one with a wide, flowy skirt, so you had plenty of room to get comfortable. You cupped his jaw in both your hands and forced him to look at you, and without words, you communicated that you knew something more than just work was on his mind.

“Sorry,” he murmured. “I shouldn’t lie to you.”

“Just tell me what’s wrong, babe.”

He searched your eyes for something. You figured he had to have found it, because he sighed and nodded. “I found out my brother was arrested today. It’s not his first time, either. Our father is insisting I let him learn his lesson in prison, but I can’t just let my brother rot.”

“Oh,” you said, then realized how bland and disinterested it sounded. “Oh, Thor,” you tried again, arms going all the way around his neck. You hugged him close, and he pulled you in even tighter. “I’m so sorry.”

He tried to tell you that it was alright, but clearly it wasn’t. His shaking shoulders told you that much, and his hitched breaths told you more.

You pushed on the back of his head until his forehead touched your shoulder. “Shh, it’s okay,” you whispered to him. “Get it all out, babe. I’m here. I’m with you.”

He didn’t cry. Didn’t sob. Apparently would not dare to get your dress all wet. You would’ve let him if he had, though.

When he calmed down, he kissed your shoulder once. Twice. Trailed his lips up to your neck and around your jaw, leaving a single kiss on your lips as he settled his forehead against yours. “Y/N,” he said, shaky and so unlike Thor you had to convince yourself you hadn’t imagined it. On another shaky breath, he let out a simple but meaningful, “Thank you.”

--

He looks at the bedroom doorway, sucks in a tight breath, and starts, “Were you…” He can’t finish until he’s looking at you again, though. “Were you going to leave?”

Your jaw tightens. And not even out of anger. You hate it when Thor’s like this because it’s not even like he’s being possessive or anything. He’s not trying to control you. He’s asking in this broken voice that snaps your resolve string by string until you’re nothing but frayed edges inside. And you hate it all because it means he’s just as broken as you are.

“I-” you start, but you can’t find the right words to follow it up. Yes feels wrong, and you’re not even sure it’s the truth anymore. Maybe...for just a moment… But how could you leave? How could you ever even think of walking away from all of this? All of him?

Two weeks. It’s been two weeks of silence and separation, two weeks of being in your own little world within the walls he provided and you don’t even know why.

Oh yeah. That’s how you could leave.

“Y/N,” he says again, this time more sure of the emotion in his chest and tone. “Were you packing a bag to leave me?”

You stand your ground, but try not to come off as angry even still. You’re not angry. You’re just...lonely. And alone. On your own team for the first time in six months. “Yes,” you answer.

His breathing gets heavier. You refuse to look away. He seems to calm himself a little bit, but doesn’t sound much better when he asks, “May I ask why?”

How dare he attempt to be polite right now? But, you remind yourself, it’s his nature. He’s always like this, no matter what. He can’t even be angry properly, and that makes everything even worse.

Torn between owing him an explanation and demanding one yourself, you say the only thing you can think to say that might give both of you answers.

“You stopped touching me. Stopped talking to me. You’ve barely looked at me the last two weeks, and I’m tired of being alone. I may as well go back to my shit job and crowded apartment.”

You’re just about to let the emotion, the rage and tears settle in when he pauses. Steps back a little. Just stares at you, like what you just said is preposterous. But then something in his expression clicks, a light flickering behind his eyes, and he seems to know he’s done everything you’ve accused him of.

Before you know what you’re doing, you’ve decided you’re not done, though.

“I thought I did something, Thor. I thought you were just too nice to tell me what it was, so you got quiet and distant in the hopes that I would just...leave.” As you say it, you know how ridiculous it sounds. It’s a thought process better suited to the inside of your brain. But you’re still going. “What else was I supposed to do? You weren’t asking for my new chapters, you were barely even looking at me. And I was just supposed to take the hint? Well, hint taken.”

His eyes fell to the floor in shame. You stepped lightly toward him, stopping with just enough room that your shoulder just barely grazed his arm.

“If I knew what I did, I would’ve fixed it, Thor. I would’ve tried. But I had no clues-”

“You didn’t do anything,” he whispers.

You can’t move then, except watch him sigh and shake his head.

“You’re not the cause of my misbehavior, Y/N. Not directly.”

Not for the first time, you wonder if he really does have another woman. But you know him, and you know him well enough to know he’d never break that promise of exclusivity. You’re not confident in much about your arrangement right now, but that is one thing you know for sure, without any doubts.

Which only leaves you to believe that maybe he wants to break the promise and just won’t out of a sense of duty or something. Like he’s just sticking with it because you won’t let him out of the deal.

None of it makes any sense, and you know it’ll make you sound like a crazy jealous demon if you say it out loud. So you don’t.

And that’s enough encouragement for Thor to look at you again, all of the world’s weight alive and heavy in his eyes.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers. The sound is so familiar, you nearly lean into him for comfort.

--

He stilled inside of you, the both of you suddenly quiet and tense. This...wasn’t supposed to happen. You only met the man a week ago, and today was only the second time you’d seen him in person.

But after he’d read your work from the week before, you’d talked. About everything. You told him way too many embarrassing stories about your childhood and he told you all about the private schools he got expelled from because he’d been a hellion of a young boy. You could still see the spark of mischief in his eyes if you looked hard enough, and you found that, yeah, you really kind of liked it.

You’d asked him to come up to your apartment. It was empty at the moment, since all of your roommates had lives and jobs, too. You’d just wanted to keep talking, but maybe in a place where it didn’t matter how loudly you laughed at his stories or how boisterous he became in response to yours.

He was charming. Gorgeous. So nice. Too nice, really. He paid for refills of coffee, then followed your lead to your apartment.

Things had started in the kitchen, but then you’d gotten hungry, so he ordered in Thai. You’d brought him into the bedroom so you could watch a movie and eat without the forced space a couch might offer. He was warm and easy to feel comfortable around.

When the movie ended, you talked some more. About the movie, about what you were going to write next. Everything.

And then you leaned up on your knees and kissed him. One thing led to another, and then he was fucking you better than you’d been fucked in a long, long time. Maybe ever. He was generous in all things, it seemed.

It was only when you both came down from your highs that you, collectively, seemed to remember that he’d paid you to write for him. Sex seemed complicated and taboo in conjunction, and that thought made you feel hollow, despite only minutes ago feeling like you could lift the world on your back and carry it easily.

Minutes passed and you said nothing. He didn’t say anything, either.

But then he did. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, slow and genuine.

You felt your chest tighten at the thought that he regretted what you’d done together. It made no sense, given how you kind of regretted it, too, but you knew it wasn’t the feeling of it all that you regretted. The act, sure, under the circumstances.

But the success of the trial? Absolutely not.

You shook your head. “No, no, don’t be. It’s okay.”

“Your silence indicates otherwise.”

“Well yours did, too.” You sighed and tried to explain what was going on in your head, and when he finally met your eyes, you knew the truth of the whole matter: You didn’t regret a thing. Not really.

“Like I said, don’t be sorry,” you told him, finally managing a small smile.

It was enough to encourage him to kiss you again, and your stomach erupted in a kaleidoscope of butterflies. If kissing him like this felt so right every time, you never wanted to do anything else.

--

This time, you have no reason to tell him not to be sorry. This isn’t a mistake, and your silence isn’t your own fault.

His electric blues are deep and dark, and they scream at you not to let go. “I’m sorry,” he says again, the last word breaking on the end of a breath. “Please...please don’t leave.”

Your brow furrows, more confused than anything else. “Why not?” you ask, trying your best not to sound mad because, truly, his plea intrigues you more than sparks anger. You were so sure, until that moment, that he’d simply been meaning to find a good way to ask you to leave.

But now… That’s not even a possibility.

He surprises you by bringing a hand out, begging for your touch. On instinct, mostly, you respond, your fingers sliding right into his palm like they were made to fit together perfectly.

“Do you trust me?” he asks.

You nod. There are no other answers. You trust Thor, and you know, somewhere inside, that he never really meant to play with your feelings. Whatever he’s trying to show you now will fix everything. You have to believe it, or else you’ll really, truly break.

“Say it.”

“I trust you.”

He relaxes enough that you notice, then pulls you along into the bedroom. He asks you to sit on the edge of the bed, then picks up a long envelope from his nightstand.

“I should’ve been more attentive here, but I was doing my best not to ruin a surprise,” Thor says, handing you the envelope. When all you do is stare up at him, he nods at the package in his hands, and waits patiently.

You take it. Open it. Inside is your contract. Every page. You stare up at him, brows furrowed deeper in confusion. “What?” you ask.

“I’ve been discussing this with both of our lawyers this week. And the week before that, I was trying to figure out what I wanted to say to the lawyers. But...this is big and I was nervous, and I knew I should’ve said something to you, but I-” He stops, clears his throat, and looks away from you. “I wanted it to be a surprise.”

You slide the contract back into the envelope, then put it on the bed. “What surprise?” you ask.

“I was going to have the contract terminated.”

The same dread from earlier fills you, until you remember that he wouldn’t have pulled you in  here to explain everything if all he was going to do was kick you out. He wouldn’t ask you to stay, in that case. You try to control your reaction, which ends up meaning that you don’t really react at all, except to ask him, “Why?”

“I want us to be real,” he says plainly, forcing himself to meet your gaze. It’s not too long before he’s lowering himself into a kneeling position in front of you, grasping for your hand again. “I don’t want there to be any obligations. If any legally binding contract is going to exist between us, I want it to be nothing short of a marriage license. The last two weeks have been excruciating, and I know that’s all my own doing, and I’m sorry I put you through that, but please believe me when I say that I love you, Y/N. I love you, and I was trying to do anything I could to end the artifice and make this real.”

“Make...us…” You trail off, mind running at a million light years. Too fast for you to process. Things don’t compute correctly, like when your fingers type faster than your brain can think of words, and all you end up saying is, “You...you love me?”

Thor nods. “I do. I love you so much, and all I wanted was a chance for us to make things work on our own terms, without expectations. Without mutual gains with monetary value.”

You start asking him silly questions, because they’re all you can think to bring up. “So you don’t hate my book? You’re not disgusted by me? You want more of me?”

He confirms with double negatives and a positive. “Of course I want more, Y/N. I’d have to be living under a rock not to.”

“Did you say you wanted to marry me?” you ask him, only just now starting to catch up.

He laughs, nods, and pushes himself up so you’re level. “Without a shadow of a doubt. We already live together. We’ve been together for half a year, and I love you. We don’t have to rush- whenever you’re comfortable, just say the word and-”

But there are no words. Only actions.

You can’t find it inside yourself to hold the last two weeks against him anymore. All that insecurity has washed away with a few simple affirmations - but God Damn are they effective.

You crash your lips against his, arms winding around him as tightly as you can make them go. He pulls you to him, fitting snugly between your knees as he deepens the kiss, rolling his tongue over your lips, asking for an invitation.

A little levity of the night settles back into your brain then, and you gently pull back instead of letting him ravish you. For now. You give him a serious look, but you can’t stop smiling through it.

“Don’t ever go quiet like that again, Thor. I was so scared and alone, I never want to feel that way again.”

He nods. Light from the hallway shines on his face, and you see tear streaks have stained his cheeks. Your thumbs come around and wipe them away, and he smiles so prettily at you that you almost cry, too.

“I promise. I’m so sorry, Y/N. I promise, I’ll always tell you what I’m up to.”

He kisses all over your face, repeating himself between points of contact, swearing to any God who’ll listen that this will work. That he loves you, that he’s sorry, and then-

“I love you too, you know,” you get out. 

And the whole thing starts all over again.

[memes-saved-me]

"Something like that" - Harringrove

I'm so sorry there's no read more thing, Tumblr app sucks🤷‍♀️

---

The winter nights had finally began to creep their way into Steve's upstairs bedroom. No heating or layers of blankets could scare the cold away that night. It had been a long day, early shift at Family Video and then a long lecture from his father about "Doing something more with your life".

By the time it was dark all he wanted was to crawl into his bed and hide, hide from what his life had become. If he was being honest he tried his best to blame the night he rushed into the Byers to find flashing lights and monsters who steal little boys but he knew that wasn't why he didn't get into college or why he hadn't left Hawkins to find something to do in life.

Ever since Starcourt Mall his nights had been filled with more nightmares than normal, he was used to being chased by demidogs and other horrific creatures his subconscious had created but he sure wasn't prepared for Billy Hargrove to be there.

He wasn't ready to see Billy being ripped apart by those monsters, to see his face go cold, to see the life drain from his eyes infront of him. Watching his body hit the floor that night left a ripple effect because now every night he saw it. No matter what his mind conjured up it would end with Billy hitting the floor and his body going limp, leaving Steve to wake up crying in a cold sweat.

It didn't make sense, he had avoided him while he was alive because he couldn't deal with what he felt, so why was he plaguing his dreams? It wasn't until Robin came out to him that he thought it through properly.

His entire life he'd been told that if you liked boys that something was wrong with you, that you were against nature, not normal but Robin wasn't wrong. Robin was, well Robin but she liked girls. After that he had an idea, an idea that he knew he would have never actually attempted but it felt like a breath of fresh air to even hypothesize it.

He was going to find Billy and test the waters, Steve was pretty sure Billy liked boys but more than he did and that's why he ended up in Hawkins. Rumours had been spread but no one was brave enough to say anything to his face, not when they'd get his fist to there's.

Except even the opportunity for that was ripped from his grasp the same day as Billy stood up to that thing and lost his life for it. He was too late to even try and that haunted Steve. It haunted him everytime he was alone or it got too quiet.

The next day as he tidied the counter at work the smell of cologue filled the air. Without even thinking Steve rushed from behind the desk and through the aisles to find no one was there. "Billy?". He whispered to himself and there it was again, that smell. The same smell he couldn't get off of himself that night he got his ass handed to him at the Byers. Billy.

"Hey! Idiot, it's your lunch break". Robin shouted strolling back into the shop. "Hey, Steve".

"Yeah, okay". He replied and turned to face her.

"Holy shit, you look like you've seen a ghost".

"Yeah, something like that". He couldn't think properly. His mind was running faster than he could keep up with but he managed to go in the back and find his lunch. Except he smelt it back there too.

By the end of his shift he'd decided it was just him. Maybe he'd walked past someone who wore the same cologne and it stuck with him. That was the only explanation. Right?

He closed the store that evening so Robin could get away early. Which he very quickly regretted as he slid into the drivers seat of his car and the silence of the night filled he air. Not a soul in sight.

As he pulled out onto the road he switched on the radio, anything to fill the lack of noise. Something to distract him from thinking of that smell, which had disappeared soon after his break.

When he pulled into his drive he noticed the front lights flickering, which sent a shiver down his spine. He couldn't move. It stopped and he rushed out of his car and inside. Except once he was inside the living room lamp started to do the same thing and then the main light until the phone rang. Absolutely terrified Steve walked over and picked it up.

"Steve?". Someone answered.

"Who is this?".

"It's Billy". The phone turned red hot in Steve's hand causing him to drop it. What was once cream was now charred black and the line was dead.

"Billy?". He said out loud and there it was again, the smell. "Holy shit, are you in the upside down?".

The lamp flickered.

In some sort of panic he ran out to his garden and past the pool towards the woods, he ran until he couldn't see the pool lights and looked around for the portal Nancy had told him about. Except of course it wasn't there. It hadn't been open since Nancy herself had gotten stuck inside.

Now freezing he made his way home but when he stepped onto the tiles surrounding the pool he noticed something, his bedroom light was on.

Steve ran inside and upstairs to find his bedroom door open with every light switched on. "Is this you?".

Nothing happened.

At some point he must have fell asleep in his chair because at around 3am he was woken up by someone walking around downstairs. He grabbed the hammer he kept by his bed and slowly made his way towards the kitchen.

When he approached the doorway he saw the silhouette of a man standing over the sink, not moving. He seemed to be leaning on the counter top for support as if he couldn't stand up on his own.

"Why are you in my house?". Steve asked trying to sound as threatening as possible but when he switched the light on he almost dropped the hammer because standing in his kitchen was a dead man.

"Excuse me for needing a drink". He replied and turned around.

"What the fuck". Steve was in shock but then it all started to make sense. The smell, the lights and the phone. But how the hell did he get back?

For a moment they looked at eachother. Then Steve rushed over and took the goo and dirt covered Billy in his arms. Something he had never done or thought he would never do. "You're alive". He almost began to cry but stopped himself because in that moment he didn't care how he'd ended up back here, all he could think of was a second chance.

"Barely". Billy smiled as Steve backed away, hand still on his arm like he'd disappear if he let go of him. "Miss me or something, Pretty Boy?"

"Something like that". Steve smiled and for a moment the silence of the night was actually nice for the first time in a very long time because standing infront of Steve was a whole new opportunity and for Billy a whole new chance to live a life worth living.

---

If I don't finish something I've started it drives me crazy so here I am at 2am posting whatever this is. Hope you enjoyed😁

[violetsystems]

#personal

As promised, I am projecting less frustration this morning.  I think maybe just because the rhythm of things in my life.  I read that ritual during the pandemic has been a reliable coping mechanism for many.  I have very small rituals.  I get a bowl of Yukejang from down the street on Sundays.  Same order.  Same price.  I tap it into a spreadsheet somewhere in the cloud and plan around it.  All the way back in September, I chiseled out a budget for myself to figure out how to weather out this situation.  The situation as it is continues to morph and shift towards the edges of chaos.  This is why I try to keep things normal through planning and maybe a little ritual.  I’ve been writing the same three paragraphs here for too many years for me to count.  There are actually people out there who get what I’m saying.  Sometimes people just like to read them.  Other people just like to skim them.  But these rituals kind of keep the element of control over your life in focus.  Some rituals can go a little overboard.  And sometimes some pandemics can go longer than a year.  I try to plan for the future all the same without having much to go on.  I know that a vaccine needs to happen first.  At this point I won’t see that until earliest June.  I’ve been seeing jobs in my salary range but nothing I want to spend the rest of my life doing.  I’ve made enough money by myself this year to worry about paying taxes.  But it isn’t something I really feel is sustainable.  And this is where thoughts start to spiral out of control.  Which is what brings me back to rituals.  I make it through week to week in probably one of the most bullshit situations by looking forward to things.  Broadcasting on Fridays is fun even if nobody watches it live.  I’ve learned that creating content for output is more important than worrying about the results.  For all the intelligent words I write, a lot of the things that come out of my actual mouth on the fly are incredibly stupid and funny to me.  I like that that brings me down to earth somehow.  Because most of the time I’m wondering if I’m even visible to the naked eye.  You can fade away into your own self doubt even if you seem the most confident and together person.  This can happen because the world ceaselessly throws shade.  People don’t want you to succeed because it complicates things.  Doesn’t fit into whatever plan or main questline you haven’t been briefed on.  These days I’ve grown less sensitive to suggestion.  I follow my own path and rules no matter what feelings it evokes.  And yes I feel a sense of dread more often than not.  I feel actual mental pain quite often.  And that pain doesn’t come from inside of me or the result of things I do other than work out or ride my bike.  The pain is the pressure from society to put it all on you.  People out there are just as confused, lost and fearful.  To have some sort of closure or something to blame lifts that temporarily.  It’s not always true.  Paranoia and isolation does that to people.  Even to me.  So I like to focus on the sacred parts of my life that I’ve kept to myself.  And ritual keeps me in a predictable mood.  That you keep going on week to week because you’ve created space that you and you alone value.  

Sometimes other people value it too.  And that gets tricky to manage.  It isn’t really in my best interest to be at odds with society all the time.  I am a loner mostly because I grew up an only child.  But I’ve become a lot less sensitive as a result of whatever crucible of destiny I’ve been forged in.  I think sometimes when you walk the path of ritual, it’s easy to stay in your lane.  For me, for all these years I’ve been doing pretty much the same exact thing in real life often.  Mostly to not cause anyone cognitive dissonance enough to fuck with me.  Society is a nightmare anywhere you are it seems.  Chicago can be batshit insane.  It makes me project that like a mirror sometimes when I’m exhausted.  And the things that keep me going aren’t always there front and center to hold my hand.  I’m tough enough at this point to take it.  But it’s a lot of disappointment to live with.  The ritual of having a salaried job working with people who seemed pretty much like they were your friends was disrupted by all this a year ago.  I got ghosted.  I never really understood why.  Over the months, I blamed myself over and over again.  And then I started to realize people were hopelessly locked within themselves.  They couldn’t communicate anything meaningful so they just decided to let it go entirely.  Or I did.  Communication to me over the years is funny.  Sometimes people say the most to me without saying any words.  If you walk away from a job after twenty years and everyone you work with pretends you never existed that’s a message.  The opposite is true.  If you wake up every morning to cryptic interactions on your phone that probably means something too.  If you write three paragraphs every week for three years on the internet to nobody in particular, it’s true somebody will read it.  Maybe somebody will even have the reading comprehension to enjoy it.  The ritual of it is pretty sacred to me.  I think people know me well enough to realize I err on the side of authenticity.  I don’t like to betray the things that keep me going.  I know how it feels to be betrayed.  It sounds so cold saying that.  But I’m sure we all know it to a certain degree.  Some people get so abandoned that they have no choice but to move forward.  And how you keep yourself moving at a regular pace in these times is anybody’s guess.  Sanctuary is something more than ritual.  It’s a space where you feel safe enough to protect the things that keep you alive.  A safe spot to pursue your life, liberty and happiness despite the world’s encroaching bullshit around you.  After years of pacing the streets here people have varying opinions of me and my rituals.  It’s not the most ideal situation by far.  But if anyone knows anything about maintaining sanctuary in one of the world’s most in your face cities, it is me.  I’ve been to New York enough to know.  Chicago is some sort of nightmare zone mix of both coasts.  It’s also still fairly affordable to live.  It’s also fairly free enough to go about your business with more than a few stares.  People are bored, hungry, and anxious.  People are looking for rituals and ideas for their own.  And sometimes people cross the line of sanctuary and the holy ground gets smaller.  I can’t even take out my trash without a dirty look sometimes.  And I have to manage it just the same.  When I shut the door and mutter to myself about politics and the government or whatever, nobody comes knocking.  Or I’m over it quick enough so nobody does.  Kind of like here.  The good news is spring is here.  I can open up the windows and listen to music alone.  I can continue to work on my search for meaningful employment wherever that may take me.  I honestly think after all this time someone has better ideas on where I belong.  

That somebody has most always had to be me.  I had to take the initiative in this entire situation.  And it’s become something else entirely.  I build rituals around that.  Some outdated rituals I retire.  Kind of like how I was.  I used to travel to New York every couple of months before this all went to shit.  I think I may go back this summer for a few days.  I don’t really have a solid answer for the future in my head.  I’ve had more time to enjoy things.  I spend way more time learning how to block in Tekken and it actually becomes a whole new game.  I could be harassing people in public and on the internet but I’d rather just keep to myself.  I am lonely just like anyone would be in this situation.  But people communicate with me just the same.  And it’s on me to value it enough to interpret whether it’s worth my time.  I keep hearing the president proclaim that July will mark our independence from the virus.  It’s ironic.  I was let go two days before the fourth last year.  Still nursing those wounds as you would expect.  Simply because there’s no closure.  No acknowledgement of anything.  And this is what I’ve had to read into.  I’m on my own in this.  And then again I’m not.  I’ve led myself through an absolute shit show daily.  And I’ve maintained sanctuary enough to keep doing it.  The rituals and sacred things I hold dear are protected by the reputations I uphold.  The moral capital I reserve is the real hard work.  Because often I would like nothing other than to go apeshit in the face of all this misunderstanding and hallucinatory bullshit.  It’s like being a celebrity and a pariah at the same time.  Banging your head against the wall trying to read into everybody’s sudden interest in whatever it is you represent in real time.  I don’t really know what people want from me at all.  And in some ways it doesn’t matter here in America.  This is what I’ve come to realize in some respects about freedom.  It’s complex, messy and not easily managed efficiently.  And yet no other country in the world has this many layers to navigate.  If you hold your ground long enough, nobody dares cross the line.  I mean nobody.  For as funny, sardonic and self deprecating as I can be, people are still ultimately scared shitless of me.  I’ve grown to understand that and work on that as best I can in a bullshit situation.  And through that I’ve found that staying true to the things you love and care about require meditation.  Self awareness and self care are the only weapons to guide you through a process that is meant to break your individual will.  I could blame capitalism.  I could blame the government.  I could unite and tear down the very fabric of society that has kept me invisible and be forgotten all over again.  And then I realize both sides are to blame mostly because nobody is really talking to anyone.  Entire political parties acting like they meet you eye to eye on the street when everyone has their head slung down low at every moment of the day.  And I’m not exactly interested in inviting more people into my life to violate my already questionable boundaries of privacy.  Rituals give us the focus to concentrate on the things that really matter to us.  Maybe they help us define what is sacred to us.  If people respect that the sanctuary grows.  If people challenge, question or hijack the narrative, you write them out of the story.  It’s definitely easier to control the pen when nobody is on your back to tell you how to write your dreams.  I wholeheartedly want that for everybody.  A real sanctuary for people to be themselves.  It’s not easy to manage.  But where ever I end up I know want thing is true.  I will always keep things sacred when it comes to you. <3 Tim

[nancywheelxr]

Your prompt answers are so great! UA either 49 (Safety first. What are you? FIVE?) with the squad for some fun or 85 (“I’m not going to be sympathetic until you go to a doctor.”) for some whump.

Hey, oh my god, thank you so much! I hope you don’t mind I mixed them up a little?

Luther bought a minivan.

Holy shit. Klaus is going to piss himself laughing because holy shit, Luther bought a minivan.

“Why,” Diego demands, crossing his arms and staring broodingly at Luther.

“It seemed easier,” Luther says, going ridiculously defensive of his shiny new soccer mom car. “There’s six of us now, we wouldn’t fit in a car.”

“Seven,” Klaus corrects him, you know, for the sake of fairness and to see the frowny look on Luther’s face. “Ben is calling shotgun.”

“No, I’m not,” Ben glares from where he’s leaning against the back of Vanya’s armchair.

Luther squirms, glancing around the room in that awkward way he always gets when Ben is brought up. “Seven, yes. We’ll talk about seat arrangements later,” he decides in his best diplomatic voice. “But see? We’d need at least two cars and sometimes that’s not very practical.”

“Seat arrangements,” Five repeats incredulous, scoffs with all the might of a bratty teenager. It’s great. “What, did you buy a seat booster for me too?”

“A seat booster,” Luther echoes pensively like the idea hadn’t occurred to him before but it’s worth some serious thinking now.

Vanya meets his eyes and Klaus winks at her, nodding at Five’s horrified face at the prospect. “It’s called sarcasm, idiot,” he’s saying, finger pointed threatening at Luther. Klaus looks at Vanya again and they snicker under Allison’s half-heartedly scolding stare, too amused herself to be properly disapproving.

Diego, on the other hand, has mastered the Disapproving Stare down to a fine art. It does make him look a little crossed in the eyes when he tries to focus it on the five of them at once, though.

“Can you give me one reason,” he says, shaking his knife in the air for emphasis, “just one reason why it would be relevant for us not to take two cars?”

“Well,” Luther looks around for support as if any of them would ever interrupt such an entertaining evening. “What if we all have to go to the same place?”

“Yes, Diego, what if,” Klaus drawls, with as serious a face as he can manage, “think about the environment, the Ozone layer.”

“I will stab you,” Diego glares.

“Okay, that wasn’t a very good example,” Allison intervenes, probably sensing this might escalate if lets them, “but I’m sure there are more,” she says and pauses, because she, too, can’t think of why on Earth they would need a minivan.

“Road trips,” Klaus suggests.

“Carrying large, heavy things,” offers Vanya with a shrug. Klaus bets she’s thinking of a piano.

“Performing minor surgeries while on the move,” adds Five, apparently willing to give it a try as long as it appeases his murderous intents.

Luther vaguely gestures them, raising one eyebrow at Diego. “That’s three reasons.”

Diego’s eye twitch. “Seriously?”

“You did say one reason, Diego,” Allison grins mischievously.

“Look. Why don’t we all just go take a look? It’s parked right by the gates,” Luther tries again, putting on his best Reasonable Adult voice. “It’s not so bad, really.”

They all share a look with varying degrees of long-suffering resignation, but that mostly means let’s go humor the crazy person.

“I bet it’s one of those with wooden stripes from the 90s,” Vanya comments with a smile as she passes Klaus by the couch. She pauses when she notices he’s still lying down, glancing back at him,  “aren’t you coming? You make funnier comments, come on.”

Klaus freezes, and Ben turns fully to him, smiling gleefully mocking. “Yes, Klaus. Aren’t you coming?”

“Nah,” he waves her off, ignoring Ben’s stupid, vengeful comments. That’s what he gets, isn’t it? Instead of Carper, the Friendly Ghost, there’s Ben, the Vengefully Sarcastic Spectre. “I think I’m good. We really don’t all need to be there to watch Luther have his mid-life crisis, now do we?”

She eyes the pillows propping his feet up with suspicion, narrowing her eyes probably at the fact Klaus is wearing socks in the house for once in his life. “Are you okay?”

“What, of course, never been better– peachy.”

“Just tell her you broke your ankle, Klaus,” Ben huffs, coming to stand beside Vanya with his arms crossed like this is some sort of intervention. The absolute snitch, Ben so would have told on him if he could. “You need a cast. And crutches.”

“It’s not broken, it’s just twisted, Jesus Christ,” Klaus snaps at him, sitting up a little and wincing when the movement jostles his ankle.

“What’s not broken?” Vanya frowns, and when Allison pokes her head back in to see what was taking them so long, she says, “I think Klaus broke his leg. Or twisted it, I’m not sure.”

“Klaus broke his leg?” Five asks, suddenly appearing in front of them. Which is great, really. Why don’t they just call the rest of the clowns?

“I did not!” Klaus insists, even though Allison is already calling Diego and Luther back and Vanya is discussing with Five the merits of modern medicine. “Hey, hey, assholes! It’s not broken, it’s just twisted. I fell off the bed and twisted my ankle, we don’t need a family meeting to discuss that!”

“How the fuck did you fall off the bed to break your leg?” Diego demands, Luther trailing after him.

“I was trying to hang more fairy lights to the ceiling,” Klaus sighs, sinking back to his seat and resigning himself to the torture. “I slipped. End of story. But hey, Luther bought a minivan! That sounds way more interesting, let’s go back to that!”

“Why were you hanging more lights in your room?” Luther pulls a face, seeming genuinely bewildered by the idea.

“Oh, you know. The aesthetic. It’s the irony, really.”

Ben groans, throwing his hands up. “Why don’t you just tell them about the nightmares?”

“I’m handling it,” he says shortly, unwilling to get into the same argument again in front of the others.

“You’re handling shit. Let me see that,” Diego says, not truly asking, batting Klaus’ hands away as he tries to pull his pant leg up. “Yup. This looks broken. We gotta take him to the ER.”

To be fair, Klaus will admit it looks bad. His ankle is a little swollen and purple-ish, and maybe it hurts when the wind blows, but that doesn’t mean he needs to see a doctor. “What? No, I’ll ask Mom to bandage it later, it’ll be fine.”

“Shut up,” Diego barks, glaring, “how did you get down those stairs with this ankle?”

“Determination and a healthy dose of spite.”

“You’re a dumbass,” he decides, nodding like that’s a conclusion he had reached long ago but it was nice to have confirmation. “Get up, we’re leaving.”

Ben grins, the asshole.

“No– hey, have a little care would you?” Klaus flinches as Diego helps him up, definitely rougher than necessary. “I’m in severe pain here.”

Diego swings his arm around his shoulder, holding enough of his weight so Klaus can limp without feeling like his leg is on fire. “I’m not going to be sympathetic until you go to a doctor,” he deadpans, turning to Luther. “I guess, and I can’t believe I’m saying this, but we’ll take the goddamn minivan.”

They all move with surprising speed, piling up on the minivan like a completely unnecessary trip to the ER suddenly turned into a family event. Joy. Klaus is sure the doctor and nurses will really appreciate their special brand of mess. Luther is driving, with Five riding shotgun, while Allison, Vanya, and Diego take the first row, leaving the last seats for Klaus to prop his leg up. Ben leans in from the luggage compartment.

“Is everyone with their seatbelts on?” Luther asks, waiting for their verbal confirmation. Klaus says yes and ties two seatbelts in a neat little bow. “Good. Five, change places with Diego or one of the girls.”

“What? Why?” Five startles, probably thinking he was safe from the seat booster.

“I don’t think you’re tall enough to be in the passenger seat yet,” Luther apologizes in that awkward way of his, “now change.”

“Can’t we just get on with this kidnapping?” Klaus calls from the back.

“I’m not starting the car until Five trades place with someone.”

“Luther,” Allison, ever the voice of reason, pipes in, “Klaus needs to go to the ER, so can’t we just–”

“It’s just a broken ankle, he’s not dying. He can wait until Five is safely buckled up in the back.”

“You’re being ridiculous,” Five tells him, flatly.

“No, safety first,” Luther stands his ground, waiting it out, and rolls his eyes when Five flips him off. “Really? Very mature, what are you, five?”

It’s not intended to be a  pun, Klaus can tell because Luther has the world’s most underdeveloped sense of humor, but Five still makes the world’s saltiest offended face, “Jesus Christ,” he mutters before teleporting out of the van.

To Luther’s utter despair, Diego drags himself to the front, throwing himself into the seat and slamming the door closed. In the first row, Vanya passes Five a book to placate him.

The minivan starts with less fuss than originally thought, and maybe it’s just that Luther drives like an old person, but his ankle is hardly ever jostled. Klaus is sure the ER is going to kick them out in ten minutes flat, but hey, he did suggest a road trip, right?

[spirit-of-the-void]

Ebony and Ivory (V x Reader Fanfic) Chapter 29

Author’s notes: I’m sorry this is coming out so late, but im combating a shit laptop, shit family, and shit health on this one babes.

Chapter 29

You didn't dream for the entirety of your rest.

As before, you had no conception of time. But this time, you weren’t hovering in and out, instead lingering in a deep sleep state without straying from it. Your body needed the time to heal, to regain what it lost and repair the damage. And it had seemingly gotten its chance. There was no doubt that Nero had kept to his word, safety being found and allowing you to finally begin the process of gaining back your strength. Seconds, minutes, or days could have passed beyond your knowledge, but it scarcely mattered. Oblivion was a welcome thing after all the pain, allowing you to escape from thinking about the poet and the cold, grey eyes of his fully formed counterpart again.

The Void was strangely quiet after how vocal it had been through the few days of travel. The whispers had gone quiet, no longer clattering around your skull and saying things that only added to the pain. That wasn’t to say that the Void was gone, your power was still swirling in your gut as it always did. Now calm, regaining energy again and no longer fighting you. After all, the mission was done, what more did it have to sense? You weren’t sure you could ever accept the power of the Foresight again after all it had done to hurt you. Like it was being controlled directly by the Deity’s hands, like puppet strings.

That was your first thought upon awakening, only this time you gradually pulled yourself out of the pool of sleep bit by bit. You woke up to significantly less bodily pain, the rippling agony now dulled to aching all through your limbs. Like you had spread yourself way too thin, which was the truth. You registered the smells of tobacco and metal, knowing in an instant just where you were. It was punctuated by the rumbling engine, your body jostled slightly whenever Nico had to swerve to avoid something on the road. It then occurred to you that your head was resting on someone’s lap, a hand rhythmically stroking your hair and cheeks.

Warm. You felt secure for once since V left you, like you were being protected. The familiars only added to the sensation, their energies wrapping around your mind in an attempt to cushion the reality of the situation a bit. They were trying so hard to help you, it almost made you want to cry. They could only do so much once the memories and emotions started coming back, your heart aching far more than your body was. V’s face was fresh in your mind, that final kiss you shared replaying over and over like a film. Why would he bother kissing you if it didn’t matter to him? Why do any of the things he did if there wasn’t emotion involved?

But...did those things matter? V was gone, Vergil was here in his place. And there seemed to be no trace of the poet in him at all save for Vergil remembering the nickname V called you. But the love, the affection...that was long since departed.

You kept your eyes closed for the time being, ears registering quiet conversation between everything in the van. It was your only distraction, the only thing keeping you from falling back into the despairing thoughts.

“Go the fuck to sleep,” Nico was hissing, her voice filled with annoyance as a light whap traveled through the van--she had whacked someone, “Kyrie is gonna murder us both once she figures out how many energy drinks your dumb ass has sucked down in the past week…!”

You heard the sound of a can being crushed, tossed to a small trash bin you knew to be tucked behind Nico’s driver seat. There was a recollection of Nero sitting at a dining room table, surrounded by empty cans of red bull and the words “dead weight” written on his forehead. That was the day you woke up from your punishment, getting drunk with the girls and sharing a bed with V, his body curled behind yours and...and…

Stop thinking about him.

The familiars seemed to echo the sentiment, feeling your distress and sorrow and growing restless. You felt bad--your emotions and traumas were now their burden too, which you wished wasn’t the case.

“She won’t figure out if you keep your mouth shut,” Nero huffed in reply, pulling you back into reality once more, “Besides. If you pull an all nighter I pull an all nighter.”

“She isn’t stupid, psycho!” Nico groaned in complete, unbridled annoyance, “All it’s gonna take is one look in the fridge and seeing no more energy drinks to tell her just how many was taken.”

Something about their sibling-like banter made you fight a smile, no matter how small that smile would be. It was...relaxing, to hear things so normal in the face of all the absurdities. You preferred it over the silence, their strange worry over Kyrie being upset about the energy drinks so trivial compared to a god damn demon tree. And Nico was right--Nero had consumed for more drinks that could ever been considered healthy. How he hadn’t collapsed with a heart attack by now was a straight up mystery.

You finally allowed yourself to slowly blink open your eyes, staring up at the ceiling of the van in a sort of daze. The vehicle was dark with night, the occasional street light flitting through the windows and casting dancing patterns on the interior. It was easy to guess that you were on the couch, the leather pressed to the bare areas of your legs a little too warmly in cramped space. But you didn’t mind, it was welcome compared to the thorough cold the Void had left within you. After inhaling a deep, measured breath, you decided that your lungs felt normal enough that you didn’t want to go back to sleep again.

It became apparent who was stroking your hair as soon as you tilted your head back. Lady’s beautiful face was staring down at you, a small gasp leaving her when she saw you now looking right back. She looked a bit tired as well, you had to wonder if she had slept at all since you saw her last. How long had you been out? When had Nero made it to the van?

“Look who’s finally awake,” Lady breathed, smiling softly down at you and putting a hand to your forehead, “How are you feeling, sweetie?”

You blinked your eyes a few times, savoring the warmth of her skin on your own as you tried to form a reply to her question.

“Physically?” You whispered softly, voice holding several layers of sorrow in it as you tried to swallow it back, “Or mentally?”

Lady gave you a knowing look, starting to stroke your hair again with a soothing, gentle touch. She felt closer to a mother than anything you had felt before--even amongst the brief wisps of memory you couldn’t recall your own mother ever doing something like this for you. Lady was staring down at you with soft concern and worry, knowing full well just how awful you would be feeling if she had any indication of what happened in the tree. And if Nero was here...she definitely did.

“Let’s start with physically,” She murmured, multi-colored eyes steadily meeting yours, “You were in bad shape when Nero brought you back. How do you feel now?”

You slowly lifted an arm, feeling a soreness in your muscles as you flexed your fingers. You belatedly realized that the gauntlet you wore before was now gone. Someone must have pulled it off of you. To be completely honest, you were further along now than you thought, that was unless you had slept for over a day. Which was doubtful.

“I…” You mumbled, slowly putting your hand back down again as you replied, “I’ve...been better. But...I’m not as bad as I thought I’d be. The pain is mostly gone, just...sore.”

Lady nodded, helping you slowly sit up and bracing you with a hand to your back. You fought a groan, each muscle in your body aching painfully and straining with just that motion. Okay, maybe you weren’t as well off as you thought.

“Griffon came out at some point and told us you needed something to help boost you,” Lady replied, rubbing slow circles on your back, “Nico had something we could inject you with, it seemed to help a bit.”

That made sense at the very least.

You looked to the side, seeing Trish staring at you from the seat across from the couch right as the other two up front noticed you awake over their bantering. She didn’t look tired like the others, but maybe that was because she wasn’t human.

“Holy shit she’s awake!” Nico gasped from up front, making you glance at her next as her head bounced between looking at you and looking at the road. She looked tired and frazzled, more so than normal, “Howdy sugar! Welcome back to the land of the livin’!”

You managed to muster an exhausted smile for her, noting the relief in her tone as you replied softly, “How...long was I out for…?”

“All night,” Nero replied before the mechanic could, peeking his white-haired head around from the passenger side and holding a new can of sugary caffeine, “We got back around seven and it’s about to hit five in the morning now.”

A whole nights rest...it felt strange to think about it. Even resting with V you slept in short bursts broken by nightmares, not having a truly restful sleep in a long time outside of the forced coma the Void caused. Those times when you’re being erased. Thinking about that was a mistake, one that sent a shiver down your spine and a sickly feeling in your stomach. Had all those things really happened? Meeting and traveling with V, losing him, the Deity forcing you to watch then trying to force you back to the Void? They felt so strange, your God’s actions completely foreign and odd to you after serving him for so many years.

Why? Why had he done such a thing? The Deity had given you the rune to aid in the mission, only to force you to watch V get absorbed back into Vergil and unable to do anything about it. And then there was trying to take you back to the Void itself--why had he waited until you were there with Dante and the others? There was a significant span of time where you had traveled up the Qliphoth alone to get there, perfect opportunity to snatch you back with little to no resistance. With how weak you had been, it would have been a cake walk. But the Deity had instead chosen to wait until you were among allies.

But...why? It didn’t make sense. Just like how everything with V didn’t seem to make sense either.

Lady seemed to sense your growing distress, her arms wrapping around you from behind and her chin resting on your shoulder. The embrace felt warm, startling you a bit out of the downward spiraling thoughts.

“It’ll be okay,” She said softly, giving you a light squeeze in her attempt to soothe you, “Just breathe for now, we’re all here with you.”

You felt your eyes drift downward, threatening to burn with more tears as you gripped the bottom half of your blouse with tight fingers. You could feel everyone in the van staring at you with varying levels of concern, even Trish who wasn’t as close as the others were. It felt both strange and soothing to have so many people now worrying about your well-being.

“Don’t worry, toots,” Griffon’s gruff tone added to the show of support, his consciousness rousing from the corners of your head as he squawked, “Just focus on getting better for now. You feel like you got hit by a fuckin’ truck. Not ideal.”

“...I know.” You whispered, voice holding every terrible thing you were feeling in that moment as you replied to them both at once. You knew that thinking about it wouldn’t help anything in that moment, not with everything so fresh. It was only serving to keep you down, but you didn’t know what else to do.

Focus on the good things you had, right? There was nothing more to be done, everything wasn’t for naught. Nero, Nico, Lady, and Trish were here. They all cared about you, they wanted to help and were trying their best. You had the familiars now, they were a part of you and a constant, driving force keeping you from falling too deep into that pit of despair. Considering how hard things had been, and all the aching agony you had been through...you didn’t come out the other side alone and afraid like before, all those other missions where you had been abandoned. Their support was so warm, a fresh change of pace that made your heart ache in a way that wasn’t painful.

But...it didn’t take away the grief that came from losing the man you loved. That you doubted would ever leave you.

The room fell quiet for a moment while you processed your thoughts, trying to find the will to pull yourself back together. So used to being the one to hold things in, keeping your head held high to support others who needed it. But for once...the one who needed it was you. And the others seemed ready to take up that torch.

“Do you like pancakes?” Nero asked suddenly, breaking the silence and making you blink in surprise.

The question was so normal, so out of place that it derailed your train of thought completely for a second. Pancakes?

“Y...yeah…” You replied with a soft stammer, turning to meet his gaze with a confused one of your own, “I suppose I do.”

That seemed to please him, a smirk quirking up his lips as he took a deep chug from a can of energy drink. You half wondered how many he had consumed in the evening alone, it was worrying for his health. And like before, he was bound to crash at some point.

“Fan-fuckin-tastic,” He said after swallowing, turning his gaze to Nico’s face as he added, “Jack’s opens at what, five thirty? Willin’ to bet it won’t be packed being this close to Redgrave.”

Jack’s? The way this conversation had gone confused you, that was for certain, but it seemed to cheer both Nero and Nico up considerably. Your stomach growled lightly at mention of food despite how uneasy you felt upon waking--You hadn’t eaten since V was with you last, and that time seemed so far away. Not to mention snacking on the occasional granola bar and fruit during the day hadn’t done nearly as much for you as you thought it would.

You also realized his mentioned it being outside of Redgrave, which made you look out the window. Eyes blinking, seeing buildings now that weren’t broken and falling to pieces. How bizarre to finally see some semblance of normalcy after days of being around what equated to be the apocalypse. Why didn’t you realize sooner that the tree’s reach only extended so far? This was out of the city, but judging by the barricades and sealed doors this area had been evacuated on the off chance that the roots came out further.

“We’ve already left Redgrave?” you said softly, eyes watching as streetlight after streetlight passed by, the sky already hinting at the sunrise, “But...Where is Dante and…”

For some reason you couldn’t bring yourself to say Vergil’s name. Nor could you shake the worry that came for his well being. How pathetic, that even after everything he did to you that the sensation of wanting him to be safe wouldn’t leave?

You want to believe that V exists as a part of him, somehow.

It was true. You knew what V had said, the vulnerabilities he had shared and the aching need for affection he had. If that was a part of Vergil, even small...What were you supposed to do? There would never be a chance of the surly male seeking you for anything, even if he shared V’s memories. It was madness. You had to accept that, to finally move past the aching desire to seek out the part of him you had fallen for. Because in reality, it would never be the same--You didn’t fall in love with Vergil, you fell for V. The poet, the one with his lilting voice reading from his book and that determination driving him forward.

V was gone. No part of that man remained.

Right?

“Dante and Vergil stayed behind,” Nero said with an annoyed sigh, turning his gaze away to glare through the windshield. You saw his left hand clenched into a fist, knuckles turning white as he added through gritted teeth, “Goddamn idiots. They went to hell to cut down the tree, and seal the portal it left behind.”

“Thus sealing them in hell.” Trish added, the first she had spoken since you woke up. You met her steady gaze, feeling a bit wary considering that you now knew exactly what type of information she had withheld from you. She knew what V was, knew what was to happen to him. But...you didn’t feel angry with her--What had happened was your own carelessness, not hers.

I don’t blame you.

But right now...that wasn’t what should be focused on. They had both just told you Dante and Vergil would be sealing themselves in hell, thus implying that they would be trapped. Judging by the furious look they both wore, the situation had definitely become more dire. You started feeling numb as the realization sunk in, mind reeling now that it became all too clear that you may never get the chance to see Vergil ever again. So learning anything more about him, finding out the truth you so desperately ached for...it was never going to happen.

There would be no closure. None at all.

“They won’t ever be coming back?” You whispered, voice and expression mimicking the numbness settling inside. You didn’t know what to do, how to feel. This didn’t feel good, it wasn’t a relief to know Vergil would not be back in your life to cause more pain.

It shouldn’t have hurt this badly to know that.

Lady squeezed you softly again, tucking your head against her neck as she replied soothingly, “It’s not a guarantee. We just have to wait for now, and see what Dante does. He’s gotten out of worse scenarios.”

You wanted to believe that, wanted to think there was some way of this problem being resolved. But it was hard to find hope for anything. You closed your eyes, trying to gather your thoughts together and stifle the conflicted emotions rolling through your head. Why did you feel this way? Why wouldn’t you just let go, try to move on and clamp down on all the conflicted feelings? Vergil was not the same man you had fallen for, he wasn’t even close. He didn’t care about you, didn’t love you, couldn’t even spare you more than a passing glance and some hurt.

But...you couldn’t let it go.

“Don’t worry about them,” Nero huffed, trying to change the subject as your grew to look more and more crestfallen. He turned around, offering you a comforting half-smile as added, “We’re gonna stop for some food, then haul our asses to Devil May Cry to drop off Lady and Trish.”

You looked at the woman behind you, feeling a little disappointed as you asked, “You’re leaving?”

She smiled softly at you, looking a little sad too as she pressed her head to the side of yours.

“We have to keep the business up and running with Dante gone,” She replied with a sigh, giving you a firm squeeze and kissing your temple in a cute, over-exaggerated way, “Don’t worry. I’ll be stopping by Fortuna to see you first chance I get.”

Fortuna? You blinked, realizing right away that must be where Kyrie and Nero lived. You didn’t know much about the location other than the Order of the Sword stories the devil hunter had mentioned. An island off the coast, where you would be staying with the others now and helping out with the orphanage. You felt a bit nervous, not used to having a place to go, hoping that Kyrie would at least like you when she met you. Her opinion was so important, you wanted to be useful to all of them to make up for causing so many problems.

Regardless, you tried to bite down on the anxiety and let things come as they were supposed to.

You could tell that the others were trying so hard, doing their very best to keep you distracted from the pain. They took you to a little diner right around where the large buildings of the city started turning into a small town, Jack’s diner. It was a quaint little place, filled with an old fashioned vibe that made you feel oddly relaxed. Just as Nero said, the old man still kept the little restaurant open despite the danger level. There were few to no customers, but that was preferred considering the state your group was in. You all definitely looked like you just got back from fighting demons, not that the owner minded.

Nico and Nero kept the chatter up through the meal, Nico with an arm slung over your shoulder and Nero sitting across from you both with Trish. Lady managed to squeeze into the booth on your other side, seeming content to just watch and listen while everyone conversed. You didn’t really have the energy to keep up with it all, but Nico wasn’t letting you sit by quietly. They told you about the small group of kids at the orphanage, each of their names and personalities so you would be at least somewhat equipped for meeting them. Both seemed to really care about the children, which was very sweet. You watched Nero carefully while they all talked, noticing his level of exhaustion and realizing fairly quickly he was trying to distract himself too.

The past few days had been just as unkind to him.

You entered a strange, dazed state as the day went on, letting the flow take you with it. The pancakes served at Jack’s were delicious to be sure, your body not realizing how hungry it was until you were eating. You ate the whole plate, feeling a bit better once something solid was on your stomach. Normal. Nero was impressed you could knock back a five stack so quickly, and Nico was the encouraging force urging you to chug a second cup of orange juice in a contest with her. It felt juvenile, fun in a way. There was camaraderie in the air and it lightened the weight on your shoulders enough to let you smile a bit.

It was just too bad that you wished V was there sharing in these moments with you.

As much as they distracted you, that heavy sorrow remained weighing you down. Every moment where happiness tried to peek through, it felt hollow without him there. Smirking lightly, watching the group talk and laugh and finding enjoyment in it. Or had he? Was that smile just a front? You couldn’t be sure, and thinking of it only made things worse.

Nero and Trish ended up splitting the bill, the blond haired woman rolling her eyes when Nero tried to refuse her money. She practically shoved it in his face, standing up from the booth and sauntering out to the van again. You exchanged a glance with Lady, who only smiled and shrugged as she pulled you out of the booth as well. You kept some leftover bacon and sausage in a little box to give to Shadow and Griffon later, because lord knew you couldn’t bring two demons out in public.

From there on out...all that was left to drop off the two women before heading to Fortuna.

You noticed upon traveling further away from the city, seeing normal society made you feel a bit odd. People walked along the sidewalks, on their way to early morning destinations. Their lives seemed so normal in comparison, human and peaceful. You couldn’t remember a time before the Void, before selling your soul. Finding that sense of normalcy seemed so impossible.

But...you tried.

Griffon and Shadow came out once the van set off again, Trish eyeing the mighty panther with wary eyes until it leapt up on the couch with your, draping themself across your lap like an overgrown cat. Lady was sitting next to you, so she took a few tentative pats at Shadow’s fur. They were on their best behavior, seeming to like the attention.

“Can’t believe everyone is gettin’ in on this now,” Griffon huffed from his perch on the back of the couch, his strange beak snapping by your ear in that familiar manner, “You’re gonna make the big killin’ machine soft at this rate.”

You let out a little  hum, handing him some food that he eagerly snatched and gobbled down.

“They’re having fun,” Your tone was soft, adoration in your eyes as you met Shadow’s slow, blinking gaze, “And that’s what matters.”

Nero yawned from the front seat, his feet kicked up on the dashboard and chair partway reclined. You could tell the energy drinks were wearing off, that much was pretty certain as he grumbled, “The kids are gonna love the cat, that’s for sure. Maybe I should warn Kyrie beforehand?”

Nico snickered, still somehow wide awake despite not sleeping at all along her drive, “Nah, let it be a surprise. That along with your new baby arm.” Her brows waggled with her words, mischievous eyes darting back to the arm in question. That was another thing explained to you, how accessing his new Devil Trigger form healed back a bright, shiny new limb. You learned not to ask questions in regards to things like that.

“Maybe I could soften it?” Nero continued to mumble, words sounding very tired indeed, “Tell her I’m bringing home pets?”

“I’m down. I’ll back you up, psycho.”

All you could muster was a single shake of your head at their antics, feeling a bit bad for Kyrie in regards to all of this. You hoped to god you weren’t imposing or causing them trouble, the very idea made your energy swirl nervously in your gut.

Griffon sensed it, nosing the side of your face again and saying gruffly in your ear, “Shut off your brain for a few hours at least, toots. You bein’ all sad makes my feathers ache.”

You jolted, immediately trying to swallow down those thoughts as guilt bit at you next. You kept forgetting Griffon and the other familiars were a part of you now, such things affected them.

“S...sorry…” You whispered in reply, focusing as hard as you could to not think about all the bad things.

Griffon let out a soft squawk of realization once it occurred to him that saying such a thing did not help at all.

“Fuck, that’s not what I meant,” He sighed, sounding a bit awkward as he shuffled closer, laying his head on your shoulder, “Just...tryin’ to help you not focus on all that garbage left over. Shit will improve, we all know that, right? Right.”

You smiled at his brisk, hurried way of speaking. Like he was trying to will you into feeling better with energy alone. It wasn’t nearly that easy, but his effort did make you feel a bit better in a strange way. Shadow was also trying their best, purring loudly and reaching a paw up to pat your face with it. Being this close to the familiars with no barriers now was so relaxing, putting your aching heart slightly more to ease. It was just...hard, though, considering who they were connected to before.

You miss him. And no matter what you do, that will not fade.

The only reason you hadn’t collapsed back into sorrow and despair again was the group surrounding you with support. You didn’t want to burden them with your pain, crying around them would only serve to make everyone just as sad as you were. So you managed to bite it back, holding it in until you started to feel numb from it. Doing so surely wasn’t healthy for your mind, but...there seemed to be no other choice. You refused to burden them when they were trying this hard, ready to keep the tears and pain at bay for days until needed. But even then...did you even have the right to cry?

It was you who caused this.  You and no one else.

“Toots...” Griffon began in a warning tone, seeing where your thoughts were going and not liking them at all. But he didn’t get the chance to continue.

“We’re here.” Nico announced, the van coming to a skidding halt and drawing you out of your dull way of thinking. You didn’t realize how much time had passed while you were drifting in and out of thought--or maybe the mechanic was just driving fast. The latter seemed heavily likely.

You looked out the window to see a tall, brick-laden building. Above the doors was a sign just like the one on the van, only larger and glowing with red instead of that neon blue. This had to be the main Devil May Cry building, there was certainly no mistaking that. It still felt so strange to think a man like Dante actually ran a business--he was a certified mess of a man at best.

You blinked, turning to look at Lady and Trish as they both stood, Lady yawning lightly and stretching up her arms. The dark-haired devil hunter looked tired, you felt awful that she had stayed up all night to wait for you to wake up. But...there was also a part of you that desperately didn’t want her to leave, her support being such a needed thing that you almost started to cry there and then.

But you held it back.

I can’t keep being selfish.

“Thanks for the ride, Nico,” Trish said to the mechanic up front, looking between her and Nero, “I’ll call you if Dante shows up any time soon. If you need us we’re going to be here.”

Nero gave her a small salute with his fingers, seeming pretty tired as he replied, “Sure thing. Thanks for helpin’ out, it was a blast.” There was definitely sarcasm lacing his tone there at the end.

Trish scoffed, rolling her eyes and turning to the van door. You saw her pause, standing by Lady and watching you both as the woman pulled you into a firm hug. The motherly embrace Lady brought with her was definitely making it hard for you not to cry, that was for certain. You clung to her for a moment, pressing your face to her shoulder and letting out a slow breath. She had done a lot to help you mentally through the past few days, you wish that you could spend more time with her. But there was work to be done, and a mess to clean up after what Vergil did. You knew your place.

“I promise I’ll visit you in Fortuna soon,” Lady said firmly, squeezing you tightly to her almost to the point of it being too much. She skewered Griffon and Shadow with a glare, tone firm as she told them, “Keep her safe or you answer to me.”

Griffon let out a snort, shaking out his feathers as he replied in a standoffish tone, “You don’t have to tell us that…!”

Lady huffed, leaning back from you and pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. You closed your eyes, managing to muster a smile for her before she had to leave. You wanted her to think you would be okay, wanted to be as strong as she thought you were. And all you could do was try.

“Everything will be okay,” She said softly, meeting your sad eyes with steady ones of her own. You took a moment to take in just how pretty her different colored irises looked, one red and one green, “I know you can make it through what happened...there is still happiness for you to find beyond what happened with V.”

Hearing her say the poet’s name made you flinch, like the reality of it had hit you in the face. She knew exactly what you had been feeling, that uncertainty and pain a lot more obvious than you anticipated. Or maybe...Lady was just good at reading others. You lowered your gaze, smiling sadly as you tried to push back another wave of that stubborn, heavy emotion that threatened to drown you again. You were grateful to have a person like Lady in your life, she was a big part of the force holding the broken pieces of you together.

“I know,” You replied softly, feeling several sets of eyes watching you but not finding the will to care. You mustered up another fake, brighter smile, looking back up at Lady and adding, “I’ll see you when you come visit. Thank you for all you’ve done for me, Lady.”

The older woman smiled, cupping your cheeks once before releasing you entirely. She turned, exchanging a brief look with Trish before pushing open the van door. Seeing her go was...incredibly hard, but necessary. You couldn’t rely on others forever, that was for certain. Trish paused for another moment, looking at you again with her sharp eyes and meeting your gaze. What was she thinking about while making a face like that, dancing on the border of concern and exasperation? Of all the people in the van, she was by far the hardest to get a read on. There was definitely an emotion there, but one you could not identify.

When she opened her mouth, you were pretty surprised when what came out was an apology.

“...Forgive me for not telling you the information I knew,” She said hesitantly, making you realize that flicker of emotion was probably guilt, “When Lady comes by for a visit I’ll join her--I owe you one.”

You blinked, unsure of what to say in response to her statement. In your opinion, there wasn’t a thing she owed you. It wasn’t like she had been your friend when V told her those things, nor were you entitled to her knowledge. These were things you could have discovered on your own, but you didn’t even try. And for that...you took that blame on yourself. Never on her, that was not her burden to bear.

“...It’s not your fault,” You offered her a small, sad smile, shaking your head lightly as you replied, “You don’t owe me anything. But still come by and visit, I would like to know more about you.”

That made the woman look visibly surprised, her eyes flickering back to your face to read your expression. You saw her frown, click her tongue and shake her head lightly, like your words were somehow exasperating.

“You’re too nice for your own good,” She said in a low tone, her eyes sharp as she turned away to follow Lady out of the van, “Take care, Y/N.”

The door shut behind her before you could think of a reply, the sound loud in the small space. You stood there for a moment, watching through the van’s window as the women spared a few glances back at the mobile home, Lady giving a small wave. Your mind ached with the desire to call out to them both, begging them to stay when you so desperately needed them. But...that wasn’t your place to ask.

They then pushed open the doors of Devil May Cry, walking inside and letting them swing shut behind them. Your smile eventually dropped after they were no longer in sight, body slumping onto the couch again with a light sigh. To say you were disparaged was an understatement, mood dropping considerably now that you were without the older woman keeping you steady.

Shadow could sense it, scooting closer to you and pressing her soft toe beans to your bare thigh. It made you look up, realizing that Nico and Nero were both looking back at you with varying levels of concern.

“You holdin’ up okay?” Nero asked, brow furrowed and lips pursed lightly.

You paused, trying to gather yourself a little bit as you picked up one of Shadow’s paws, pressing its soft texture to your face. No longer alone, you reminded yourself. Even with Lady no longer there for the time being, there were more than enough people here with you offering what they could to make you feel better.

And that...was enough.

“I’m...okay,” You replied after a moment, your voice sounding steadier than you thought it would, “Not the best, but...I’ll be okay.”

You must. There is no other choice.

That made Nico smirk, seeming satisfied with your answer and the look you wore on your face. She turned back to the wheel, stretching her arms above her head until the joints popped.

“Alright!” She hollered, her energy seeming in such a stark contrast to how beat Nero looked, “Let’s head home! If we’re lucky we can catch the last ferry before five o’clock!”

Nero winced at her overly loud voice, waving his left hand at her as he complained, “Jeez, tone it down. At this rate, I’ll never be able to sneak in a nap before we see Kyrie.”

You tuned out the argument before it could start, letting out a quiet sigh and flopping down on the couch again. Exhaustion was making a guest appearance again, tap dancing on stage with grief and regret. Shadow settled along your form, resting their mighty head on your chest and opening their jaws in a huge yawn. You got an eyeful of sharp teeth, but paid little mind to it as you put your gaze to the ceiling.

The van was beginning to move once more, Nico putting the pedal to the metal in an attempt to reach the ferry before it set off in the afternoon. You felt a little...anxious about going to Fortuna. There were so many people there that would be met, most of them children. If the kids didn’t like you, would you be able to stay?

It felt like such a silly thing to be worried about.

Griffon settled on the top of the couch, listening to your racing thoughts as the hours ticked by in the drive. Nico started chatting with you once Nero finally crashed from all the caffeine, but the conversation ranged between asking about your powers to the kind of things you liked. You couldn’t remember the last time someone asked your favorite color or animal, but Nico asked it. She carefully kept away from asking about your Deity, or V for that matter. Probably not wanting to dredge up bad emotions when you were already in a struggle to stay stable. Meanwhile, you decided your favorite animal was a cat, a response that made Griffon snort in mock annoyance. And you learned Nico was partial to dogs.

The other part of your time was spent looking out the windows while Nico’s jukebox played, watching the beautiful landscape and changing scenery. The further you got from Redgrave, the more normal and lively things seemed to become. Rivers were passed over, more buildings and homes lining normal streets and shops peppered in between. The sun moved across the sky as the day went on, changing the world’s colors and casting beautiful, elaborate patterns all over. You tried to focus on those things over anything else, taking up repetitive tasks to distract your mind. Counting street-lamps, playing I spy with Griffon and Nico.

It had already started reaching into the afternoon when Nero woke back up, jolting when Nico hit a particularly large pothole in the road. Had she hit that on purpose? Probably. And judging by her little smirk? Definitely. Nero scowled, looking around with a red mark on one cheek from leaning his hand on it. That was around the time that you started counting the teeth in Shadow’s mouth, ignoring Griffon’s taunts and jibes about your inane, silly tasks. Nero was definitely not feeling too hot after sleeping off all that caffeine, that was for sure. He looked closer to having a hangover than anything else.

Regardless.

That was the point that you sat up, noticing the taste of salt water in the air coming from Nico’s window. You turned, sucking in a breath at the sight of the ocean peeking over the horizon. It was certainly beautiful, glinting with the light of the sun getting lower and lower in the sky. It shimmered in an ethereal way, like it was covered in diamonds. You were certain you had seen an ocean at least once in your travels, but...somehow this was far more lovely than ones you had seen before. Your gaze would not move from it even as it drew closer, showing beaches dotted with human beings lounging and relaxing. It all looked so peaceful, quiet.

Nico eventually pulled into what looked to be a long dock, the elusive ferry waiting at the end and calling for the last to board. It all felt so whimsical, like the things you would see in movies--seagulls peppered the docks, soaring over all the boats in port swaying on the waves. Nico honked her horn, alerting an older-looking man who was about to close the gate in front of the waiting ship. He seemed to recognize the mechanic in an instant, shaking his head but waving a hand to allow them through. Thank goodness for that at the very least--you weren’t sure if you could handle being in the van again overnight.

Nico pulled onto the ramp leading onto the ferry, parking her van next to what appeared to be one other car--there weren’t a lot of people heading to Fortuna, it would seem. It made sense, Nico explained earlier that up until recent years the secluded city had been closed to the public, only opening their doors after rebuilding from the Order of the Sword disaster. Nero and a few others were working to get the city more open to outside visitors, to changing and accepting new technology and advancements. It was a slow process, but it was sure to increase the city’s economy bit by bit.

It was another hour from then on out. The three of you left the van while the ferry took you over the ocean, swaying and rocking on the waves. It was in these moments you tried to find your peace a bit more, staring out at the water as the salty breeze sent your hair swaying. The ocean reminded you of the Deity, there in his Void with the lonely whales. You wondered what he could possibly be thinking after all that had happened, if he knew how much his actions had affected you. All while this happened Nico kept up her conversations, leaning close to you and leaning back on the railing. You appreciate her effort, she was most certainly keeping your brain from bouncing back to the terrible thoughts.

“You’re gonna love the City,” She told you, pulling out a cigarette to light it and puffing smoke in the breeze away from you. Careful not to let you inhale it as well, “The people have sticks up their asses, but it ain’t like it’s their fault. It’s gettin’ better.”

Nero grunted at her words, leaning on the railing on your other side and squinting at the rolling waves in the distance, “They’re gonna be wary when some crazy woman comes bangin’ on their doors askin’ about the Order like you did.”

“Worked with y’all, didn’t it?” Nico sounded smug.

That earned her a scoff, the boy narrowing his eyes on her as he turned his head, “Yeah, just ‘cause Kyrie is nice.”

You smiled softly again, leaning back so Nico could shove Nero’s shoulder lightly. They really did act like siblings, which was nice in your opinion. It was obvious they cared underneath all the silly arguments.

“I’m eager to meet Kyrie,” You told Nero, a hint of nervousness in your tone now as you admitted, “You guys have talked her up so much, I hope I make a good first impression.”

Nico snorted, waving your concerns away and placing her free hand on your shoulder, “Don’t worry your pretty little head,” She said lightly, smirking as she took another long drag from her cigarette, “Kyrie is a doll and she likes everyone. Must be how a delinquent like Nero managed to snag her.”

Part of you expected Nero to protest that, since it came out in such a teasing tone. But he merely shrugged, shaking his head as he replied in a soft tone, “Ya got me there.”

There was an underlying hint of adoration in his voice, his expression always going soft at mention of his lady love. It was cute, and you definitely wanted to know what lead to them being together--but you could see the good in Nero behind all the bold and brash attitude he had. There was kindness, passion, the need to protect the people he cared about and a drive to work hard. Nero was a good kid, so he deserved the best. And it seemed like Kyrie was that and then some.

But...it still didn’t stop you from feeling nervous, even as the City appeared in the distance. Fortuna certainly was beautiful, the architecture looking old and elegant, with sweeping towers and stone lined walls. You stared in awe at it all, leaning over the railing and watching the waves crash up on the coast. It looked like the craggly rocks turned into a beach on the one side, sweeping around and disappearing as the island extended outwards. You couldn’t remember the last time you had sank your toes into some sand, or sunbathed.

“Wow…” You breathed, voice carried on the wind as it rushed past.

Nico chuckled, patting you on the shoulder and tugging you back toward the van, “Told ya! Come on now, let’s get ready to head out.”

It took a few minutes for the ferry to dock itself in Fortuna, giving you a chance to peek at a cobblestone path leading through to a town square. You were distracted in that moment by the sight of merchants, a market just starting to shut down after a day of selling and trading. People walked the street in hoods and cloaks, looking like they were playing a part in a fairy tale. Not that there wasn’t the occasion, normally dressed person dotted in between. It was all very...strange. You continued to stare even as the van started moving, peeling off from the boat and starting down the street. Everyone seemed used to the vehicle by now, bowing their heads and politely moving past as Nico drove along.

That nervousness came back, mingling with the sadness also starting to creep its way in. This seemed like the kind of place V would enjoy, there was no doubt. Poetry was a good word to describe everything, this secluded city of beauty and culture recovering from years of manipulation from a religious group. You could almost imagine the poet there next to you, reading from his book a line to describe the scenery in his warm, honeyed voice.

Your hand slid up to your blouse, squeezing the fabric between your fingers. You needed to stop thinking about him, you needed to stop this cycle before it got worse. But how difficult a task, when your eyes saw him in everything?

This hurts.

But you bit your tongue as you leaned on the couch, watching the buildings roll by and trying to keep yourself distracted. It was hard, too hard. Your journey was seemingly coming to an end, and it was stirring up the emotions that kept worming their way back into your subconscious. Heartbreak was a strange, fickle thing. Still fresh and new in such a capacity. You had never lost a love before, not in any memories you had or seemingly in the remaining traces. To experience romance in a week, to fall so hard your legs crumpled beneath you and to go through losing that love just as quick...why wasn’t the ache leaving you? Was this normal? Logic said that this suffering was strange for how long you knew V, but…

It felt like it was right. All of him had, even until the end.

It was on that thought that Nico finally turned a corner, hugging a road on the coast that lead to a back street lined with more buildings and no markets. You blinked, seeing a sign above a doorway that said “Fortuna Orphanage.” Simplistic, but you doubted an island of this size had many kids without homes. Despite the small size, there looked to be another side building connected to the orphanage, this one shaped differently and more resembling a house. There were wide, open windows with flower boxes on the sills growing herbs and various other plants. It was the garage door on that side that Nico went for, honking her horn loudly as the metal cranked open to let the vehicle inside.

Nervous. You felt nervous.

Nero let out a relieved sigh, dragging himself out of the passenger seat as the van’s engine cut off. You exchanged a glance with him, the boy not missing the worry at all as you hesitated on the couch. This was definitely a bit overwhelming after everything that had happened, your brain scrambling to remember how to introduce yourself to people, how to act around children, how to...exist. You summoned the familiars back before they could comment on the thought process, feeling Griffon’s annoyance and feeling bad. But there was not much else you could do.

You didn’t want to make matters worse.

“C’mon kid,” Nero said encouragingly, patting your shoulder before Nico took one of your hands and dragged you up, “No need to look so scared. Told ya everything was gonna be fine, didn’t I?”

You hesitated, but nodded in response. Nico grinned at you, seemed excited as she threaded her fingers with yours and tugged you after the boy. You realized this was the first time someone other than V had held your hand, and it felt...different. Still loving, still kind, but with no romance compared to the elegant fingers of the poet. It was a comfort, one that you needed as you hopped onto the garage floor, eyeing your surroundings and trying to calm your racing heart.

You noticed Nero quickly pulling down his sleeve to hide his new arm and carefully keeping his fingers hidden. You smiled, he looked pretty eager himself all things considered. Like he was about to give his wife a present.

Nero had no sooner opened the garage door into what looked to be a kitchen when the sound of scurrying little feet came barreling from the other door in the room. Like children running down the stairs. You blinked, then a second later the door burst open, revealing four kids as they ran into the kitchen and leapt onto Nero before he could react. Squeals and screams of delight echoed through the space, making you fight a smile as the white-haired boy pretended to stumble under the weight of them all and fall to the floor.

“Nero is home!”

“Hi Nero!”

“Welcome back!”

One of the kids was still very young, thumb in his mouth as he hung onto Nero’s coat with his other hand. There was three boys and one girl, ranging in ages between three to ten. They seemed so preoccupied with Nero, they didn’t see you standing in the doorway with Nico at all. All in all, they were all very cute, your lips smiling despite how nervous you felt as you saw the devil hunter grin, wrangling one kid under each arm and having another hang onto his leg like he was  a jungle gym. You could tell right away how much he cared about them, and how much they adored him in turn. Like a happy little family.

So engrossed in the display of affection, you didn’t notice the beautiful, auburn haired woman standing in the doorway. It wasn’t until she spoke, her voice soft and relieved as she too took in her fiance greeting all the kids.

“Welcome home.” She said with a loving smile, her eyes staring at adoration when you and the other two turned to look at her. Whatever you were expecting, you weren’t sure if it was close. Kyrie was a gorgeous woman, in a way that was so unbelievably soft and delicate looking. Her eyes were so kind, her smile very warm. You felt your heart speed up for a second, feeling even more nervous now that you were seeing her in person--she looked like an angel, and you would hate to not have her approval. But...you doubted this woman had a mean bone in her body.

Nero immediately perked up, that dopey grin lifting his lips as he stepped toward her, towing each child with him as he leaned in for a kiss. Each kid let out varying sounds of disgust, giggling at Nero as he rolled his eyes.

“Hey babe,” He told Kyrie, taking her hand with his left one and giving it a squeeze, “Sorry it took us so long, things got uhhh...crazy.”

Kyrie smiled in understanding, seeming delighted just to have him home as she said, “That’s okay, the kids kept me busy,” She looked down at the little boy clinging to Nero’s leg, the one with his thumb in his mouth, “Carlo helped me plant mint in some flower pots, didn’t you?”

The little boy nodded, perking up at her words like mint leaves were somehow the most exciting things every. Each of the kids was chatting excitedly, trying to get Nero’s attention with various stories they had amassed in his absence.

“Settle down,” He told them all ,setting the two he was holding on the ground with a smirk, “You’ll have all day tomorrow to catch me up. Didn’t I teach you guys to introduce yourselves when we have someone new in the house?”

All the kids looked confused until Nero pointed at the doorway where you were standing with Nico, drawing all four sets of little eyes on you instead. You blinked, smiling in a friendly manner and trying to calm the little ball of anxiety in your stomach. After all, Kyrie was now looking at you too. There was a look of almost...excitement in her eyes as she examined your face, seeming just as eager to see you as the kids did when they scrambled over to your legs. You were new, and new things excited children it would seem.

“Who are you?” Asked one of the older children, a little boy with darker skin but pretty, green eyes. All of them were starring at you with varying levels of awe and interest, making you feel a bit nervous as you struggling to tame the lump in your throat.

“I...I’m Y/N,” You introduced yourself, crouching down so you were at eye level with the boy who asked. You smiled, holding out a hand to shake as you asked, “And you are?”

He immediately stuck out his arm, grasping your fingers and giving it a little wiggle as he replied, “My name is Julio! This is Kyle, Carlo, and Emma.”

The other boy, Kyle, let out a huff and tugged on Julio’s shirt, “I can say my own name…!”

Nico and Nero had mentioned all their names before, but it was still polite to ask. You smiled ruefully when Julio stuck out his tongue, feeling the little girl place a hand on your arm and patting lightly to get your attention. She looked like she was six or seven years old, her brown hair pulled into tiny pigtails and her eyes round with curiosity.

“Hi, Y/N.” She said with a small wave, bouncing on her feet a bit.

Well, you were overwhelmed but incredibly smitten.

Each child kept trying to introduce themselves now, leaving you to stand there and take it all in with patience. Nico chuckled, reaching down to scoop up Carlo and put the boy over her shoulder--she could sense you losing control of the situation, and came to your rescue easily. For that, you were heavily grateful.

“C’mon now, brats!” She exclaimed loudly, snatching Kyle and starting for another doorway toward a set of stairs, “None of y’all have brushed your teeth, your smelly breath is stinkin’ up the air.”

Each kid let out whines of complaint, Kyle wiggling in the mechanics grasp as she carted them upstairs. You heard Nico argue with them, claiming that they had tomorrow to learn about the “new lady” and talk to her. New lady being you. The instant they were out of sight you felt the tension leave your body heart pounding slower and slower now that you no longer had them all crowding you. They were precious, they really were, but after the past few days trying to keep up with their energy was impossible. When was the last time you interacted with a child? You couldn’t ever remember a time, not in the last few missions at all.

But that still left Kyrie.

She approached you when the kids were gone, taking your hands between hers to squeeze them as she apologized, “Please forgive them, we don’t see many new faces around here,” Her eyes were so soft when you looked into their brown depths, her lips tilted in a welcoming smile, “It’s wonderful to finally meet you, Y/N. I’ve heard many good things about you.”

Wow, Kyrie radiated the energy of a mom or a big sister. Even more than Lady did, if that was all possible. You felt like you were staring into something bright enough to be the sun.

“You must be Kyrie,” You said, tilting your head and smiling as well while you added, “It’s...it’s wonderful to meet you too. Nero talked about you quite a bit.”

The boy had the decency to look embarrassed, ducking his head and cheeks a little red while he leaned on a nearby wall. Careful not to let his bare hand show, of course. Kyrie looked back at him, easily catching his awkward look and letting out a cute giggle.

“That makes me happy,” She said, turning back to you with a grin, “Let me show you which room is yours--the kids have an area on one side of the house, and we have a few rooms on this side.”

You nodded, letting her take you by the hand just as Nico had and tug you towards an opposing set of stairs. Nero exchanged a glance with you as she did so, giving you an encouraging smile and wiggling his right set of fingers in a meaningful wave. He still had his little surprise waiting for his wife, which you were certain he was going to show her once they had some alone time. You would try not to keep her busy for too long, the lovers deserved to have their reunion at the very least.

After climbing the stairs she lead you down a hallway, giving you time to see paintings and pictures lining the walls between rooms. You saw unfamiliar people and children among a few pictures of Nero and Kyrie. You guessed some of these were of the kind woman’s parents, others of the children who used to stay at the orphanage. There was even one of a little, grumpy boy with white hair--there was no mistaking who that was.

Regardless, you followed Kyrie to a door at the end of the hall. It opened to reveal another small set of stairs, leading to a loft-style room that had to be yours.

You blinked, taking in the quaint little space with curious eyes and feeling your breath catch. There were huge, open windows facing the ocean behind the house, curtains drifting on the wind over your bed. The room wasn’t large, but you preferred it this way. The ceiling was slanted on the opposing side to the window, over a cubby with a desk. There looked to be a dresser as well in front of the railing to the stairs, and a small closet door. It was cute, and it was much more than you would have ever asked from anyone. To be able to taste the ocean air in the morning, woken up by the sun…

The only hurt was knowing V wouldn’t be there to experience it with you.

Stop that.

“I put some clothing in the dresser for you,” Kyrie’s voice drew you out of your thoughts, making you look at her as she pulled open a drawer, “It’s not much, but I can make more once I get some more supplies from the city square.”

You blinked, tone awed as you asked, “You...make clothes?”

She nodded, seeming proud of herself as she gave a little twirl in her dress--a flowing thing that reached her knees, patterned with sunflowers and wearing a jean jacket on top, “I do. It’s cheaper this way, easier to get fabrics and thread from people in Fortuna with how slow things have been.”

That was understandable, but still impressive. You wondered if she made the kids clothes too, but assumed the answer was yes considering how Kyrie was as a person.

“Thank you for your kindness,” You said softly, touching the few shirts in the first drawer with your fingertips. You felt the woman look back at you on her way to show you the closet, but you kept your eyes on the dresser, “I’ll do my best not to be a burden on you and Nero, and to make up for staying here. Whatever you need I can do.”

You would cook, clean, and help Nero fight demons if needed. You knew what your Void powers could do, knew that they could serve many uses other than fighting if you so chose it. Kyrie and Nero didn’t have to take you in, but...they did, and for that nothing would ever be enough to repay them for it. Kyrie smiled in understanding, looking a bit sad in your peripheral vision but you couldn’t understand why. Surely she would want help? Working an orphanage was hard work, and you doubted she was paid much for it if at all.

“Help is always needed,” She said softly, taking a step closer and putting a hand on your shoulder, “But take the time to recover first. You’ve been through a lot, haven’t you?”

That made your heart skip a beat, that flowering pain opening its petals and digging in thorns. There was no doubt that Nero had talked to her about what happened with V, and maybe more judging by that knowing look in her eyes. You looked at her, fingers trembling where they touched the soft fabric and trying to gather yourself again. But Kyrie didn’t wait for a reply, only offering a cheerful smile and moving for the stairs once more.

“There’s a shower downstairs on the right,” She told you, patting a towel hanging on the railing, “Why don’t you get cleaned up and meet me on the beach later so we can talk?”

You nodded, feeling a bit dazed as you watched her descend down the stairs with her auburn hair swaying back and forth. The last time you had showered, in was in the van after your punishment. And that alone was a hard memory to swallow, even as you obeyed her. Your feet carried you to the bathroom without thinking, fingers numb as you closed the door and started to remove your clothes. If you weren’t struggling so hard to keep your emotions at bay, you might have noticed how cute the bathroom was. Blue tiles and things revolving around the ocean hanging on the walls. But...your mind was elsewhere.

This was the first time you saw yourself in the mirror since the incident.

Your eyes stared tiredly back, hair shoved over one shoulder and those new tattoos covering your collar bones down to your arms. Pale, you looked pale. Not like yourself, even though you had issues with that before now. It was eerie, seeing V’s markings on your own flawed skin, the sensation making you feel even more numb than before. But that was definitely your hand that raised in the mirror, touching your cheek and wiping at a dried drop of whale oil on your lashes. You were a mess, it was shocking that the children approached you looking so run down.

But you didn’t linger, turning to step into the porcelain tub and turn on the water. For whatever reason, you thought the instant you were under the warm spray the tears would finally come, that you would break down and finally sob all the pain out. But...you didn’t. You mechanically washed your hair, scrubbed your body, removed all traces of the Qliphoth tree in its entirety. And even then, the tears wouldn’t come. Which phase of the grief was this, the aching numbness filling your limbs? It spread as you shut off the water, not staying too long in the warmth and drying yourself off. Being clean didn’t make you feel better, but it also didn’t make you worse.

It was all instinct, drying your hair, putting on what felt to be a fresh, blue shirt and new shorts. They were comfortable, made more for relaxation than fighting. And even then...you felt unchanged as you padded up to your room, depositing your clothes in a hamper before making your way back down. Griffon, Shadow, and Nightmare were anxious on the edges of your mind, taking in your mood and the new area but too nervous to come out yet. All in all, you spent maybe thirty or forty minutes getting freshened up.

When you got downstairs, things had quieted considerably. It was around eight o’clock now, the sun already almost gone behind the clouded horizon line. You looked around, taking in what looked to be a living room and parlor off from the kitchen, then a room that lead to what appeared to be the main part of the orphanage. You didn’t want to look around too much yet, so you headed to what looked to be a back door, stepping outside barefoot. Kyrie and Nero lived in a beautiful home--there was a garden out back, growing fruits and vegetables with an archway lined with vines. You followed a little stone path leaded to a small set of stairs, ones that lead out onto golden sands.

There was a strange feeling there, your toes sinking into the sand that was cooling now that the sun was down. To live so close to a beach, it just beyond their back door was...nice. And there on the beach Kyrie waited, sitting on a blanket with Nico and sipping what looked to be tea sitting on a small table with a lit lantern illuminating them in the dim light. Both looked up at the sound of you approaching, Nico now in what looked to be an oversized t-shirt and booty shorts now that she wasn’t working in her van.

“Where’s Nero?” You asked quietly, sitting down next to Kyrie on the blanket and crossing your legs. For that matter, the kids were absent too. You were unsure how late that they were allowed to stay up.

Nico snorted, her long hair now pulled into a loose ponytail as she replied, “He’s putting the little kiddies to bed. They were eager to have him back,” She waggled her brows, staring at Kyrie in amusement as she added, “You missed out on Nero showing Kyrie his new arm, Y/N.”

You looked at the woman in question, catching her smiling widely and proudly at mention of Nero. It was easy to see that she was overjoyed about the surprise, her eyes shining with delight as she nodded vigorously.

“I’m so happy for him,” She said in a relieved tone, clasping her hands in front of her chest like she was praying, “It was so hard for him when he lost the Devil arm, I’m glad there’s at least one grief off his shoulders.”

Christ, Kyrie really was a sweetheart, wasn’t she? It made you smile, even if the motion felt a little stiff with your mood. You accepted a cup of tea when it was offered to you by Nico, holding the cup between your fingers and staring at the liquid with tired eyes. If anyone deserved to be happy, it was definitely Nero and Kyrie. Your sorrow didn’t subtract from that in the slightest bit. You tried to keep that thought in your head, knowing that sinking into anything less would be childish. Jealousy had never been in your nature, and you weren’t about to start now.

“He was really excited to show you,” Your mouth moved finally, words soft but still heard over the sound of waves, “He went through a lot, so he deserves to get something good from it.”

Kyrie placed a hand on your arm, making you look up at her gentle, brown eyes. For a moment it felt like she was looking right into your soul, a sensation that made you feel a bit too vulnerable for your liking.

“So did you,” She said softly, not looking away from your startled gaze as she continued, “Nero told me what happened with V, and Vergil. And the Deity too--you went through something just as terrible.”

Hearing all their names made you flinch, looking away and holding the cup a little bit tighter. She was only confirming what you already knew, but the reality was punching you in the gut over and over. Walls of numbness were surrounding those emotions now, but they were new. Made of fragile glass, threatening to break just at hearing V’s name. You didn’t want to shatter, not now. Not anymore. It was your burden to bear, this pain that you were burying deep inside with all the rest of the memories that hurt you. It was all you could do to cope, to smile.

But it just made you a glass container ready to crack.

“It’s okay,” You said mechanically, the words feeling fake even to you as you kept your eyes on the ocean, “I’ll be fine with time.”

You felt the Void rising up, whispering those words through your lips that had become so familiar.

“This pain is a reminder that I am alive,” You said softly, but they felt weighted now. Tired, not like before. In the beginning these words felt right, they had meaning and they drove you. You took pain as a blessing, for if you felt pain it meant that you weren’t dead like before. Every bit of it was a gift, one that you shouldn’t take for granted. But...now it felt like weights, “I’ll bear it, because I...I’m lucky to even be here right now.”

You should be grateful. To have power, to have life breathed into your suffering soul and lungs.

You could feel Kyrie and Nico staring at you, but you didn’t dare look back at their faces. You knew that they couldn’t understand, they who had never died or been to a place like the Void. The cold, the dark, the howling of so many tortured voices...it left its mark on you, one that would never leave. The Deity’s hands had been guiding you since that first moment of awakening, but they felt more like shackles now, holding you down as a knife was plunged into your chest. And worse...you felt like you deserved it.

“....You know,” Kyrie finally said, her voice gentle and warm compared to the turmoil being tampered down inside you, “I’ve always found that the good things in life are what make me feel most alive.”

You froze, turning to meet her brown gaze with a startled one of your own. She stared steadily back, taking one of your hands and squeezing it between her delicate fingers. It looked like she had given her words a lot of thought, probably cultivating this speech since Nero and Nico had told her your story. Of how you died, repeating the miserable cycle over and over until you fell for V. And then...he left you too.

They always leave.

“Like eating your favorite food after not having it for a long time,” Kyrie continued despite your dark thoughts, closing her eyes like she was remembering past memories, her hair drifting on the breeze, “Or hugging a friend so tightly that you share your warmth with them. The feeling of putting on a fresh shirt when it has dried, or the sensation of laughing so hard there are tears in your eyes.”

“Or,” Nico piped in, sucking down some tea and smiling mischievously at you, “Finally gettin’ home after a long day and stickin’ your tiddies in front of an air conditioner.”

Kyrie let out a light giggle, smiling widely as she looked back at the messy haired mechanic, “That too! But what I’m saying is,” she turned back to you, squeezing your hand again as you listened on in silence, “This mindset you have, that life should be made real only by pain...in reality, it’s not making you feel alive at all. It’s keeping you in that bad place, making you feel like you deserve to be hurt like it justifies you being alive again...doesn’t it?”

In reality...you didn’t feel alive at all, did you?

Your glass walls started trembling, fingers mimicking the motion in Kyrie’s grasp. It was starting to hurt, it was starting to claw its way out your throat again. You stared out at the sea, feeling yourself unraveling as Nero’s fiance spoke the words you knew all along to be true, but never wanted to acknowledge it. After so many years of pain, of suffering, what else could you do to cope? The dark, the cold, the Void...you were birthed into this existence in pain, so willing to believe whatever was told to you to make the ache tolerable. Fooling yourself, trying to take the pain as a means to shield yourself. Like a punishment that you deserved.

It hurt. It hurt and it wasn’t fair. You felt your breathing speed up, mind struggling to push back the flood threatening to overtake you. It was too much, it was too much. You were overflowing with emotions in a glass too full, ready to break. And it had been a long time coming.

“I know it hurts,” Kyrie whispered, holding your trembling fingers between your own and keeping her gaze on your face, “You lost someone dear to you, and it’s agony, the worst kind. But this isn’t what made you feel most alive, was it? It was when you were with him that you were thriving, when pain wasn’t there anymore.”

“To hold infinity in the palm of your hand,” Your mind replayed the night in the church, V’s eyes staring at you in adoration as he stroked your cheek. It made your breath catch,  a whimper of agony threatening to burst from your throat as you tried to push it back, “An eternity in an hour.”

Please. I can’t I can’t do this.

“My sparrow, I do believe you are coming undone.”

Remembering you is a reminder of pain.

“I am such a selfish creature, sparrow.”

One that I will never come back from.

“And it’s those memories that you should hold onto, to remind you that you are alive,” Kyrie put a hand to your cheek, tilting your head so that your stricken gaze was looking back at her, “You are alive because you can love and feel all those wonderful things. Never doubt that, Y/N.”

It hurt. It hurt it hurt it hurt. Tears were starting to fill your eyes, threatening to track down your cheeks.

It hurts.

Kyrie gave you a soft smile, one that was a bit sad as she continued carefully, “Let the pain be pain, sweetheart. You’re allowed to be upset, to be angry, to be be heartbroken without trying to convince yourself that it’s needed,” She moved her hand from your cheek so she could squeeze your shaking fingers again, her voice taking on a firm tone as she continued, “You didn’t deserve it, you never did. And it’s okay to think that, to look at pain as a burden when it is one--pain is a reminder, but never one that you are alive.”

Pain is a reminder, but never one that you are alive.

You felt yourself starting to hyperventilate, the tears falling down your cheeks without stop. You saw V in your mind, smiling at you with his gentle jade eyes meeting yours.

You didn’t deserve it, you never did.

The walls had shattered, flooding you with memory after memory, feeling after feeling. Of when V held your hand for the first time, sharing your first kiss, entwining your bodies as you shared a night of passion. Crashing down on you like waves until you felt it again, the drowning grief pulling you under until you couldn’t breathe. It hurt, it was agony. But worse--she was right. Those were the moments where you felt alive, heart at ease and filled with joy, filled with adoration and affection. When you were laughing with Griffon, curled up in a bed next to the familiars and V. You felt more alive in those moments than any other in so many years since your awakening, and they were everything to you.

All the tears you had held back, the feelings waiting to break through now burst out. You were crumbling to pieces, unable to stop the flow once it began. It wasn’t fair, it wasn’t fair that you lost him after working so hard. This pain wasn’t fair, you didn’t deserve it. You deserved better.

It hurts.

It hurts so much.

Heavy, gasping sobs started to burst out of your throat, tears dripping down your chin like a dam broken loose. You couldn’t stop, they couldn’t stop, and for once you didn’t want them to.

And for the first time in so long, you wept harder than you ever had. Crying with your whole body, sobs wracking your frame as you fell to pieces in front of both girls. Kyrie took  the cup from your hands, handing it to Nico before she pulled you into an embrace. Your sobs turned into wails, releasing every ounce of grief and loss you felt, mind replaying all the moments of happiness ripped away from you in and instant. And this was what Kyrie knew you needed, to let it all go, to let the pain out and stop fighting yourself. After years and years of holding yourself back and taking beating after beating, you had finally had enough. She held you close, like a mother would, stroking back your hair and whispering soothingly to you.

“It’s not fair…!” You sobbed, voice raw and broken as your shoulders trembled, “It’s not...it’s not fair…!”

I just wanted happiness, after so long of not having it. And it fell to pieces.

I gave everything.

I gave everything and it changed nothing.

You felt Nico put a hand on one of your shoulders, squeezing you gently as you continued to cry out everything you had held back. She said nothing, but you could feel her support too.

Kyrie stroked your hair back, her voice gentle and soothing as she whispered, “You did your best, and that’s what matters. It will be okay, I promise you that,” She held you closer, arms steady and firm and holding your steady amongst the storm inside, “You’re a part of my family now, and we will make sure you find happiness again, I swear that Y/N.”

You said nothing in response, still sobbing softly in her arms and unable to stop yourself. For once in so many years, you felt like you were at home. There had been no time to rest, no time to find peace, no time to realize just how terrible things had been for you. But now...now you were unraveling, picking apart every tragedy like they were strings on a bow playing the song of your existence. You would grieve for what you lost, for the poet who left you behind. Because unlike before, you weren’t trying to swim in the ocean of grief alone, drowning in the inky waters of the Void.

The familiars were surrounding your mind, holding you in your grief like life preservers. Kyrie and Nico were holding your head above water, and Nero was there with a boat. You had them there, and they were the reminders that you were alive. Not the pain, not the heartache, not losing V. You would keep those precious memories of him, of every touch, kiss, and words shared. And you would hold them to your heart, those moments where you felt the most alive.

And that, for you, would be enough.

These are the reminders that I am alive.

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[starker-stories]

The Cold, Chapter 1 - The Messages Series

This chapter on AO3

By @thestarkerisobvious​ and @starker-stories​​

New chapters in the series post every Thursday.

All links are to AO3. You don’t need to be a creator to have an AO3 account. You can have one solely as a reader. But to read anything at all in this series, you can just be an anonymous reader and/or commenter.

The best way to keep up with The Cold is to subscribe to the story on AO3. And the best way to keep up with the Messages Series is also to subscribe. Click on the ‘subscribe’ button on each of the above links.

Tags: Tony Stark Feels, Peter Parker Feels, College Student Peter Parker, Established Relationship, Anal Sex, Oral Sex, Tony Stark Still Has Arc Reactor, Arc Reactor Kink, Peter Parker is a Mess, Spider-Man powers, Communication, They Finally Communicate!, And Fuck Of Course Look at Who It's Written By Of Course They Fuck, Avengers Compound

The entire Messages Series.  All links are to AO3.

Messages Unsent  (complete & posted)

Nothing More Than A Machine  (complete & posted)

Tomorrow  (complete & posted)

My Virgin (Revisited)  (completely & posted)

The Cold  (completely written) posts every Thursday  

Untitled Book 6  ( in progress )

Untitled Book 7  ( in progress )

Chapter 1:  Too Many Comic Books

Peter insisted. They were going to spend the weekend at Avengers HQ. Peter suggested they stay somewhere nearby, a hotel or a B&B, but Tony insisted right back. If they had to spend the weekend at the compound, he had a perfectly good suite of rooms there. The suite, like the entire damn place, was paid for by him. If he and Peter had to be there, they — as in THEY, a couple — would be using Tony’s rooms there.

“What was it like at the compound, right after it was built?” Peter asked playfully, laying his head on Tony’s shoulder. He was still in the afterglow of the quicky they had on the kitchen countertop and still felt like snuggling. “Did you all room there with Thor? Was it like one long slumber party?”

Tony arched an eyebrow. “Too many comic books, kid.”

“Hey, there’s internet rumors too,” Peter giggled. “Simpson’s references. Was it just like the Teen Titans tower? Did you have breakfast together? Movie night?”

“Whoa, whoa, slow down. Yeah, no. Nothing like that. First, I hated having the tower rebranded and taken over. Not my decision. I just paid for everything. Someone else,” he said pointedly, “called the shots. Cap, Fury, Hill, anyone else but me.”

“No popcorn fights? All those superheroes together snuggled on the couch watching old movies that Cap would recognize?” Peter teased gently, rubbing his hand soothingly across Tony’s chest.

“Are you fuckin’ kidding me? Yeah, I’d put in a screening room. You’ve been there.”

“You DID! You DID have movie night!”

“There were movies shown,” Tony admitted with a little side-nod.

“The internet was right for once! Did you play spin the bottle? Ten minutes in heaven?”

“What the actual FUCK?” Both eyebrows headed for the sky. “No. No way.” Tony shook his head. “What a fuckin’ nightmare that would’ve been. There were parties. Sure. They always ended so well. Murderbots showing up at the last minute. Gotta schedule that into the next event. But those ‘revels’? Very well planned — and rare — events. Post battle. The few times all six of us were there. Thor living in another entire realm from us, y’know.”

“Damn, I wanted it to be one long slumber party involving Thor,” Peter whispered, snuggling in.

“Excuse me? You got a thing for big hunks of muscle I should know about?” Tony teased.

“No, I thought it would be a fusion of Asgardian mead-hall and American sleepover. Ale served in tankards in the pillow fort,” Peter grinned and reached up to stroke Tony’s beard. He was glad there was no pilot. Hopefully he’d be able to let go of his lover before their journey upstate was over.

“Holy shit.” Tony laughed. “What the hell? The world has some very weird notions.” Tony sighed. “It was tense. The year we all lived in ‘Avengers Tower’. It wasn’t even technically a year. I mean, the tower was called that for a year. Rogers moved back to Brooklyn first. No, it was Clint who ‘disappeared’ on us first. We didn’t know he had a family. Then Rogers. Nat, she was off doing SHIELD things most of the time.” Tony’s voice turned a little sad talking about her. “But she kept her floor probably the longest. Longer than Bruce, even. He and I worked well together, but the stress… he couldn’t handle big-city living. Me? I kept to myself. Tense wasn’t even a word for it when I didn’t. Bruce and I, we… I guess you’d say we came closest to ‘hanging out’.”

“In the lab? That’s what I thought, I thought it would have been cool. But not in the labs at the compound?”

“Once I managed to evict the fuckin’ lot of them out of the tower after Berlin, well, there were fewer of us then, weren’t there? Bruce was gone on his adventure with the Grandmaster. Nat… she…” Tony sighed. “That didn’t work. SHIELD was gone, so Fury and his gang weren’t a problem. At the compound? It was me and Rhodey. Rhodey doing rehab. Me working on developing better braces for his legs.”

Peter wanted to hear stories though. That fit the comic books and the happy image that Tony’s PR department worked to project of the Avengers, to keep the backlash down after the Battle of New York. As many had been calling for their heads for the collateral damage as were hailing them heroes for saving the world from the aliens. Like everything else in Tony’s life at the time, Stark Industries’ resources were requisitioned for the Avengers. ‘The OG6 who saved the world’. Of whom, he was the last remaining member. He didn’t count Professor Hulk, since he wasn’t really Bruce Banner anymore, and Thor was off with Quill and company.

So Tony spun Peter the fantasies he wanted to hear. Each one, more painful than the last. He missed Nat. He missed her the most after she’d helped Cap and Barnes’ escape. Even though she accused him of causing all the trouble. Attacked him while he was waiting for Rhodey to come out of surgery. They hardly had time to heal the wounds before she was gone. When they’d had the opportunity, he was off playing Farmer John with Pepper. Nat was running the compound. With Steve. So he never visited until he came back to solve Lang’s time travel problem. But yeah. It was movie nights and family dinners with the Maximoff girl who dropped a garage full of cars on his ass and damn near crushed him through his armor. Yep. Popcorn, movies, revels.

“I’ve heard these stories,” Peter said gently, tracing patterns on Tony’s sleeve even as he watched Tony’s jaw tense as the tales unfolded. “These are the ones you could read in Time. But those are the PR-approved stories, the ones your department wrote.” Normally he wouldn’t ask Tony these kinds of questions, especially when Tony started making that ‘sniffing’ face. Especially when Tony started shielding his body with his left arm. But Peter had promised to stop avoiding the difficult questions like he had before, so he did ask. “Are those PR stories?”

Tony sighed. “Yeah. Sorry. Slipped right back into that, didn’t I?” His laugh was bitter. “Pete, I don’t know how it was for the others. For me? It was a little slice of hell. Rogers didn’t suddenly develop his self-righteousness when he took off to find his boyfriend. His meetings never failed to point out what my character defects were. My ‘ego’. My ‘lording it’ over everyone that I was the one paying for everything, working my ass off in marathon binge sessions to make sure everyone’s kit was state-of-the-art. Getting reamed out if someone did get a shot through the armor, like when Clint took that bullet graze. My fault,” he said, gesturing to himself. “The rest followed Rogers’ lead in his attitude, same as on the battlefield. Why did I feel close to Nat? She just sat there and kept her mouth shut. Bruce too. He tried defending me a couple of times. He saw how hard I was working. But… confrontation? Not good for Mr. Green.” Tony turned away and looked out the window, watching the ground slide by. “The armor? Gained a lot of new layers during those years.”

Peter massaged Tony’s bicep and gazed out the window with him.

“The post-Berlin compound was kind of a relief,” Tony continued. “Lonely, in the way that when you get used to something, even something bad, you miss it. But peaceful. Now? Not so peaceful anymore. There’s New-Cap, who was Old-Cap’s best friend and learned all about me from him, The inherited boyfriend who killed my mom. And the witch lady who hates me because one of my missiles blew up her home. That’s what’s waiting for me down there. Oh, and Fury trying to rebuild SHIELD.”

“Are the training fields you designed still being used?”

“Cap did most of the design on those. He was the one with boot camp experience. I just provided the land and a bit of technical support. But the fields are still there and they’ll be used again, once Fury’s got his recruits. Not yet though. The building projects, the fields, everything but the main building got abandoned after the snap. It’s kept up, not gone to seed, but empty, unfinished.”

“What about the labs at the compound, where you first developed the nanotech?”

“Those stayed.” Tony was proud of one thing he’d done to the compound. “When the compound was first built, with SHIELD’s needs as well as the Avengers’, the labs were relegated to the basement, an afterthought. I built a new building that replicated everything I had at Stark Tower before it got the big A on the side of it.”

He shook his head and huffed a little laugh. “I guess I do have the ego Cap accused me of. It’s probably ridiculous how much what they did to the tower bothered me. That damn A. SHIELD and the Avengers took over what I built. I had to buy another building for Stark Industries. The offices were requisitioned. My labs there became communal property and I couldn’t work in peace or work on anything for Stark without risking industrial espionage.

“But at least they left me my home, didn’t kick me out to use the penthouse for Fury or change it to an administration space. The two levels we live on and the one small lab level where we mess around, those I got to keep. Those I locked them the fuck out of. No one came up to our house without my permission. Which, of course, Cap tore me apart over.

“They changed the design I’d had worked so hard on with the architects. God, I hated the way they took the smooth curve of the top of the tower and put that big clunky angular box jutting out, breaking that line. The way it curved? Man, weeks were spent getting that mathematically correct while maintaining the aesthetics of it. The minute I dropped you off at May’s after Berlin, I was on the phone to my architect and the builders to fix that abomination stuck onto my building. Then I kicked everyone remaining out to the compound, not that there were a lot of people left.

“I actually had more peace and quiet at the compound labs during the ‘A’ phase than I had at home. That’s why there was duplication in the new building. I didn’t want the lot of them messing with the electron microscope. I kinda just hid it at the labs upstate behind a big ‘do not enter’ sign. I needed it to develop the nanotech. That I definitely wasn’t going to share with the Avengers. I built the Mark 50 at the compound’s labs and no one poked their nose into what I was doing or demanded that it be ‘for the team’.

“Then my world fell apart,” Tony said, giving Peter’s very solid, not dust, hand a squeeze. “I let the compound’s labs be abandoned and the whole place was taken over by Nat and Steve.

“Oh! I did do one thing there after that. I said there hadn’t been any work done on the fields, but I was wrong. They were completely torn up for a while. I built the tunnel for a much larger prismatic accelerator. It runs underneath them, with the beam emerging in the sub-basement of the lab. That way I didn’t have to worry about replacing the core,” he said, tapping the arc reactor. “I could create enough to power the arc for twelve lifetimes.”

“That was my last project before I retired. The next, was solving Lang’s time travel problem up at the lake house and bringing it here.”

As Tony told Peter about his work at the compound’s labs, the unpleasantness of talking about the Avengers fell away. Talking tech to Peter was better than an entire pharmacy of antidepressants.

“But that accelerator? I made so many improvements scaling it up.” Tony grinned at Peter. “It is so cool to watch that beam of light… it’s much larger than the one in Malibu. When it hits the receptacle and it shifts and starts to glow? Yeah,” Tony said proudly.

“That’s what I work on when you’re at class — scaling up the arc under the tower. Been working on that since forever. When I’m ready for a prototype, I’ll need the accelerator again. I’ll teach you how to use it.”

Their tech talk excitement didn’t last, as Tony looked out the window and saw the buildings of the compound, small in the far distance. There was still the fact that Peter wanted to talk to Tony about something that could only be talked about at this emotionally complicated place. Even though no detail, not even a hint, was revealed, Tony knew it was going to be one of those ‘serious conversations’. ‘Serious conversations’ rarely ended well. Or at least their middles were… highly unpleasant, even if they somehow did manage to end… not horribly.

But Peter insisted that the conversation he needed to have had to happen upstate. Tony knew he shouldn’t feel that way — it was Peter, and Peter would never do that to him — but it felt like a trap.

He was trying to figure out how to keep the openness he wanted with Peter at all times, and keep the mask on with everyone else. He’d do it. He had to. Nothing was going to make him go back to the way things had been. If he needed to… he winced inwardly at the thought… protect himself, he’d beat a cowardly retreat to his room. Like a child. But he would stay open with Peter. He’d stay him and not his mask for the entire weekend.

Not doing a great job of it, Tony, he chided himself, noticing he’d fallen into silence again. But neither did Peter seem eager to talk anymore. The run-up to a ‘serious conversation’ wasn’t exactly conducive to a ‘casual conversation’.

[emiliachrstine]

A Soul For A Soul

ya’ll know what this is. I’m going to tag a few peeps who I’ve discussed this idea with: @cptainsrogers, @chuck-hansens, @susiesamurai, @sansvstarks. Also like this isn’t perfect and I don’t think it’s that great but like come cry with me??

Vormir was a desolate landscape. The sun hid behind a thick layer of clouds, only a few streams of light managed to peak through the cracks. It was windy and cold. Jacqueline felt it the minute she stepped off the ship.

It was so quiet. No sign of life which left an eerie feeling in the pit of her stomach.

Nevertheless, she and Steve carried on with their mission. They had to hike up a large mountain, a rather risky one at that. Jacqueline’s footing slipped several times. It was helpful that she was there with Steve, he always managed to catch her before she could fall. The higher they got, the closer she stayed with him. The last thing she wanted was to fall to her death in 2014 on another planet.

They finally reached the top. Steve pulled himself up onto the ledge and then helped Jacqueline as well. “You good?”

She brushed off the snow from her suit and nodded, “Yeah, I’m fine.” She took a moment to look at their surroundings. Despite the reason for them being here, it was still hard for her to wrap her mind around the craziness of it all. She was able to travel back in time and was on another planet, light-years away from Earth. “This is insane.”

“Yeah, but we can take the time to admire it all later.”

They continued walking up a pathway that led under a small overpass. Jacqueline felt a small sense of dread with the fact that they had no idea where the stone was hidden. It was probably going to take them forever to find it.

“You seek the stone.” A raspy voice made the pair stop in their tracks.

A cloaked figure appeared, floating before them. Jacqueline had her gun at the ready while Steve positioned his shield in front of them. Her aim followed the figure as it touched the ground.

“We’re not here to cause any trouble,” Steve assured, his hand tightened its grip on the straps of his shield.

“Jacqueline, daughter of John.” The figure spoke again.

“Steven, son of Sarah.” There was a pause. “Captain Rogers?” The voice sounded confused--surprised even. “How long it has been since we last met,” His voice broke its calm facade, he took in a shaky breath and Jackie felt her blood run cold. “How are you even still alive?”

What, how the hell does Steve know this cloaked figure from another planet? Jacqueline stepped forward, her gun held up in an aim, “Who the hell are you?”

“The Captain would surely recognize me,” The figure stepped forward, its face illuminated by the light.

Jacqueline cringed at what she saw, but soon the recognition finally showed itself. “Holy shit,”

“Red Skull,” Steve could only stare at the figure before them, it felt like a nightmare. One that he couldn’t wake up from. The last time he saw that face was in 1945 before he made the choice to sacrifice himself. Before he had to say goodbye to his friends. Before he was forced to sleep for almost seventy years. Now here he was, facing his old opponent once again. “How did you end up here?”

“When I held the Tesseract, it created a portal and banished me here to be the stonekeeper.”

Jacqueline snorted, “Good riddance.” As if they were supposed to feel sorry for him. The man was a literal Nazi. “If you just tell us where the stone is, we’ll take it and be on our way, no trouble from us.”

“You’re foolish to think that it will be that simple.”

You’re calling me foolish, Jacqueline thought to herself.

Red Skull turned and motioned for the pair to follow him. They did just that, Steve made sure that he stood in-between Red Skull and Jacqueline, not wanting to take any chances.

“How did you survive, you look no different from when I saw you last.” There was a hint of disdain in Red Skull’s voice.

Steve eyed the figure as they continued up the pathway, “Ice does wonders for the body.” He saw the way Red Skull’s eyes narrowed at his answer. “I crashed the ship but it didn’t kill me. I just slept in the ice for almost seventy years until I was woken up.”

“Pity that it didn’t kill you.”

“Alright, noseless,” Jacqueline stepped up and glared at Red Skull. “Just take us to the damn stone.”

She didn’t notice it at first, but they had come to a clearing on the cliff top. Two huge stone pillars guarded either side, their presence was intimidating--demanding something that she couldn’t quite put her finger on. Jacqueline and Steve ventured further until they were looking down the side of the cliff. Steve placed his shield onto his back harness, trying to ration out a plan for how to get the stone.

“The stone’s down there,” Jacqueline took a step back and quickly assessed their surroundings. “Okay, we just need to scale down and go look for it.”

“I’m afraid it is not that simple.” The pair turned to face Red Skull, both clearly not in the mood for him to steer them off course. Nevertheless, he continued. “To ensure that whoever possesses it understands its power, the stone demands a sacrifice.”

His words made her entire body run cold.

“In order to take the stone, you must lose that which you love. A soul...for a soul.”

Silence followed Red Skull’s words. The wind picked up, chilling Jacqueline to her very core. She turned to look at Steve and saw the realization wash over his features. His eyes downcast as he let out a shaky breath. Jacqueline took a hold of his hand, prompting him to finally look at her. How were they supposed to handle this situation? Red Skull said that a sacrifice had to be made.

You must lose that which you love. A soul for a soul.

That means they had to...no. Jacqueline huffed out a breath and shook her head. “No, there’s no way it’s true, he has to be lying to us.”

Steve silently regarded her for a moment and gently squeezed her hand. “I don’t think he is.”

She hesitated, hoping that Steve was just joking--it would’ve been really cruel if he was joking in this moment. But she saw it in his eyes. He actually believed it. “N-no, it can’t be true that means that one of us would have to--” She couldn’t even say it. “No, he’s lying.”

“Jacks, think about everything Nebula told us about this place. Thanos came here with his daughter...he left with stone but not with her.”

Her eyes closed. She tried pulling away but Steve didn’t let her. “I don’t want to hear this, Steve.”

“It’s no coincidence.”

“There has to be another way.”

Steve swallowed hard at the way her eyes glistened with tears. If there was another way, he would absolutely take it. But--

“There is no other way.” Red Skull spoke, reminding the two of them that they weren’t alone. “Only one of you will leave with the soul stone.”

Jacqueline managed to pull away from Steve’s hold, her hand pressed against her forehead as she began to pace back and forth. She stopped to take another glance over the cliff side and felt her stomach drop when she saw the bottom. It was a long way down. She flinched at the thought of her body hitting the pavement. It was a horrifying thought...but it had to be done. If they have any chance of undoing what Thanos did, they needed to retrieve the soul stone. Her lips pressed together in a thin line, her mind reeling with contemplation over the horrid situation.

Then, Steve’s words rang through loud and clear. Whatever it takes.

She slowly nodded, feeling the dread flow through her veins. Whatever it takes. “One of us is gonna have to do it,” she finally said, not taking her eyes away from the massive drop before her.

“Yeah,” Steve’s answer was barely a whisper.

Then, they both spoke at the same time, “Me.”

Jacqueline felt her body jolt and she turned on her heels to look at him, he was just as confused by her answer as she was by his. “I’m doing it, Steve.”

“No you’re not.”

She huffed out a laugh, “What you’re gonna stop me?”

“Yes, I am.” Steve took a few steps towards her and she met him the rest of the way. “I’m not going to let you sacrifice yourself, it’s going to be me.”

Again, she laughed, this time he could hear the pain and fear in her tone. Tears were now brimming in her eyes. “No you’re not.” She tearfully demanded. “You’re not doing it because I can’t lose you.”

Steve shook his head, feeling his facade starting to crumble. “And I can’t lose you.”

“Fine.” She took hold of his arm and tried to lead them away from the cliff side. “Then, we’re leaving.”

“Jacks,” Steve halted her progress. “We can’t leave, not without that stone.”

“I don’t care,” The tears finally fell. “I don’t care, if bringing everyone back means that I have to lose you--then I’d rather just leave.”

“I know you don’t mean that.”

She didn’t mean it. But she wanted to convince him otherwise. She wanted to get the two of them off this godforsaken planet and back to their own time. Back to their home--to Madison and John. A numbing ache formed in her chest, she held back the sobs that were threatening to come out. She looked up at Steve and tried tugging him closer to her. “Please, I just want to go home. I just want us to go home, Steve.”

He could feel his heart ache at that familiar sentiment. I just want us to go home. After Peggy’s funeral, that’s all Jacqueline wanted. Steve couldn’t honor that wish then...and he couldn’t now.

“This isn’t worth it, it isn’t worth losing you.” She tried to convince him again, her eyes pleading with him to listen. Begging for him to leave with her right here, right now.

“If we go back without the stone,” he heard the way his voice wavered and tried to cover it up. “All of this would’ve been for nothing.”

She couldn’t believe that he was actually wanting her to do this. To allow him to sacrifice himself for a fucking stone. Fuck that. “Please let me be the one to do it, I can’t imagine myself leaving you here. Please don’t make me do this.”

Steve’s face went soft and he exhaled a despondent breath. He closed the gap between them, his hand going to cradle her cheek. “I can’t let you do this, the kids need you.”

Her red, swollen eyes looked up at him. “The kids need us. They need both of us to come home.”

He couldn’t only shake his head, “No, they need you more. They can go on without me and you can to.”

“No I can’t.”

“Yes you can.” He brushed his thumb against her cheek, and his lips twitched into a sad smile. “You did fine without me when I went on the run, you raised Madison on your own and made sure that Ross never found out about her. You did that without me, I probably would’ve screwed it all up.” His own words made his heart ache. Madison and John, as long as they had Jacqueline, they were going to be fine. They’ll be fine without him. Deep down, he knew that it wasn’t true. But it was the only way to make his decision feel justified. To convince himself that his family could go on without him. “There’s a lot of people back at home who need you. If I let you do this and I go back with the stone but not with you, what am I gonna say to Alex?” His lips trembled as he spoke the next name, “Or Tony, how am I going to explain to him what happened to you? And if we do manage to undo what Thanos did, what about your mother?”

They both felt like the breath was knocked out of them at the mention of Kathleen.

“How do I tell your mother that her only child is gone and never coming back?” Steve’s voice cracked at the end which sent Jacqueline into a new spiral of sobs and tears. “I can’t do that to them. It has to be me, Jacks. I’ve spent the last five years trying to make up for how much I hurt you...maybe this is my chance. Make sure that you and the kids can have a happy life. That’s what it means to be a husband and father, right? Doing whatever is necessary to protect my family. That’s what I’m doing.”

God, she hated him. She hated him so much right now. She wished that Scott had never come to them with info on the quantum realm. She wished that this entire plan had never been conjured up in the first place. But, that would mean letting billions of people remain dead--including her family and friends. In the last five years, she and Steve would always talk about how if there was a way, they would absolutely bring everyone back. No questions asked. Now the moment was here. They had a chance to actually achieve this absurd plan...but at the cost of Steve’s life. It wasn’t fair.

She sucked in a breath, trying to regain her composure. But as she stared into Steve’s eyes, she felt like breaking down again. Her hands cupped the sides of his face, mentally noting how this would be the last time she would ever see his face, feel his skin, hear his voice--just having him this close to her. Then, it happened. She thought about having to send him over the edge, having to watch him fall to his death. No. “I can’t do it.” She sobbed. “I can’t do it, Steve.”

He pressed his forehead against hers, his hand moved from her cheek to the back of her neck. “Tell Madison and John that I love them and that I’m sorry, tell the others that this was my choice.” Steve pulled away and reached for his shield and brought it in-front of him. He paused for a moment before handing it over to Jacqueline. She could only stare at it, unable to move. “I’m leaving this in your hands now.” Steve gently lifted her arm and carefully slid it through the straps of the shield. After, her arm fell limp by her side. She didn’t have the strength to keep it up.

The two finally looked at each other. Both taking one last moment to take in each other’s features. Relishing at being in each other’s presence for the last time. This can’t be happening, she thought. Why did the universe always have to deal her the shitty cards? She and Steve deserved to live through this entire ordeal. They deserve to go home and raise their kids together. She deserves to have him by her side until they are both old and gray. Fate had already taken so much from her, why did it need him?

She wrapped her free arm around his neck and pulled him in for a kiss. It was slow, soft--still passionate. Not like any kiss she had ever received from him before. Only she wouldn’t be able to do this again. This was the last time she was to feel his lips against hers, last time to experience how he would wrap his arms around her waist and pull her close to him. The last bit of affection she would ever recieve from him. Too many lasts...and it was starting to drive her mad.

Jacqueline broke the kiss but kept her arm around him, refusing to let go. “I can’t do it, Steve. I can’t do it.”

He remained quiet, their foreheads touching and his arms slowly loosened around her waist. She knew what was about to happen. As a response, she tightened her hold on him. He was stronger than her, she knew this all too well. He could easily pull out from her hold. “I love you.” He finally said. “But it’s not your choice.”

It happened so fast. Steve tore himself from her arms and started towards the edge. She watched as he ran, getting closer and closer to his death. Her heart nearly stopped but adrenaline soon kicked in. She ran after him, pushing forward as fast and as hard as she could. Steve had just leaped over the edge when she tripped over her own footing. She was close enough to the edge and as he started to disappear from her sight, her hand caught a hold of his arm. The momentum of Steve’s weight dangling off the side was about to send her careening over with him. With the shield still attached to her left arm, she brought her arm down hard until the shield was embedded into the stone. She came to a halt and was finally able to assess the situation. She was almost halfway over the edge with Steve dangling from her arm. But she wasn’t going to be able to hold him for long.

Steve had looked below him, the stone foundation was beckoning him--waiting for his sacrifice to be complete. He heard a strained cry and looked up at Jacqueline who was already struggling to keep a hold of him. He had to act fast. “Jacks,” his voice sounded panicked. No, calm yourself. He took in a quick breath and steadied himself, “Jacks.”

She only shook her head, trying to keep all her focus on trying to hold onto him. She can’t let him go. No, she couldn’t. Her arm began to shake from the weight it was attempting to hold. She let out a frustrated cry, knowing that at any second she would lose her grip. “Give me your other hand!” She cried out.

“Jacks,” Steve spoke, this time his voice was soft, comforting even. “Look at me.” Her eyes finally met his and he offered the best reassuring smile he could conjure. “Let me go, Jacks.”

She shook her head.

“Jacks, let me go.”

The shaking in her arm started getting worse, his arm was starting to slip out of her grip. She tried tightening her hold but it didn’t do anything. This was it. There was nothing she could do. She didn’t have the strength to pull him up and Steve wasn’t going to help get himself up. She is about to lose the love of her life and there’s nothing she can do to stop it. The shield started to move from its place. If she didn’t let go soon, she was going over with him. Jacqueline looked at Steve and noticed how calm he looked. He had already accepted his choice--his fate. He was at some form of peace and that should be somewhat comforting to her. But it wasn’t.

His arm slipped a little more. She garnered the last bit of strength she had left to do this. “I’m so sorry.” Her words were garbled with her cries.

It broke his heart to hear it but he made sure not to show it. “It’s okay.” He offered another smile. “I love you.”

“I love you too.”

Her last bit of strength finally gave way. Steve’s arm slipped from her grasp and she watched as his body plummeted toward the ground. His name fell past her lips in an agonizing scream that scared even her. She couldn’t look away. She wanted to. His body finally hit the ground and she screamed. The scream was deafening and harsh--almost inhuman. Hot tears poured onto her cheeks, her chest tightened and her breathing became fast and shallow. She didn’t move, she could only stare at the sight of her dead husband, his body far out of reach from her.

The ground began to shake. A light in the sky casted an eerie glow over the landscape, the light source even washed over Steve’s body, illuminating the horrid sight--almost like the planet was mocking her. She kept her eyes on his still form as a massive roll of thunder clapped above her and everything went black.

[wotinspntarnation]

The Pursuit of Love •Chapter 1•

Pairing: Stripper!Sam x Teacher!Reader

Word Count: just shy of 2500

Warning: language, strip club ?, drinking

Summary: After endless failed dates set up by students and staff of the school you teach at, you cave in to a night out with your girls. Little did you know you’d meet the love of your life. Can the two of you make your opposite lifestyles work or will everything fall apart in the pursuit of love?

A/N: I AM HYPED ABOUT THIS OK. THAT'S ALL, ENJOY.

Beta: @ravenangel33 god bless u

Moodboard: me but I learned my mad skillz from @anotherwaywardsister

He had to be the most handsome man you have ever seen, long brown hair with hazel eyes that could kill, a pure white smile framed with the most beautiful dimples you’d ever seen, and his body. God was he chiseled, with the strongest V line, and just enough hair to cover his pecs along with a delicious happy trail.

The amount of adrenaline and excitement that pumped through your veins straight to your core was insane with him dancing and grinding above you. You flung your head back as a fit of laughter overtook you; there was no way this was real.

Just as you were about to pull your head back up, he was licking a stripe from your collar bone to your chin. “Mm, so fucking beautiful.”

Did you hear him correctly, or was the music too loud for you to decipher his words?

-

You loved your job and how you could teach an Advanced Literature class, which was really just conspiracy theories, as long as you assigned homework. “Guys, it’s been two months; I think I’m allowed to assign a three page essay now”

“Butttttt, Y/N, you’re the cool teacher.” whined Nick.

You came around the desk, taking a seat on it. “Oh Nick,” you sighed. “I could definitely make it five or ten pages like the other teachers… .”

A collective gasp and “nooooo” came from your class of juniors and seniors followed by Nick’s sigh, “Fine, at least let it be fun.”

“Oh sweetie, everything I do is fun.” You winked, his cheeks turning bright red as he began to shift in his seat.

You slid off the desk, coming up to the white board to grab a dry erase marker. “All of my seniors know me well; that’s why they’re in here for a second year,” you began while uncapping the marker and turning to the group. “I want you all to tell me about a conspiracy you genuinely believe in, no matter how crazy. No one will be reading it but me, and the grading is simple; show me why you believe it..”

You wrote the assignment with stars at each end. Capping the marker and setting it on your desk you smiled, “And yes, I know. ‘But it’s Friday!’ That’s exactly why you have a week to finish it instead of the weekend.”

All the students began shoveling books into their bag; and as you finished your sentence, the bell rang. “Have a good weekend, kids!”

Not even ten minutes after the bell rang, you heard a sudden voice. “I have a surprise!”

“Fucking Christ, Elizabeth. You scared the hell out of me; let me hear it.” Elizabeth was wonderful, and the only teacher friend you could stand. Vegas was a difficult place to make friends, let alone trying to make them while working at a school.

“Wellllll, I know you haven’t had the best of luck with the douchebags here,” she began.

You rubbed your fingers at your temples, “Yeah, don’t remind me of all the messy dates my students and you have tried to set up,” you chuckled.

She sat on your desk, “Yeah Yeah, anyways! You’ve also been stressing about work, SO Rachelle, Marissa, and I are taking you to a strip club tonight,” she finished, bringing her hands together.

Your eyes widened, meeting her gaze. “You know I have eighteen year olds in my class right? With my luck, I’ll end up seeing one of them there.”

“Okay the likelihood of that happening is very small. You have no choice! We’re picking you up at 8!” She called back, jogging out of your room.

You slumped back into your chair, “I swear, if I see any of my students there, I will have nightmares.”

-

You heard a knock at your door, Elizabeth’s jaw dropping as you opened it. “Okay, I’m used to seeing the Y/N who wears jeans and button ups most days; where is this coming from?”

You blushed, curling slightly into yourself. You were wearing a skin tight, satin pink romper matched with a diamond choker and black, peep toe pumps. “I don’t get out much… .” you stated as you tucked a piece of hair behind your ear.

“You look hot, don’t even deny it. So grab your shit; we’re about to to go watch sexy men strip for us!” She shrieked.

As you walked down the strip, heads turned. All of you were dressed for the night of your life, and boy was it going to be that. “Oh my god, Marissa! You’re engaged!” You giggled while shoving her lightly. All the girls broke out into another fit of laughter.

“Okay. In my defense, I can look; but I can’t touch.” She managed to choke out in between laughs.

As you came into the club, you were escorted to a center table near the front by an older gentleman who had a salt and peppered beard. “God, would I love to get my hands on that. Think he’s a sugar daddy?” Rachelle purred as he walked away.

“Okay, so here’s the lowdown. There’s four songs; we get a beer per song.” Elizabeth spoke, pressing her pointer finger against the table.

“No getting shitfaced tonight, Y/N,” the table laughed. You put your hands up. “It is not my fault that I can handle liquor better than you.” An ‘oooooh’ echoed as the lights dimmed.

Stage lights turned on as the first beats for “Salt Shaker” began. There, stood five beautiful men dressed in trousers and white button ups, forming a “v”. Within seconds of the song starting, they ripped off their shirts and pants leaving them in Calvin Klein jock straps.

To the back left, there was a man who was smaller in stature, but still toned, with light chestnut hair that flopped to one side and blue eyes. To the back right, there was a man similar to his height, but a little more built with a wider rib cage and dark brown hair with a short cut and piercing blue eyes. In the front was the older man who escorted you to the table, he was shorter than the rest; but lord did he have a nice body with tousled brown hair and gray/blue eyes.

Between him and smaller statured one, there was a taller man with messily spiked, dark blonde hair and gorgeous green eyes, about the same build as the one to the back right. But the last one.. he had to be the most stunning. He was the tallest, with long brown hair that didn’t quite part down the middle and hazel eyes that weren’t quite brown, weren’t quite green. He was the most toned and built out of all of them with a light layer of hair that adorned his massive pecs and trailed down to his crotch in between the strongest V line you had ever seen.

The song came to a close, the room went pitch black, and you could hear shuffling. “You ladies are in for a treat tonight” beckoned from the surrounding speakers. The beat for “Candy Shop” began as he spoke, “Tonight we have our newest member, Jack.” A spotlight at the mid left table flicked on as Jack jumped on the table. “The apprentice, Castiel.” Another spotlight turned to the mid right table as Castiel jumped on the table. “A very loved, Dean.” You practically had to turn all the way around to watch the repeated process at the back center table.

Whipping around, a spotlight was on your table. The beautiful, long haired man stood across from you at the table. “A favorite, Sam.” Marissa shoved you little as your jaw hung open at the sight of him jumping on the table.

Snapping out of it you scanned everyone, “Was this planned?!” All of them giggled, wooing at the lumberjack on your table.

“And you ladies can’t forget about me..” he trailed off as a spotlight hit him on the stage. “I guess you could call me the god of stripping, but for now call me Chuck.” He winked, sliding the mic stand behind him.

They were all dressed in camouflage pants, combat boots, a white shirt, dog tags, and an Army style hat. As the lyrics “I’m a seasoned vet” blared through the speakers, they all ripped off their shirts and dropped to their knees. You made eye contact with Sam, and you felt like your heart was in your throat. There was so much going on, but you couldn’t help notice that his eyes were locked with yours. They weren’t roaming to the other women at your table, even as they filled his pants with dollar bills. All the guys must choose a lady to look at during the number; that had to be it.

As the song finished up, Sam took a hundred dollar bill from his belt and tucked it into the plunging neckline of your romper. With a wink, he jumped off the table and the lights went off again.

Before the next song even started all the girls were screeching, “Oh my god Y/N!!! That was so hot.”

“Down On Me” boomed through the speakers as the lights turned back to the stage, the men in an opposite “v” from the first song. Jack and Castiel were in the front, Chuck in the back. Leather vests with hoods adorned their bodies, hoods up. They also had on leather underwear and open fingered gloves to match. Through the entire song, you couldn’t keep your eyes off Sam, and it seemed he couldn’t keep his off you.

Sams POV

More often than not you had women request your table; it was nothing new. The chosen woman would sit directly across from the stage; you would do the dances and be done. It was never special; they were always brides to be or married women, and you knew your boundaries.

You watched from the back door, waiting to see what woman Chuck escorted to your table. Jack, Dean, and Cass came up next to you. “Heard this one is single, and hot.” Dean jabbed at you with his elbow while leaning into you. You shushed him, and Chuck escorted a group to your table. You waited to see who would be placed in the sacred chair.

“Holy shit.” Castiel muttered as a beautiful woman in a satin pink outfit sat down. Chuck caught your gaze and winked at you.

“Holy shit is right. God she’s beautiful and curvy.” Dean stated, and he was right. She was perfect. You turned around, speed walking into the dressing room.

“Dude, you’re pacing like me, but I’m the one who’s new.” Jack laughed, the others joining in.

“I don’t know man; I’ve never felt like this, they’re all usually about to get married or are already married. Never had to worry about actually being attracted to them.”

Dean slapped his hand against your back, “Well Sammy, tonight’s your lucky night.”

Thank god your outfits were made to restrain erections, because you’d had one since the lights turned on during the first show. The second show was even better; you could see her beautiful Y/E/C and plump lips adorned by bright red lipstick. You couldn’t fucking wait for the final show.

—

As the stage lit up for the last song, there was a chair seated at the center, facing the audience. You could hear Chuck’s voice, but he was nowhere to be seen. “As some of you may know, Sam has the final show. A lucky lady gets a personal lap dance from him, and generally she knows who she is. But tonight, it’s a little different. Miss Y/L/N, please come up.”

You gasped, looking back and forth from each girl as they giggled, shooing you up to the stage. You seated yourself as you heard Chuck’s voice again, “Have fun sweetheart, and do keep your eyes forward until instructed otherwise.

The spotlight dimmed slightly and as “Ride” began, the crowd of women roared. Suddenly, a blindfold was obstructing your vision and two giant hands were running down each arm, your core throbbing. Sam spun the chair around as the music picked up; your hands grasped it in shock. “Don’t worry darling, I’ve got ya.” Your body was overwhelmed with not only his hands touching every bare inch of your body, but his scent. It was unique, vanilla and sandalwood.

As the second verse began, he took the blindfold off. The beautiful view of Sam in jeans and a bow tie being the first thing your eyes caught, raking up his body to his pearly white smile caged between two dimples, then up to his eyes that were watching your every move. As the final chorus was beginning, you flung your head back.. there was no way this was real. Just as you were about to pull your head back up, he was licking a stripe from your collar bone to your chin. “Mm, so fucking beautiful.”

Did you hear him correctly or was the music too loud for you to decipher his words? You gasped, your panties were immediately drenched, and you could tell he knew as his cock strained in the jeans against your stomach. As the final piano notes played, he leaned into your ear, “Meet me at the bar afterward.” He finished, nipping at your earlobe and you shuddered.

Sams POV

Your hands were shaky as you tied the blindfold. Taking a deep breath, you cleared your mind of the anxiety. She got scared as you turned the chair around, and you couldn’t help but reassure her that you had her. Everything was going fast until you took her blindfold off; then the world seemed to stop as you watched her eyes practically fuck you and then meet yours. She threw her head back, and you couldn’t help but lick her neck. She smelled decadent, and the thin layer of sweat covering her body made her glow. As the final notes played out you leaned into her, praying to God she couldn’t notice how shaky your voice was. “Meet me at the bar after.”

You high fived all the guys once you were at the bottom of the stairs in the back room. “Damn dude, I’ve never seen you that passionate on stage,” Dean commented, grabbing your shoulder and stopping you from pacing, “You asked her to wait behind, right?”

You nodded, pushing past him to grab your regular clothes. “Yeah dude, of course but I’d be fucking lying if I said I weren’t nervous. I don’t know; it’s just different. She’s actually single and beautiful.”

“And sexy.” Cass added with a smirk.

You pulled the black v neck over your head and let the front of it set slightly tucked into your Levi’s. “I’ll give it fifteen minutes for the place to clear a bit, and I’ll meet her over there.”

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