#the wrong earth: night & day

[alexfromjersey]

𝓡𝓮𝓬𝓸𝓷𝓬𝓲𝓵𝓲𝓪𝓽𝓲𝓸𝓷 & 𝓜𝓸𝓽𝓱𝓮𝓻𝓵𝔂 𝓛𝓸𝓿𝓮

jenna x g!poc

summary: jah’s mother delyse makes a surprise visit ahead of schedule. jenna makes an important call.

warnings: mature language & partial smut

a/n: I don’t know bout you but I’m feeling 22 🥳. enjoy the chapter I’m gonna go get white girl wasted for my birthday 😁✌🏾

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THE NEXT DAY

"Fuck" You groaned. It was barely 10:30 in the morning, and the moment you finished brushing your teeth, she pounced on you. The sound of slapping skin and the background noise of HGTV echoed throughout the room. You thought she would have woken up with regrets because of last night but to your surprise, it was the opposite. 

Your hands gripped her cheeks as you helped her continue to bounce. Jenna's head was thrown back, gasps and curses spilling from her mouth. She pushed your black tank top up your torso to reveal your abs. She needed something to keep her grounded in reality. Her nails scratched down your abs as she bounced harder.

“Jah…I’m about…to cum” Jenna gasped and her walls fluttered around you.

"Me too baby" You bit your lip. Your hands moved from her cheeks and traveled up to her breasts. You roughly squeezed them in your hands and after a few more bounces, Jenna choked on her moan and her hips stuttered.

At the sight of her reaching her orgasm, you hissed and you shot your load into the condom. Jenna collapsed onto you, out of breath.

"What happened to just being besties?" You teased the actress.

"I'm pregnant and full of hormones. My needs need to be satisfied. They're not going to be satisfied by someone else" Jenna said.

"Better not be. Until this baby is out of your stomach no dick, tongue, fingers, and/or other but mine is going inside you." You stated.

Jenna let out a loud laugh as she sat up and slowly removed you from inside her. Your dick proudly falls against your stomach. You got up from your bed and went into your bathroom to start the shower. 

Jenna grabbed her phone from your nightstand. She opened the phone and was immediately hit with tons of messages. Some from friends just checking in. Some from Nancy reminding her about upcoming shoots. Some from Hudson. The last bunch comes from her mother.

Nancy The Manager: Couple of Adidas shoots and the Variety interview with Elle Fanning to do today. Lorenzo will be there at 12

Nancy The Manager: also just a heads up, Neil wants a meeting

As Jenna read the name, her heart dropped. Cornelio was the big boss of her team, he's the one who started Jenna in the acting business when she was a kid. She was so lost in her phone that she didn't even see you sneak next to her. That was until you scooped her up, startling her.

You laughed as a shriek fell from her lips, "You passing up the opportunity to shower with me."

“I would never” Jenna smirked and tossed her phone on the bed. You then sprinted to the bathroom, laughs and giggles sounding throughout the apartment.

🤰🏻🩵

@jennainmyortega: react to ur reddit

@ghostridingwhip: amp’s new vid

@highondatgreen: react to me nutting in yo mouth

@ghostridingwhip: @highondatgreen what’s wrong with u

@fnthechat: SIDEMEN VID OR DO CONFESSIONS OR EDITS

You set up your stream with some homemade lunch Jenna made before she left. Her team had her doing loads of shit today before she leaves on Monday. So you knew you weren’t going to hear from her til late tonight.

“Yerrrrr! What’s goodie chat! I missed you weirdos” You greeted your chat. Your chat instantly flooded with comments. You adjust your camera when you noticed it’s off centered a little.

@partymonsterfrvr: where u been? u just disappeared off the face of the earth?

“Listen, life has been throwing me curveballs left and right this past week and a half. But I’m due time I’ll reveal it to you guys” You took a bite from your food. A ding from your phone draws your attention to it.

jennaortega liked your story.

@user719888129: nah we know you’ve been boo loving 👀

“Assumptions! I ain’t no boo loving with anybody” You said and swiftly moved on. You went to your Reddit page and was hit with Stacey’s Instagram story from the party.

@ExclusiveShiestyUpdates: Jah on a friend’s Instagram story

“She’s just a friend bro. Davis and I went to school with her and her sister. Nothing more” You informed your childish supporters. You continued to scroll through making comments here and there until a video of you singing at the lounge pops up.

@ExclusiveShiestyUpdates: #VIDEO Jah singing at a local Bronx lounge

@munchiesinmycrunchies: album? now? asap? no rocky

“I don’t know. Still a maybe on the music” You said and finished your food.

Donation/@modernbussywhip: y’all see those marks on the neck I PEEP 👀

Instantly, you cover your neck with your hand. You subtly check in the camera to see if there were any hickeys on your neck but you saw there wasn’t anyway. You got bamboozled by them.

“Suck my dick fuckers” You joke and stuck your middle finger at them. The comments roll in laughing emojis and lmaos.

🤰🏻🩵

You spend the next three hours on stream, reacting to different YouTube videos, your Reddit, and for the last hour raging on 2K and Call of Duty.

You were sitting on your couch watching TV, until your buzzer to your apartment went off. At first, you ignored it thinking that it’s probably just the delivery man trying to get in. But it kept going off so you just got up and buzzed whoever in. You were just chilling on couch again until a knock is heard on your door. You furrow your face in confusion. You went to the door and looked through the peephole and saw your mother.

You opened the door, “Ma?”

Your mother Delyse or ‘Del’ as she liked to be called smiled and walked into your apartment, “I don’t know why I had this feeling like I should be here.”

“Right now?” You questioned.

“Actually, I felt it a couple of months ago but I brushed it off. But when I came back, the need felt stronger than ever. Are you okay?” Del asked concerned.

“I’m good Ma. How was Jamaica?” You asked steering the conversation off you.

“Wonderful. Your Gigi was asking about you, she’s upset that you didn’t come down” Del said and sat down on your couch.

“I’ll try to visit her later this year. I was busy streaming and making videos” You replied to her.

Del just hummed in response. You grabbed your phone and saw a text message from Jenna.

Hollywood 🤰🏻: I finished early. Thank god. You want something to eat?

NYC 🩵: nah…but my mother is here.

You watched as the text bubbles appeared and then disappeared several times before it disappeared completely.

Obviously, you didn’t expect her. You and Jenna wanted to go over ideas for how you wanted to tell her but all of that is out the window now.

“So…you out here hoeing around” Del questioned nonchalantly.

That made you choke on your spit, “Ma what the hell kind of question is that?”

“I’m just asking. Do as you please but be safe and don’t get any girl pregnant” Del said.

You chuckle nervously and turned your attention to your TV. You text Jenna a couple of more times. You and your mother continue to converse between each other until your phone starts ringing.

“Hello?” You answer.

“Can you uh…come open the door?” Jenna asked. She sounded a little out of breath.

“Just hit the buzzer for my apartment” You said.

“I need your help with something. Come down” Jenna stated. You agreed and put your hoodie and slides on.

“I’ll be back” You told your mother and left your apartment. You went to the first floor and saw Jenna struggling with some flowers.

“Damn girl, you brought every single flower in the world?” You chuckled.

Jenna giggled, “I don’t know what kind of flowers she likes so I got one of each.”

“So sweet of you. Future reference she likes orchids” You told her and took the big bouquet from her hands. You two went back up to your apartment and before you can even open your door, your mother opens it for you.

“Oh who’s this Tuffie?” Del questioned as you walked inside your apartment.

You sigh at the nickname, “Ma, this is Jenna, my girlfriend.”

You watched as your mother gave Jenna a look up and down. You felt Jenna squeeze your hand. A moment of silence goes by before a smile grows on Del’s face.

“It’s nice to meet you Jenna. You look familiar though” Del said.

“She’s an actress. We met at one of her movie premieres. The scary movie Davis was in” You said.

“Oh! That movie with the long mouth mask” Del said.

“Yeah Scream Ma” You chuckled. You set the slightly heavy flowers on your counter by her purse, “Jenna also got you these.”

“Oh thank you so much dear. I haven’t received flowers in a long time” Del gushed and smelled the flowers.

You and Jenna look at each other, “Ma, we gotta tell you something. Now, before we say it, I just want you to know that we both know what we’re getting into and-”

“You’re pregnant” Del said casually towards Jenna.

“I…I…how?” You questioned.

“Baggy clothing. Slight weight gain in the face. Come on I see all the signs, I mean I did birth two children.” Del stated.

Your mother sat down in one of your dining room chairs, “I thought I told you be careful Jah. You’re still young, both of you. You still have lives to live before being tied down with a child. A child is a lot of responsibility. Once that baby is brought into this world, it’s not just going to be you and her, it’s going to be you, her, and the child you share together.”

This time Jenna stepped up, "Uh...Mrs. Jimenez I know it's a bit unconventional, we're both still very young, and we're not even together-"

"First it's Reid and second...the two of you aren't together?" Delyse questioned. 

You and Jenna both looked at each other before Jenna spoke up, "Well...no it's a bit complicated. But truthfully, there's no other person I would want to share a child with. We know there are going to be some changes in the way we live our lives. Every decision we make, we have to do with a child in mind but I'm ready to make those changes. We are ready."

You nodded along with Jenna. You saw your mother look between the two of you with curious eyes.

"Even though I feel the way I feel. I wish you would have gotten married first or at least be together but I'm going to support the two of you in all ways possible" Del smiled and hugged the both of you.

You were glad that was out of the way. Your mother supported you, even though she wished it was done differently. She can't change the past, only help the present and look forward to the future. Now, you just need Jenna's family on the same page and it'll make things 10x better.

🤰🏻🩵

For the next two hours, your mother and Jenna converse amongst each other. You fell asleep on the couch, hands resting in your pants.

Del took Jenna onto your fire escape to talk more. She had a glass of wine in her hand while Jenna had apple juice.

“How did your mom take it?” Del asked and took a sip of her wine.

“Well, I was originally planning on telling her when I visited her next week but someone told her without my consent. She didn’t really take it well” Jenna sighed.

“What did she say, if you don’t mind me asking?” Del asked carefully.

“I kinda haven’t been answering her calls. I’m scared of what she has to say” Jenna stated and played with her fingers nervously.

"Honey, let me tell you something. No matter what your mother says or how she feels, it won't take away the fact she will always love you. You can be the worst possible person in the world and she will still love you. A bond between a good mother and her children, especially daughters is something so special and precious. You'll understand soon enough" Del said.

Jenna smirked at her, “You betting on us having a girl?”

“Oh I know it’s a girl. Girls run strong in this family” Del smiled.

Jenna softly chuckled at that. The two woman sit in a comfortable silence basking in the NYC polluted air and police sirens from every direction. Jenna’s eyes then flickered to her phone and her mind starts racing.

She missed hearing from her family. She knew the longer she avoided them, the worse it��ll be for her. So she grabbed her phone and excused herself. She went back inside and went into your room for some privacy. She gathered all the contacts she needed for a group FaceTime but before she can hit the green button. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath in.

“Relax Jenna” She muttered to herself and hit the green button.

It ranged for two seconds before each person answered the phone. Her sisters Mia, Aliyah, and Mariah, her brothers Issac and Markus, and finally her parents Natalie and Edward.

“Thank goodness, we were getting worried sick about you Jenna” Natalie said.

“Yeah, why haven’t you been returning our calls and messages” Edward asked.

Jenna sighed, "I need to get something off my chest first before everyone starts interrogating me. Yes, I am pregnant and yes I am keeping the baby. I know I'm young and my career is just taking off but I don't care about that stuff. All I care about is the person I share my child with, my unborn child, and my family. A family I hope still supports me."

Everyone except Natalie’s face was a look of shocked.

“Sweetie, why wouldn’t we still support you? We’re a bit disappointed but we would never leave you unsupported. We love you Jenna and we’re going to be here every step of the way” Natalie stated.

Tears start to gather in Jenna’s eyes. She was relieved that the pressure of telling your families were lifted. She was more ecstatic to hear that they will support the two of you with no problem.

“WE GONNA BE AUNTIES AND UNCLES” Aliyah screamed excitedly. Jenna laughed at her younger sister

"Are we going to meet the other parent anytime soon? Who is it by the way?" Mia asked.

“Her name is Jahaziel, she goes by Jah. We met at the Scream premiere earlier this year. She’s a YouTube/Twitch streamer” Jenna answered.

“No way JahBronxGamer! I watch all her streams and videos, I’m a huge fan of her. She makes me want to move to The Bronx. I just watched her stream earlier today” Markus commented.

“I’ll be sure to tell her that” Jenna replied with a smile.

Jenna spoke with her family a little more until one by one her siblings all left, promising to catch up more next week.

“I was scared to face you, that’s why I didn’t answer you guys.” Jenna revealed to her parents.

“Jenna, don’t ever be afraid to come talk to us. Despite the circumstances, we will always love and support you. Don’t ever forget that” Natalie stressed.

The tears start to fall down Jenna’s face, “Okay” she sniffled. She wiped the tears from her face.

“So…this partner treating you right?” Edward questioned.

"Technically, we aren't together but I feel things for her way more than I did Wesley. I just need to work out some stuff within me first before I get into another relationship." Jenna smiled wide at the thought of you.

Natalie and Edward look at each other before looking back at Jenna with a smile, "Well, we're happy you can acknowledge something like that and we can't wait to meet her."

taglist: @grandpatrolnut @raven-ss @fanboy7794 @morganismspam23 @cinffy23 @darklron @cheesybacon1 @octavias-next-meat-bite @playboysaleen @niqmandu @zaclewiss @yescruzzzzzzz @silentfor @gemz5 @alwaysdangerouschild @onceblinkarmyandmore @melonfruit442 @zataracloud @nepobaby08 @jennasslut @rimaybank @jaewu @j3nc0re

[deada55]

Kloktober 2024 day 1: Your Favorite Character

A little glimpse of the future.

The roof of a crumpled hangar was held aloft the rest of the shambling NuHaus, which was as posh of a residence as anything could be in the everlasting waste. Around it grew a shantytown of tarps and rope made from black skinnyjeans to house the army, simply because they had been too exhausted to move. Still, without many provisions, a fierce and snappy economy in the encampment meant that Dethklok’s spacious digs were the limit of their wealth. They sat around a table made of crates and a sheet of heavy plastic from the bed of a truck, surrounded by a motley crew of makeshift chairs, most of the time.

“Murderface, I’m gonna kill you. I mean it.” Pickles hands were ruled by tremors these days, but the grip that he had on a tomato jar of hooch was well-controlled.

“Just a sip, man! You fuckin- you get all the booze we get!” 

“That’s because Pickle don’ts feels good!” Toki felt fine; he was putting pillbugs in a little box with little nature-y bits arranged like dollhouse furniture. “Gots all fucked up sobers. Not evens canned paints…”

Skwisgaar was plucking at makeshift strings on a tinny cigarbox guitar made out of a muffler. Metal. The tuner ran out of battery a while ago, so he superglued it to a couple of dog bones and made a shitty clip.

All Nathan did was grunt and watch a line snake through the shacks and huts carrying poles with white flags flopping in the sandy gusts. Four or five makeshift caskets, one of which was a sealed commercial trash can held sideways for a child, were carried on soldiers. Together, the processional headed north out of the encampment, over a shallow ridge of broken earth, as a snow of falling ash blew in.

“Nathan?” Pickles flicked the metal lid off his jar and took a fat swallow.

“Yeah?”

“Takes the picture, it lasts longer!” Toki shouted over Pickles and giggled.

Nathan turned away from the window and back towards the center of the room, flat. “We don’t have a camera.”

“I-“ Pickles couldn’t get a word in.

“Ans no powers, no amps, no phones,”

“No more, what’s it do,” Toki rose from criss-cross-applesauce to a kneel, neglecting his pillbug palace. “Brr— the ring?”

“Tokis—“ Skwisgaar tried to correct his rendition of their old ringtone under the conversation.

“No calls,” offered Pickles.

“Or getting called by our fuckin’ parentsh!”, Murderface chortled.

Pickles tossed a scraggly, singed dread off of his neck. “Yeah! Now we don’t have to watch their stupid DVDs, or listen to them go on and on on the phone.”

“We don’ts have to know wheres they are and whos they with all nights long durings the working week!”

Toki was rubbing his legs with the palms of his hands. “We don’t even know if theys alive, ha-ha!”

Nathan sighed.

So what if his parents were dead?

He dug deep into his pockets until he found a battered Ibuprofen bottle and pulled out two 2mg Xanax. He leaned over the table and snatched the jar while he ground the pills between his teeth. He swished the drink in his mouth and finished whatever was left in it. 

“Nathans?”

He didn’t realize he was breathing out of his mouth until his own spit came down the wrong way, down his throat already butchered with a slowly disintegrating tablet and vinegary jail booze. He choked until his eyes stung. How long? He couldn’t catch his breath, just hold it. It forced its way out like a sob. 

“He’ms gonna pass out-!” Skwisgaar didn’t even bother standing up. An object in motion stays in motion.

When Nathan’s chest hit the edge of the table, he took it with him to the ground. The empty jar smashed on the dirt beside him.

“Schit!”

[harrelltut]

[insert musical note emoji] Say, ANU GOLDEN 9 Ether [SAGE] QHT SUPERMAN had come to earth to see who he could rock... He blew away every crew he faced until he reached our block... His EXOGALACTIC [HE] QHT PIONEER Speakers were 3 stories high with woofers made of IBM steel... and when we brought our Apple Inc. [A.i.] set outside, he said "HARRELL BEE 4 REAL" [insert musical note emoji]

IMMORTAL U.S. MILITARY KING SOLOMON-MICHAEL HARRELL, JR.™

OMMMMM

[insert musical note emoji] U rock this, rock that and that's a fact… since ANU GOLDEN 9 Ether Jam On Crew will rock your GOLDEN 9 Ether Body right back... rock a steam locomotive right off the track and give the whole wide world web ANU GOLDEN 9 Ether [WAGE] FunkliciousAttack.com... and to the beat y'all, get down let me rock it to the rhythm of the funk sound from hill to hill, from sea to sea.. and when Jam On's rockin' everybody screams Jam on it jam on it... Jam on and on, on and on it and if you're feelin' like you want to dance all night... then go on ahead and flaunt it [insert musical note emoji]

[insert musical note emoji] Ancient SKY King SOLOMON ANU GOLDEN 9 Ether [SAGE] QHT SUPERMAN said, "I'm faster than a speedin' bullet when I'm on the set... Eye don't need no fans to cool my amps, eye just use my super breath... I could fly three times around the world without missin' a beat... I socialize with X-ray eyes, and my ladies think it's sweet” [insert musical note emoji]

[insert musical note emoji] And then HARRELL turned His Hi:teKEMETICompu_TAH [PTAH] Power on and the Earth [Qi] began 2 rhythmically move... all the buildings 4 miles around us were swayin' 2 anu golden 9 ether [sage] sky groove... and just when MICHAEL had fooled the crowd and swore he wouldn't fight [insert musical note emoji]

[insert musical note emoji] We rocked his electronic ear with ANU GOLDEN 12" Music Industry Cut [MIC] called Disco Kryptonite... well, GOLDEN QHT SUPERMAN looked up at ME [MICHAEL], he said, "You rock so naturally"... I said "Now that you've learned to deal, let me tell you why I'm so for real... I'm Cozmo D from outer IBM space, I came to rock this mundane human race... eye do it right 'cause I can't do it wrong... that's why the whole world is singin' ANU song" [insert musical note emoji]

[insert musical note emoji] Ah, jam on it... eye said jam-j-j-jam on it... as days turn to night and night turns to day... whatever time it is, I want to hear you say [insert musical note emoji]

[insert musical note emoji] MAXELL Jam on it, jam on it... QUANTUM HARRELL TECH Jam on it, jam on it... 1968 GEN X Jam on it, jam on it... QHT SUPERMAN Jam on it, jam on it [insert musical note emoji]

[insert musical note emoji] Yeah, that's how you do it Cozmo EL... You rocked it, that's the way you do it... Yeah, like, did you see when he went in the MAXELL corner... And he started doin' this... Wikki-wikki-wikki-wikki... Wikki-wikki-wikki-wikki [insert musical note emoji]

[insert musical note emoji] Ah, man, this is too funky for me... I'm goin' home... Hey, Mergatroid, let's go... let's go... Hey, you fellas seen My Quantum IBM [Qi] Sister Mergatroid?!?!?!... She was standin' over here just a minute ago [insert musical note emoji]

[insert musical note emoji] Yeah, I think I saw her over there with Grand D He's rockin' the mic, you know... "Digga dang, digga dang, dang, dang, dang, digga, digga, dang, dang" [insert musical note emoji]

Shhh... Our Super Silent Phase Sound Accuracy & Ultrasound Wave Cassette Mechanism Patents @ QUANTUM HARRELL TECH LLC

QUANTUM IBM [Qi] SPEED LANGUAGE ASSEMBLY [L.A.] SYSTEMS PROGRAMMING AT&T [PA] @ QUANTUM HARRELL TECH [QHT] Apple+IBM [A.i.] LLC

We ANU GOLDEN 9 Ether [WAGE] Music & Humanoid-Android [HA = HARRELL] RUMARDIAN Compu_TAH [PTAH] EMPIRE

WE 2 GOLDEN 9 ETHER SKY FUNKY [FUTURISTIC] 4 artificial intel 2023 america [aia]

OMMMMM

[geekcastradionetwork]

Top 10 Most Anticipated Comics for the Week of 2/3/2021

Top 10 Most Anticipated Comics for the Week of 2/3/2021

One month down. Eleven more to go. Looking back at the month of January we had a solid month of books. Now February looks to keep that streak going. With that here are my Top 10 Most Anticipated Comics for the Week of 2/3/2021. 10. Star Wars: The High Republic Adventures #1 Writer: Daniel Jose Older Artist: Harvey Tolibao Publisher: IDW Publishing Description: Flaming destruction is coming to…

[graphicpolicy]

AHOY Comics Signs a Bookstore Distribution Deal with Simon & Schuster

AHOY Comics Signs a Bookstore Distribution Deal with Simon & Schuster #Comics #ComicBooks

AHOY Comics is the latest comic publisher to sign a deal with Simon & Schuster to deliver their releases to bookstores as of March 2021. The publisher also announced its fall publication schedule which will include trade paperback editions of several of its comics. Diamond will continue to distribute AHOY’s titles into comic shops. AHOY also announced its fall publication schedule which will…

[syddsatyrn]

Hysteria

☆Pairing: - Eddie Munson x Fem Reader

☆Song: Hysteria By Def Leppard

☆Warnings: Smut, swearing, drug use, cigarettes, intercourse, fingering, Characters are all 18+

Minors DNI, scram!

☆Words: 3.5k

☆Summary: You and your band finally got a gig at the hideout after a long hiatus. A talented metal head performs and he's all you can think about. Would it be so wrong to take him home with you?

☆Notes: My first ever one shot writing for Eddie. Please be kind, it might be kinda cheesy, lol

The soft, diffused light from the sky dimmed your apartment, giving your surroundings a nameless ambiance. The day is ending but your night is just beginning. You've been invited to come to play at a local bar called "The Hideaway". The band has been practicing all week for this gig. You and your crew have taken a small hiatus this winter, but it's the middle of June and time to get back to the grind. You can't help but feel a little nervous, you haven't played live since October.

You mindlessly strum your orange Gibson Les Paul while lounging on your couch. Electric notes flow out of a nearby amp as you strum. D, G, Em, and back to G….

You sit up and make your way to the coffee maker to pour yourself another cup, guitar still in hand. As you lean against the counter and sigh, bringing the warm mug to your lips. The bitter liquid slowly awakens your senses as you try to mentally hype yourself up for tonight.

I can totally do this, I’ve probably done hundreds of gigs. Everything is fine, We’re gonna sound great.

You finished your coffee and looked at the time, maybe it's best to leave early and check out the competition. You pack up your guitar and a small black backpack with essentials. Guitar picks, extra strings, wallet, set list, cassette player…

You list off the items mentally as you toss them into the bag. You gingerly place your guitar in its case and sling it over your shoulder. You take off out the front door and lock it behind you. The bar isn't far away but the streets are full of people trying to get home or squeeze in a few errands before the sun goes down. The cool air feels nice after a hot summer day and you’re starting to feel a little more relaxed.

You approach the bar, a few people linger outside sharing cigarettes and laughing with each other. You walk in and smile at the doorman. He looks at your guitar case and gives you a nod, assuming you're here to play. You thank him as you pass the threshold, making your way to the back of the building.

The bar is packed, you weave through crowds of people and find the entrance to the back of the stage. You open the door and the first thing you see is your drummer, Steve

“Y/N! You made it! Are you excited?!”

“Hey! Yeah, Something like that.” You say with a chuckle. Steve gives you a quick side hug with a shoulder squeeze. You lean your guitar next to the wall and toss your bag next to it. Robin bursts through the door. Her face immediately lights up when she sees you.

“Yes! I knew I saw you come in. Social Experiment is back in business baby!” She cheers with her fist in the air. You give Robin a quick hug and go over the evening with both of them. You pull out the written set list from your back pocket and remind them of each song in order.

The door opens and three metalheads enter the backstage room, all three of them patched-up battle jackets. The one with long, beautiful brown curls caught your eye. They all make their way to an empty corner and unload their gear. The alluring metal head had a cigarette between his lips. You had to admit, his Dio back patch was pretty sick.

“Hellooo….Y/N? Earth to Y/N?” Steve says while waving his hand in front of your face. Robin chokes back a laugh. You shake yourself free from your inner thoughts and give Steve a blank look.

“Are you playing that Def Leppard cover tonight?” Steve asks with an eye roll.

“Oh yeah, we’ll open with that.” You reply, unzipping your case and pulling out your guitar. You pull up a nearby chair and take a seat. Steve decides to go outback and have a cigarette, and Robin follows him outside. You decide to sit and strum aimlessly, even though you're pretty sure you know all the chords to each song.

"Nice Les Paul." A nameless voice remarks. You turn your head to see the metal head you were blatantly gawking at earlier. 

"Oh, thanks! It was my dad's. I like your jacket." You compliment with a smile.

He chuckles, “Thanks, sweetheart.” The sudden nickname makes your face feel unusually warm. How is this man so smooth?

The first band finishes and you can hear them give the crowd their farewells. They pile into the back room shoving each other and exchanging fist bumps.

“That's my cue, check you later.” The stranger says with a wink. You watch as he walks over to the stage entrance and disappears with his bandmates. Ever since your ex, you haven't had much interest in others. Steve has been trying to get you to put yourself out there and try dating again but he's had no luck. You'd rather be playing guitar or getting stoned in your apartment.

Now, this I gotta see.You pass the door to the stage and watch quietly in the corner, out of sight. The band introduces themselves as “Corroded Coffin”. You watch and listen intently but you’re mostly focused on the way this alluring man played.

Warlock…he has good taste.

The brunette is extremely talented, they played a couple of covers and a few originals. The way his hair bounced as he bobbed his head, his solos are on point and it blows your mind how comfortable he looks on stage. His style is muddy but accurate, it adds a unique variable to the band's sound. 

Your eyes keep glancing at his ring-clad hands skillfully climbing up and down the frets. You can't help but wonder what else those fingers are capable of. Your face turns a few shades of pink as your thoughts drift.

“You gonna talk to him later?” Steve asks, sneaking up on you. You jump a little and give him a menacing look.

“Jesus fuck Steve.” You say as you clutch your shirt. He almost made you jump out of your skin. “You need a bell around your neck or something. I don’t know, I might talk to him.”

“He’s not half bad looking, and he's a decent guitarist.” He points out, knowing full well you might just take off and waste the opportunity.

“I can see that, Harrington.” You say, crossing your arms and rolling your eyes. Steve elbows you and you return the jab.

When they finish you quickly run back to your gear, hoping the guitarist didn't catch you analyzing his whole set. You check in with your bandmates again to make sure they are prepared.

“Are you guys ready for this?” You ask and both Steve and Robin give you a confident nod.

Steve takes his place behind the drums while you and Robin plug the bass and lead into the separate amps. You adjust the microphone to your height and take a good look at the crowd. You look back at the stage entrance, you almost choke on your saliva because he's leaning against the wall in the same corner you were lurking in.

Fuck.  

“We are Social Experiment, let's get weird!” You introduce your band with enthusiasm and play an open-handed note. The crowd cheers and claps. Steve lightly taps the snare and sets the rhythm for the song. Robin watches for your cue and follows suit when you start strumming.

1...2…3…4   D, G, Em, G

All three of you start playing. You can feel eyes on the back of your head as the handsome stranger judges you from behind. But he wasn't judging you, he was admiring you.  

♫"Out of touch, out of reach, yeah

You could try to get closer to me

I'm in luck, I'm in deep, yeah

Hypnotized, I'm shakin' to my knees"

"I gotta know tonight

If you're alone tonight

Can't stop this feeling

Can't stop this fight"♫

You play softly and gradually get louder before the chorus hits. Em, C, D, EM, your fingers danced across the frets with ease. It's like riding a bike, no matter how long it's been, you can still play well enough. Robin softly sings into the microphone, echoing the lyrics as your backup singer.

♫"Oh, I get hysterical, hysteria

When you get that feelin', do you believe it?

It's such a magical mysteria

When you get that feelin', better start believin'

'Cause it's a miracle, I see you will, ooh babe

Hysteria when you're near"

"Out of me, into you, yeah

You could hide, it's just a one-way street.

Oh, I believe I'm in you, yeah

Open wide, that's right, dream me off my feet

Ah, believe in me"♫

After a few moments on stage, you start to loosen up. This is one of your favorite songs to cover live. Your body swayed and your foot tapped against the wood stage.

♫"I gotta know tonight

If you're alone tonight

Can't stop this feeling

Can't stop this fire"‘Oh, I get hysterical, hysteria

When you get that feelin', do you believe it?

It's such a magical mysteria

When you get that feelin', better start believin'

'Cause it's a miracle, I see you will

Oh, babe

(Hysteria when you're near)”♫

The rest of your set included a Motley Crue cover and two originals. You hopped around the stage and the crowd whistled, cheered, and sang along with the chorus. The reactions they had over your animated stage presence were so reassuring and you felt more and more confident as time went on.

“You guys were bitchin'! We are Social Experiment. Goodnight!” You shout into the mic and wave at the crowd. You and Robin unplug your gear and walk towards the stage exit. The applause was fueling your ego, you bounced off the steps to the stage and wrapped your arm around Robin's shoulder.

“You were on fire Y/N!” Robin comments while placing her bass in its case. You smile and return the compliment. "You're the best female bassist in all of Hawkins." Robin grins from ear to ear. It was cool to see her let loose again.

“House drums weren't busted up or anything, not like we’re used to.” Steve says you could tell he was having a blast. You put away your Les Paul with a permanent smile. You shake off any remaining nerves left over from the performance.

“I’m gonna get a drink, want anything?” Steve asks, pointing at the two of you. You shook your head but Robin offered to go with him. ////

“You were pretty kick-ass up there.” A familiar voice praises. You turn around and you raise your eyebrows. The shaggy-haired metal head is complimenting you. He's talking to you, right? You almost thought he was talking to someone close by.

“You’re not so bad yourself, warlock.” You acclaim gesturing to the guitar case strapped to his back. Eddie chuckles at the nickname and you finally exhale.

“Eddie. Eddie Munson.” He introduces himself, holding out his hand. When you grab his hand, the cold metal rings that adorning his fingers unexpectedly chilled your palm.

“Y/N ” You reply. He pulls a joint out from behind his ear. Seriously, how is this guy so smooth?

"You smoke?" He asks with raised eyebrows. You couldn't believe this was happening. You've been notoriously bad at meeting new people, how did you even get this far? You follow Eddie outside into the alleyway out back, he lights the tip and inhales till a small ember forms. He hands it to you and you take a few puffs.

"I haven't seen you around here. I woulda remembered a lovely voice like that." He says while exhaling the smoke. You could feel your heart in your throat. It took you a moment to compose yourself. "You guys new?"

“We’ve been on a hiatus since October.” You explain while handing the joint back.

“Glad you’re back. It's not every day you meet a pretty face with a Les Paul.” Eddie remarks, his playful tone and charming eyes are throwing you off your game. (It's not like you have any)

“That Warlock is gorgeous. You're very talented.” You say as you try to shift the subject. You lean up against the wall trying to keep your cool. You cross your arms as a chill breeze carries through the alley. 

“Thanks, sweets.” He smiles, “So Def Leppard huh?”

“Hah yeah, that’s one of my all-time favorites.” You say proudly. “It took me forever to learn.”

“So, are you?” He starts.

“What?” You ask, slightly cocking your head to the side.

“Alone tonight.” Referring back to the song you opened with. Your heart skipped a beat and you almost forgot to breathe. 

“I…I mean, yeah.” You’re not sure what any of this means but there is just something about this man. Eddie leans forward, you could feel his breath on your neck. You wanted nothing more than to taste his lips but your mind was wiped clean as he took over your senses.

“Do you wanna..uhh…get out of here?” He asks and your legs squeeze tight. You were already putty in his palm. This isn't like you at all, you’re usually very much in control. Not this time, you’re in deep.

You nod in response and Eddie grins, 

You head back into the building and see Steve leaning against the wall with a drink in his hand. He and Robin were laughing with one of the members of Corroded Coffin. You approach Steve and tell him you're taking off for the night. Eddie leans up against the door frame with his arms crossed, his eyes following every move you make. Steve can tell you look kind of nervous, he looks up and makes eye contact with Eddie.

Steve went through his usual protective friend routine. Asking if you’re gonna be okay, telling you to call him if you need anything. You give your friends a quick hug, grab your things, and wave goodbye. Eddie puts his arm around your shoulder as you both leave.

He leads you to his van and opens the back door. You slip the guitar case off your shoulder and hand it to him. He carefully places the instruments in the back. Eddie walks back around the van and opens the passenger side door for you. He offers his hand to keep you steady as you climb in. Despite Eddie’s rough rocker appearance, he's actually a rather sweet person.

“Where are we going?” You ask, still shocked you just left with a total stranger without any plan or hesitation.

“Where do you wanna go?” He asks.

“We could always go to my place?” You answer.

________

You cough into the sleeve of your hoodie. You’re not a lightweight but it's not like he knows that. You’re facing him, passing a bowl back and forth comfortably on your bed. You talked with him for hours about music, and your band and you even felt comfortable enough to talk about your depression.

“Careful now, sweet stuff.” He says while setting the pipe down on your nightstand. His hand slides over your knee and moves to your outer thigh. You can’t help but stare into those eyes, he’s gorgeous. “This stuff is pretty potent.” He adds.

Eddie leaned in closer and you knew what was happening, everything in you was telling you to stop or run away. But you didn't. Heat rose from your stomach to your chest. When his lips met yours it was like a warm wave washed over you. Your toes curled in your shoes and his hand cups your cheek. 

You both break away for a moment.

“This okay?” he asks with concern behind his voice.

“More than okay.” You say quietly. 

He pulled you in closer by your waist, claiming your mouth again, hungry and intense. Your hands had already slipped under Eddie’s shirt absentmindedly, your fingernails grazed over his soft, pale skin. He groans softly in response to your touch. 

You laid back against your bed and Eddie crawls on top of you. He crosses his arms at the hem of his shirt and pulls it up over his head, tossing it into a corner. You admired his shoulders and tattoos, the way his hair falls around his face.

He positions his knee between your legs and you let out a small gasp. His lips ghost over your jaw and he adds pressure between your legs with his knee. You rake your fingers through his hair as he slowly grinds against your core. Your breath hitched and you tug at his har. His cologne mixed with the smell of cigarettes is hypnotic, Eddie is successfully taking over your senses.

You could feel his cock get harder and harder with each whisper and plea that slips from your mouth.

"Mhmm…tell me more." He growls in your ear. You crash your lips against his eagerly and start taking some control. You only break away for a second to remove your shirt. He unclips your bra and tosses it. His hands cup your breasts as he trails kisses and small bites down your neck and chest. 

"Fuck…" You curse as his thumbs graze over your nipples in a circular motion. He finds every noise you make so amusing when you whimper and beg for more stimulation. Eddie tugs at your pants and you shimmy out of them rather quickly.

“I don't usually do this.”

“Well, I guess that makes me a lucky guy.” He smirks while his fingers slide between your folds. You let out a loud whimper and Eddie chuckles in response, “Been a while, huh?”

You nod as he starts swirling his fingers around your clit slowly, taking in your squirming naked body below him. “Feels good, doesn't it?” He asks and all you can do is clutch the sheets. Your first orgasm comes quickly, your body trembles and you swear you can see stars.

“Good girl. Such a good girl.”

His praise awakens something in you and you push him off of you, he looks confused for a second but when you start to undo his belt he chuckles.

“Uhm, do you have…?” He didn't have to finish the sentence, you're already pulling a condom from your nightstand. He looks surprised by how quickly you’ve taken control of the situation. Shifting from a shy musician to a confident lead.

He removes his pants the rest of the way and his cock springs forth. You're a little intimidated by how much larger he is than you're used to, but it doesn't stop you. You push his chest, signaling him to lay back. You rip the foil and carefully slide the condom down his length.

You crawl on top of Eddie and lean in next to his ear, placing gentle kisses on his temple. Eddie is starstruck by your change in behavior.

“You’re not the only frontman in the room, Munson.” You whisper in his ear and watch Eddie unravel beneath you, “What's wrong? Been a while?" You repeat Eddie's words back to him.

You shift yourself as the tip of Eddie's cock sits right at your entrance. You slowly take him in, feeling your core stretch. Eddie has no words, just breathy moans, and curses. His hands grip your waist as you slide him in and out of your entrance.

Your hands grip his shoulders as you ride him, your fingernails leaving crescent-shaped indents on his porcelain skin. Eddie bucks his hips and hits your sweet spot just right. 

"Eddie, fuck!" You cry out, your eyes shut tight and your body starts to tremble.

"Music to my fucking ears." He says between deep breaths. "Say it again." He asks while you fuck into him deeper and deeper. Your legs begin to burn but that doesn't stop you.

"Eddie, m'gonna come." You warn and Eddie smiles.

"Do it, come for me, just let go." His words of encouragement are enough to send you over the edge. You're shaking profusely and all you can do is chant his name loudly. The way your cunt tightens around his cock sends Eddie straight to the moon. He throws his head back and squeezes your thighs, succumbing to his pleasure. 

You slump forward and rest your head on his shoulder, trying to catch your breath. You can feel his cock twitching inside of you.

"That was probably the best sex I've had in a while." You manage to say while trying to come back down to earth. He smirks and traces circles on your back gingerly. "

The sun is starting to peek through your curtains, you both managed to stay up all night. Eddie helps you off of him and you collapse. Your legs are jello and you're absolutely exhausted. 

"Shower and take a nap with me?" You mumble into the sheets. He moves a few strands of hair away from your face. 

"I'd like that." He answers while leaning in and placing kisses on your shoulder. You have a feeling this curly-haired metal head will be around quite often, and you wouldn't have it any other way. 

[bibliocratic]

clear the area jonmartin, post-MAG200 content warnings in the tags

They earn their ending. A happy-ever-after beyond the gaze of any eyes.

Jon endures his abdication. This world has no Archivists, has need of none, the thankless crown of Knowing finally unburdened from his shoulders. The blood washes off Martin’s hands with soap and scrubbing and scalding water. They live.

The end. In conclusion. Fin.

-

Jon’s new scar, the packaging of his skin split ragged from collarbone to sternum, fades like sun-caught paint. A maw of red pursing to a gummy primrose pink, settling into a rough cartography of white.

The first few months are hard. Brimstone flare-up silences and ice-pick shouting, open-handed forgiveness and closed-fist weeping. They drain themselves to husks with anger and worry and grief until there is enough space for better things to grow there in their stead. Jon’s nightmares were a nightly stormfront to bear, sweated sheets and dawn fanfares of panic and dread, but he is learning now, with the space for his ribs to expand, that it is ok for them to breathe here.

Jon digs up the garden with a rusty trowel until it is a bumpy canvas of mulch and soil, dirt tucked under his fingernails and decorated with smudges up to his elbows. He hums while he irons their shirts in front of the television, thoughtless and senseless with tune.

Martin has tried to, but the sound goes down the wrong way.

-

Martin is happy.

-

It isn’t the sight as such, that might sit as a film over his vision to tinge his waking sepia. The reddest thing they own is a terracotta plant plot brimming with raggedy thyme that lives a precarious cliff-top existence on the kitchen windowsill. He observes Jon’s face in all its variations, even pained – when he snags splinters in his fingers, when he stubs his toe on the stone front step and swears damnation – and his response is sympathy tempered by admonishment.

It’s not the sensation, not really, that might tremble on his skin. Martin’s palms tend to dryness inside their homely bubble of creaky central heating, hemmed in by boisterous coastal winds. He handles bread knives and butter knives and steak knives and carving knives without the muscle memory of other blades, and he thinks he might be getting pretty handy with his oven experimentation.

It’s the sound. It wakes him, the noise lingering like the echo of a slap.

The slick punch of metal into muscle. A tooth-bared, tense-jawed gasp.

Resurfacing to shocked consciousness, he would be seized by a frenzy, to know, to check. His scattering hand scrabbling for the lamp with such force he hit it off the nightstand to roll in a giddy clatter, throwing off the covers to rapidly pollute both of them with the outside air. Jon would be rocked from sleep, groggy, panicked, and Martin’s words would not come, a train of thought trying to race full steam where no one had laid tracks, so it would be just the two of them, exhausted and upset and amping the other up in misery.

Now, upon his rousing, Martin knows not to turn on the light. He does not check. The aftermath of punch-gasp curls in his ear, and he inhale-exhale-inhales with the ferocity of mantra, and clamps the threatened tears in the clench of his teeth.

He does not wake Jon.

-

“How did you sleep?”

“Oh, you know me. Like a log.”

-

He is happy. He is. Why wouldn’t he be?

--

Jon rumbles like a rusty mechanism with snoring whenever he drops off on his back, and he mumbles accusatory when Martin coaxes him to his side. Martin finds black hairs on his pillowcase, in the shower plug. Jon is a vista of experience since the Eye left him, who gets hungry and tired and grumpy and drunk and silly and fed-up and giggly. Jon searches him out with the surety of magnets, and loves him, loves him, loves him. He seals kisses to Martin’s new landscape of extensive scars. Their disagreements, when they surface, are as meaningful and lasting as stones skipped on water.

Martin wanted this. He wants this. The rhythms of domesticity fading to foam on an untroubled shore.

He is out of practise with happiness, that’s all. It doesn’t come to him like breathing. He needs to till the earth of it, shelter its seeds from a thousand circling crows until it bears harvest.

He just has to try harder.

-

Night-time.

An episode or two of something simple, Jon nodding off like a capsizing ship before the credits. Encouraging him up in grousing, unwilling increments, rubbing out the nettle sting of pins and needles up his own arm. Check the locks, the light switches. Brush teeth. Pyjamas. Put his phone to charge, read until Jon succumbs to sleep. Click the light off, pushing Jon onto his side so his mouth doesn’t dry. Jon squirming around like a fastidious octopus until he has at least half his limbs hooked over Martin.

The dark creating shadow play. In the absence, Martin colouring in the gaps with lurid shades of disaster.

A creak – the rattle of a door downstairs, an intruder unfastening the back door, transferring their weight upon the staircase. A unfamiliar scent – the recollection of smoke-stench in his nostrils, the acrid promise of gas, the ferrous pungency of blood. The rain will flood their house to drown them. The wind will blow their roof in. Jon hooks his leg around Martin, the skin void of hair where Daisy’s mouth had almost torn it off, and all he can envision is the ways this could be destroyed as he watches.

Bundle Jon close. Ignore the rain, the itch at the bottom of his stomach, the queasy roil of his fear. Drift into unkind sleep populated with its garden of earthly terrors.

-

Martin is… not happy. Not exactly. And that’s fine. It’s fine.

-

Jon is happy.

-

Jon, rubbing at the compression lines around his hips, the accusatory splay of the top button refusing to budge closed:

“I can’t fit into my jeans.”

Martin enfolds him from behind, planting his palms over the slight paunch of Jon’s stomach, filled out through sensible eating and small indulgences and a hunger that will never be ravenous but has restored its human qualities.

“Hmm. It’s a good look on you. Healthier.”

“Or it’s middle age.”

“Or it’s eating things that aren’t tea and meal-deal sandwiches.”

“Or other people’s terror.”

“Oh yes, you’re right, I completely forgot about your subsistence diet of eldritch and unbidden horrors in a luscious wholegrain wrap, forgive me.”

Jon laughs at that. The sound has not yet lost its novelty for either of them.

He shifts, turns, his arms a buoy around Martin’s stomach.

“You’ve lost weight.”

“Must be all the clean air,” Martin quips. “All that healthy living.”

-

Punch. Gasp. Exhale.

Martin wakes up.

When his heart has wound down from the pace of its gallop, he extricates himself from Jon’s grip. It is a laborious task to find the places where they’ve joined in the night and pull them apart, like separating fabric snagged on rosebushes.

He gets some water from the cold tap in the kitchen. Sits heavily on the sofa, the room cossetted by the gloom.

Punch. Gasp. Exhale.

His hands shake.

He doesn’t go back to bed.

-

He isn’t happy, but he could grow to be. He could. He could. He just isn’t trying hard enough.

-

Some days, he feels like he’s waiting for the ice to give under them.

Check the passers-by as they walk. Anyone familiar, any teeth filed too sharp, anything animal or blood-shot, any eyes that glance too deep.

Check the oven. The gas knobs are angled to off but a leak is not impossible in a house this old, their alarm might malfunction, they might fall asleep and some spark from a plug socket could catch and incite a conflagration.  

Check the window latches. The opening wide enough for a body to squirm through, the claws of a Hunter marring the sill. Wriggling infestations that invade through the letter box, the keyhole, the gap under the door where the wind can whistle through.

Check. Check. Check.

-

Jon is happy. Jon has a job, work friends, a hundred small luxuries that he has struggled to earn. Jon is happy, so why can’t he be? He went through so much less, the blood washed off easily with soap, what the fuck does he have to cry over –

-

Martin has always crafted his masks from scrap, tongue out in concentration, piecing things together in low light, a make-do-and-mend of his own devising. His early efforts, the paper mâché and glue easily cracked before he learned to shore up his constructions. He has a small collection garnered over years.

The quiet-voiced, muffled-stepped, muted-smiled creation of a Good Son.

The zipped-mouth, no-refusals-no-complaints-yes-of-course-how-high earnestness of the Good Employee, the desperation sanded off the edges so no one could see.

The I’ll-get-the-first-round friendliness, the open-handed, open-hearted, too-naïve Good Colleague.

This new mask forms in increments, in the same way a rising mound of dirt marks the extent of a grave being dug.

He doesn’t mean to. It’s just he’s better at not talking about things. He always has been. And it is an ugly, easy comfort, to slip back into bad habits.

And Jon is happy.

All the things Martin does not wish to permit the light to touch he compresses inside like shaken soda. The rot in him deepens structural, the places where he papers over moulds and fungal speckles with the distraction of their new life. His smile parades simple, contented, cheeky, teasing, and there is a meticulous artistry in each. He sketches interest, paints joy, manufactures irritation out of the clay of nothingness that he allows himself to feel instead of the overwhelming rush of everything else.

I love you, his mouth murmurs, laughs, sighs, groans, and that at least is always true.

The mask of a Good Partner slips on tailor-made.

-

They find their nine-to-fives. Jon’s job is uneventful, boring, and nowhere near an Archive. He works in a registry office for the council, filing and organising and he’s cheerfully lied on his CV in order to get it. He gets the bus and texts Martin grumpy faces and GIFs summarising his mood when he gets suck in the commute or some idiot parks in a bus lane, he has a couple of colleagues he likes and a greater number that he tolerates, he gets a hot chocolate from this universe’s overpriced multinational chain on his lunch hour. When he gets home, he complains with delight at the mundanity of his dissatisfactions, regales Martin with tales of meagre drama.

Martin gets a cleaning job at a school. It is monotonous, dull and safe. Martin loses track of the time easily, quagmired in his musings. The children are wary of him and his visible scarring but it doesn’t bother him as much as he thought it would. The teachers are friendly enough, as well as the other cleaning staff, but he does not make friends. They’ll have to move anyway, if anything finds them here, if the Fears emerge again.

Martin tries not to feel like he’s waiting.

-

He wants to have a good night’s sleep.

-

“I’ll have breakfast at the school, don’t worry.”

“There were some leftovers from the canteen, so I’m kind of full.”

“It was one of the teacher’s birthdays, you know, Denise? Heh, might have had a bit too much cake. I’ll pop this in the fridge for later though, it’ll keep till tomorrow.”

“I’m just not that hungry tonight, Jon.”

-

He feels sharper when he doesn’t eat. It is uncomfortable, a scratched-out, hollowing sensation, but things focus more. He can control nothing else but this, and it feels good, to have this mastery over himself when so much is beyond him.

He drops down notches on his belt and tells Jon it’s all the walking he’s doing.

-

The world continues to happen to them. He goes to the cinema with Jon and picks at popcorn and encourages Jon’s outraged opinion. He meets Jon’s mildly interesting work friends and plays nice and excels at small talk, and he drinks half a cider that he nurses over the evening because it’s making his head fuggy. His body communicates its sharpness to him and he gains grim satisfaction from ignoring it. He goes to work and goes home and doesn’t sleep and goes to work and goes home and doesn’t sleep.

Martin does his best at living, and his mask doesn’t slip.

-

“You seem tired,” Jon pries his words out carefully, picking them out of his teeth as one would scraps. “Is… is everything ok?”

“Yeah, sure it is. Why?”

“��  you seem a bit down today. Recently. Is anything… is there anything you want to talk about?”

“I’ve just been working too hard. Been a while since I had to do double-shifts, heh, I’m not as young as I used to be.”

“If you’re sure?”

Jon shifts to a different position where he’s sat on the sofa, his legs tucking up under him. Martin endures his questioning gaze with practise.

“Yeah, I’m all good.”

Martin delivers a hand-crafted smile that’s gilded heavily with guilelessness and reassurance. He watches as Jon believes him and hates himself.

-

“You know… You don’t have to if you don’t want to, but you can – you know you can talk to me, Martin?”

Martin’s eyes focus on Jon’s chest at the point where a knife once sunk in, and doesn’t reply.

-

Punch. Gasp. Exhale.

Martin wakes up.

Jon has twisted over onto his back again, rattling like a chain-smoker’s cough with his snoring. They were quiet that evening, tangled up in their own thoughts, but there is none of that distance in sleep. During the night, Jon’s wormed himself out of the covers with a single-minded determination, his restless legs squashing the duvet to the bottom of the bed on his side, encouraging Martin’s to follow suit.

He’s shirtless, his top chucked off to pile unceremoniously on the floor. The temperature is ripe with a burgeoning summer heat, and Jon tosses and complains if he’s overwarm, and Martin didn’t think he’d get to feel the drudgery of another lived summer. He’s shirtless, and the room is palled in sweltering dark that softens the vague shapes of the wardrobe, the chest of drawers, the knickknacks of the life they’re building together. He’s shirtless, and Martin cannot see where the scar is, the only scar of Jon’s he has ever thought ugly, but he knows it is there. That he put it there. That he could just as easily be waking up alone.

His body pains him to live in it. His stomach tight and bottomed out empty.

He is so so tired.

Martin’s heartbeat does not slow down. His chest constricting, and he swallows, a sharp sound hiccupping in his throat. He stifles it with a forceful sniff but more come as a painful spasming wave, and he has to sit up if any air is to dribble into his lungs.

He should get up. He has to get up, do this in the bathroom, doubled-over the sink, stifling his weakness where it cannot be witnessed. He cannot do this here.

Punch. Gasp.

His burning face is soaked as he bunches up his sleeves against his reddening eyes. A calming exhale drains out shaky, moulds itself into another loud sob. He plants his hands over his mouth, screwing his eyes closed, and this will pass, he’s fine, this will pass…

“Martin?”

I’m sorry to wake you, he thinks to say. It’s nothing, go back to sleep, stop looking at me Jon, I’m fine, I’m fine, it’s nothing, it’s nothing…

His shoulders start to shake.

“Martin?” Jon repeats slowly. And the ice creaks and cracks and Martin gasps and then it breaks, and the force of his damned-up grief is tidal, catastrophic and he sobs into his hands.

“It’s… it’s alright – it’s… it was a nightmare, that’s all, ‘s alright…”

“It’s not!” Martin bubbles out, the words mashed to a wail in his hands. “It’s not, it’s not, it’ll ruin this…”

“Hey.” Jon brings his arm around Martin and he buries his head in the bony crook of his shoulder because he does not want to meet Jon’s eyes. “What do you mean? Martin?”

Jon rubs at his back. Martin’s body betrays him in a hundred ways as it collapses around him. His weeping wrings him out, dry-mouthed and headachy and trembling when he subsides into shivery breaths.

“Talk to me,” Jon says. “Please.”

“You’re so happy,” Martin sniffs out. “I-I want you to be happy, god, o-of course I do. Things are, they’re good, they’re good and we won, s-s-so why does it feel like I’m still holding my breath? I-I go to bed and I’m frightened of every noise, and I wake up and I’m terrified that someone somehow could take this all away, and I can’t sleep, and I-I’m tired, Jon, I’m tired of holding my breath, and it’s all – it’s all so much a-a-a-and I can’t – ”

“Oh, Martin – ”

His words fail him then. Jon holds him up and his arms do not loosen.

“We-we’re going to fix this,” Jon says after a long while. “I promise you, together, we’ll – we’ll talk to someone. You aren’t alone in this. Together, alright, we’ll do this together. We’ve survived – everything else, we can get through this too.”

“I don’t know if I can believe you,” Martin says, too drained to avoid honesty.

“…Maybe not yet,” Jon says after a pause. “That’s OK. I can wait.”

I’m sorry, Martin attempts to say but Jon presses a kiss to his forehead.

“You have nothing to be sorry for,” Jon says. He strokes Martin’s sweat-soaked hair.

“… Can we talk? Tomorrow? You don’t have to tell me everything, but… I’d like to be there for you, if you want me. If you’ll let me.”

Martin nods because he doesn’t trust his gummed-up throat. Jon takes that as an answer.

Dawn comes in slowly enough but they see it in together.

[writeyouin]

Heyy Sophie! Do you mind doing a fun lil drabble about sweet Riptide having an approximate knowledge on Valentine's customs from what he's heard from Swerves and asks out the reader anyways 😌💖 Thanks a lot! Hope you're doing well~~

Riptide X Reader – New to This

A/N – I had so much fun looking up all these Valentine’s traditions from around the world. Whales officially celebrates it the best, funky little weirdos. Hope you enjoy it Millie.

Warnings – None.

Rating – T

Riptide’s head swivelled from one bot to another, as he tried as hard as he could to keep up with the conversation. Various bots were in one of the rec-rooms, discussing the human holiday, Valentine’s Day, and it had sparked quite the argument. It seemed that everybody had their own version of the holiday, and nobody was willing to believe that they might be wrong.

Swerve slammed his fist onto the table, “We all know I’m the closest thing to an expert here. If I say it’s flowers and chocolates, it’s flowers and chocolates.”

Getaway rolled his eyes, “Big whoop, so you’ve seen a few TV shows that are super outdated. Not everything that happens on TV is real, Swerve. Besides, I happened to do a bit of searching, and you’re wrong. It’s all about some mushy card with a poem in it or something.”

“No, wait. That can’t be right,” Nautica interjected calmly. “Swerve was kind of right on the flowers, but it’s not a bouquet, it’s just one flower. I think it was called a Snowdrop and you press it flat or something.”

“TEN!” Ten roared, throwing a carved wooden spoon onto the table before everyone, as if proclaiming that was the right gift. As usual, everyone ignored his admission, unable to take the spoon seriously.

“No, no, no,” Rodimus huffed, shaking his helm exasperatedly. “It’s all about the music. Picture this, I’m standing on a huge amp, electric guitar in hand. I sing a rocking ballad, the guitar sets on fire, I’m playing it so fast and then (Y/N) swoons and I-”

“WHO THE FRAG SAID ANYTHING ABOUT (Y/N)?!” Whirl roared jealously, even though everyone knew that the entire conversation on Valentine’s day was a covert way of brainstorming ways of asking you out.

“COME OFF IT!” Rodimus said, his engines revving in frustration. “YOU ALL KNOW THIS STARTED COS I’M GOING TO ASK (Y/N) OUT TONIGHT.”

Rodimus made to get up, but Whirl stuck out his leg, making the Captain trip.

“That does it,” Rodimus growled, preparing to brawl with Whirl.

Riptide didn’t linger to see the end result, his mind already wandering as he meandered out into the hallway. He kept to himself whilst walking about the ship. Was that conversation really about asking you out? He’d thought it was about weird human stuff. Was everyone there to court you? If so, did Riptide have that same obligation?

He’d never really considered dating you before, but he was thinking about it now. He supposed it would be kind of nice to be with you. You were funny and cute, and you never belittled him when he didn’t understand something. Maybe Riptide wasn’t strong, fast, or smart like the other bots, but he did have a spark, and it always hummed faster when you were near.

“Maybe,” He whispered, talking to himself.

“Maybe what?”

Riptide turned around to find you, smiling sweetly at him. He opened his mouth, but paused to frown, having lost whatever train of thought he was travelling; it was something that happened often.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt you. It just looked like you were thinking hard about something and I thought you might like to bounce your ideas of someone.”

“Oh,” Riptide nodded agreeably, before frowning again.

“Something wrong?”

“I don’t have a wooden spoon,” He admitted sadly.

“Sorry, what?”

“A wooden spoon. I don’t have one. I don’t have a poem, or a guitar that sets on fire, or sweets, or crushed plants, and on top of all that, I don’t even have a wooden spoon.”

“O…Kay? And this is a problem for you?”

“Yes. I can’t be a Valentine without one of those things. You should really talk to Ten, he has a wooden spoon. It’s very nice.”

“Do you… Do you want me to get you a wooden spoon?” You asked, thinking that someone must have played another mean trick on Riptide to make him think about such things.

“No. I want to get you a wooden spoon, but I don’t have one. Me and the others were talking and that’s how to be a Valentine, I think… How can I be your Valentine, if I don’t even have a spoon?”

You covered your mouth with your hand to hide your smirk, trying desperately not to laugh at the ridiculousness of the scenario as everything fell into place.

“You ah, you don’t need any of that stuff,” You said, fighting a snicker.

“I don’t?”

“Nope. If you want to be my Valentine, all you have to do is ask, Riptide. And I would say yes.”

“You would?” Riptide’s frown turned into a hopeful grin.

“Yeah. I like you too.”

“Zowie,” Riptide exclaimed, having heard the word in an old Earth movie.

“Would you like to join me for a meal tonight at my place? We could make a night of it.”

Riptide nodded enthusiastically, “Sure would, Valentine. See you tonight.”

He ran off, hurrying to get his best energon for the evening; he was a Valentine, and it didn’t matter to you that he was new to it. This was going to be his best Valentine’s Day yet.

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[mellowdreamer]

HOLDING OUT FOR A HERO VERSE.

this is a modern bending vigilante/hero au featuring zukka, mailee, yueki and a lot of hijinks!

the gaang are all 16-19 here, because while bruce wayne apparently has no problem with it, i’m not comfortable with having vigilantes who haven’t yet gone through puberty.

the avatar world is just one big city, and each of the nations/cities are different suburbs of the city.

kyoshi island, ember island, and boiling rock are small islands off of the city, similar to singapore’s sentosa island.

the city (republic city? i dunno, get back to me on this one) is full of heroes, vigilantes and villains alike. the fire nation is a criminal empire intent on taking over the city. the avatar is a hero who works to keep the balance of heroes and villains in the city, and stop the entire city from becoming a war zone. 

however, the avatar disappeared 100 years ago, and no one was chosen to take up the mantle since. in the avatar’s absence, the fire nation was able to begin its quest to take over the city.

the heroes of the southern water tribe that were left after the various raids have left the southern water suburb on a mission to defeat the fire nation or die.

hakoda, alias chief, left his two young children in charge of their territory, despite them being a) children and b) relatively untrained.

katara, alias painted lady, is the only waterbender left in the southern water tribe. sokka, alias captain boomerang, is the only trained combat hero left in the southern water tribe. all those remaining are either children or incapable of fighting.

side tangent: when sokka does well, he calls himself “grand marshal boomerang” and when he does badly, he calls himself “private boomerang”. thank you to the crimily for coming up with this one!!

one night, when katara and sokka are out on patrol, they get chased by fire nation goons into the ice off of the southern harbour. there, they get into a fight over sokka’s sexist remarks and katara’s yelling having attracted the fire nation goons, and katara’s waterbending gets out of control. she breaks open an iceberg, only to find someone in there.

the two siblings approach the iceberg and break the person out. they are shocked to find a young boy in the unmistakable uniform of the avatar, resting next to a creature they’ve never seen before.

they wake the boy up, to find that his name is aang and he’s the next avatar. and that he has no idea of the fire nation’s quest to conquer the entire city, or the fact that the air nomads – heroes that didn’t resign to just one area of the city – hadn’t been seen for the same hundred years that he must’ve spent in the iceberg.

katara and a reluctant sokka take aang back to the apartment building where the remaining southern water suburb residents have been living and introduce him to everyone.

later that night, the three go out on patrol together. it’s a quiet night, and sokka thinks they might actually get through it without any incidents, until they find a woman being mugged.

sokka and katara are about to intervene, but aang takes down both thugs in a matter of seconds. aang, ignoring the slack jawed shock of his friends, asks if they could go penguin sledding. katara goes to agree, but is cut off by the shout of “MY HONOUR” from a nearby rooftop.

zuko, alias dragon prince, runs from the rooftop before they could find him. his father ozai, alias firelord, had sent him and his uncle iroh – formerly dragon of the west, now retired – to find the avatar. zuko had been banished from the fire nation territory years ago, after speaking up about a plan that would’ve cost them a whole division of goons and refusing to fight his father in an agni kai.

the kyoshi warriors are similar to the birds of prey or the amazons; they’re an all-female crime-fighting unit not directly associated with any of the kingdoms or nations. suki is their leader, and they don’t have secret identities like the other heroes.

iroh, bumi, piandao, jeong-jeong and p*kku are all retired heroes and a part of the order of the white lotus.

toph is the blind bandit and a hero, albeit a less morally structured and ‘good’ hero than the avatar, the painted lady, and captain boomerang. she was a part of the underground fighting ring ‘earth rumble’ when the gaang infiltrated the ring looking for intel and convinced her that her powers could be used for something better than beating bitches blue and making bank while doing it.

azula is firebolt, and she is as brilliant as she is terrifying. she’s arguably more feared than the firelord, mainly because she’s the one who frequents other areas and actually goes on missions. ozai just sits on his stupid throne and yells at people and manipulates his children like the little bitch he is.

mai and ty lee are azula’s sidekicks, and are known as blade and tightrope respectively. also: they’re lesbians, harold.

yue is a part of the northern water tribe’s group of heroes, alongside her family. they tried to marry her off to hahn and have her trained in healing instead of fighting, but she rebelled and threatened to go out on her own, so they relented. yue’s hero alias is tui, but she will be called sailor moon at least three times.

jet and his freedom fighters are a group of anti-heroes who aren’t afraid to hurt innocent people in their pursue of ‘justice’.

zhao is a villain who works for the firelord, under the alias admiral, and he’s an asshole. using the yuyan archers, he manages to capture aang and takes him to a fire nation stronghold. zuko finds out about this, and not wanting admiral asshole to get the upper hand, dresses as the blue spirit for the first time to rescue aang.

during the siege of the north, zhao “kills” yue. she fakes her own death and disappears into hiding until the final battle, in which she kills zhao because it’s what she deserves.

the gaang know that yue is alive, because she’s nice enough to not do them like that, but they have to keep up appearances. because of this, sokka amps up the heartbreak and clings to suki a lot. that’s why a lot of outsiders begin to think that sokka dated yue and is dating suki, though in reality yue and suki are dating each other.

zuko and iroh, after the siege of the north and a trap set by azula, disappear into hiding and decide to take refuge in ba sing se, knowing that the fire nation wouldn’t think to look for them there.

ba sing se is a section of the city that has been fenced off in order to prevent an influx of heroes and villains. the dai li, who keep a tight grip on the suburb and ensure that the residents don’t know of the war raging outside the walls, are a group of “heroes”.

of course, the fence does nothing to prevent zuko and iroh, the gaang, and later azula, mai and ty lee from entering ba sing se and turning it into their own warzone.

iroh fulfils his dream of finally owning a tea shop and zuko, when not working in the tea shop, spends his nights lingering in the shadows of ba sing se as the blue spirit.

sokka, desperate for a warm drink and something to do while the others do their bending training, wanders into the jasmine dragon one afternoon and is served by “lee”.

neither know the other’s civilian identity, so there’s no shady business, just pining over the cute customer/server. sokka strikes a conversion and the two begin flirting chatting. it’s going really well, and you can almost see the romance blooming.

and then in walks azula, flanked by mai and ty lee, all in costume.

sokka and zuko both leap up from their seats and into fighting stances. both are confused as to why the other jumped up, and then azula calls zuko brother and it clicks in sokka’s mind.

he starts yelling at zuko for a lot of things, including yue’s “death” which is how zuko realises who he is. zuko starts yelling back because he’s only once met a fight he didn’t like. in the background of this argument, iroh is trying to fight azula, mai and ty lee to varying degrees of success.

it’s funny that i say degrees, because this is when azula sets fire to the jasmine dragon. iroh grabs the two dumbass arguing teens and shoves them outside as he too runs, telling zuko to meet at their rendezvous point at sunrise.

azula, mai and ty lee chase after zuko and sokka (who are still arguing as they run from the three girls). mai and ty lee don’t want to chase them, because zuko has always been better to them than azula, but defying azula would be a death sentence.

sokka pulls zuko into a building for coverage, and because azula is azula, she summons the dai li and has them surround the building. there would be no leaving without confronting the dai li, and thus zuko and sokka are trapped.

sokka confronts zuko and basically asks how he could justify the fire nation’s villainy, how he could support a monster who’s killing hundreds of people. zuko defends his father blindly because he’s been raised to believe that his father is right, that his father has to be right, and this southern water scum is wrong. but zuko’s losing his grip on the argument and is becoming more and more hysterical but sokka is so calm, so sure of himself, and the dam finally breaks.

zuko crumples to the ground in tears, and now sokka’s gotta deal with this because ozai is a shitface and has been brainwashing his son for years and wow fuck the fire nation.

mai and ty lee, having taken down the dai li, burst in to find zuko crying his eyes out in sokka’s arms. they teasingly ask if they’re interrupting something and laugh as zuko next to sprints out of the building, sokka hot on his heels.

this is the last straw for zuko, who defects from the fire nation, hangs up his dragon prince uniform and fully becomes the blue spirit, a hero who works with the gaang to eventually take down the fire nation.

also, at some stage zuko rescues a turtleduck that got stuck up a tree. don’t ask me how this happens.

[a-supernatural-writer]

Candle in the Wind Pt.1

Next Part

Everyone is a witch because I said so and Michael deserves some loving. Also, sorry for posting this so late. Meant to post this a long time ago but it's been a little crazy.

Warnings: none

Word Count: 1502

Michael Emerson x gender neutral reader

“How long have they been going at it?” Michael asked from his spot on his bed. He was leaned up against the headboard, tarot cards laid out before him.

The sounds of yelling and arguing traveled from downstairs and broke through Michael’s closed bedrooms door. Lucy and her husband, well, soon to be ex-husband, were fighting.

You sighed, “For an hour, at least.” You pulled one of Michael’s throw blankets closer to your body as you sat next to him, watching him take the cards on the bed and reshuffling them.

“Think they’re gonna stop?” Sam asked as he sat down on the floor with his familiar Nanook, which was an Alaskan malamute.

Michelle, who was Michael’s twin sister, scoffed at her younger brother's question, “Probably not for a while, bud.” She had long brown hair that was curly like her twins and the same blue eyes.

Michelle was walking around her and Michael’s shared room, lighting a few candles that were scattered about. Some were on the dresser and nightstands while others were placed upon stacked moving boxes.

Michael’s and Michelle’s room was sort of a safe haven for all of you when Lucy and her husband fought. It was the one place that all of you felt safe. It also helped that each one of you put a warding around the door so only Lucy could come in.

The only other place that the Emerson siblings went to get away was your little apartment that you had down the street with your own mother. Your mother was also Lucy’s closest friend and she was helping the poor woman through her divorce.

You smiled a little as your own familiar, Angel, a pure white fluffy cat purred as she rubbed her face up against yours and Michael’s arms. Michael shared your smile, leaning down to place a kiss on top of Angel’s head affectionately, which she purred even more at the action.

Even though Angel was your familiar, Michael treated her with the same love that you did. Not all witches had to have familiars, they were more of a choice if you wanted to have one. Both Michael and Michelle chose not to have one, while you and Sam did.

But the majority of the time, Michael really did enjoy taking care of her and in a weird way, she was his familiar too, even if it wasn’t official.

Michael then placed a soft, quick kiss upon your own lips before returning his focus back on his tarot cards.

You smiled, leaning your head on the brunette's shoulder, watching him as Angel curled into a ball between the two of you.

You and Michael have been dating since last year. You both grew up together and as the both of you got older, feelings became stronger. Suddenly, at a high school party the two of you were kissing in the backyard and made your relationship official. And it’s been wonderful.

That smile quickly disappeared as the fighting downstairs suddenly stopped when the front door slammed. Each one of you froze in your spots as the sound of footsteps came closer and closer to the twins bedroom door.

All of you breathed a sigh of relief when Lucy was the one who opened the twins door, giving all of you a sad smile.

“Hi mom.” The three Emerson children greeted their mother as she closed the door behind her, all five of you now in the room.

You gave Lucy a comforting smile, “Hi, Lucy.”

Lucy smiled a little bit more when she saw that you were in the room, “Hi, y/n. Michael called you?” She asked, stepping into the room and taking a seat at the end of Michelle’s bed.

You nodded. Michael called you just when their parents started fighting and without even asking, you immediately went over. You flew through the twins window with your broom to not get in the middle of their fight.

“Thank you.” Lucy said, patting the spot next to her and gesturing for Michelle to sit down.

Michelle flicked off her lighter and sat down next to her mother, resting her head on her shoulder, “Dad still angry?”

Lucy sighed, putting an arm over Michelle’s shoulders and rubbing it, “Very.” It was a simple answer but the rest of you couldn’t help but deflate at the words.

Their father never knew about Lucy and her kids being witches. It was something that they hid from him until they thought he was ready to know. They thought it was gonna go well, but they were proven wrong when he started saying words that you dared to never to repeat.

And it wasn’t just the fact that they were all witches that caused everything to go down hill, but their father, in general started fighting with Lucy about stupid little things. Like what Michael and Michelle were going to do for college, or Sam being into comic books. Basically wanting to control his kids lives and not listening to Lucy in the process.

He even took a stab at you. Saying that Michael could do better and not be with a ‘nobody’ like you. Of course, that’s when Michael stopped talking to his dad, with Sam and then Michelle falling behind.

It even amped up more when their dad stumbled upon Michelle making out with a girl on their front porch. He said some words that made you very close to hexing him, and that’s something you never do. He hated Michelle for being a lesbian, so in return, Michelle went against every single rule that their dad put in place.

Lucy defended each and everyone of you, taking the brunt of his words. All of you were just thankful that in less than a week, he would be out of the house and out of state. Away from all of you.

“Is he gonna be back tonight?” Sam asked while petting Nanook. You hoped that their father was staying at his friends house tonight. You didn’t want to have to face him, nor would you want your boyfriend and his family to see him for the rest of the night.

Lucy shook her head, “Probably not. I don’t think he’s coming back for a few days.”

All the anxiety in the room washed away at Lucy’s words and you wanted to almost jump up and down in celebration.

“Good.” Michael simply said, setting out his tarot cards in a new formation.

Lucy bit her lip, “Come on.” She patted Michelle’s shoulder and reached down to ruffle Sam’s hair, “Help me with dinner.” Lucy didn’t respond to Michael, she knew that he was at the point of fully hating his father, so there was nothing really to say.

Lucy got up from her spot with Michelle and Sam following. Nanook followed Sam, leaving just you and Michael in the room.

Michael said nothing, just stared down at his cards with a furrowed brow and clenched jaw.

You sighed, “Hey.” You said softly.

He turned his head towards you, his gaze softening just a little bit. He was pissed, holding back a lot of anger towards his father.

“Things will get better.” You said, placing a small kiss on his cheek before resting your forehead against his.

Michael breathed out, his tensed shoulders now relaxing as he leaned into your touch. You were always good with calming him down. “You know that for sure?” He asked you, his eyes boring deep into your own.

“I can’t see into the future like you can, but I know how strong you are Michael. You’re going to pull out of this better than ever. You, Michelle, Sam and your mom are going to be okay, as long as you have each other.” You said, trying to ease his mind about the future. Things were going to be tough, but you had a feeling it would turn out alright in the end.

Michael couldn’t help but smile a little, “What would I do without you?”

You hummed in thought for a second, “Probably fall on your ass every time you ride your broom. Sometimes you can’t fly for shit, Michael.”

The two of you chuckled at your joke. You weren't wrong. Michael had a hard time flying his broom when he first started. You had to save him from his face meeting the earth floor more times than you could remember. He was pretty good now. But he was much better at riding his bike than he was his broom.

“Promise to be with me through it all?” Michael asked you, his hand cupping your face.

“Promise.” You answered, pressing your lips to Michael’s who moved his lips against yours. You were never going to leave Michael, you loved him too much to even think about it.

Whatever the future had in store for all of you, you were ready for it. And you were going to walk hand and hand with Michael every single step of the way.

[orbitariums]

𝐠𝐢𝐫𝐥𝐬 𝐨𝐧 𝐟𝐢𝐥𝐦 | 𝐫𝐞𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐚𝐯𝐨𝐫 | 𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐯𝐞 𝐫𝐨𝐠𝐞𝐫𝐬 (𝟏𝟑)

note: hey y’all i know it’s been literally FOREVER since i’ve released a new part. i miss y’all and i’m ready to get right the fuck into this. chapter 13!!!

warnings: smut heavy, mentioning of age difference 

word count: 13k

playlist *recently updated, go check it out!*

𝐠𝐢𝐫𝐥𝐬 𝐨𝐧 𝐟𝐢𝐥𝐦 | 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐨𝐧𝐞: 𝐫𝐞𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐚𝐯𝐨𝐫 | 𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐯𝐞 𝐫𝐨𝐠𝐞𝐫𝐬

     You woke up to the feeling of Steve’s body heat against yours, the flimsy fabric of his sheer white t-shirt bristling against your bare skin. He was laying next to you, a book open in his lap and a pencil in his hand. You weren’t quite paying attention, still settling into the day as the blur in front of your eyes slowly disappeared. Memories of last night flooded your mind fondly— Steve’s soft touch against your thighs as he carried you in from the car into the bed, the thought of someone caring so much to even do that for you, the plush feeling of his pink lips against yours. 

     You felt your heart swelling just to think of it, so pleased by the events of yesterday and last night especially. You felt like everything was just right at the moment. Before, some part of your brain was afraid that since things were going so well, something would inevitably go wrong later on, but you were past that fear stage. Now, you were just settling into enjoying the good moments and expecting nothing but good to come next.

     Since yesterday, especially after the grand afternoon you’d had, and the way Steve treated you carrying you into his apartment, there had been a shift. It was almost imperceptible aside from the way your heart seemed to surge even higher when you were around each other. Yesterday had been such a relief once you both met Bucky and cleared that up. Any unnecessary fear or anxieties that would’ve stemmed from that dilemma were removed. 

     And now you felt so drawn to Steve, so inclined to trust him impossibly further— again your mind ran back to thoughts about his touch on your thighs as he carried you inside, his soft but strong hands against your smooth skin. And you thought about how you wanted his touch all the time. You’d been physically close multiple times, but only once in the intimate sense, and you were yearning for more of his touch. Though you both wanted to go slow, you found each other irresistible in every sense of the word. And you only had two weeks together—why not get closer? 

    Steve noticed you shifting, and looked over at you, the side of his lip quirked up into a grin. You stretched out like a cat below him, batting your lashes inadvertently. 

     “Morning, sleeping beauty,” Steve teased, and you chuckled. 

You were still getting comfortable with each other, but it was easier with each and every day. The more time you spent together, the more you felt used to each other, like waking up next to the other was the norm. The thrill wasn’t gone, but the atmosphere was comfortable at the very least. 

     “Morning,” you said back. 

You snuggled into his shoulder, hesitating a bit in case he wanted personal space, although you were craving an even closer proximity to him. But he squeezed you in closer to him, sensing your hesitation and reassuring you that there was no reason for pause. You noted how much you loved to be near him. The last few days had felt so unreal, almost childish in nature, like a silly little schoolgirl crush that wasn’t anything more, though you both knew you had strong feelings for each other. Yet now, you were sinking into the realization that being near him felt like being near a source of warmth and light that you were so grateful for— you needed it. And he needed the warmth you gave him too. 

Your eyes widened as you realized Steve was drawing in his sketchbook.

     “You’re drawing?” you grinned excitedly, and he laughed sheepishly and shook his head. 

     “Yeah. Haven’t done it in a while, it’s just random sketching… it’s a mess, honestly,” he brushed it off, but you frowned.

     “I like it. I like your random sketches. You should do it more often,” you tilted your head up and kissed his cheek, another leap of courage that made Steve’s cheeks heat up, along with your words of encouragement. 

     “Maybe… I got time. But,” he grunted, closing his sketchbook and turning to face you. “I wanna spend time with you. Go head, get dressed. I wanna take you out today.”

     How ready Steve was to take you out made you perk up. His tone, his demeanor, just the prospect of going out with him on this lovely day full of sunshine amped you up. The fact that Steve had plans for you was so refreshing. He really did want to show you just how much he cared, and he was putting in the effort, day after day. He was doing everything to make sure you knew how much he wanted to be with you and be around you. Even though it seemed as though the bar was low, that wasn’t something you were used to. Just thinking that he made time to plan things out between you and him made you feel all warm inside. 

So you got ready with ease, taking a shower and getting dressed, putting on just a bit of makeup. Steve complimented your dress when you came out from the bathroom, looking you up and down with the purest, kindest admiration in his eyes. 

     “You like it?” you echoed, flouncing around, unable to fight off the urge to grin. You didn’t struggle with confidence in the physical sense, but Steve made you feel so sure of yourself, like even in these strange circumstances you two were under, he still wanted to show you off and make you feel good about yourself internally. 

     “You… look gorgeous all the time,” he shook his head as if he couldn’t believe it, pulling you close under his arm. 

     “You’re sweet,” you grinned, and laid your head in the crook of his armpit, letting him lead you out of the apartment, letting him lead you to bliss. 

When you got in the car, you saw that in the backseat there was a picnic basket and a blanket. You gasped, clasping your hand over your mouth and gaping wide eyed at Steve. 

     “Are we going on a picnic?” you cooed, grinning wide. 

He smiled back,

     “You figured it out. Listen, it’s nice out, and I know a great woodsy area where we can be alone and in peace.”

You raised a brow,

     “And here I was thinking New York was a concrete jungle.”

      “Gotta go up north for the good stuff,” Steve shrugged. “It’s nice and secluded, so we won’t have to worry about laying low. Just wanted to take my girl out officially.”

You leaned your elbow against the window, facing Steve as you pressed your palm to your cheek with a smug smile,

     “Your girl, huh?”

Part of you was teasing him, the other part of you just wanted to hear him say it again. Neither of you had had the conversation about labels yet, but it had only been a few days. It was safe to say you weren’t quite worried about labels. You just liked each other’s company. Steve was a man of formality and tradition though, so there would be a point where he probably made things official between the two of you. But for now, he was taking it slow out of respect for you. 

Steve glanced over at you, dimples forming at his cheek as he smiled back, 

     “My girl.”

     “I like the sound of that,” you cooed, your eyes glimmering with admiration for him. 

     “Me too. Glad you like it,” Steve replied, his chest warming up with satisfaction. 

      He was testing out how calling you his girl sounded, and he loved the thought of it. Even though you were his girl, you were still entirely your own woman. That’s what he loved about you. 

Steve’s hand shifted over to your lap, a gentle grip on your thigh, tapping his foot absentmindedly. He thought nothing of it, but it made your head swarm. Even days after meeting him in person his touch was electrifying and every thought of being close to him thrilled you. You’d been intimate only once with him and not again since then, but every kiss since then seemed to last longer and each one was somehow better than the last time. But even though Steve’s hand on your thigh made you feel warm all over (all over), you just grinned to yourself and faced the boundless road ahead. 

| | | 

     “Oh, this place is so beautiful,” you said for probably the third time since you’d arrived. 

      The woods where Steve had brought you reminded you of California. It was bright and full of summer colors, yellow flowers springing up from the earth and surrounding the verdant grass that crushed underneath the soles of your Converse. The sunlight peeked through the forest canopy through gaps in the leafy honey locust trees and tall redwoods. Everything was lush and green and the air in the woods felt and smelled fresh and much better than the city. Steve knew you all too well, because this was the kind of place you’d go on a weekend with friends back home. You were definitely down for an adventure in the woods.

Steve set the things down on a nice clear patch of grass— he had refused to let you carry anything no matter how much you insisted— and started to set up. 

     “I was hoping you’d like it,” he grunted, spreading out the blanket and gesturing for you to sit down as he started to unpack the picnic basket. “I was planning this for the other day when it rained and we stayed in and…”

     Steve trailed off, his cheeks threatening to go red as he remembered what you did instead of a picnic that day. He couldn’t deny that he thought about it often— that he thought about touching you over and over again because there was nothing better than that feeling you gave each other. But nothing much had happened since then, mainly due to lack of time— you just recently had to deal with Bucky finding out, but now that that was over, you’d have more than enough time. You both felt like the fact that that situation was over called for celebration, and you knew just how you’d celebrate. 

     Luckily, you had been distracted by a flower poking out by the tree Steve set up the blanket next to, and you wouldn’t poke fun at him or make him any more hot and bothered than he already was just from thinking of that night. 

     “For you,” you stood in front of him, tucking the flower right at his ear. “Aw, Steve. You look so soft.”

     As soft as someone like Steve could look. It was funny— you watched him consistently and he constantly switched between looking like this scary macho man to becoming the softest Golden Retriever puppy when he looked at you. Your chest swelled with pride at this hunk of a man you’d managed to get. Nothing screamed Alpha dog more than Steve Rogers and while manliness wasn’t your top priority, you liked knowing that you were with a man when you were with Steve. So many people would die to get to know him on a personal level, but it was just your luck that you were actually able to. 

Steve grinned, fiddling with the stem of the flower behind his ears for a moment before settling down and opening up the picnic basket. He pulled out all the food, along with a bottle of sparkling rose and two wine glasses for the both of you. You sunk down to the blanket, sitting on your knees and marveling at the miniature feast before you. Steve was constantly putting in the effort and making it look so effortless, and you couldn’t help but watch everything he was doing with a smile glued to your lips. 

     “Not too early for a drink, is it?” Steve asked, tilting his head up to the sky, glistening with sun. 

     “Never too early,” you grinned mischievously, biting down on your lip as you watched Steve pour two glasses of rose. 

He handed you yours and then raised his own, and you reached forward to clink the glass in a toast.

     “To us,” Steve said, and you nodded in agreement.

      “To us.”

     You took a sip of your drink and sighed in satisfaction, smacking your lips. Looking at Steve in front of you felt like such a sight to see. Your heart swelled as you took in your surroundings—the beautiful woods around you and the picnic Steve had somehow put together without your knowledge. And Steve was looking at you just the same way. You were so unaware of your beauty, nonchalantly leaning back, your skin glistening in the sunlight. 

     You humphed, wanting to be closer, and practically crawled over to him. Steve’s eyes lowered as he watched you approach him, then settle into his lap with your legs on either side of his thick legs. The faintest grin appeared on his lips as you slung your arms around his neck lazily, holding the glass of wine between your fingers in one hand behind him. 

     “You really did all this for me, huh?” you asked, letting a finger trail along his chin, prickly from the beard he was growing. 

He bit down on his lip, his hand traveling to grasp your wrist softly and keep your hands touching his face, coming down to cup his chin. 

     “I hope you love it,” he replied, and you giggled. 

     “Are you kidding? We have to go out here again before I leave,” you decided then and there. 

You still had loads of time left with Steve, and luckily there was so much you had yet to do together.

     “I promise we will.”

     “Steve,” you sighed out his name, leaning in closer to him. “I’m so happy here.”

You kissed his lips, a sweet and full lipped kiss that left both of you wanting more. Your lips tasted like cherry flavored gloss and rose. You giggled to yourself at the way that Steve leaned in, searching for more when you pulled away. His voice was low and soft, 

     “I’m happy you’re happy.”

You both laughed quietly and Steve pulled you in for a kiss, his hand on the back of your neck making you lurch forward as he led you with his lips. 

     Your tongue slipped in against the roof of his warm, firm mouth. His grip on your neck got stronger, his hand drifting down to the nape of your neck and squeezing just right, eliciting a lush moan from you. The touch of your body in such close proximity to him combined with the vibrations your moans made in his mouth got him hard. Like a reflex, he shifted his hips upward, pressing the outline of his hard length into the white cotton underwear that was exposed when you fit your legs around him. 

     “Mmh,” you whimpered when you felt him. You unlatched your saccharine lips from his, which tasted faintly like rose, and threw your head back only slightly, which urged him to lurch forward and press his lips to the exposed skin there, all sunkissed and warm. You grabbed at his hair. “Fuck, Steve.”

     “We haven’t even eaten,” you realized aloud, a giggle bubbling up in your throat that became a moan as Steve purposefully nudged his knee against your clothed clit again, finding the sensitive bundle of nerves easily underneath the fabric that hid it. 

     “No, not yet,” Steve shot back in a suggestive tone, and you raised a brow.

     “Steve, are you trying to tell me something?” you teased him, choking on your words halfway through because Steve was practically making you ride his thigh, rocking your body back and forth between his erection and his thighs after you slid down his knee. 

     Every movement he made, he did it with ease, bringing you closer to climax just by rocking against you. He could feel every contraction your pussy made against the outline of his erection as you squirmed and bucked your hips and rolled into him. Any logical thought process had left your mind— here you were, riding Steve’s thigh in the middle of the morning during what was supposed to be a sweet picnic in the woods. He had you gripped close to him, so even with all your squirming there was no way you were going to be able to move away from him, not with how strong his arms were. 

     He didn’t seem to notice, but this was just another way he asserted that nonchalant dominance over you that you died for. His hands fit perfectly around the small of your back, keeping you in place. He kept suckling at your chin and occassionally leaving tiny love bites on your neck as you rolled your hips euphorically. The slow, tantalizing pace he kept you at only drove you closer to your impending orgasm, the friction between his body and your own unbearable. 

     Steve had this unbelievable control over you while you helplessly, wordlessly rode his thigh, brushing up against his dick every now and then. And to think you were doing this in such a beautiful outdoor surrounding, removed far enough from others that no one would walk up on you. The silence was filled with restless panting from you as your orgasm drew closer, and the ambience of wilderness - the birds chirping, the greenery scuffling in the breezes of wind that drew past. 

     “Gonna come, princess?” Steve whispered hotly into your ear, reaching his fingers down and feeling the wet mark that had formed in your underwear, pressing against your throbbing clit. 

     “Mm, mhm,” you groaned, arching your back as your hips rolled in tune with his fingers. You came with a shuddered moan, soaking your own panties as your climax coursed through your veins. Your whole body seemed to shake, only stabilizing once Steve dug his fingers into your hips to ground you again. 

You stayed there for a moment, still grinding your hips against his and kissing him, holding him tight against you until you pulled away and pushed him back, still straddling him. He was laying on his back and marveling at the sight of you on top of him as you began to kiss him, your lips leading the way down against his toned body where they’d soon reach the place you wanted your mouth the most. How desperately you wanted your lips against those muscles, kissing there and really being able to feel him. You could feel Steve’s heart pounding when you layered kisses on his chest, and he was glad you couldn’t hear the thoughts in his head because they were positively swarming with nerves. 

     “There’s- oh,” Steve groaned when your lips reached his v-line, unsure of how he was still even able to talk with the way that his voice felt so constricted. “There’s still food-”

     “Just relax,” you interrupted, and he accepted without argument, throwing his head back and letting you do the work. 

| | |

    Today, Steve was out at work until further notice, but he made up for it by ordering breakfast for you, accompanied by a lovely note that he left on the kitchen table that morning.

Had to go in today. Promise me you won’t miss me too much. Be back soon. 

- Steve Rogers

The note had made you chuckle—he was such an old man, signing his first and last name like you were colleagues and you didn’t give him the best head of his life just a few days ago. With each passing day you were growing more and more used to each other, more comfortable with expressing intimacy and acting like… well, a couple. It was just, you hadn’t exactly given what you had a title. And while you thought about labels off and on, you weren’t rushing. Steve probably thought about it much more than you did—even though he was adapting to this modern world and the products of modernity (ie: cam girls), he was still traditional in a sense. 

He didn’t want to string you along in a weird, titleless relationship. And while he knew that what you had didn’t need a title because of its unconventionality and the fact that you truly liked each other, he knew he’d feel a whole lot more secure when he could call you his girl, and have it be official. So he was brooding on it, because he knew that you didn’t want to rush things either, and in the back of his mind he knew you’d probably be fine going through these two weeks without an “official” title, but he decided the time for a conversation was due soon. 

     Though right now, he decided he’d take it easy, leave the harder conversations for later. He had something he wanted to show you. Now that you both seemed to have settled down, he wanted to take you out as much as he could. At least, while keeping a low profile. 

You had only spent a few hours alone when Steve came home through the front door. You sauntered over to him and wrapped your arms around his neck, kissing his cheek when you saw him. He kissed you back, wrapping one arm around your waist. 

     “Hey!” you chimed. 

     “Hi,” Steve grinned, smiling down at you with that very same look in his eyes— it was funny, neither of you seemed to notice how infatuated you looked when you set your gaze upon each other, but you always noticed it on each other. “How was your day? Didn’t miss me too much, did you?”

You smirked, placing a hand on his chest,

     “Maybe a little. Maybe.”

     “Well, I missed you,” he grinned, his voice getting softer. He nodded towards the open door behind him. “Get dressed, I wanna take you someplace.”

     “Ooh,” chills ran down your spine again at the prospect of Steve taking you out again—and again, you got that feeling of appreciation for the fact that he was planning things for you. The way Steve treated you felt like the difference between someone saying “if you want!” versus actually taking the lead. It was all part of your growth, but you liked feeling wanted. “Where are we going?”

     “Well, it’s a place near my childhood home where I used to come just to sit and think and draw sometimes. Great view of the sunset. You down?”

     “Always.”

You got dressed in a simple white crop top with a skirt, and followed Steve out the door into his car. The whole ride there, you had your head out the window, letting the evening breeze rush across your face.

     “Here we are,” Steve pulled up to a vacant and vast parking lot.

You looked ahead of you, and lo and behold, the sunset was right in front of you. It seemed to be reaching for you, seemed to feel so close even though you knew it was light years away—now you had the sudden urge to ask Steve how far he’d flown on missions. Did he go up into space? Was his job like the real life Star Wars? These questions were all at a loss when you saw the hues of the sunset ahead of you, rich, deep purples and flaming orange-reds.  

     “This is so beautiful,” you sighed out in awe, Steve glancing between you and the sunset in front of him— to him, he had two amazing views. “You used to just come here as a kid?”

     “Yeah. It was the parking lot to a factory building that’s out of business now. But Bucky and I, and a couple of other friends used to sit here… on the nights when it was peaceful. Then, things got too crazy to just sit and watch the sunset,” Steve chuckled, shaking his head as a nostalgic smirk tugged at his lips. 

You glanced over at him, blinking slowly, 

     “I bet it was really nice.”

     “It was,” Steve nodded. “One of the times I didn’t feel so alone. I used to just come here and draw.”

You perked up at Steve mentioning his drawing,

     “My little artist!”

     “Little?” Steve chortled, and you shoved his chest.

     “Just pretend. I’m glad you’re getting back into drawing though. Think you’ll show me someday?” you cocked your head to the side, biting down on your lip, unintentionally trapping him with an irresistible puppy dog face.

     “Anything, darling,” he grinned. 

     “Maybe you can paint me like one of your French girls one day,” you suggested, snorting at your own joke. 

Steve shook his head,

     “I wouldn’t be able to do you justice. It’s been a while since I’ve really drawn.”

You rolled your eyes, propping your elbow up on the dashboard and leaning your chin into your palm, facing him,

     “Didn’t you win awards for drawing, Steve?”

Steve scoffed playfully,

     “What, did you go on my Wikipedia?”

     “Maybe so,” you beamed proudly. “Anyways. Any reason to be naked in front of you is a good reason. You could draw a stick figure of me for all I care.”

     “Speaking of naked,” Steve choked out— even though you were adjusting to each other, your boldness still caught Steve off guard sometimes, “you haven’t been doing cam shows since you’ve been here.”

You nodded,

     “Yeah, I told them I’m on vacation. But I have a bunch of videos and other cute things to tide them over while I’m gone. God, it’s so weird. They have no idea.”

Steve milled your words over in his mind. It was so strange to think that lots of people on the very site that you both met had had intimate moments with you. And while he knew what you two had was real and raw, and so different, he still wondered how you felt about all the other people that watched you, all the other people that were almost as mesmerized as Steve was. 

     “Lots of people love you on there,” Steve noted, and you shrugged.

     “Yeah, you can say that. I mean, lots of guys wanna fuck me. Some of them really are my friends, you know? People who’ve been watching since I started— it’s hard not to build a bond with them. I mean, it’s kind of part of my job to build a bond with them,” you explained. 

Steve nodded, taking in all your words. He knew that this was a job to you, that you had connections with other viewers and that he shouldn’t feel insecure about that. He didn’t feel insecure. But really hearing it was still something he had to swallow hard. 

     “But, it was different with you, Steve,” you continued without hesitation. “I mean, I talk to so many people there a day. None like you. So don’t be jealous, big guy.”

Steve chuckled softly, though his eyes were trained fondly on his lap,

     “I’m not, I promise.”

     “Are you sure?” you teased him, poking his cheek. He looked up at you, an amused grin on his face. “‘Cuz I think you’re a little bit jealous!”

     “When they fly you out and get to watch the sunset with you, then I can be jealous. But for now… I think I’m good,” he squinted and you grinned, looking from his lips to his eyes.

     “Touche,” you noted, and kissed him on the cheek, abandoning the banter for the slow hum of jazz music on Steve’s stereo and the following murmurs of admiration for the sunset you both uttered over the next hour before driving home while it was getting dark.

When you got home, you were racing towards Steve’s cabinets and practically raiding them for liquor. On the car ride home you had begun excitedly babbling about spending a relaxing night in with Steve and making “a date” of it. You were dead set on making a glass of wine and dancing around the kitchen like you would do with your friends back at home. 

     “Slow down,” Steve laughed, grabbing a bottle of unopened wine from your hands and holding it high above your head so you couldn’t reach. 

You whined, standing up on your tippy toes as you tried to reach for the bottle.

     “Steve, what the fuck!” 

     “Where are your manners? You know better,” Steve smirked at you, and you folded your arms and glared up at him despite the rush of warmth his words gave you. 

     “I wanna drink. You haven’t even opened any of your alcohol, you old man,” you teased him and he rolled his eyes, slightly pushing up against you until your back was pressed against the kitchen counter. 

     “Very funny,” he replied. 

You squinted at him, trying to read his face. 

     “What’re you doin’?” you asked, your voice laden with suspicion.

Steve was closer to you than he’d been the whole day, and you’d be lying if you said it didn’t make you feel like it was getting a little bit hot in the kitchen. You wondered if he was doing this intentionally or if he was just so attractive to you that everything he did made you want to jump his bones (in the purest way possible). But that was no longer a question when Steve finally spoke, his voice a few octaves lower than normal, the husky timbre sending a shiver down your spine.

     “I’ll give you what you want, if you give me what I want,” he put it simply, and you couldn’t help but grin.

     “And what exactly do you want?”

     “You know what I want,” Steve smiled back, shaking his head and putting his hands on your waist, kissing you softly on your lips, then traveling down to your neck.

You let your head roll back for easy access, and let your arms drape down his back. 

     “When’d you decide to start shit, Steve,” you wondered aloud, but you weren’t complaining, you were just used to initiating things, and you weren’t used to Steve being this bold.

He looked you in the eyes as if asking for permission,

     “I just felt like these past few days have been a bit different. We both want each other, right?”

     “Of course I want you,” you reached up to stroke his cheek, smiling at how wholesome he was. You even leaned in to give him a sweet kiss on the lips. “You don’t need to worry about that.”

     “Okay. So let me do my job,” Steve replied, effectively shutting you up. 

He lifted you up by the hips and set you on the counter behind you. It felt like everything in the room was all starting to blend together, that was just the effect that Steve’s touch had on you. You wanted him on you everywhere, you were overpowered by his scent and his strong hands on your body. His lips were here, then there, hitting all the right spots on your neck and your collarbone.

     “Can I take this off?” Steve asked, gesturing to your white crop top. 

You nodded silently, watching Steve as he pulled off your top for you, then you pulled him in for a hot, passionate kiss that told him how much you wanted this right now. When he pulled away he looked down at the basic white bra you were wearing and whispered under his breath,

     “Beautiful.”

     “Take yours off too,” you almost whined, thinking of the way his back muscles would look flexing when he went down on you.

Steve chuckled quietly,

     “Sure, doll.”

     “Wait, let me,” you decided, leaning in and taking his shirt off, your fingertips brushing against his sides as you took his shirt off, giving him goosebumps. 

Despite his burst in confidence since you got home, he was still in awe of you. And anyways, he really wanted to return the favor from the picnic. He’d been thinking about it in the days following, and now felt like the perfect time to return the favor. Or maybe he was just looking for a reason to go down on you again—not that he needed one. 

     “Fuck, you look so good,” you swore under your breath just watching Steve make his way down your body, worshipping every inch of your smooth skin. 

     “I could say the same,” Steve replied, just as turned on as you were, making his way down your stomach. 

The hairs on your body stood up at the feeling of his plush, pink lips against your skin, getting closer and closer to that part of you that needed him so badly. You were throbbing already and he hadn’t even touched you there yet. You were wearing a skirt, which he pulled down with ease, and you didn’t fail to catch the satisfied grin on his face at how easily your clothes fell off. Less hassle for the both of you.

     “For being so kind,” Steve said suddenly, reaching behind himself and placing the bottle of unopened wine beside you. 

You hooted in celebration, clapping your hands once and snatching the bottle from beside you, thanking Steve before twisting the bottle open and throwing back a big swig. 

Steve was kissing around your inner thighs now, leaving little love bites here and there that made you yelp out, taking your lips away from the wine bottle. 

     “Imagine the look on my viewers faces when they see the bruises you’re leaving on me,” you joked, and Steve shrugged.

      “Good. They’ll know you’re mine.”

Your heart skipped a beat— Steve was suddenly so confident. You liked it. 

     “Thought you said you weren’t jealous,” you cooed, leaning back and pressing your palms against the counter, looking down at him.

     “Not at all,” Steve replied calmly, and whatever you were going to say then was silenced when Steve pulled down your underwear, a rush of cold air hitting your bare flesh. He moaned at the sight of it, licked his lips like he was looking at his favorite food. “So wet already?”

You nodded with a slight pout, wanting Steve to give you what you needed now. But something told you it wasn’t your turn to speak, and that Steve was in charge tonight. 

      “Good girl,” Steve praised you, pressing his lips against your clit and leaving a soft, wet kiss there that made your legs twitch. Steve chuckled deviously and even though your brows furrowed at his cockiness, you didn’t say anything— you couldn’t act like you wanted him to stop being cocky. 

     “Baby,” you breathed out, bringing your hand down to run through his perfect hair, ruffling it a bit. 

     “Here, let me make you feel good,” was the last thing Steve said before diving in, his tongue drawing an intricate pattern against your folds and on your clit, sending the little bundle of nerves into complete ecstasy. 

     “Fuck,” you whined, taking another swig of your drink—you had no complaints right now.

Steve knew exactly what to do with it, just as he had the last time, and that was his very first time going down on you. The more Steve got to taste you, the more he wanted. He could see himself doing this for hours, making you cum over and over again until he really got his fix. He was probably just as, if not, more turned on than you were in the moment. His pants were bulged in the center, and he was burning up even without a shirt on. 

     “Mm, you taste so good,” Steve groaned the one moment he let his lips detach from your clit and your lips. “So wet for me.”

You moaned in response, unable to string any real words together because Steve was doing too good at his job. For a man who claimed he didn’t have much experience, he was the best you’d ever had. It was no surprise that your legs were already starting to shake when he added his fingers into the mix, rubbing soft circles against your clit and letting his tongue slide inside of you, fucking you deep with his tongue. You couldn’t help but grasp onto his hair tightly, your nails clawing into his scalp like crazy.  

Steve’s name fell effortlessly from your lips, which were drenched with red wine. 

     “Fuck, Steve, I’m-I’m gonna come, you’re gonna make me come!” you exclaimed as if you were shocked by the prospect— your orgasm was coming up fast and hard. “Don’t stop.”

     It felt like the breath was getting snatched from your chest as he kept up, moaning against you and roughly rubbing your clit. 

     He kept your legs spread with his other hand, stopping you from crushing his head with your legs, but you kept on tugging at his hair, which made Steve grunt in pleasure. 

     You tried and failed to lift the bottle of wine to your lips, your hands were shaking far too much. Steve was pulling this orgasm from you like it was nothing to him, putting all his concentration on making you feel good. You let go, and let yourself come on his face and tongue just like he had been hoping you would. While you were coming, he kept his fingers at your clit and pulled his lips away with a pop, savoring the taste of you as he licked his lips slowly.

     “There you go, there you go,” he encouraged you, only making you come even more. You couldn’t speak, only gasp out and let out strangled moans as you rode out your high, your entire body twitching. “It’s okay, baby.”

     Steve was cooing to you now, his entire demeanor had shifted— now he was puppy dog Steve again. He had his hand on your thigh to steady you, kissing your knee gently and caressing your body. Soon enough his fingers left your clit and soon enough, you came back to normal. Your heavy breathing and trembling had subsided and you were just sitting there blissed out. Your eyelids were heavy with tiredness, like Steve had worked you out. 

     “Steveee,” you groaned tiredly, a dazed smile spreading across your lips. 

Steve kissed gently up and down your inner thighs, calming your shaky body with every touch. He stood up with a pleased grin, licked his lips, and patted your thigh. 

     “Okay. Time to get you up,” he declared, and you hurriedly took another swig from the bottle before stretching your arms around Steve’s neck. 

  He chuckled to himself and picked you up, letting you wrap your arms around his neck and your legs around his waist. 

     “Hey!” you exclaimed when you noticed his boner against you. “You’re hard.”

      “And you’re tired,” Steve replied, glancing up into your eyes.

You put on your best puppy dog eyes, trying to grind against his thigh. 

     “That doesn’t mean I can’t get you off,” you practically whined, and Steve smirked, but shook his head.

     “Make it up to me in the morning,” he peeled you off of him and set you into the bed, pulling the covers up and over your body. 

     “Fine,” you grumbled, turning over on your side. “Only ‘cuz I am tired.”

      “I know, I must’ve worn you out,” Steve retorted proudly, and you scoffed.

     “Keep dreaming,” you sighed, closing your eyes and almost immediately drifting into sleep. 

| | |

     The next morning, the first thing you noticed was that your pants were missing, and then you remembered exactly why. Even in the midst of sleep, a smile appeared on your lips. Steve had been so kind and loving to you every day since you got here, but especially so in the past few days. The remnants of last night between your thighs only served as another reminder. Last night was a blur, a glimpse into a more confident Steve who initiated the things that you both yearned for. 

     You didn’t know how much more obvious you could be, but he still seemed to question the very concept that he was even with you. You were working to reassure him that he deserved you, and he was proving it more day by day. The sexual chemistry between the two of you was off the charts from the beginning, but now it was becoming more natural, more reciprocated. 

Even though Steve wasn’t in bed next to you, you pranced around that morning fueled off the memory of last night. You got dressed and soon found yourself leaning against the doorway of the bedroom, ready to return the favor. Steve was elsewhere in the house, so you called his name.

     “Yeah?” Steve replied, and you could hear him shuffling about the house, finding his way to your voice. 

He paused in the doorway when he saw you, and a devious grin appeared on your face. Steve was unaware of your intentions, but he smiled back because you were. You tiptoed over to him, and put your hands on his shoulders, eyeing him like he was candy. 

     “I was just thinking… I should return the favor,” you shrugged innocuously, leaning in for a short kiss and pulling away despite his lips begging for more. 

     “Return the favor?” Steve asked in response.

His face looked clueless, but by the quirk in his voice you could tell he knew exactly what you meant. 

     “From last night?” you crooned, dropping slowly to your knees in front of him and giving him those eyes— those fuck me eyes that he couldn’t ever resist. If he didn’t have any self control, he’d have lugged you up off the floor and bent you over by now, never mind returning the favor. 

     “I have no idea what you’re talking about, doll,” Steve cocked his head to the side, a devious edge creeping into his tone. 

You pouted, furrowing your eyebrows in doubt, palming him through the grey sweats that worked you into a frenzy every time he wore them. 

     “Really?” you retorted, feeling him get harder the more your hand brushed against him. “This seems to say something different.”

     “Jesus,” Steve shook his head, chuckling under his breath. “When’d things get so… good?” 

     “You tell me, babe. You were the one giving me head completely unprompted on the kitchen counter last night. I mean, have you no shame?” you poked sarcastically at him, because you weren’t complaining at all, you just weren’t used to Steve being so bold.

     “‘M only gonna have you for two weeks,” Steve murmured, his jaw ticking involuntarily as he glared down at you through eyes that were growing heavier by the minute. “I wanna make sure I can still remember how you taste when you leave.”

Now, you were usually the one making Steve blush, but now it was your turn, heat rising up your cheeks and making you look away inadvertently. 

     “Hey,” Steve used his fingers to gently lift your chin up so you were looking at him. “I wanna be able to see your face. You’re beautiful.”

     “Steve, you’re sweet. But don’t go being all cute, I’m about to have your dick in my mouth,” you snorted, wasting no time and pulling down his sweats. 

Your hands, soft and delicate, ran down his thighs, the barely-there touch making the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. You bit down on your lip, eyeing his length through his boxers, and put your lips around the tip, which was already leaking precum through the dark fabric. You looked up at Steve, who was already in shambles, his eyes clenched closed and his head leaning back against the wall. It was clear to you that, even though Steve took you by surprise last night, you were still the one in control, and you loved knowing you could have such an effect on him. 

     “Feel good?” you asked in a hushed, sweet voice, looking up at him from beneath your lashes. 

     Steve sucked in a breath when your lips left him, and grunted in response. You took that as your sign to get on with it, and pulled his boxers down, his cock meeting the cold air and standing erect in front of your face. His tip, dripping with arousal, was red and swollen, practically begging to be put between your lips. You giggled, a devious glint flashing in your eyes as you inched your head forward, taking his cock in your mouth, just plump glossy lips around the tip and your tongue just barely teasing the shaft. His dick throbbed in your mouth as soon as you got a taste of him on your palate, salty and bittersweet, a taste you knew you would never be able to get enough of since the day you’d finally gotten a try. 

     Steve opened his eyes and lowered his head slowly to look down at you. You had your cheeks sucked in and your lips puckered around the tip, the perfect little image on your knees in front of the captain. 

     You managed as best a smile as you could without letting your lips leave his tip, and Steve smiled back, a wolfish grin that was more mischievous than his usual golden retriever beam. You fluttered your lashes up at him almost comically and received a chuckle from him in response. He shook his head slowly, playfully, and you took him further into your mouth, keeping his entire length lodged in the back of your throat, tightly constricted around him like a snake. 

     The entire room was quiet except for the sound of you gagging around his cock, which pulsated in the back of your throat and even threatened to finish quickly— despite all his endurance, you gave Steve a run for his money. Steve couldn’t even deny it himself— he had to stop himself from coming down your throat because you were just so good, but it was so early on. The feeling of your throat and mouth wrapped tightly around him felt like a warm glove or even a sweet hug.

     You tested both your limits by swallowing while he was practically trapped in your throat, the sound it made incredibly obscene. Steve groaned loudly, his deep, gruff moan echoing in your ears like a lovely choir. You let go and started bobbing your head up and down, your lips wrapped around him tight, tongue brushing the underside of his shaft. He shuddered, then moaned, sucking in a deep breath with his eyes trained on you. Your eyes flickered down at what you were doing, focusing on the way he disappeared inside your mouth. You even raised your hands up to stroke what you couldn’t take in your mouth, though you devoted yourself to taking all of him because you were just that good. But Steve lowered his hands and softly pushed yours away, shaking his head. His voice was unusually low even for someone as gruff as him when he said, 

     “No hands. And look at me when you’re sucking me off.”

     You looked up at him almost immediately and nodded quickly, brows furrowing in the middle as your puppy dog eyes turned on inadvertently. You liked how much more confident Steve was becoming day by day. He had no shame in telling you what to do and wasn’t nervous about how you’d react anymore. You had your hands practically pinned behind your back as you bobbed your head at a consistent, steady pace, spit drooling from the corners of your mouth and onto him. He sighed out in contentment as he looked down at you, unafraid to get messy and perfect at your job. 

     He ran his hands through his hair, raising his eyebrows at you as if he was in disbelief. And a part of him still was— though he got more and more comfortable with you every day, your inner and outer beauty and glow would always remain fresh to him. He would never get used to you, never get bored of you. He had never had much luck with love, and, to put it quite bluntly, the fact that a beautiful girl like yourself was on your knees for him was quite unusual for him. 

     “Fuck, you’re good at this,” the apple in his throat bounced as he swallowed hard, then he clenched his jaw tight, staring down at you in deep concentration. 

Duh, you wanted to reply, but you had to remind yourself it was rude to talk with your mouth full. You just gazed up at him with smiling eyes, slurping from the shaft to the tip, then taking his balls into your mouth, switching from sucking on them to licking beneath his shaft. Each time you shifted between one or the other, he moaned deeply, the sound reverberating in your stomach and triggering slick between your legs. You dared to venture your hand between your thighs and touch yourself, gently gliding your fingers from the dripping slit to your throbbing clit. Steve groaned as he watched you get yourself off while you got him off, inching a few steps forward, his dick sliding against your deft tongue. 

     “You look so good, doll,” he said, his voice just barely above a whisper. 

You offered him a small smile, spit mixed with his arousal dripping down your chin. You spit on his cock, then got back to work and put your lips all the way around him again. You got back to bobbing your head up and down and Steve swore he was going to lose his mind at the sight of you playing with yourself and sucking him off so eagerly. You were so good at everything you did, but especially this, and so effortlessly hot. He almost forgot you had just woken up. He chuckled devilishly and smirked down at you.

      “You do love doing that, don’t you?” he asked. 

You nodded and batted your lashes, hollowing your cheeks out and making sure to pucker your lips hard around his lip. 

     “Mm hm,” you moaned around him in response. 

     “So fuckin’ pretty,” he muttered under his breath, gazing into your eyes and earning another slight smile from you. 

You let your eyes flutter closed as you worked Steve to the end, and Steve’s eyelids fell too, his hands balling into fists and his chest rising and falling heavily as you did your job.

     “Yes, that’s it, you’re so goddamn good, you’re gonna make me come, baby,” Steve’s voice grew lower and deeper as you drew his orgasm closer and closer, and you grew more sloppy and untamed with your mouth around him as you slurped away. You could tell he was going to come the way he was pulsing inside your mouth, and the way his groans grew less inhibited the longer you sucked him off. He even started to stutter, his teeth grit as he started to come, shooting ropes of his cum down your warm throat, “Fu-fuck, that’s… yes, yes, YN, I’m coming.”

      You kept sucking until he was done, which drove him crazy, and even after, you still kept your lips closed around the base, only departing when you were ready. You loved the taste of him, and wanted to keep him on your lips forever, but sadly you knew that’d be impossible. But like Steve, whenever you got the chance to have him, you’d have him. Even now, when you’d just woken up not twenty minutes ago. When you finally pulled away, Steve had gathered himself. You grinned at him, beaming even, looking so innocent and angelic despite the fact that you were on your knees with Steve’s dripping cock in front of you and spit running down your chin.

     “How was it?!” 

Steve just laughed, shaking his head and pulling his sweats back up.

     “How was it?” he repeated, raising his eyebrows. “I don’t think I have the words for it, doll.”

Steve, polite as always, helped you up off your knees, and pulled you close to him, grabbing you by the hips, kissing you on the lips. 

     “That’s fair!” you shrugged, giddy from the sweet gesture. “You coming so hard was evidence enough.”

You teased him, bopping his nose with your finger, and he shook his head and rolled his eyes playfully at you.

     “What can I say, you’re a natural,” he played along, then suddenly lifted you up and threw you over his shoulder, parading through the house with you as if you were a ragdoll.

     “Steve!” you cried, flailing your arms against his back and laughing raucously. “Asshole, put me down!”

     “Oh no, we’re gonna make breakfast like this,” Steve denied you, shaking his head with a mischievous smile. 

     “I just ate,” you snorted, and Steve’s hand landed on your ass in response. 

     “Don’t be nasty,” he teased you, and you sighed,

     “Steve, you prude.”

     The rest of that morning was spent making breakfast and listening to music. Or more like, burning all the pancakes, spilling the egg whip and blasting the radio, forcing Steve to listen to “new age” music that he didn’t understand, but he endured it because you loved it. (“It’s Megan Thee Stallion, not Megan The Stallion.”) You danced and laughed and sang with him, but by the time you ran out of flour (because a majority of it ended up on your face, and then Steve’s face as revenge), you really hadn’t succeeded at making anything, and it was lunchtime by then, so you just decided you would go out instead. 

Steve didn’t seem to mind going to a more populated place this afternoon. You figured it was because perhaps he had loosened up a bit this morning after your little surprise gift. That still didn’t stop him from wearing a cap and fake glasses, which surprisingly disguised him quite well. Although, in the car ride over to the restaurant Steve was taking you to, you couldn’t help but ask,

     “Why the cap and glasses though? Isn’t it a little, I don’t know, rookie for someone like you? I guess I always expected your disguises to be top class, like prosthetics and all that.”

     “They can be. But trust me, it’s easier to deceive than it looks. And besides, if I’m out with my girl, I don’t want to look like a whole different person. I wanna look like me.”

There it was again, that sweet phrase of his— “my girl.” You made a soft cooing noise and tilted your head over to him, a pleased smile set on your sweet lips. 

    “My girl,” you repeated, laying your head on his bicep as he turned down the road where the restaurant was.

He glanced over at you and grinned down at you, loving the feeling of your head against him and the sound of your airy voice. 

     “Don’t you forget it.”

     “Okay, baby,” you cooed again, your heart practically soaring with how content you were, biting down on your lip to restrain a goofy smile. 

     He had to do the same, a pink blush spreading to his cheeks at the sound of your voice and the pet name. 

He parked soon after, opening the door for you as usual. He got a table for the two of you in the back of the restaurant beside of a big window. It was a fancier restaurant, bustling with people, light jazz playing on the speakers. 

     “You always bring me to the cutest little places,” you grinned softly at him, leaning close to him at the table. 

Steve grinned back at how close you were to him, the way you leaned in as if to close space between you, talking to him like you were telling a secret just for you and him. He clasped his hands together and shrugged nonchalantly, like his heart wasn’t swelling from the compliment.

     “I got a lot more to show you, doll,” he replied. “So much to do and such little time.”

     “I know! It’s been about a week, hasn’t it?” you beamed, your cheeks rounding out when you leaned your head against your palm. You glanced out the window with a distracted smile on your lips. You laughed goofily. “I don’t know. I haven’t been keeping track of the days.”

     “That sounds about right,” Steve said, wistful eyes gazing at your face, the afternoon sun glinting on your side profile.

You looked so angelic in this moment, and you weren’t even trying to look divine. Steve was silent for a moment, and you looked back at him to see that he was just staring at you with lovey dovey eyes. You laughed, shaking your head.

     “What?” you giggled. “Earth to Steve.”

     “You just look so pretty,” Steve replied casually. 

     “Aww, you too, lover boy,” you teased him, reaching across the table to squeeze his cheek playfully. 

A waiter approached you and began to serve you. You ordered a mimosa to start, very typical of you, and Steve stuck with water. When the drinks came you slurped eagerly at the mimosa and Steve shook his head playfully, laughing at the sight of you drinking greedily. You looked up from the bottomless depths of your glass and raised a brow.

     “What?” you asked cluelessly. “It’s good!”

     “I bet. You college girls and your drinking,” Steve poked fun at you. 

     “I’m a college grad,” you corrected him, pointing a finger at him. 

     “Close enough,” Steve shrugged.

     “Steve, you perv,” you smirked, folding your arms and slouching back in the booth. “You just like me ‘cuz I’m young and hot.” 

     “That’s part of it,” he admitted. 

You fake gasped. 

     “Steve, you devil!” you leaned in close to his face and narrowed your eyes at him, biting down softly on your lips. Your voice was low and crooning, a fiery look in your hooded eyes. “You have a thing for the age difference, don’t you?”

Even though you were only kidding with him, your close proximity, the subject matter and your tone of voice had Steve shifting in his seat and clasping his hands together in his lap, clenching down on his jaw. His face was getting warm and he wished more than anything that you were alone together in this moment, because then he would—

     “I’m… not interrupting anything am I?” the waiter returned with a pen and pad, ready to take your orders. 

You slunk back instantly, an all too innocent smile on your face, perking your head up to look over at the waiter, 

     “Not at all. We’re ready to order!” 

Halfway through the lunch, you had gone through a few mimosas and you were starting to get giggly and cutesy. Steve found it adorable. He’d never seen you in such a state, and you were somehow more bubbly and fun than normally. 

     “You don’t drink much,” you mentioned to Steve with a slight frown, eyes squinted and lids heavy from the drowsiness that the alcohol was setting in. 

     “Nah,” Steve smiled. “Doesn’t do anything for me. I mean, I’ll drink, but I can’t get drunk.”

     “Hmm. Guess being a superhero has its ups and downs,” you chirped happily, burping a little bit afterwards. 

Steve laughed, handing you a napkin for the bit of alcohol that was sitting at the corner of your lips. 

    “Superhero,” he repeated your own words, chuckling and shaking his head as if in doubt.

     “What?!” you cried. “You’re a superhero, a-” you shushed yourself, remembering that you were in public, then whispered, “an Avenger.”

     “Me? I’m just your average Joe.”

     “You say potato, I say potato,” you shrugged, rolling your eyes drunkenly. “You say you can’t get drunk… I would like to test that theory some day.”

Steve laughed, shaking his head again,

     “I got a feeling you were a wild child.”

      “Oh yeah,” you said sarcastically, nodding. “Yeah, I was a real handful. Going out surfing and hiking every weekend of high school like a ne'er-do-well.”

Steve chortled at your drunken sense of humor. You were sarcastic enough, the mimosas just turned it on ten. He didn’t even mind that you were drunk in front of him right now— it let him feel reassured that you were comfortable enough with him to do this. After all, every day you were getting past all the niceties. 

     “A true rebel,” Steve replied, raising his eyebrows.

     “Uh huh,” you took a forkful of salad into your mouth, chewing and swallowing. “My parents had a looot on their plate.”

Steve suddenly shifted, remembering what you had said about your parents. There hadn’t been much of an update since the last time you’d talked to Steve about them. 

     “Right, your parents. How’s that going? Is there anything you want to talk about?” 

     “Steve,” you squeezed his cheek. “It’s alright, I guess. We haven’t talked much since the incident, but… we’ve talked. I mean, it sucks that things went down the way they did, but at least I’m not hiding much from them anymore. I mean, besides this. But, them supporting my career is… cute.”

    “Cute?” Steve smirked at your choice of words, and you hiccuped, smiling dazedly.

     “I mean, nice. I don’t know, I’m drunk,” you giggled. You settled in, sighing and folding your hands on the table, fiddling with your fingers. “I just… I told them I need my space, you know? I don’t even really wanna have some big conversation. I feel like it’s like, whatever, you know? We move on and I move on, try to make the best of what we have of our relationship, for the remainder of time we have left together. That’s all I really have the mental and emotional energy left for, to be honest. I mean, we’re getting old. Them especially. But right now, I don’t wanna think about them. Or talk to them. Right now I wanna be with you.”

     You finished your little soliloquy with a grin, gazing at Steve with friendly eyes. Steve nodded, understanding every word. He’d always be there for you when it came to your family matters, or anything you were going through. But he was glad you were taking this route. He wanted you to enjoy yourself, not be so stressed about everything the way you used to be. 

     He’d only been with you in person for a short amount of time, but he knew your habits, he knew your character— you thought maybe even better than your parents did. And for that, you were eternally grateful. Steve wasn’t just a lover, he was a friend. Someone you felt you could trust and give your all to. 

     “I understand,” Steve nodded. “I wanna be with you, too.”

He reached out and squeezed your hand, stopping you from your half nervous, half mimosa induced fidgeting. You perked up again, a big grin on your face, 

     “Yay! We should dance now.”

Steve scoffed, 

    “Yeah, this is where I get the check. We gotta get you home.”

No matter how much you fought it then, by the time Steve was carrying you from the car to his apartment, you were more than happy to be back home. He sat you down on the bed where you took a long nap, and spent the rest of the day indoors with Steve, crossing more and more modern day movies off his little bucket list. No matter how you spent the day, it was always good. And Steve treated you oh-so-right, no matter whether you were drunk or sober. 

| | |

     “You feel so fucking good,” Steve practically whimpered into your ear. 

     Right now, Steve was buried to the hilt inside you from behind you, spoonfucking you and stretching you out almost offensively from this delicious new angle. You’d suggested it to him that morning when you woke up to Steve’s hard on against your ass, rolling your head over sleepily and casually asking him, “wanna take me like this right now?” If anything could wake Steve up so quick, it was that question. He loved the accessibility. He barely had to move to get inside you where he was quickly realizing he belonged. Any way he could be close to you, sexually or otherwise, was ideal for him. 

     His thrusts were soft but firm and deep, his girthy, long length allowing him to hit every spot that he needed to hit. You were both delirious from morning fog and the euphoric sensations you were sharing together, like on a thick cord of energy that was impenetrable. Steve felt so deep inside you, deeper than the first time, deeper than your mouth could take him. You were rocking back and forth each time he fucked into you at that sweet, steady pace. He wasn’t wasting any time with you, but he was taking his time all the same.

    His breath was warm on your neck, coming and going in heavy pants, and your breath was winding out along with the ever-pleased moans Steve drew from you. 

    “Fu-uck, baby just like that,” you groaned, hardly able to open your eyes until he hit a spot so right inside you that you had to crane your neck because you wanted to look at him. 

     He opened his eyes a bit wider when he saw you, and locked eyes with you. The very sight of your face had him throbbing inside of you, stretching your walls out impossibly further. He slammed his hips up into you, and you whined at the hard, pleasing sensation, your brows furrowing in the middle. 

      Steve looked down at where your bodies met, absolutely enamoured by the sight of him disappearing in and out of you, his favorite place. Your chest and stomach began to surge with that familiar, burning feeling, and you couldn’t help the warbled moan that came out of you. The eye contact combined with the feeling of Steve rocking his hips steadily into you was so deliciously overwhelming, you thought you had never been so turned on in your life. No one had given it to you this good. 

     So early in the morning, Steve was ready for you, and you’d been going for a while, the time filling with endless cycles of him making you cum on his cock over and over, no end in sight. He held back every time he was going to come because he wanted to cherish this time with you. So close and so intimate, the light of dawn tickling the morning sky outside. 

     “I’m gonna come,” Steve moaned, and you nodded— you had been more than sated in the long period of time you’d been fucking. 

     “Come inside me,” you prompted him, reaching your hand over to stroke his cheek. “Keep looking at me, baby.”

Steve gazed deep in your eyes, fighting the urge to look down at what he was doing. There was nothing more personal than this right now, looking into your fucked out, glazed over eyes while he rode out his orgasm, coming inside you until he was sure he had nothing left in his entire body. Even after he came, egged on by the sounds of you cooing words of encouragement, telling him how you wanted him to stuff you and fill you up, he kept rocking his hips up into you, slowly and softly, even lovingly. 

     “Make sure it’s all in there,” he kissed your sweaty neck and you stretched it out, facing away from him and burying your cheek in the pillow, still feeling his thick length inside you, stuffing all his come deep inside you. 

Even then, there was so much that when he pulled out, some of it leaked out of you and onto the bed sheets, spread out on your pussy. He used his fingers to slick it all up, then reached over your shoulder and pressed gently to open your mouth, inviting you to suck the cum off his fingers. You did it eagerly, savoring the taste of him on your tongue. And then you both laid there for a while in silence, you still recovering and laying on your side, Steve pulling you into him so you could lay the back of your head on his outstretched arms while he lay on his back. 

     “That was disgusting, in the best way imaginable,” you breathed, a pleased, hazy smile on your face, turning to face him. “Again?”

     “Again?” Steve laughed, shaking his head and looking over at you, surprise laden in his ocean blue eyes. He had no problem going again, it was you he was concerned for. He ran his hands through his hair, shaking his head and nearly biting down on his lip at just the thought of going rounds. “I’m not gonna go easy on you, you do know that right?” 

     “You call that taking it easy? I came like…” you drifted off, not able to keep track. 

     “Five times. I counted,” Steve answered proudly. 

You chortled at his prideful demeanor. Steve could be such a different person in the bedroom, and you were absolutely not against it. It was kind of cute how cocky he could get, and it was lovely seeing him blossom like a flower and get more and more physically confident with you. 

     “Yeah… I think we should just cuddle for now,” you decided, not able to fathom what Steve might do to you if you actually followed through with your delusional suggestion. Steve was silent but his face said it all. You playfully shoved his face. “Wipe that smirk off your face.”

     “What smirk?” he asked faux innocently. 

     “Shut up,” you giggled, cuddling in closer to him and practically coiling up next to him. 

He put his arms around you instinctively. It felt like he was wrapping you in a sheath of protection. 

     “You’re so warm,” he noted, kissing the top of your head. 

     “It’s that Cali weather stuck on me,” you decided quietly, letting your eyes close. 

    “You’re like that Katy Perry song,” Steve noted, and you laughed to yourself. He glanced down, brows furrowed in confusion. “What?” 

     “Nothing, nothing. You’re getting more modern by the day.”

      Steve laughed with you, and in the silence that followed, the thoughts he’d pushed away earlier that week started to flood his mind. Labels, officiality. The idea of the conversation gave him plenty of nerves at first, and he’d been brooding on it. But these past few days, you’d grown so close, almost unexpectedly. You were close from the start, but now topics like these felt a bit easier to approach. You got much closer physically and emotionally in the course of a few days. He still didn’t want you to feel rushed, but this felt like quite a comfortable, languid moment to bring this up. The light was poking through the blinds in just the perfect manner, and you looked so delicate and content laying on his arm, nuzzled into his chest like that. 

The room was quiet and fuzzy with the aftermath of what you’d done, but the energy couldn’t be purer. It was like soft music was playing over the silence that wasn’t quite silent at all. 

     “You awake?” Steve asked, fixating down at you.

     “Mm hm,” you hummed, your eyes still closed. You were extremely relaxed and cozy in this moment, your mind and body wrapped up in Steve’s snug arms. 

     “I’ve got something I’ve been wanting to talk to you about,” Steve’s fingers traced light strokes on your collarbones, soothing and gentle. 

You eased even further into his touch, but poked one eye open, raising a curious brow,

     “Good or bad?”

     “Good,” Steve laughed quietly, fingers still gently caressing your supple skin. “Always good.”

     “Okay, shoot,” you smiled, the apples of your cheeks turning upwards in that way Steve always noticed— there were so many small things about you that Steve absolutely died for. 

    “I’ve been thinking about us. And we haven’t spent a lot of time together, and this isn’t something I’m used to. I mean, I’m really kind of still new to all this.”

    “Mm hm,” you hummed, the vibrations of your voice easing him. 

    “And, you know, I’m still a kinda traditional guy. I like to be sure that I’m treating you right. And I feel like part of that includes, you know, what I’d call you. Like… if I would call you labels.”

    “Mm hmm,” you hummed again, looking up at him and making eye contact. “Be more specific.”

You were sure you understood what he meant, but you wanted crystal clear communication— even though you trusted Steve, it was just one of those things you had as a result of your past. A condition. And he understood that completely, another reason why you felt you could trust him. Plus, it was kind of nice to see Steve get his words out, this big strong man trying to figure out what to say to you, a simple, special girl. So special on your own, and so special to him, a kind of pleasant surprise to you. 

    “Say if I were to call you my girlfriend. I… I just find myself thinking about when the time is right to ask. Or if… if I should, at all. I don’t wanna go too fast, or-or pressure you into anything. And, a part of me realizes that we don’t need a title because, well, this isn’t a normal relationship and I get that you young people— for lack of a better word— don’t care much about labels anymore, which I respect. And I know you’re not looking to rush into anything too soon because of how you’ve been treated in the past but…” here, Steve almost got emotional, thinking of how special you were to him, unable to believe that you’d been treated so poorly in the past— all he wanted was to show you just how you made him feel. “But I just want to treat you right, and make you happy because well, you make me happy. And it’s… it’s been a long time since I’ve felt this way. And I’m sure that for you and me both, these feelings are rare. And I can treat you the same regardless of whether or not we put a label on it, but… it’s just been on my mind.”

He continued,

     “And I’m not asking anything of you right now. I just wanted to get it out there. I know how important it is to you that we communicate. And I wanted to be able to talk to you about it before I spring anything on you.”

      You swallowed down everything he was saying, and even you were getting a bit emotional. He had said so much, and everything he said had resonated so heavily. He truly cared about you, and to even bring this up in this way showed how much he understood that you needed your own personal time and space. 

     As much as you liked Steve, and wanted to pursue something, anything with him that was good for your emotional and mental health, you still highly valued communication and your time. It was just how you were structured, it was how time and your life experiences had built you. And you understood what he was saying. 

     Right now, you still weren’t even sure what you wanted. You just knew that you liked this, even though it felt like a commitment. He’d flown you out after all. He really wanted to see you and be with you, and the same went for you. But you didn’t get the vibes that he was forcing you to commit or that he expected anything from you because of your amazingly unique circumstances. It would just make sense to put a label or be official… but all the same, it would make sense to just keep things playing out and enjoy your time together. 

     That didn’t have to mean you were just fooling around, because you got the feeling that you both took each other quite seriously in the relationship area of life, exclusive or not. And it had been on your mind as well, but you were just living in the moment. 

     You finally replied, a small smile on your face, placing a consoling hand on Steve’s chest,

     “Thank you, Stevie. Really, it means the most to me, you coming to me like this. And everything you’re saying makes complete sense to me.” You gave him a short, sweet kiss on his jawline. “And honestly, I can tell you were still a little nervous to bring this up to me. But there’s no reason for you to be. I want you, there’s no doubt about that. And I really respect your traditional tendencies. And I feel like even though we’ve only known each other in person for so long, we’ve been talking for quite some time. I feel like I know you well.”

     “So do I,” Steve grinned, almost letting out a sigh of relief as he listened to your words.

     “And I really am open for anything. I think, these days though, I’m just trying to live in the present. I’m gonna be with you, whether I’m officially your girlfriend or not. I’m not obsessed with labels right now, and neither are you. Being asked officially would just be a nice little perk to what we already have. So I’m not in a rush. But I’m also not at all against it. I’d love to call myself your girlfriend one day. It’s our call.”

Steve nodded, grinning stupidly to himself. To hear those words was so reassuring. He knew exactly what he wanted to do, and he was glad you felt the way you did, though he wouldn’t have been upset if you felt any other way. He just wanted to be with you, the same way you just wanted to be with him. You were comfortable enough with each other not to feel like you needed to rush into anything exclusive, and also comfortable enough to be able to put a label on what you had and move on accordingly. 

     “Our call. I like the sound of that.”

     “Yeah? Me too,” you agreed— unity over one person wearing the pants in your relationship. 

If and when the time did come that Steve should ask you to be his girlfriend, you would be happy for the day—ecstatic, even. But you were comfortable enough in your own skin to just keep on living through the days. And the days with him were quite wonderful. 

No rush, just serenity. 

AHHHHHHHH!!!

it’s been done 

i hope y’all loved that :)))

tbh i think this series is gonna have 20-25 parts, 30 max. ion want it to get too crazy! there is an end in sight, but fear not, there is a lot to go <3

*tags added later*

[slippinmickeys]

Five Seconds (8/8)

If you’d like to read this work in its entirety, you may do so here.

October 24, 2018

Scully was half-elated, half terrified when her children escaped from the cabin and their captor. It removed them from harm’s way, but gave the mercenary who held them a sole focus -- herself and the child she carried, and Mulder.

Luis seemed to be even more amped up by their escape, checking his watch and trying his phone twice as often. When she rose and requested a drink of water, the man stood so quickly from the chair he sat in that it fell backwards to the floor.

He stood, twitchy and suspicious, looked at her a moment and then nodded tersely. She turned to go into the kitchen when a powerful force seized her and she stumbled, grabbing onto the back of Mulder’s chair.

“Scully!” he said, alarmed. He rose and moved to her side as the gunman watched them, tense but otherwise expressionless.

The pain wrapped around her middle and went all the way to her back. She’d experienced back labor during her labor with William and remembered the agonizing sensation. This was the real thing.

“Mulder,” she whispered, dragging her eyes up to him. She saw realization dawn on him, saw the mix of tender excitement and abject fear.

“Oh, sweetheart,” he whispered, tilting his head to the side to look at her. They rarely used pet names for each other, but the sound of those words on his lips made her stalwart exterior crumple. Tears fell from her eyes. She looked at him and tried to tell him silently all the things he’d ever meant to her, and all the things he ever would.

XxXxXxXxXxX

“Here’s how it’s going to work,” the man said, to Lily. “We are going to unload the ATVs off of the trailer. We are going to drive them to the camp where your family is staying. You will be on one, your brother and I will be on the other. I will have a gun to your brother’s head the entire time. You try anything, I shoot him. He tries anything, I shoot him.”

Lily nodded, and she could hear Will swallow with some difficulty next to her. “My colleague at the camp… Is he alive?”

“Yes,” Lily said, not taking her eyes off the barrel of the gun.

“Good,” he said “Do what I say, and no one has to die.”

Lily could feel the weight of the burner phone in the front pocket of her sweatshirt and sweat broke out on her upper lip. Maybe, she thought, maybe she could still use it.

XxXxXxXxXxX

Scully grasped his hand tightly, eyes closed, breathing hard. As the night wore on and windows outside the cabin turned pale, her contractions seemed to be progressing as they ought, but she was in pain -- terrible pain -- and his heart clenched for her.

He hadn’t done this since Lily was born nearly two decades before -- holding the hand of his wife while she battled to bring his child into the world.  He still felt an overriding guilt for not being there for her during her complicated and troubled delivery of William.

He remembered walking down the hallway toward her room the day he was born, his breath shaky and halting, not knowing what he’d find. There had been a strange sense of deja vu as he approached her door that night, and he had an odd mental picture — an actual phantasmagoria — flash through his mind unbidden of walking in and seeing Scully, her hair shorter than she had ever cut it, her body on the bed thin and reedy -- most definitely not pregnant. He could still see it in his mind’s eye, Scully lying on her side in the hospital bed, wires and IVs coming out of her, a nasal cannula over her ears. She wore a teal hospital gown and the look on her face was one of horrified surprise. The flash had so disturbed him that he ran the last few feet to her labor and delivery room and crashed through the door, which knocked into the rubber stopper on the wall. There Scully lay, in a pink gown, her hair long and her face pale, but smiling, their son lying peacefully on her chest.

He shook himself of the memory and concentrated on his wife.

XxXxXxXxXxX

The man had Will unhooking the ATVs as he pushed them back and off the ramp of the trailer, his gun strapped to a holster on his leg. Lily had her hand in her pocket thumbing the phone, trying to remember which button was “on” from memory. She depressed the button and the ancient phone beeped once, the sound covered by the merc turning on and revving the first four-wheeler, luck on her side, for once.

He moved to the side of the van and pulled out a mid-sized black canvas attache case that had a biohazard warning patch on the side. He secured it to the back of one of the vehicles and then winked at her. Lily’s insides went cold, thinking of her mother.

He pointed at the ATV and looked to Will. “Hop on, William,” he commanded. They had not told him their names. Her brother mounted the four-wheeler, licking his lips nervously. The merc turned to her.

“You know how to drive one of these?” he asked her. She shook her head. He pointed, impatient. “Throttle. Brake. Get on.”

She did.

“You know where to go,” the man said, then revved his engine, the noise a loud mechanical crank in the sleepy peace of the forest. A flock of birds were startled into flight from the trees above, taking wing into the autumn sky, a flutter of panicked commotion.

XxXxXxXxXxX

“Mulder, I need you to promise me something,” Scully said weakly. She was tiring and had refused food. She was laying on the narrow cot by the stove and he was sitting next to her.

“Anything,” he said, brushing back the hair from her forehead.

“Don’t be a hero,” she half-whispered. “I need you. The kids need you. Don’t… don’t try anything.”

Luis, listening in from a few yards away, spoke for the first time in an hour.

“‘S good advice,” he sneered.

XxXxXxXxXxX

Lily slid the phone out of her pocket and took a surreptitious look down. It was on. She glanced back up to watch where she was going -- the trees here were much closer together -- saplings growing like weeds in a field. She had to swerve quickly to miss one and she heard the mercenary shout from behind her. Her quick turn had lifted the right side of the ATV’s wheels almost off the ground -- if she’d been leaning the wrong way or even at all, the whole thing would have gone over.

Straightening and watching her path on a fresh surge of adrenaline, she glanced once again at the phone -- there was a single bar of service showing. She was so shocked she almost dropped it. Licking her lips, she kept her eyes ahead and dialed 911, glancing down once or twice to make sure she’d entered it correctly. She pressed “send.” She was driving one-handed and was hoping the merc didn’t notice. Even with the roar of the engines, she could hear the phone dialing.

They were almost to the cabin. She could smell woodsmoke. If they cleared one more rise, they’d be there.  

The burr of the phone ringing was the only thing she could hear.

Up the rise, she knew the ATV was still right behind her, knew that there was still a gun trained at her brother's head.

"9-1-1, what... your emergency?" she could hear the dispatcher through static.

Then she was over the hill. The cabin sat before them, a squat building standing stalwart in a field of trees, smoke leaking from the chimney and sinking to the ground like an escher painting.

She felt the machine under her go over an unexpected bump on the right side and the wheels rise up slightly. She took a chance on creating enough of a distraction for emergency services to trace her call. She leaned hard left and gravity did the rest, tipping the ATV in what felt like a slow motion fall onto its side. Lily, wearing neither helmet nor seatbelt fell hard onto her shoulder, her head snapping into the earth.

She rolled, and the machine missed her leg, but the phone went flying out of her hand, arcing through the air and into the leaf cover. The other ATV revved to catch up with her and then stopped close to the cabin on a spray of dirt and leaf pieces. Then the engine cut, and she could hear the voice on the other end of the phone several yards away cutting in and out in static.

Stars burst behind her eyes like fireworks popping in the night. When her vision cleared, the man was standing over her, his boots so close to her face that she could smell the leather. Her brother was close, but was clearly wary of the mercenary, and she saw him take several steps backward toward the cabin, his eyes on his sister and the dangerous tableau before him.

The man before her lifted a foot and she braced herself for a kick or a blow, but instead he took several steps off into the duff and then once again lifted his heavy booted foot up and this time slammed it down hard onto the staccato-voiced cell phone in the leaves, the static turning into silence with an almighty metallic crunch.

XxXxXxXxXxX

Scully’s contractions were extremely close together. She was lying on the cot, her face a sheen of perspiration. Mulder almost didn’t hear the sound of the engines over her groan.

Luis, who had been watching Scully intensely, his brows knitted together, stood quickly when he heard the motors. There was a chaotic sound outside and then the engines cut, close to the cabin.

“About fucking time,” Luis hissed and then was out the door, leaving it open. Mulder looked to Scully and then, very slowly and deliberately leaned down and pressed a kiss to her forehead.

“No matter what happens,” he whispered, “I always have and always will love you.”

Scully nodded and then another contraction pressed on her and she winced.

“Mulder, I’m feeling really pushy,” she said.

“Shit,” Mulder swore, standing without much hope of doing anything.

Scully opened her mouth and let out an unholy yowl.

And then, from outside the cabin, they heard the unmistakable voice of their fifteen year old son: “Mom?!”

XxXxXxXxXxX

“Shut up,” said the merc to William from where he stood by the cabin’s door.

Lily rolled up to her knees and shook her head, standing woozily, just as the man Luis came barreling out the door.

“Where the fuck have you been?” Luis hissed at the other man.

“Get your panties out of your ass, Cardinal,” he said. “I’m here.”

“She’s in labor, you greasy piece of shit. We’re on the fucking clock.”

Another dump of adrenaline hit Lily’s bloodstream and she took several steps toward her brother, who was still looking at the cabin in alarm.

He nodded at Luis and unstrapped the black attache kit from the back of his ATV, walking to the open doorway, where he paused. He pointed to where Lily stood, not far from her brother.

“Watch these two,” he said, “and maybe don’t lose them this time?”

XxXxXxXxXxX

“...and maybe don’t lose them this time,” Mulder heard from the doorway. The voice was familiar, and when he looked to the man’s face, he was taken over by such an unholy rage that his vision quite literally tunneled, going black from the sides.

He’d launched himself before anyone knew quite what was happening, even himself. His body hit the other man’s full force and they flew outside, landing in the duff and scattering dirt from the force of their impact.

“Krycek,” he hissed, “you son of a bitch-” and then he reared back his fist and delivered a haymaker to the man’s chin -- all the pent of fury of finding Scully at the top of Skyland Mountain all those years ago crashing back -- Krycek’s head whipped back, spraying blood onto the O horizon.

XxXxXxXxXxX

She’d say this for her brother: his time on the ice had served him well.

Cardinal was as taken by surprise as everyone else by their father’s furious launch at the other merc, and Will, who had been standing several feet away, took the opportunity to grab his improvised hockey stick, which had been propped up by the door on the outside of the cabin and swung it with everything he had at the man. It connected with Cardinal directly across the temple; the dull, sickening thud the best thing Lily had ever heard. Cardinal hit the wall of the cabin and crumpled, sliding to the ground like bubbles down wet skin.

Her father’s head whipped around to see what had happened behind him, and Krycek seized the opportunity to kick Mulder hard, sending him flying backwards. Both men scrambled up to standing when Scully appeared in the doorway of the cabin, taking two shaky steps outside. Everyone turned to her.

“Mulder,” she rasped, looking at her husband, distraught, “I think it’s time.”

XxXxXxXxXxX

Mulder looked to his wife.

Scully then let out a scream and stumbled forward, grabbing onto a nearby tree for support. Lily dashed to her side without thinking, giving Krycek the opportunity to swing the gun he still held in his hand up to train it on both of them. Mulder’s heart rose to his throat.

From nowhere, Krycek produced another pistol, which he aimed at Will, who had been attempting to get around the side of the cabin after felling Cardinal. Mulder froze.

"This ends one of two ways!" Krycek shouted, stopping everyone in their tracks. There was a smear of blood running down his chin. "All of you dead, or everyone alive. I really don't care one way or the other."

Krycek flicked the gun once at Will, who dropped the stick and made his way over to his sister, who was still several feet away from Scully, who had taken a few staggered steps before slumping to her knees, knocked back by another powerful contraction, this one right on the heels of the last. She was panting, and swung her eyes up to Mulder drunkenly. Krycek had a gun on her and one on their children.

"All right," Mulder said, anguish gripping him, "all right."

He was out of options. He looked to the functioning four-wheeler that Krycek had come in on. Krycek could have Scully on it and to the county road in less than ten minutes. The other four wheeler was still on its side, smoking, the smell of gas and oil ripe in the air. He'd never be able to get to them.

Mulder looked at Scully. He looked at his children. Hopelessness rose in his gut like vomit, consuming and poisonous. He thought vaguely of bum-rushing Krycek once again, one last sacrifice to save those he loved.

The moment slowed to a honied drip. Five seconds to make a choice, each one ticking by more slowly than the one before it. One. He thought of Lily as a baby, of William; the newborn smell of their sweet red hair. Two. He thought of Olivia Kurtzweil, sitting across from him in his office. Lying dead on her own floor. Three. He thought of Samantha, her thick braids flying out behind her, laughing as she ran down the beach in Quonochontaug. Four. He thought of his first day of firearms training at Quantico. His instructor laying a pistol on the countertop and saying: “It takes only seven pounds of pressure to pull a trigger.” Five. He thought of Scully. Of their first meeting in the basement office, her bright seafoam eyes and her chipper little handshake. He thought of her terrified face atop Skyland Mountain, how her hands felt around his neck as he carried her all the way down. He thought of how she gasped when he touched her, of the dusky way her skin looked in the moonlight.

He moved to take a step toward her, but was shocked into stillness when a gun shot rang out out of nowhere and Krycek slumped to the ground. Mulder turned to where the shot had come from and there, standing in the middle of the Northwoods forest in a pristine white blazer and jeans stood Lauren, the archaic rifle that had adorned the deer mount on the cabin wall pressed expertly to her shoulder. Smoke wafted out of the barrel, and she slowly lowered the weapon.

“You stopped answering your phone, Fox,” she said. “We had a deal.”

XxX

Will and Lily were both facing away from where Krycek had fallen, looking at Lauren in surprise, and Mulder took three large strides to get to them before they could turn and see what was left of the man. He grabbed them by the shoulders, one hand on each of them and leaned down.

“It’s okay,” he said, in a quiet voice, “we’re all okay.”

Will turned into him and buried his face into his father’s chest. Lily put her hand over his and turned toward Scully, who was leaning against a tree, one arm wrapped tightly around her stomach. Luis Cardinal was still out cold by the cabin’s wall, his arm thrown out an odd angle. Mulder hoped it was broken.

“Can you guys help your mom into the cabin?” he said and both kids went immediately to her.

He heard the crunching of leaves and found Lauren at his shoulder.

“I called the county Sheriff before I came onto the property,” she said in a low voice, “I don’t know how long it will take them to get here.”

Mulder turned to her in full.

“Thank you,” he said, his voice shaky, “You saved my family.”

“You’re all the family I have left,” she said, “and you would have done the same for me.”

He pulled her tightly to him. She gave him a brief squeeze, the rifle she was holding pressing into his hip. She pulled back.

“Please tell me Dana’s not in labor,” she said.

“Dana’s in labor.”

Lauren took a deep breath and glanced down at the man whose life she had taken not moments before.

“Don’t look,” Mulder said gently.

Lauren nodded stoically and shouldered the rifle.

“There’s another merc by the cabin,” Mulder said, “alive. Can you help me secure him? See if there’s some rope or something inside?”

Lauren nodded and headed into the cabin, and Mulder turned to Krycek and pushed him over onto his back with his foot. The man was looking straight up with sightless eyes. Then Mulder noticed several pairs of zip ties that Krycek had had secured to his utility belt. He tried not to think of what he’d planned to use them for, and pulled one from the dead man’s waist.

“We need to make this quick,” Lauren said as she came out the door, her statement punctuated by a low, feminine moan from inside the cabin. Mulder’s gut roiled.

“Let’s go,” he said, and dragged Cardinal roughly by the shoulders to a medium pine not far from the cabin door. Mulder wrenched the man’s hands behind his back around the tree and Lauren cinched the zip tie on tightly. He gave a light moan but was otherwise still.

When they trotted back into the cabin, they found both kids at their mother’s side, wearing panicked, wary faces.  

Scully had settled onto the cot that had been set up near the woodstove. Her eyes were closed and her hands gripped the steel frame. Mulder asked the kids to collect clean linens and blankets from the cedar cabinet and then went back outside to pull Krycek’s body over behind a large tree, knowing he was disturbing evidence, but not caring. He didn’t want it anywhere the kids could see.

When he came back inside, Scully was propped up on pillows, Lauren kneeling next to her. They both turned to him. Scully reached out her hand and he walked over and grabbed it.

“Any sign of the Sheriff?” Lauren asked in a low voice.

Mulder shook his head.

Scully winced and squeezed his hand, gritting her teeth.

“Her contractions are one on top of each other, Fox,” Lauren said.

Lily had drifted over and spoke from Mulder’s elbow.

“Can you give me and Will something to do?” she said, “he’s kind of freaked, and so am I.”

“Hey Will,” Mulder said, “can you take the bucket to the pump and bring us water?”

“Yeah!” Will jumped up and grabbed the bucket by the kitchen wall and scooted outside quickly.

“Lily,” Mulder said, and she looked up at him. “Do you think you can help your mom?”

“Yeah, I can,” Lily said, and went to Scully’s other side.

Scully looked up to Mulder.

“I’m feeling really pushy,” she said once again and gave him a this is serious look.

“You pitch, I’ll catch,” Mulder said easily, trying to project a confidence he didn’t feel, and moved to the end of the bed. He helped Scully pull down her leggings and get situated back on the bed.

Scully was breathing hard and took another deep breath, trying to slow herself down.

“Lil,” she said, pausing to close her eyes and breathe through her nose, “you hold one knee, Lauren will hold the other.”

Lily nodded bravely and grabbed her mother’s leg firmly. Lauren did the same on Scully’s other side.

Mulder could see a bright thatch of hair already crowning between Scully’s legs and grabbed a clean towel, reaching forward.

“Oh my god,” Lauren said, just as Scully gave another almighty yell. The baby’s head was all the way out. One more push and Mulder caught his second son as he careened into the world, registering his complaints loudly for anyone who would hear them.

Will came banging through the door just as Mulder was placing the child on Scully’s chest, a full bucket of water sloshing over where it hung from his hand.

“The Sheriff is here!” he said, as he took in the sight before him.

“Come and meet your brother,” Scully said, smiling tiredly, sweat beaded on her brow.

EPILOGUE

Lily stood in front of the building nervously twirling a lock of hair around her fingers, over and over; a tic she’d had since childhood. Her father was parked not quite a block up the avenue waiting for her -- not totally out of sight, but enough to afford her some privacy. She glanced at his car's taillights once and then looked back at the old building with its colossal white columns and bright red brick.

She knew Travis's schedule well enough that she shouldn’t have been surprised when he emerged from the double doors of the Old Engineering Hall, but her heart skipped a beat anyway.

He was several steps out when he noticed her standing at the base of the old cement staircase, and he pulled up short, cinching his backpack once contemplatively before continuing his descent. He stopped in front of her, but made no move to touch her or talk. He merely looked at her, waiting for her to say something.

She gave him a tentative smile that he didn't return.

"Hi," she finally said.

"Hello," he said. He didn't sound angry or upset, merely expectant, maybe a little resigned.

She felt tears welling in her eyes, but she didn't let them fall. She couldn't think of a thing to say -- where to possibly start telling him her story. He must have sensed how overwhelmed she was, as he took a breath and said, not unkindly:

"You were supposed to meet me for lunch. You never showed up."

She pressed her lips together and nodded her head, remembering the feeling of being pursued through the student union, of holding her father's hand and running from Darlene's house, thinking she may have gotten her whole family killed. Of running through the trees. Of gunshots and the hot ozone smell of cordite.

"I called you," he went on, "I called you like thirty times."

"I didn't have my phone," she finally said, "I couldn't-"

"-you didn't have to ghost me, Lillian," he interrupted, "I was afraid something happened to you... I was about to call the cops when I realized that I didn't actually know where you lived." His tone was serious, a touch disappointed, and it made Lily's insides feel like iced lead.  

"My... my name's not Lillian," she whispered, and the tears finally fell from her eyes.

He tilted his head like a confused pup and looked at her, puzzled and upset.

So she told him. Everything. She took a breath and let loose with everything she and her family had been through for the last nine months. In a teary voice with hitching sobs, she told him about her family's genetic legacy, about going on the run, about how she had managed to feel safe and happy when she was with him, able to forget -- at least for a few hours -- about the dangers pressing on her from all sides. And finally about the last 72 hours and her life at the other end of a pointed gun.

He stood, staring at her in fascination and what looked like disbelief. When the last word of explanation had been said, she could feel her insides wilt a little in relief; everything out in the open, the last of her words falling out of her mouth and sinking to the ground, heavier than air.

“I… I would understand if you didn’t believe me,” she finished.

Just as she steeled herself for his withering incredulity and disbelief, he took one giant step toward her, dropping his backpack as he moved, and wrapped her in his thick, sturdy embrace. She felt herself melt into his caress like liquid, felt his hand come up to hold her head tightly to his chest, his fingers threading through her hair.

“I believe you,” he whispered, pressing his lips to her hair.

She experienced a relief so profound she gave an involuntary sob into the solid mass of him, as he murmured words of encouragement and comfort into her ear. She figured out in that moment what love was. It was this.

She wasn't sure how long they held each other, but he didn't pull back until she did, and even then he reached out and grabbed her face in both hands lightly, his thumbs rubbing her cheekbones in a gossamer wisp.

"Jesus," he finally said, searching her eyes with his intense hazel gaze. She gave him a shaky smile and a half laugh and he dropped one hand to her arm, leaving the other on her face, which she leaned into. "I don't know your real name," he chuffed kindly, "What do I even call you?"

She smiled, sniffed -- probably unattractively, she thought -- and closed her eyes once before looking at him with affection. "I'm kind of partial to 'Frisbee,' to be honest," she said. He leaned down and kissed her with everything he was worth.

[marvelyningreen]

Aftershocks - Night 2

Night 1 | Night 2 | Night 3 | (deleted scene)

[Summary: Peter Maximoff is an unflappable sorta guy. He’d never let anything get to him before, and this recent misadventure will be no different. ...Right?

Warnings: mild language, alcohol use, references to injury & false imprisonment, general trauma-related angst

Notes: Peter Maximoff x reader, of the established relationship variety. A ‘what if Fietro really was Peter?’ scenario. Same continuity/reader character from Linger and Late-bloomer. ]

On the second night, Kurt and Jubilee organize a party. It’s sort of a ‘welcome back’ for Peter, and a ‘welcome in general’ for Wanda and the twins.

It’s awfully sweet of them. And you’re impressed that they’ve managed to order in enough food for everyone on such short notice.

Peter had been busy for most of the day. He’d volunteered to help the professor and continue playing tour guide for Wanda and the kids. You’d offered to help, too, but Peter insisted that you should take it easy. He’s probably right, much as you’d hated to admit it. There’s no way you could’ve kept up with him and two energetic kids.

And that’s how you ended up spending the most of the morning in the lab with Hank.

In true Hank fashion, he had tons of questions, and you did your best to answer them. There are still quite a few things you don’t fully understand yourself.

The revelation that other realities exist is wild to begin with. A world where mutants don’t exist but magic does sounds like a work of fiction. And then there’s the fact that Wanda’s from someplace called ‘Sokovia?’ As far as you and Hank could figure, that country has never existed in your world.

Hank’s scientific curiosity was focused on trying to wrap his head around how Wanda’s powers worked, and how they could’ve caused Captain Rambeau to spontaneously develop powers of her own. You weren’t able to be much help there, but once Hank gets himself hypothesizing, he could talk for hours with no input from anyone else.

Eventually, you brought up your concerns about Peter and his odd lapses in memory. Hank’s brows furrowed pensively as he listened.

“Well, I can tell you there’s nothing physically wrong with Peter,” he said. “I could ask him to let me examine him again, but if the issue isn’t a physical one, that might just make things worse. If you’re really worried about him, my advice is to talk to Charles.”

You sighed. “And he’s busy showing Wanda around.”

Which was exactly where Peter would be, so no chance to talk to the professor without him noticing. Hank stood up, patting your shoulder.

“Listen, I know I’m not great company when I’m focused on work,” he said, “But you’re welcome to stay here while you wait.”

“Thanks,” you said. “I think I’ll take you up on that.”

You’d actually spent a lot of time down in the lab since your reality warping abilities had fully manifested. Hank was fascinated by getting to witness them in person, and the fact that you’d used them to save his life probably had something to do with it.

You leaned back in your chair, stretching out your injured leg a little. It didn’t take Hank long to get so immersed in his work that he started thinking aloud to himself, trying to work out some complicated chemical reaction.

Your thoughts drifted back to Peter. He’d seemed distracted that morning, almost distant. You tried to think what caused it – if something had happened, or even if there was something you’d said…? But you couldn’t think of anything.

Maybe it’d had something to do with his dream. But no, he said he didn’t remember it. Maybe – and you were grasping at straws by this point – he was embarrassed that you’d seen it? That could be. Peter was a pretty open guy, and you hadn’t thought that machismo was one of his faults, but it’s a possibility.

Oh. Oh, damn it all – you’d done it again. You weren’t sure when your eyes had closed, or when you’d leaned your head back against the chair. Hank was still talking to himself-

Only no, he wasn’t. There was a second voice answering him now. Upon lifting your head, you noticed that Hank’s jacket was folded under it as a makeshift pillow. You blinked in the brightness of the lab, looking around to see where the conversation was coming from.

Hank and the professor broke off as they noticed you stirring. Hank smiled apologetically.

“I didn’t want to wake you,” he explained. “You looked so tired. I figured you could use the rest.”

“Apparently I did. Sorry about that,” you said, sitting up straight in the chair again. “What time is it?”

“Just after noon,” said the professor. “We decided to break for lunch, so Peter’s showing them the kitchens. Now, Hank tells me that something’s troubling you.”

“It’s Peter, sir,” you said. You went over everything once more – the diminishing memories of Westview, the nightmare. “Maybe I’m making a big deal out of nothing, but… I don’t know. What if something that witch did is still affecting him?”

The professor had listened carefully while you spoke. You thought that he looked a little concerned, but you might’ve imagined it, because when you finished, he smiled.

“Thank you for coming to me with this,” he said, “But I have a feeling you’re not going to like my answer.”

You grimaced. “You’re going to tell me to wait and see, aren’t you.”

You’re well aware that this was the sort of thing the professor said when he was being evasive. He laughed.

“You’re a quick learner,” he said. “I will tell you that I truly believe Peter will be fine. If anything changes or worsens, don’t hesitate to bring it to my attention. But until that time, I’m leaving him in your care. I know I can rely on you.”

You gaze drifted to the floor, and you frowned slightly. Of course the professor could count on you to look after Peter. But how on earth were you supposed to help if you don’t know what’s going on?

If Peter had been physically hurt, that’s something you could fix. You were out of your depth here. Useless. Just like old times.

“None of that, if you please,” said the professor, in response to your thoughts. “Do you think I’d be leaving this in your hands if I didn’t think you were up to the task? Now, I’ve already told Peter that, as of today, he’s taking some mandatory time off, and the same goes for you. No missions for a while. You’re to get some rest and look after yourself. Understood?”

That surprised you. But before you could attempt to get anything more out of the professor, the door opened to admit Peter and the other Maximoffs. Peter’s face brightened as he caught sight of you.

“I figured you’d be down here,” he said. “And I also figured you probably didn’t eat lunch yet. Was I right? Yeah, I thought so. Which is why I brought lunch to you.”

“You know the rules,” Hank interrupted. “No food in the lab, Peter.”

Peter grinned, rolling his eyes, as he helped you to your feet.

“Alright, alright – we’re going,” he said.

Saying that you looked like you could use some daylight, Peter led you out of the lab to find somewhere to eat your lunch. He seemed cheerful and normal enough, and not, y’know, like he was avoiding you or something. You started to wonder if maybe you really were imagining things.

It was easy enough not to bring up the inconclusive conversation you’d had with the professor. The twins were bursting to tell somebody that there was going to be a party, and that it was gonna be their first party ever.

So far, it seems to be going well. The twins are already making friends among the younger students. Wanda still seems a little reserved – understandably – but the professor sticks close to her to make introductions and keep her company.

You’d like a chance to talk to her yourself, but maybe now isn’t the time. A party can be something of an overwhelming environment, especially now that you’ve been informed that you’re actually one of the guests of honor.

You probably should’ve seen this coming. You’re the one who took on a solo rescue mission, after all. Kurt sheepishly admits that they purposefully hadn’t told you that part because they figured you wouldn’t come if you knew. He is correct.

But Peter’s in his element as the life of the party – and he’s tipsy almost instantly. It’s one of the quirks of his mutant metabolism; alcohol hits him fast. Fortunately, drunk Peter is just an amped-up version of his usual cheerful and chaotic personality. You’re not much of a partier, yourself, so you’re content to enjoy his antics from the sidelines.

Which is what you’re doing when Jubilee sidles up to you.

“Okay, you have to tell me everything,” she says. “I mean, getting to go to another reality? What was it like?”

You laugh. “You’ve gotta be the fifth person to ask me that. Peter was there longer than I was.”

“But Peter doesn’t remember any of it,” she says, “And it’d be rude to ask Wanda a bunch of questions when we’ve only just met, so that leaves you. Now, spill.”

You satisfy Jubilee’s curiosity as best you can, but something she said strikes you as strange. Peter doesn’t remember anything about Westview? That doesn’t seem right.

When Captain Rambeau broke that mind control necklace, Peter didn’t seem confused or anything, just… Well, if you had to describe it, you’d say he looked horrified. And after he made sure that you were okay, the first thing he’d said was that the twins might still be in danger and that you all had to help them.

Then again, he’d let Wanda do all the explaining to the professor and Mr. Lehnsherr. And you’d gotten the rundown from that astrophysicist, Dr. Lewis, after she finished grumbling about being the exposition fairy, whatever that meant.

And Peter lives for being the center of attention. Overlooked and underappreciated for much of his life, a party like this is exactly the sort of validation he craves. If there was a chance for him to tell his story to a rapt audience, he’d jump at it.

So… maybe Peter really doesn’t remember anything. Maybe the whole thing is like a dream for him. The further away from it that he gets, the less clear the memory is.

When the party starts to wind down, the same can’t be said for Peter. Just as you’re trying to work out how on earth you’re going to corral him, Logan catches your eye.

“Don’t worry. I’ll get him,” he says.

You grin. “I thought you said that he’s my problem now.”

“He is. But that knee’s not gonna help you carry his ass upstairs.” Logan drains the last of his drink and calls across the room. “Alright, kid! Time to pack it in!”

Peter waves, takes an unsteady step towards you, and manages to run smack into Logan a split second later. Logan shoots you an exasperated look.

“What’d I tell you?” he says.

Logan manages to keep Peter upright as you head upstairs, but keeping him quiet is another thing entirely. Peter spends the entire walk explaining to Logan – in fumbling but earnest detail – all the ways in which you are the most amazing person he has ever met.

When Logan gets a word in edgewise, it’s to inform you that Peter’s been doing this all evening to anybody who would listen, and even to the people who wouldn’t. You’re honestly not sure if you feel more flattered or mortified.

At long last, you reach Peter’s door, and Logan props him up against the doorframe.

“Alright, he’s officially your problem again,” he says. “Goodnight.”

“G’night, old-timer!” Peter calls, waving off your attempts to shush him. “It’s fine. Don’t worry about it. I’ll be as quiet as a mouse.”

He opens the door and nearly tumbles back into the room. He catches himself, clearing his throat as he straightens up.

“I meant to do that,” he says.

You shake your head, trying to bit back a grin. Once the door is closed behind you, you steer Peter towards the bed and sit him down. He takes hold of your hands.

“Listen. Listen. I have to tell you something.” He struggles to turn his bleary expression serious. “I love you, so much. You just… I love you, okay?”

Is it wrong that you find this slurred profession of love incredibly heartwarming? You smile at Peter, leaning down to kiss him.

“I know,” you say softly. “I love you, too. But you gotta get some sleep now, okay?”

Peter nods, frowning slightly for some reason.

“I know, I know,” he says.

He flops back onto the bed, mumbling something that might be lyrics to a song. And by the time you get his shoes off, he’s conked out completely.

After setting Peter’s shoes aside, you sit down on the sofa again. You know he’s fine. Sure, he’s drunk, but he’s not that drunk. But what if he needs something? Or what if he has another nightmare?

You know you shouldn’t dwell on everything, but once you start thinking about it, you find you can’t stop. You wonder what it was like for Peter, being dragged from this reality into another, having his personality forcibly rewritten.

If your experience had been unpleasant, how much worse must it have been for him?

The second you’d stepped into Westview, you were nearly overwhelmed. Some unknown power seemed to be forcing a name – not your own – onto you like a shackle around your neck. A thousand memories of a life you hadn’t lived flooded your mind. More alarming still, Peter was present in many of them. You had no idea if what you were seeing was the past, or the future, or something else entirely.

And underneath it all was a crushing, all-encompassing feeling of utter despair. It threatened to swallow you whole, and it seemed pointless to fight it.

And then – a calm, familiar presence in your mind. You remembered turning back, seeing the professor’s face as he watched you enter the portal. Suddenly, the onslaught lifted, and you were simply yourself again.

Also, you’d apparently collapsed at some point, because you were laying on the pavement with a tall blond stranger leaning over you.

He was the only person who seemed at all concerned that you’d just fainted in the middle of the street. He said his name was Vision. You introduced yourself as Ace. It was close enough to your codename that you’d remember it, and the professor had cautioned you against saying too much about where you’d come from.

But Vision seemed to recognize that there was something different about you, that you’d come from outside Westview. He was worried about his children, and his wife, and the rest of the citizens. You explained that you didn’t know what had happened to the town, and that you’d come looking for a missing friend.

You’d just agreed to try to help each other when reality seemed to bend around you, and suddenly you were sitting in a diner finishing a cup of coffee, and Vision was nowhere in sight.

The next time you saw him, the spell was ending, and he disappeared. You wish you could’ve gotten the chance to get to know him better. He seemed like a good man.

You try to put that from your mind. It’s just gonna make you sad again if you think about it for too long.

Instead, you glance over at Peter. He seems to be sleeping soundly, which is good.

But memories of Westview aren’t done with you yet.

You’ve had nightmares before about people you know acting in ways that were frighteningly unlike them. And even knowing it was all just a dream, you always felt a little uneasy the next time you’d see them. It’s the same way you feel watching Peter now.

That’s not fair; you know it isn’t. And maybe out of context, it’d sound strange to get worked up about it. But to have the person you love – the person who loves you – treat you with indifference, and get cruel enjoyment out of your pain?

That’s the stuff of nightmares.

Enough of that. You give your head a shake, like that’ll clear your thoughts somehow. It wasn’t Peter. It was the witch that was controlling him, forcing him to do all those things. You know this. It’s just lucky he hadn’t been forced to really hurt anyone.

It’s over, and Peter doesn’t remember what it was like, and that’s probably for the best.

Still, as you watch him sleep, you find yourself so badly wanting to hold him that it almost makes your chest ache. Peter hasn’t just been distant emotionally since Westview.

Since you’d started dating, Peter was a source of constant casual physical affection. Whenever you were together, he’d always have his arm around you, or be holding your hand, or sit close enough that his leg was pressed against yours. You hadn’t realized how much you’d gotten used to it – grown to expect it, even – until it’s suddenly absent.

Having be so withdrawn from you now, well… It hurts, if you’re being honest, especially since you don’t know why, and you don’t know how to help.

But there’s nothing you can do about it at this moment. And, since Peter doesn’t look to be having any more nightmares, it’s probably time for you to go. You ease yourself onto your feet, just now noticing how stiff your knee has gotten after standing around all evening at the party.

You limp as quietly as you can towards the door – and proceed to trip over Peter’s shoes.

You yelp in pain as your knee twists and you go crashing to the floor. You grit your teeth, trying not to swear.

And suddenly the lights are on in the room, and Peter’s kneeling beside you.

“What happened?” he asks. “Are you okay?”

That’s right. As fast as Peter gets drunk, he sobers up just as quickly. He looks present and alert at the moment, if a little worried.

“I tripped over the damn shoes,” you answer. “I’m fine, I think. I just-”

You break off, wincing, as you try to straighten out your leg. Damn it. Is it possible to double-sprain something? Because that’s what it feels like.

“Hang on,” says Peter. “Let me help.”

He doesn’t take your hands and help you stand up, like you’re expecting. Instead, he loops your arm around his shoulders and scoops you up bridal-style. The fact that he doesn’t use his superspeed almost disorients you more than if he had.

At a normal pace, he walks back and sets you down not on the sofa, but on his bed. He blurs for just a second, but that’s only to stack up his pillows to give you something to lean against.

As you gingerly straighten out your leg, Peter reaches out – to try to help, you suppose – then lets his hands fall in his lap.

“Thanks,” you say.

Peter frowns worriedly. “Can’t you do the…?”

He makes a gesture like he’s laying on hands or something, which confuses you for a second before you catch his meaning.

“Oh, I can’t do the healing stuff on myself,” you say. “Or at least I don’t know how yet. I gotta heal the old-fashioned way.”

You give him a wry smile. It could be worse, after all. You could’ve actually broken something. Peter doesn’t seem very reassured.

“I should get Hank,” he says.

“No, don’t!” you say as quickly as you can. “It’s not that bad. I’ll go to him in the morning, if I need to.”

No sense in dragging the poor man out of bed if it’s not an emergency. Unconvinced, Peter bites his lip.

“If you’re sure,” he says reluctantly, “But… Don’t move, okay? I’m gonna get you some ice.”

He’s gone. And then he’s back, holding a couple icepacks and a towel. You reach down to take the knee-brace off, but Peter swats your hands away. Why on earth-?

“Would you stop that?” he says, perching on the edge of the bed. “I’m trying to nurse you back to health here.”

You laugh in spite of yourself. “Always the romantic.”

“Yeah, well, that’s why you like me.”

He’s not wrong. Peter flashes you a grin, and it’s so cheerful and unguarded and normal that it’s startling. This boy is gonna give you whiplash yet; you’re sure of it.

But then he looks down again to focus on the task at hand. He’s extraordinarily gentle as he undoes the brace and settles the icepacks on and around your knee. You want to turn his face towards you and kiss him, but you don’t. He must have some reason for keeping his distance.

As he’s finishing up, he finally speaks.

“I’m… I’m kinda afraid to ask, honestly, but how did you get hurt? It wasn’t- I mean,” Peter exhales forcefully, and hesitates before asking: “Was it me?”

His big, dark eyes meet yours, and the distress in his face nearly breaks your heart.

“What? No! Of course it wasn’t you,” you say.

Peter seems to relax a little, but still has that troubled look in his eyes. He really doesn’t remember, does he? You did get into a scuffle with him while he was still under mind control, and he had ended up knocking you down, but it hadn’t hurt you any more than tripping on the sidewalk would’ve. Also… this doesn’t seem like the right time to mention that part of the story. You hurry to explain.

“It was that witch – Agnes, or Agatha, or whatever her name is,” you say. “She couldn’t send me back, and she couldn’t get in my head, so she dumped me in the Westview Hospital psych ward.”

Peter’s jaw drops. “She what?”

“I mean, it wasn’t like a horror story hospital or anything,” you clarify. “It was actually a pretty nice place, aside from the fact that they wouldn’t let me leave because they thought I was dissociating and suffering from delusions. Which is exactly what what’s-her-name was counting on.”

Peter nods slowly, evidently more confused and no less concerned. “Okay… that explains where you were, but it doesn’t explain how you got hurt.”

“Oh, right. When I wasn’t able to talk my way out, I had to use my powers to get a window open. Only…” you wince at the memory. “My powers didn’t fully work in Westview, and the window was on the second floor. So when I jumped out of it, gravity did exactly what it’s supposed to do.”

Peter presses a hand to his mouth. Okay, this explanation is clearly making things worse.

“And then – okay, this isn’t funny, but it’s kinda funny. It was suddenly Halloween, so the streets were all covered in people and I had to hide, so I crawled into somebody’s hedges. Problem is, they spotted me and came over to see what was going on. So I told them,” you snort involuntarily just remembering it, “I told them that I was dressed up as a zombie, but it’s okay, I’m hiding in their hedge because I’m a method actor. And somehow, they bought it.”

You end your rambling with an awkward laugh, but it dies almost immediately. The anecdote didn’t mollify Peter even a little bit. Maybe you should’ve mentioned the part where you had to steal clothes off a scarecrow? … No, that probably wouldn’t have helped either.

Brows furrowed, eyes still troubled, he stares down at his hands. “You could’ve gone back. Why didn’t you go back?”

“Peter, I went to Westview to bring you home,” you say. “I wasn’t going to leave you behind.”

Although, now that he mentions it, going back for reinforcements probably would’ve been the smart thing to do. It honestly never occurred to you at the time. You were so focused on rescuing Peter that you couldn’t think of anything else.

For someone who allegedly doesn’t remember anything, Peter looks awfully distressed.

“Peter…?” you say, softly, “Are you alright?”

Before he can answer, you shiver violently, startling yourself as much as Peter, and completely breaking the moment.

“Sorry,” you say. “It’s the icepacks. I should probably get going soon, since I’m already cold.”

Peter blinks, and suddenly the shadow seems to lift from his mood. He’s bright and brisk again, taking the icepacks off of your knee.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” he says. “You’re not gonna go limping around in the cold in the middle of the night. You’ll end up getting sick on top of everything. You can stay here. No, don’t get up. I’ll crash on the couch this time.”

He’s really taking this ‘nurse you back to health’ thing seriously, isn’t he? Even if he’s just playing at it, it’s still kinda sweet. You can’t help but smile a little.

“How very Jane Austen of you,” you say.

Peter snorts. “That’s gotta be the nerdiest compliment anyone’s ever given me. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

As he finishes setting aside the icepacks, he turns back to face you.

“Now,” he says, “Is there anything else you need?”

Half-smiling, he looks at you with those big dark eyes, and you can’t help yourself. You lean forward, wrapping your arms around him and pulling him into a crushing embrace. You know it might make you look clingy, but you don’t care.

You’re fully prepared to pull away just as fast, but Peter’s arms fold around you almost instantly. He nestles his cheek against your head, gently stroking your hair.

“It’s okay,” he murmurs. “It’s okay.”

When you finally do pull back, Peter smiles down at you, tilting his head slightly.

“I’m not going anywhere, alright?” he says. “I promise.”

He kisses your forehead, and helps you arrange the pillows and settle in for the night. After extracting a promise that you’ll wake him up if you need something, he retreats to the couch.

The familiar scent of Peter’s cologne lingers reassuringly on his pillows. He’s not going anywhere, you tell yourself. The person who took him is in no position to cause him any more harm.

So why does it feel like part of him is still gone?

[bellamioneotp]

Bellamione Fic Master List

Making a list of Bellamione fics to guide the poor innocent souls into temptation organize stories based on AU type. 

DARK AU’s

Bellatrix isn’t a bright ball of sunshine, but rather than have a story where she becomes a better person, Hermione becomes like her, or even joins her side. This AU type isn’t limited to only that, but also to general dark themes in the story such as violence, war and ‘wtf this is so wrong but yet I can’t stop reading’. 

Reign Down Like wow. A whole world built around what if Voldemort survived and used Hermione in his evil schemes and had Bellatrix engaged to her. Very detailed and the author doesn’t hold back on aspects of the new world that can be somewhat unsettling. 25/10 this will leave you wondering just how sexy dark magic can truly feel. 

The Dark Corners of the Earth This one is dark in an entirely different sense. Bellatrix and Snape are pitted in an ancient war against one another and Hermione is caught in the middle. The romance moves a bit too fast paced for me but the lore and detail in this will have you really thinking this story over the next few days, trying to figure out just wtf is going on. 45/10 will have you hoping your nightlight can keep Cthulhu away. 

Haunted This story won’t leave you haunted, but it is pretty good even with it’s short chapters and all. It tells the story of Hermione sort of losing her marbles but I won’t get into too much detail. Just read it for yourself; it’s a quick easy read. 10/10 is poetic as fuck. 

I Dream of Sin Takes place in a sort of canon world in which Hermione is an American teen being bullied. You can imagine how well that goes for the bullies especially when she learns she has magic and is taught by Bellatrix herself on how to use it. It gets progressively darker each chapter. 16/10 don’t want to mess with magical nerds ever. 

For whom the Bell Tolls is an interesting look into how Hermione’s actually a death eater and Bellatrix is not. While Hermione is not bat shit insane, she is a murderer and Bellatrix is the sane one. Nice to see things switched up. This story is not necessarily as dark as the others but it gets brownie points for making the usually good Hermione evil right off the bat. 9/10 come to the dark side, we have cookies. 

Staring at Nothing is just...wow.  A very powerful one shot about Hermione’s descent into darkness as told by Harry’s perspective. 10/10 for who needs friends anyways, when you’ve got black leather. 

Visions of You in which Hermione is a depressed youth after the war and has to deal with hallucinations of Bellatrix. Hermione isn’t dark here so much as she is gray type, and the story has a permeating tinge of sadness to it, given the circumstances. 8/10 for maybe Bellatrix isn’t a hallucination? 

Deep Below what’s more awful than being accused of Harry’s death? Being falsely accused of it, and having to deal with trying to prove your innocent. This is a situation Hermione ends up in. But will she get out of it? 8/10 for this gets deep. 

How to Love Bellatrix captures Hermione and sort of indoctrinates her into the world of darkness. Hermione is mad at first, but then she realizes how sexy Bellatrix is and is like, ‘alright fam, sign me up’ and boom Bellamione. 8/10 you love this story but not it’s update schedule. 

TIME TRAVELER AU’s

Basically, what it says on the tin. Someway or another, Hermione goes back into time to stop Bellatrix from ever becoming evil. Drama and romance ensue. 

Future Shocks A good time turner fic with a more modern take on war. It’s pretty long and it is the slowburn of all slowburns. But it’s a very interesting story and the ending will have you definitely shook. 8/10 will shock you awake from that boring lecture you’re reading fanfic in. 

Time Heals all Wounds Hermione gets sent back in time to ‘redeem’ Bellatrix but not in the gift card way, more like saving the future type way. They end up, you guessed it, falling in love and changing the future somewhat. 6/10 is a young teen romance that will have you reliving your adventures as a young sapphic witch. 

Mirror, Mirror Not exactly a time turner fic, more like a parallel world, I suppose. Hard to explain but has good amounts of mystery and trying to understand what is happening. Focuses more on Bellatrix’s POV which is a nice change of pace. 8/10 will have you looking in the mirror and summoning Bellatrix like she was Bloody Mary. 

Let the Light Come and Take me A time turner fic that ends up with Bellatrix time traveling but to the future and the chaos her arrival there causes for those who are acquainted with her devious ways. Looks at the growth of our two ladies relationship into something more. 5/10 if it’s not slowburn romance is it really Bellamione?

The One Within the Other this story is about, you guessed it, time travel! Hermione goes back on purpose to stop Bellatrix from achieving her evil potential and in the process love blossoms. 7/10 for never enough time to read Bellamione in peace!

Caught in the Time series this is a series of three full length stories about Bellamione stuck in different times and universes. So much happens in them it’s kind of hard to summarize so the best thing to do is read them. 8, 8.5, 7/10 I’ll let you figure out which score goes for which series.

Just say When started off as a time turner story but then it ended up becoming something more of an espionage tale. It’s a good read and interesting to see how Bellatrix aims to save Hermione from a dementor’s kiss (spoilers!) in order to save their future together. A good mix of romance and action. 8/10 The name’s Black. Bellatrix, Black. 

The Broken Wand It all starts with a wand and then before you know it, boom, time travel happens. Featuring Loki and adventure all around, this fic has interesting plot points to keep you engaged despite the slower update times. 7/10, will break your wand too. 

Hourglass basically, a young Bellatrix is brought into the future and consequences abound from that mishap. The plot is a bit wonky and there are some logic mistakes, but if you can get over it, it’s a decent time travel story. 5/10 for it must be canon that Bellatrix has a lovely hourglass figure. 

Times they are a Changing where Bellatrix travels back in time to save her wife, Hermione. Nice to see a story where Hermione isn’t the one doing all the saving. Unfortunately there’s only six chapters to this story and it’s unlikely it’ll ever get finished but it’s a nice fresh concept. 6/10 for that’s how many chapters there are. 

Destined in this one, Hermione experiences some wonky times after the battle at the department of mysteries. Hermione has to find a way back home, but perhaps she might find love along the way? 10/10 for this is destined to be an interesting read. 

HEALER AU’s 

Let’s be real, Bellatrix has got a lot of problems and these authors try to solve them, with sex. And you know, medical help. But sex definitely helps a lot. 

Portrait of a Tragic Woman Not a typical healer type au, because Hermione is a therapist whose helping Bellatrix with her mental disorders. Focuses a lot on the relationship between the two and really makes you try to figure out what exactly is up with Bellatrix and what is her past, etc. The ending chapters will leave you shooketh and wondering what even is real anymore. 50/10 because it feels like an acid trip, man. 

The Healer is only one chapter but still worth a read. Hopefully the author will have some time to get back to it because it has a huge potential. 6/10 because I need some healing. 

1k is a one shot, featuring Hermione as a therapist and Bellatrix as her patient. Can’t say too much without spoiling it, but despite it’s short length, the author paints a vivid look into Bellatrix’s mind if she was just an insane muggle. 1k/10 because that’s one patient I would never like to meet.

Darkness Underneath I mean, Hermione runs a team of healers, so technically it’s kinda a healer au fic, right? This story looks more in depth at the Death Eaters and dark magic surrounding them. 9/10 is that a dark mark or are you just happy to see me?

TEACHER AU

We all know this is the holy grail au of this fandom and yet there’s only a couple of long stories for this. Someone, write some more!

Fractures A long fic, that has a sequel. Basically, Bellatrix is Hermione’s teacher during a very trying time for Hermione when a competition goes very wrong and dark truths are revealed. Lot’s of action, Bellamione interactions, and overall interesting plot. 8/10 will leave your heart in fractures when you find out the sequel is unfinished. 

In the Dead of Night Hermione asks Bellatrix if she can teach her some.....magic and things end up becoming very magical indeed. Bellatrix is the teacher in this story (because who wouldn’t want her as a teacher). It’s a WIP with only a couple of chapters out. 7/10 time to learn some real lessons, Granger ;)

Just a Brand features not only Bellatrix as a professor, but a magical soul mate bond between Bellatrix and Hermione that leads to much deliciousness. There’s a lot of chapters to this story but they’re pretty short. An updated and revised version can be found on a03 for those who like longer chapters. 7/10 Bellamione is branded on my soul. 

It Just Felt Right is another fic with Bellatrix as the professor. Hermione starts off hating her and then it evolves into liking Bellatrix. The fic leaves off before any real progress can be made so if anyone is up for reading an unfinished fic from 2012 then go for it. 6/10 for this story feels right but not write because it’s abandoned :(

CRIME AU 

Because there is never enough crime involved even with Bellatrix, these authors amp up the trouble and make it double. And gay. So very gay. 

Two Sides of the Same Coin where Bellatrix is basically an auror. It’s only five chapters and it hasn’t been updated in a long time but it’s an interesting concept worth checking out. 9/10 wish there were more sides to the coin. 

Murder Most Horrid A crime story, where Bellatrix is a magical cop and Hermione is a murder suspect. Bellatrix interrogates Hermione by banging her and then the two of them proceed to basically get married the day after. A bit ooc for Bellatrix but very in character if you consider this world not from the canon. -89/10 for how badly your vision will deteriorate if you try to read this all in one night. 

The Mysterious Department Technically Bellatrix and Hermione are both magical detectives and they go and solve crimes and shit while also possibly trying to prevent the world from ending. You know, just casual stuff. 10/10 for the perfect crime, would commit again. 

Darkness is Falling A story that has Hermione as an auror who replaces Bellatrix’s old partner. They butt heads, they solve cases, and naturally, begin to fall in love. 7/10 for this case is closed. 

Some Things Aren’t Seen Hermione investigates Bellatrix’s crimes and past and ends up over her head. There are two follow ups to this finished work, all in the same vein. It’s all a good bit of fun watching Hermione try to take on the criminal Lestrange. 7/10, no, this has no relation to the musical Wicked. 

SOUL MATE BOND 

In one way or another Bellatrix and Hermione have a special bond in between them that destines them to be together. Angst, love, friendship, all abound in this au type. Features a combination of other factors thrown in, but the stories put in here are largely advertised in the blurb as more focused on the bond. 

Lotus Flower Hermione finds out after Bellatrix’s death that they are bound together and that because Bellatrix is dead, Hermione is dying as a result too. This begs the question, will Hermione go back in time and save Bellatrix, or will she willingly submit to the bond’s curse? 8/10 I think we all know what Hermione chooses.

Our Mercurial Selves ever wonder what it would be like to have a murderer share your mind? In this one, Hermione and Bellatrix can communicate telepathically with each other, creating a bond that draws them together. Features evil schemes by Voldemort, a flying horse, and Narcissa beating the ever loving shit out of Bellatrix for even daring to breathe in Hermione’s direction. 9/10 will leave you with warm fuzzies for the Malfoy family before the ending crushes you. 

The House Ring Bellatrix sends Hermione a magical ring that engages them and basically makes them wives. Prophecies abound about how Bellamione is meant to be the one and only true pairing. 7/10 for that ring better come with diamonds.

Demons AU

As if Voldemort isn’t scary enough, there are demons and scary things in this au type that will leave you and Voldemort both calling for mommy. 

Unsteady Precipice technically also a time traveling fic, except Hermione ends up in an alternative universe. where she tries to change things from happening in the canon world like they did. But will it work? Who knows! Only a few chapters are out so it’s hard to tell where this story will go, but one things for sure, it’ll be good. 9/10 if you don’t pray after reading this the demons will get you. 

A Demon in the Mist is also about, gasp, demons! Dangerous things are afoot in this story and Hermione is caught in the middle of it all. It takes part in the same universe as the caught in time series by the same author, but with slight alterations. Unsure if the story will be finished as the author has contemplated leaving fanfic writing. 7/10 can you find the demon in the mist?

MAGICAL CREATURES AU

Technically a category, right? Let’s pretend it is, because there are some stories out there that pit our two ladies as other than human and it’s fun to read about it. 

As we Chase the Sun Very Black family centric and features Bellatrix as a big fluffy wolf. What’s not to love? Cuddles, and hair balls, and good times all around. 9/10 would tame that wolf. 

Sing to me Your Insanity in which Hermione and Bellatrix are both sirens and will basically die if they don’t do the ol’ frickity frack. This is a long story and the slowburn feels like hellburn but it’s worth the read. 56/10 but you will need earplugs so those sirens don’t seduce you too. 

Metamorphosis in which Bellatrix is also a wolf and doesn’t like being stuck with Hermione but gets used to it and basically they’re house wives of London and don’t know it. 8/10 for your mind with undergo metamorphosis from slightly obsessed with Bellamione to even more obsessed. 

This Poisoned Blood of Ours vampires, vampires everywhere! Two parts to this series and features a confused Bellatrix and a changing Hermione. 7/10 do you think vampires like steak rare?

Cursed Doll Pretty self explanatory title. Someone ends up as a doll and shenanigans ensue. Won’t say more because it’s only two chapters, but it’s well written and worth a read. 10/10 Chucky? Is that your sister? 

Liquid Measure these chapters are thicc boy. Only two chapters but such a good set up and everything. I hope the author is able to update at some point. 10/10 makes me thirsty for more!

My Demons in the Dark Hermione is a ghost. That’s it, that’s the plot. Boo/10 for this not so spooky spirit. 

[mittensmorgul]

Happy Resurrection Day

A short fic in celebration of Dean and Cas’s 12th anniversary!

Rated: T Words: 3652

Summary: The world didn't end, and Dean and Cas finally get to choose each other. It only took twelve years and a little road trip back to where it all started.

Read it here on AO3

One random morning in mid-September, a few months after the world was left in their hands once and for all, Dean woke up to the nagging feeling he was forgetting something. There wasn’t really much to forget anymore. There was no looming apocalypse, no new catastrophe on the horizon. The biggest dilemma he’d faced in the last few days was whether he had enough milk to make pancakes, or whether he’d have to run out to the store before breakfast.

Sure, he and Cas took the occasional salt and burn. Easy hunts they could usually dust in a day. Sam had taken an extended road trip to see the country and try to figure out what he wanted to do with himself now that he was truly free to explore what life after Chuck could look like, but Dean already knew. He’d known for a good long time that he loved his life, loved the bunker, and loved hunting. And for whatever reason, Cas had just decided to stay, no strings attached. Whether Dean was itching to get out on the road for a long weekend on the slimmest excuse of a hunt that just as often as not turned into a detour to some tourist trap or other, or whether Dean just wanted to sit at home bingeing an old tv series or having a movie marathon, Cas seemed equally content with the slate of activities Dean conjured up for them.

He hadn’t put it into so many words, and he definitely hadn’t said it to Cas, but Dean also loved that Cas had stayed with him.

So it was strange waking up with an unsettled swirling in the pit of his stomach. He held a hand up to his forehead, checked his eyes and throat in the mirror to make sure he wasn’t coming down with something. He didn’t want to get Cas sick, if he was. He’d already survived Cas’s first cold as a human, just barely. They went through so much soup in a week, Dean was starting to wonder if Cas was just milking it for the room service. He had to admit that Cas letting him walk him through the highlights of Dr. Sexy while he was curled up in a blanket nest by his side wasn’t the worst thing he’d had to endure. But for now, Dean wasn’t sick. He just had a restlessness in his bones and no idea how to cure it.

He pulled on his robe and ambled out to the kitchen. Coffee would help him figure out what was eating at him, surely. Only Cas had beat him to it, which was unusual enough to amp up that uneasy feeling. Dean usually beat Cas to the kitchen most mornings, so walking in to a full pot of coffee and no other sign of Cas had him wondering if something was wrong. He poured himself a cup and set off in search of Cas, and whatever he was up to so early in the morning.

He found Cas sitting at the table in the library scrolling around on the internet. Dean just stood in the doorway and watched him for a moment, studying his posture as if it might give him some clue what sort of mood Cas was in. Human or not, Cas still had the intense focus he’d always had as an angel, and aside from pausing to take a sip of his coffee or navigate to the next page, he barely moved from his position hunched over the keyboard. Rather than startle him, Dean waited until Cas put his mug down before clearing his throat to announce his presence.

“Mornin’ sunshine. You’re up early.”

“Hello, Dean,” Cas said, giving him a guilty glance before going back to his work. “Yes, I had been hoping to surprise you later, but I apparently didn’t wake up early enough for that. I hope you slept okay.”

Dean shrugged as he walked around the table and sat down across from Cas. He took a sip of his coffee before replying.

“Mostly. Woke up feeling restless, and I couldn’t figure out why.”

Cas nodded at him as if he understood exactly what Dean meant. “I did, as well. And then I checked the calendar. I assume you know what today is?”

Dean’s brow furrowed as he performed a few calculations. Days all sort of blended together after a while, but they’d made a trip up to Henderson for supplies on Wednesday, and that was only a couple days before.

“Friday?” Dean eventually replied, hoping he was right.

Cas laughed, but shook his head. “It is Friday, but it’s also September 18th.”

Dean blinked at him for a moment as he mentally rocketed back to a run down old gas station where the windows shattered the first time Cas had ever tried to introduce himself. He’d just clawed his way out of his own grave, and the local newspaper had helpfully supplied him the date, and the knowledge that he’d been in hell all of four months. No wonder he’d woken up feeling weird. He might’ve forgotten the date, but somewhere deep down, some part of him would always know it.

Dean came back to himself to find Cas waiting patiently for him, like he always did. He took another sip of his coffee and set the mug down, recalling what Cas had said before sending him off down disturbing memory lane. Better to focus on the present than linger in that particular bit of the past.

“So you were planning a surprise?”

Cas shrugged. “I thought maybe we should do something to celebrate. People celebrate these sorts of milestones, yes?”

Dean wobbled his head side to side and made a face. “Pretty sure Hallmark dosn’t make a card for this one.”

Cas frowned, reaching up to shut the laptop as if he’d made some terrible faux pas, but Dean quickly dropped his hand atop Cas’s to stop him.

“Doesn’t mean we can’t celebrate it anyway,” he said more quietly, smiling at Cas. “It was a pretty noteworthy occasion, you pulling me outta hell. What did you have in mind?”

Cas’s frown deepened. “That’s where I’ve been stuck all morning. It felt inappropriate to suggest going to visit your gravesite, and taking you out to dinner seems… trite, in light of the occasion.”

“You know me, Cas. I’m always up for food,” Dean replied, trying to lighten the mood. “Plus it wasn’t just about me being un-dead, you know. It’s the whole reason we met in the first place. And look how that turned out.”

Cas had finally begun to smile again, and turned his attention back to the computer. “We didn’t actually meet face to face until late the next night when you summoned me. There was a bit of a delay due to unforeseen circumstances.”

Dean thought about that for a minute, nodding as he remembered the events of his first few days back on earth. “Well, if you wanna do it right, we could always take a road trip back to that old barn, see if it’s still standing.”

“Have you been back there since then?” Cas asked, curious now.

Dean shook his head. “Driven by it a few times over the years, but never went back inside. The whole farm’s completely overgrown. I figured someone would’ve gotten freaked out by all the weird symbols and burned the place down by now. It was still standing as of a couple years ago.” That got Dean curious. “Have you been back?”

“It’s been a while,” Cas said quietly. “I used to fly there sometimes, when I still could. It was a quiet place to think.”

Dean nodded slowly. “Then that’s what we should do. We’re taking a road trip. I know at least three great diners between here and there I haven’t taken you to yet. We can make a whole weekend out of it.”

“That sounds wonderful,” Cas replied, finally shutting the computer.

“Good. Breakfast first, then we’ll head out. Have ourselves a little resurrection day road trip.”

Dean grabbed his mug and stood up. He’d need to get dressed and pack a bag. They could have a quick breakfast if they were gonna be stopping at Dana’s Diner for lunch. It was a bit of a detour, but the burgers were worth it. He flashed a grin at Cas.

“I’m gonna pack a bag and grab some cereal before we hit the road. Meet you in the kitchen in 20?”

Cas nodded and shut the laptop. As Dean made his way out to the hall, he heard Cas mutter quietly, “Happy Resurrection Day,” as if he was testing out the sentiment. He bit his lip to keep from laughing out loud.

The drive to Illinois took most of the day. It could’ve been a lot quicker, but in addition to Dana’s, they hit a steakhouse on the outskirts of Chicago for dinner before swinging back south toward their destination. Dean bypassed the Astoria Motel where a mirrored ceiling shattered by Cas’s angelic voice had once nearly killed him. He pointed it out as part of their trip down memory lane, but pulled up at a different motel clear across town with the excuse that it would be a shorter drive back to the barn in the morning. Their room was a lot less shabby, and a lot less pay-by-the-hour feeling than the Astoria, so Dean felt it was a win all around.

As they settled in for the night like they had every night they’d been on the road together, Dean let himself really feel the usual longing the three foot chasm between their beds brought out in him. Most nights he’d just roll over and pretend to fall asleep while mashing that feeling down as hard as he could. Tonight, though, he lay in bed staring across that gap, wishing he could make some excuse to crawl into the other bed. Of all nights, and in this particular place, he really just wanted someone to hug until dawn.

The specific someone being Cas.

In the dark, in the quiet listening to Cas’s breathing even out as he drifted off, for one moment Dean allowed himself to admit that he didn’t just love that Cas had stayed with him. He loved Cas. Full stop. Dean lay there until he couldn’t keep his eyes open any longer, holding on to that feeling and knowing he’d have to crush it back down in the morning.

He dreamt of what could’ve happened in that barn, if he hadn’t stabbed Cas that first time they’d met. With twelve years of history between them now, and Dean’s quiet revelation that he was in love with Cas, his dream-self went through a series of alternate endings to that meeting ranging from love confessions to things that he would definitely not be enumerating to Cas over breakfast the next morning. It made for an excellent night’s slumber.

Morning came without the restlessness the previous day had. Dean opened his eyes to the dawn light seeping between the curtains to shine a golden spotlight on Cas’s face, which was smiling back at him.

“Hello, Dean. I take it you slept better last night?”

Dean yawned, but didn’t quite feel like getting up yet. He wanted to enjoy this surreal moment for just a bit longer. Instead he stretched out under the blankets and propped himself up on his pillow to get a better look at Cas.

“Yeah, you?”

Cas propped himself up on his elbow, no longer in the little beam of light, and blinked at him. “I’m reserving judgment until after we have coffee, but yes. It seems to have been satisfactory.” Cas frowned for a second, and Dean was about to ask what was wrong, when Cas asked, puzzled, “If yesterday was Resurrection Day, what does that make today?”

Dean must’ve still been a bit loopy from his late night thoughts, the restful sleep, and what he could recall of the dream he’d been having. He never would’ve blurted it out around a yawn otherwise, but that’s exactly what he did.

“It’s countdown to Cas day.”

He froze for a second after the words had escaped into the wild, and then slowly turned to take in the fond look on Cas’s face.

“I’m already here, Dean.”

“Yeah, well, you weren’t twelve years ago. I didn’t even know your name yet.”

“You do now,” Cas replied. “How should we celebrate it? Since I sincerely hope you weren’t dead set on a complete reenactment. I don’t have the power to rattle the roof or blow open the doors anymore.”

Dean grinned at that and sat up. “Yeah, I don’t really wanna shoot you, either.”

“I appreciate that,” Cas replied, sitting up on the edge of his own bed opposite Dean. He looked right into Dean’s eyes, as if attempting to convey some deeper meaning to his words, and spoke quietly. “I’m glad you finally believe in me.”

They sat there for a long moment before Dean finally nodded. “‘Course I believe in you, Cas.”

They took turns in the shower and packed up their bags. After a quick breakfast on the way to the farm, they drove down the overgrown dirt road that led to the barn. Dean had to leave the car a good way back down the road, and they hiked through the knee-high scrub to the broken old barn door. Dean picked up a shattered timber and tossed it out of the way as he pushed his way inside.

“Man, this place is a lot less intimidating looking in broad daylight,” he said, as the two of them stood in the doorway and took in the faded symbols Bobby had painted on every surface of the interior. Broken glass still littered the floor, now covered with a heavy layer of dust.

“It looks different now, somehow,” Cas added. “Smaller. Which is strange considering I was so much larger the first time I was here.”

Dean turned to him and smiled. “Yeah, but now you’re seeing it human. It’s gotta be weird.”

Cas shrugged, and walked around the perimeter of the barn, examining the sigils out of old habit. “This has always been a quiet place for me,” he said, touching a warding sigil with his fingertips before continuing on. “Nothing unholy could find me here. I could be alone with my thoughts.”

Dean noticed a few of the sigils Cas stopped by, and didn’t recognize them. A collection of carefully drawn wards drawn much smaller and in a different shade of paint that stood out from all the rest he’d watched Bobby create twelve years ago.

“Did you add those?” he asked.

Cas nodded. “Angel proofing. Or at least, concealing.”

Dean thought back to all the times Cas had been running or hiding from Heaven and the rest of the angels. When he’d been human and had nowhere to go, and instead of coming here he’d run in the opposite direction, because Dean had kicked him out. A bolt of guilt shot through him and nailed his feet to the floor. This was a place Dean hadn’t come back to because it reminded him that he’d been to Hell, reminded him that Heaven had wanted him for their own for reasons that frankly horrified him now. But for Cas, this was the place Dean had first met him, a place that for him would forever be about the moment he was truly introduced to humanity. It had been kind of a shit introduction, if Dean was honest with himself. But twelve years later, after all the shit had played itself out, Cas had finally made his own choice about his life, and he’d come back to where it all began.

“Happy resurrection day,” Dean said as he stared at Cas from across the room.

Cas turned to him, the look of surprise on his face quickly turning to a smile. “It is a bit like a resurrection, isn’t it? We’ve come all the way back around to where it started, and we’re free of it all now.”

Dean just nodded dumbly, letting the enormity of it sink in as Cas walked over to stand in front of him.

“I don’t have wings or the power of Heaven at my back, but I do recall something I said to you that night. Good things do happen, Dean. And they have.”

“And here we are again,” Dean said, clearing his throat. Both of their lives had changed that night, and they’d spent so much of their time fighting against everything in the universe since then. The one constant had always been each other, even when they’d totally fucked it all up and broken the natural order and sacrificed themselves to fix it all again, they’d done it to save each other. At the end of the road, and the beginning of their journey, Dean couldn’t keep his feelings bottled up any longer. “I love you, you know.”

Cas sucked in a shocked breath of air and blinked at him for a moment, before a grin broke across his face, lighting up the gloomy, dusty haze in the barn. “I love you too, Dean. I’m so glad I’m here with you.”

Dean shook his head, finally prying his feet free to shuffle closer to Cas. He reached out a hand to rest it on Cas’s shoulder, right at the base of his neck. “No, I mean, I love you. I think I always have, and I know I always will, but I only really just figured it out. I’m in love with you and you’ve put me back together in ways you can’t even imagine. You might’ve resurrected me and healed me more times than I can count, but you helped make me a whole person, Cas. And I love you.”

Dean felt the prickling of tears behind his eyes and struggled to hold them back. Like he always did, Cas stared into him, right through him, and lifted a hand to Dean’s cheek.

“I’d hoped it was obvious when I chose humanity, when I chose to stay with you, that I felt the same way for you, Dean. I didn’t have any idea how much knowing you would change me, how much you would teach me about humanity and what makes life worth living when I first walked through those doors. One thing I did know, though, was that I already loved you. I had no idea what that even meant yet, but I would learn.”

A slightly manic laugh escaped Dean’s lips at the euphoria of hearing Cas’s words, seeing the heartbreaking honesty in his face, and wondering how long it was polite to wait before kissing him. Cas gave him a relieved smile, as if he’d been holding it all in far too long, and Dean let out a sigh as he pulled Cas to him.

“Love at first stab, huh?” Dean asked, smiling right into Cas’s face.

“Don’t belittle it, Dean. I loved you even before then. The moment I laid a hand on you in Hell. Healing your soul and reuniting it with your body, resting you gently in your grave and waiting for you to emerge again.”

“You do know how fucked up that was, right? You couldn’t have just dug me out?”

Cas’s brow furrowed. “It was Heaven’s orders. I never thought to question them. But yes, it has bothered me many times over the years.”

“Yeah, well, it’s bothered me more than once that I tried to thank you for saving me from Hell by stabbing you in the heart.”

“It worked, though,” Cas replied, one eyebrow raised. “I’m still here with you.”

“Better than cupid’s arrow,” Dean muttered, and then grimaced at his own terrible reference. It amused Cas, though. “Okay, enough awful jokes. Are you gonna kiss me already?”

Cas made a considering face, as if he hadn’t already made up his mind. “Happy resurrection day to both of us, then. I suppose we know exactly how to celebrate it now.”

Dean took that as the invitation it was, and leaned in for a kiss. Their lips met tentatively at first, and then more confidently as they clung to one another in the gloom. The exploding lights were all internal this time, but no less spectacular. Dean shuffled his feet and heard the crunching of broken glass, and reluctantly pulled back from Cas.

“We should probably find someplace less dangerous if we’re gonna keep going…”

Cas nodded his regretful agreement. With one last look around the old barn, they pulled the doors shut.

“We can come back next year, if you want,” Dean said, taking Cas’s hand and leading him back to the car. “Make it an annual thing.”

“That sounds like a plan,” Cas replied. “The annual resurrection road trip.”

“Next year we bring a broom,” Dean added, leading Cas through the weeds. “Maybe a picnic.”

Cas laughed, letting his hand go when they reached the car.

“So what do you wanna do next?” Dean asked as he climbed back behind the wheel. “We still technically got the rest of the day to celebrate.”

“You mentioned several diners you wanted to introduce me to, and it’s nearly time for lunch,” Cas replied.

Dean thought over their options, then leaned across the front seat to plant a kiss on the corner of Cas’s mouth, just because he could. The look of surprised delight on Cas’s face was more than worth it. “How much of a detour are you up for?”

Cas gave him a look of mock pity. “Dean, I’ll go anywhere with you. No detour is too long if I have you to share the journey with.”

Dean gave him a proper kiss, with a promise of more for later. “Then let’s get this show on the road.”

[silverostro]

the interrogation // self-para

cw: mentions of torture, police brutality, violence, blood, electric shock/electrocution, forced amputation

i bet on losing dogs i know they're losing and i'll pay for my place by the ring where i'll be looking in their eyes when they're down i'll be there on their side i'm losing by their side

{ click here for trigger-free tldr. }

{ cigarettes, wedding bands. }

Few memories remain of childhood, but the words are clear enough in your mind, nothing else in the cold, darkness you’re thrown into.

It’s best to keep your head down, and focus on the things you can control, focus on the silver, instead of trying to change the things you can’t.

Your choice to stop doing so led you here, and yet your can’t bring yourself to regret it, knowing you’ve done much worse in trying to focus on the few things your believed were in your control. You’ve never had control; not then, not now.

All you can do is find irony in those words.

Focus on the silver.

{ savior complex. }

You keep hearing him. At first you think they’ve taken him, too, but you realize quickly it’s your mind playing tricks on you.

His voice, saying your name. When you first went back to the suite, when time felt infinite, and only the two of you existed, even if only for a few hours. Directly before it came crashing down, cuddled up together, wrapped in warmth, safe, talking, just talking about anything and everything. 

Then when they came for you. The fear clear in their voice, the frozen panic. Odd, that you felt so calm, even as the peacekeepers pulled you away, held Robyn back, even as you said a few words of comfort, so calm as you told them everything would be alright, knowing it was a lie, looking over your shoulder to take in the sight of them, in case it was the last moment you were allowed that gift.

Then blackness. But not panic.

The paranoia that has been plaguing your mind for weeks is the thing that keeps you utterly calm. The still lingering feeling of their lips against yours, skin against skin keeps the rough hands pulling you around from bruising anything more than skin.

There’s work to be done.

{ black hole sun. }

It begins.

Silver to focus on. Silver and Copper. 

(You’ll realize the irony later.)

Exposed wire, wrapped roughly around your wrists. The static closes in on your mind, protective, before they even start the shocks. You’re prepared, because you’ve been here before.

The questions start before the electricity, but your mind is already filling in the blanks, distortion louder than the voices in the dim room.

There’s mention of a message from so-called rebels, of a coded broadcast at the end of the reception, and your mind can hardly catch up with it, hazy as it’s suddenly become. But you realize soon enough. They think it was you. And that makes you laugh. You’ve done so much, been so careless, but not this. You spent the night enjoying yourself, not hacking. You ended the night in Three’s suite, with Robyn, fingers busy learning their body, not typing code into hacked consoles.

The irony isn’t lost on you that the thing to confirm your paranoia was founded has nothing to do with you at all. It’s both frustrating and hilarious in your jumbled mind that they’ve got it all so wrong.

You tell them you’re more intelligent than to do something so foolish. You tell them that you weren’t even at the reception at the end of the night, that there are people who could confirm that, Avoxes who could confirm. But it doesn’t matter, because they’ve already made up their minds.

(No, someone else made up their minds for them.)

The first crackle of electricity, the first shock feels like meeting an old acquaintance again after a long time apart, your body remembering the feeling as if your Games were yesterday, not twenty-three years ago.

You bite the inside of your cheek so hard you taste blood, and say nothing.

{ idontwanttobeyou. }

How long it goes on before they realize you’re more stubborn than they believed, you don’t know. The electricity makes time feel like liquid, the same as your insides.

They think that the taunting will make you weak, but it does the opposite. Knowledge has always been power for you, after all.

No use in lying. It had your signature all over it. You’re lucky. At least half of Three is smart enough not to get so cocky.

Digit.

Your mind makes a leap, and in the haze of pain it’s only logical. Digit did this, Digit made sure you would take the blame. You should be livid. And perhaps you are a little angry, but not for what she’s done to you, for the lack of warning, for the lack of forethought. Perhaps you should be ready to tell them it was probably her. But you don’t. You think of her Games, of how little you tried, how little you helped her afterward, of the pain she’s suffered because of it. Because of you. It feels a like penance, the first concrete form of it since telling her you would try.

They’ve given you control.

Now you have a job, one you had offered to do back on the train, one you hadn’t realized you would be called on for now. It’s a simple job. Keep her, and anyone else they might threaten through you, safe. Lie through your teeth, no matter the consequences for yourself.

It’s only fair.

You’re glad, through the distortion, to have something to focus on, rather than this being what you expected, being taken for your own carelessness. This is easier.

Better to focus on anything but the silver.

{ when your mind’s made up. }

They hound you with questions, looking for details, looking for names, but you have none to give, and so the answer is more electricity.

It’s an intimately familiar feeling, one that’s lived constantly in your mind, in your dreams for twenty-three years. They’re using your own calculations against you. The pain calling up memories as it burns so many to the ground. It’s no longer a phantom feeling. Two hundred volts of DC current at approximately three amps, just as you had calculated perfectly, running through your body. Except they left out a critical point.

The coppery taste on your tongue, though, the uncontrollable spasms tell you that your body doesn’t think they’ve left out something critical. They’re making their point just fine.

And yet.

If you’re going to suffer anyway, if you’re going to die, you might as well taunt them into doing it more efficiently, because you’re not going to give them what they want. They’re wasting their time, and yours. The least you can do is make sure they finish their job before your resolve weakens.

“Keep going. More volts, higher amps. Water. You’re not doing what you think you are,” you laugh, but your voice doesn’t really sound like your own anymore.

Instead of what you ask for, you get nothing. The electricity stops, but the shaking doesn’t. Your insides feel jumbled, your mind a wreck, unable to think any coherent thought except lie, over and over again.

{ kansas remembers me now. }

You don’t know how long you’re alone. Seconds, hours, days. It’s silent except for your ragged breathing, the noises of pain you can’t control, and you find your mind cycling through flashes of memories, static at the edges of them all, as you drift in and out of consciousness.

Music drifting in through an open window, soft touches, hands steady for the first time in years, gentle and then not-so gentle kisses. The feeling of a small wooden figure clutched between your fingers, the smell of earth lingering on it, a smile, a friend. The sound of machinery whirling, your mother’s laugh, melodic, your father’s hand on your back, proud. Whispered conversations in corner booths, two other heads huddled together with yours, lost. Thalia, the smell of her blood, then the smell of electrical burns. Is that real, or imagined?

A cup of liquor, with a little tea. Standing in your kitchen, promising to try. Promising to keep her from harm, in so many words.

Time to make good on that promise, whether she wants you to or not.

{ all eyes on me. }

A new tactic. Knocked to the ground, the now familiar taste of blood on your tongue, then forced into a seat, restrained. In the haze of pain, exhaustion, you think of Robyn, wishing you’d memorized their taste a little better.

You wait for the threats to others, prepared because of Swann. They don’t come, though. There’s no mention of Robyn, no mention of Blythe, no mention of Perri, nothing of the argument with Griffin, nothing of your conversations with Hudson, or Fava, or any others. All of the things you’ve done, and all they focus on is something you haven’t.

Someone grabs your left hand, and forces it down against cold metal, almost soothing against hot skin.

“Who told you to send the message?”

Your reply is involuntary, manic laughter, garbled by blood. Laughter that’s cut short, laughter that turns into a strangled cry when you feel the cold, sharp blade press against your knuckle.

You don’t remember what questions come after that, the pain too intense, the panic too overwhelming. Only the smell of blood, the shine of a silver blade in the light, the sound of your own cries.

No, not just your own. Distorted, distant, you hear another. Two others. Familiar. Your parents? You don’t know if it’s a real memory, but it feels like understanding. 

History repeats itself.

{ the wanting comes in waves/repaid. }

It comes in threes.

It’s a statement, your mind supplies, as if to tell you this isn’t just your punishment, there are going to be consequences in Three, too, for what you haven’t even done. Knuckle by knuckle, finger by finger, they’re taking your tools, and even in the haze of pain, you know if you survive this, they’re not going to give them back, no gift of beautifully-made tech from your own District on the other side waiting for you.

If you’re not going to use your skill for the Capitol, you won’t be allowed to use it at all.

The thing that keeps you conscious is the knowledge that they can’t take it fully. You hear your parents’ voices again, your father taking a wrench from your left hand, putting it into your right, your mother telling you it’s important to know how to use all of your tools, just in case. That keeps the pain from becoming unbearable, that keeps your lips tightly shut except for the involuntary sounds of pain.

And then they take your right hand, and you feel sick to your stomach, thinking they must have seen how you’ve tried to train yourself over the years to use both hands. Your right hand is weak, unsteady from the electric shocks of your Games, you can’t write with it, can’t draft plans, but it can still be put to work. You have enough strength there to hold a wrench, to solder wires, tighten nuts and bolts. The thought of losing both hands’ abilities to create makes you panic for the first time since you were taken from your suite.

It’s selfish, it’s cowardice. Twisted, that you’d rather die than be left useless. They know that, because of course, they do. You helped make certain their surveillance is top of the line. Of course, they’ve used it to learn your weaknesses, too.

It’s a horrifying thing, to realize for the second time in your life that you’re wrong about your death. To have your life in the hands of the Capitol, and know they’re going to make sure you survive. Again.

(Just another example, just another show of what happens to those who don’t shut up and do exactly as they’re told. There’s a vague thought that you’re surprised they don’t just take your tongue, too.)

This time, they take half at once, to make their point clear. Half of your index finger gone, then the feeling of that sharp metal on your thumb, before you break.

“Please, please, don’t...not my other...please,” you beg through sobs of pain, and you hate the sound of it, hate how panicked your voice is, how it shakes.

If they say anything, you don’t hear them, launching into lies without thinking, anything to keep them from taking more from you.

“It was me, just me but...it isn’t so simple...it was a test, nothing more...no one...no one told me to do it, and I know nothing else...The train, it sparked an idea...I was trying to...trying to draw them out of the woodwork. The rebels, whoever they are...in search of information.”

A shuddering breath, another sob you can’t control, as you try to focus through the pain and distortion, as you try to ignore the coppery, overwhelming smell of your own blood.

“We’re all desperate,” you say, voice barely audible. You didn’t do it, but this part is true. “Our loved ones...are about to die. We just needed...motivation. I just wanted hope.”

It’s only then that the cool, sharp silver leaves your thumb. A low laugh comes in response.

“That wasn’t hope. Clear enough for you now?”

You nod slowly, because there’s nothing else to do, and they finally let go of your arm, release the restraints, let you collapse.

{ i bet on losing dogs. }

They don’t realize how wrong they were. 

Here’s your hope: you’re still alive. They weren’t intelligent enough to realize how much of a mistake that choice was. It isn’t hope, perhaps that’s true.

But it certainly is motivation.