#they do fighting and flips and shit let them keep their modesty

[atrillies]

a part 2 to this

[morkleemelon]

off the ice || chapter 2: heading in

previous || m.list || playlist || next

pairing:  college hockey player! mark x college figure skater! reader

genre: fluff, humor, sports au, college au

warnings: swearing

word count: 7k

copyright morkleemelon all rights reserved

"And we can see here in the figure that the data currently suggests-"

Your pen flies across the notebook page, desperately trying to capture everything your economics professor said in multicolor vigor. Jotting down the figure frantically, your eyes dart back and forth between the powerpoint screen and your paper, high ponytail bouncing up and down from the motion.

Being on scholarship means that you can never let your grades fall past a certain point or else they'd give the money to someone else. As harsh as it is, without the financial aid, you would not be able to continue to go to school. One of the only things that motivates you to work harder than your sleeping peers, sometimes, is the looming fear of becoming a jobless dropout, never able to achieve your dreams. 

In a lot of ways, not having money is already bad enough, but the thought of not even being able to earn it in the future is even worse.

"Does anyone know how this company should manage production costs?," your professor asks the crowd of tired students.

You immediately shoot your hand in the air. You know it. This answer was in the textbook reading last night it's-

"Yes" Your professor points behind you.

You slowly set your hand down, disappointed, turning around to see who could've raised their hand before you did.

"They should modernize their marketing efforts with more affordable tools and focus on reducing supply costs," the boy answers expertly.

That's exactly what I was going to say.

Examining his face a little more, something about him seems a little familiar, but you can't quite put your finger on it. Looking around at who he was sitting with, you begin to piece it together.

"He must be one of the Lee's if he's sitting between Ten and Jeno" you ponder to yourself, taking one final look at the boy, "is he... Haechan?". Thinking back to last spring, one of your teammates had a huge crush on the one called 'Haechan'. She always gushed about his fluffy brown hair, handsome face, and how he asked to borrow her biology notes once. You weren't exactly well versed with the university's popular people and honestly, the fact that this school has an 'F4' called "the Lees" is pretty funny to you.

This boy's hair is blonde, though, brushed down into a fringe and slightly messy from, you're assuming, taking off the hood of his sweatshirt before class. Glancing down, you take notice of the mess of white bandages wrapped around his knuckles.

Right, they just had a hockey game. He doesn't have brown hair so this must be-

"That's exactly right, Mark. Nicely done" the professor praises.

Mark. You note the name to yourself, turning back to the board as the professor continues with the lecture.

"Dude she's looking at you," Ten whisper-yells to his younger friend, nudging him sharply in the ribs.

Mark doesn't dare look down at you yet, already feeling his cheeks grow warmer with each passing second. He feels your gaze pull away from him and finally frees the breath he was previously holding captive. Shoving back at the senior boy, his gaze flutters back to you like it usually does during this class, however much to his strong denial. 

You always sit in the first row, colored pens and highlighters arranged neatly upon your favorite desk. 

Mark watches the way your hair bobs back and forth as you move your head with keen eyes. The delicate gold glint of a necklace clasp at the nape of your neck fascinates the junior boy's attention more than the mundane lecture ever could.

Spotting the slight smile on the older boy's face and the direction of his gaze, Jeno laughs quietly to himself, happy that something interesting is finally happening during the boring lesson. Leaning over behind Mark's back, he gives Ten a silent high five.

"You're a simp" Jeno whispers in Mark's ear, eager to provoke him. Mark slaps the blue-haired boy's face away.

"Fuck off," Mark whispers harshly back as Jeno and Ten laugh to themselves in the lecture hall. He habitually glances back to your focused form. And this is nothing short of how class usually goes for them: Mark fawns over you 'secretly' whilst you haven't the slightest clue. On either side, his friends tease him endlessly for it.

"Yuna and I are planning something for you guys," Ten persists.

Mark's eyebrows scrunch in confusion at the older's ominous words. The professor's voice drones on in the background as his attention shifts to Ten.

"What do you mean?"

"Don't worry about it, man". Ten smirks, smacking a firm hand on the confused boy's shoulder.

"Don't do anything weird," Mark warns, recalling the time when the senior had planned on starting a fist fight outside of your dorm building last semester in hopes to gain your attention and provide an excuse for Mark to talk to you. Although the thought was there, no it wasn't.

The hour ticks by and exhausted students groan in relief as the professor wraps up the stale lesson on fundamental economics. A mass shuffle of notebook pages flipping closed and backpacks zipping up fills the hall as students make their way out, eager to do anything but be there.

The Lee's always gather for lunch at this time at the basketball courts, attracting an impressive crowd of envious guys and adoring girls at the sidelines. Although the place is fairly beaten down and otherwise unimpressive, the Lee's choose to be there which consequently deems the courts the coolest lunch spot on campus.

Putting his things away into his trusty black Jansport bag, Mark gets ready to head down to the courts to meet up with Haechan like they always do until he feels a hand unexpectedly grip his left shoulder, stopping him in his tracks.

"Some people are gonna join us for lunch today," Ten discloses casually, keeping his gaze forward as the line of students in front of them slowly file their way out of the crowded room.

"Oh, who?" Mark questions. It's not like it's rare for other people come hang out with them, in fact, it's almost always the case. But the fact that Ten is specifically telling him beforehand feels suspicious. Another strong hand grips his other shoulder as Jeno's navy blue hair comes into view.

"Don't worry about it man. You got meal points left for this week? Lend me some," the younger boy expertly diverts.

"Yeah..."

"Let's hurry though, Haechan is probably there waiting already. I told the brat to get food for us early today". Ten ushers Mark forward and pushes his way through the herd of people.

"Aight," Mark sighs in confused defeat, picking up his pace to keep up with the senior. There's definitely something weird going on, but he doesn't have the energy to pry further. 

Then again, has he ever lived a day where his friends aren't doing some sort of weird shit?

"Thank you, professor," you smile and bow politely.

"Thank you, y/n, enjoy the rest of your day," the older man smiles back, waving you off as he packs up his lecture notes. It's small things like this that you always make sure to do to make others' lives a little better.

After all, the best thing to give-better than any monetary gift- is kindness. Right?

Your phone buzzes in the back pocket of your frayed denim shorts and you reach to check the notification.

Der sum hoez in this houz:

Yuna: guys!! Let's grab lunch somewhere new today! :DD

Hope: yassss ;););)

You: oh why? The caf has chicken nuggets today :(

This is definitely suspicious -you, Yuna, and your other friends, Lisa and Hope, always ate together at the round table in the university's better dining hall nicknamed "the caf". It's been your unbroken tradition since freshman year and the lunch lady at the caf even likes you enough to give you extra servings sometimes.

Yuna: we can still have the nuggets but Ten knows a cool place we can sit! He says he already got the food so we don't have to pay today ;)

Free food?

Your inner Mr.Krabs reveals himself as you perk immediately at the mention of her boyfriend paying for lunch. Neither guilt nor modesty had time to catch up as your thumbs rush to type a speedy reply.

You: I'm there. Where at?

Yuna: I'm coming to your classroom rn! We can walk together

Lisa: Hope and I are coming from bio :) excited

You: lol why does everyone know but me

You: is it gonna be weird with us third wheeling you yuna?

You: if y'all start kissy kissy touchy touchy I might puke just saying

Yuna: HAHAHA XD

Yuna: don't worry some of ten's friends might be there too

Oh. To be honest, you're caught off guard at your best friend's last message. Ten has been over to your shared dorm a few times and you've exchanged enough awkward greetings to call him an acquaintance at least. But generally, his friend group and yours stay separate.

Not that there is any actual beef there, but, no pun intended, nobody's tried to break the ice yet.

Closing the group chat as you reach the entrance of the economics building, you hold a hand up to block the glaring rays of summer sun from your eyes. The sudden brightness harshly contrasts the musty dark of the lecture hall, making you squint in discomfort.

"Y/n!" a familiar voice calls out. A flash of platinum blonde hair and Chanel perfume filled your senses as Yuna throws your smaller body into a crushing, sweaty hug.

"EWw!" you yelp, shoving the taller girl away from you half-playfully, catching the attention of a few concerned passer-bys.

You nod your head at them in a shy apology.

Yuna, seriously.

The guilty party laughs, the musical sound travelling through the humid air like a refreshing breeze. Your best friend sticks out her elbow for you to link your arm through.

Eyeing her with short-lived contempt, your lips break into a smile as you slip your forearm around hers, unable to be actually mad at your best friend.

"Where are we going?" you ask.

"You'll see. It's Ten's spot"

"Hi-his spot?!" You stop in your tracks, wondering why you were going to eat where Ten dealt weed.

Since when did he deal weed though?

"Not that kind of spot!," Yuna cries out, smacking a manicured hand over the top of her forehead as to not ruin her perfect foundation, "he's not like that!".

"Right good," you scoff.

The summer heat swelters as Yuna leads you down campus towards the sports center. It's early September and Seoul is notoriously hot.

Ice cream vendors with big, striped umbrellas litter the streets, calling out for business from sweaty pedestrians who crave a moment of sweet, cold relief. The sky tints a beautiful shade of blue with fluffy wisps of white clouds dotting its never-ending canvas. No matter how hot the weather is, the day is undeniably beautiful.

You don't ask Yuna more about where you're headed, accepting that your best friend likes to be spontaneous and that her boyfriend was paying for your food. This is more than enough for you to follow her down the sketchy alleyway shortcut to the basketball courts. Sometimes you wonder if you'd be really easy to kidnap...

The alley opens up to reveal a worn-out basketball court planted in the middle of a grassy area. Looking around, you noticed there are quite a few people there, most of them unfamiliar to you.

They scatter across the grass in groups, eating and chatting casually amongst their friends atop their patterned picnic blankets. You catch the gaze of a group of girls sitting at the edge of the court; they eye you up and down, taking you aback with their lack of subtlety.

Breaking the awkward eye-contact, you suddenly feel very out of place.

"Hey!" Yuna calls out, slipping her arm out of yours to wave at a group of people sitting at the other side of the court from the judgmental girls.

Her hand slips into yours, snapping you out of your uncomfortable dilemma, pulling you towards the group she waved to. A big willow tree stretches towards the sky and casts a precious spot of shade over the area. Immediately, you spot Hope and Lisa as they wave to you and you let out a breath of relief.

At least I'm not alone, maybe I won't be so awkward now.

You recognize Ten's face and you give him a smile and nod of acknowledgement. Scanning over the rest of the group carefully, you faintly recognize the other boys sitting under the tree.

The boy with the blue hair and the fitted white tee- that's Jeno.

Fluffy brown hair-definitely Haechan.

Your eyes flit to the next boy and you're taken aback when he's already staring at you. His ashy blonde fringe hair, almost grey, seems dearly familiar. His eyes widen before quickly looking away.

He's part of the Lee's... bandaged hands and that hair- that's Mark, the dude who stole your answer from earlier.

The little devil on your shoulder whispers to hold a small grudge. The little angel on the other argues that it was never your question and you shouldn't be so petty. Right, kindness is the best virtue. You will let it go.

You and Yuna reach the edge of their picnic blanket and your best friend immediately goes to sit by Ten who doesn't hesitate to pull her hips smoothly into his lap.

You look away in embarrassment. Good for her for finding love, but by golly are you painfully single.

Eyeing the space on the picnic blanket, Hope and Lisa are almost strategically sitting at the end chatting with Jeno so there is no reasonable way you could sit next to them. Setting down your bag awkwardly, you debate where you should sit, silently cursing at Hope and Lisa for not leaving a space for you. Maybe coming here was a mistake because you feel kind of left out-

"Oh, here," a small voice lets out. You look up to see Mark getting up and moving his stuff out of the way and clearing a space for you next to him.

"Ah, thank you!" You smile, kneeling down to sit in the empty space.

Thank God.

Glancing at his face, a blush even Maybelline would envy rests on his cheeks as his gaze remains glued to the food in his hands.

The first thing you notice is how handsome he is up close. You didn't get a good look at him in the lecture hall, but his face is a perfect mix of feminine and masculine beauty. His eyes are soft and round, but his jawline sharp and angled. The most chiseled cheekbones you've ever seen are handsomely defined under the mosaic of shadows and light created by the branches of the willow tree. A slight, shy smile graced his delicate, pink lips.

He's super cute. I take back everything I thought in lecture.

"Hey, welcome!," a sudden high-pitched voice rips your attention away from ogling the blonde boy. Turning your face, you see Haechan on your other side eagerly holding out a hand for you to shake. You take his hand and he shakes it vigorously, "I'm Haechan nice to meet you! What's your name?".

"I'm y/n," you reply with a smile. He's really outgoing, huh.

"Y/n what year are you?"

"Oh I'm a sophomore this year"

"Ayyy! Jeno and I are sophomores too," the friendly brunette slaps the other boy on the arm, "say hi, Jeno".

"Hey, I'm Jeno". He gives a heart-fluttering eye-smile and you could hear hushed gasps and coos ensue from the onlooking girls across the court.

"Hi, y/n," you respond shyly.

Dang, these guys are all so good-looking.

You always hear about the 'Lees' and their 'godly' visuals, but you never truly paid attention. Yet now that you're sitting with them at their cool-people-only hangout spot, you have no choice but to admit how exactly spot-on those descriptions were.

"Here, y/n" Haechan hands you a paper tray full of chicken nuggets.

"Nice! Thank you," you cheer, taking the food perhaps a little too excitedly. Working out and training nearly everyday means you're inevitably hungry most of the time. Not to mention, your stomach always rumbles at the sight of your all-time favorite food.

Digging into the free food reward, you turn back to Mark who hasn't said anything to you yet.

"What's your name?" you ask. Technically, you already know it, but you don't really know a better way to start a conversation.

Visibly surprised, Mark chokes on his chicken.

You let out a single note of laughter at his unexpected coughing before slapping a hand over your mouth to stop yourself.

"Are you okay?" you ask stupidly.

"Bruh," Haechan teases with a smirk, amused at his best friend's embarrassment.

Mark nods quickly with a hand covering his mouth as he continues coughing. Unsure of what to do, you reach over to pat him on the back firmly.

"Here, dude". Jeno tosses Mark a filled water bottle, the older boy accepting it gratefully, gulping down the water like his life depends on it (which it... actually does).

Gasping in relief as he sets the bottle down, Mark looks back at you with flushed cheeks and wet lips. You realize your hand is still on his back and you quickly snatch your hand away, suddenly flustered by the contact.

"I'm Mark," he finally answers, voice hoarse from the ordeal.

"Hi Mark, I'm y/n" you giggle.

He looks absolutely hilarious with water dribbling down his chin and cheeks as red as fire. There is something intensely endearing about him as he looks down, front teeth biting down on his bottom lip in embarrassment.

"What year are you?," you continue.

"Uh-I'm a Junior"

"Oh nice! What do you study?"

"Uh-business and sports management"

"Wow! Wait you're In Econ31 right?"

"Yeah I am," Mark smiles.

"I thought I recognized you! I'm in that class too," you exclaim. Usually, you aren't terribly sociable with people you just met, but there's something about the softness of his voice that makes him easy to talk to. That and the way he's just choked on a chicken nugget in front of you at your first meeting- you have little to nothing to lose.

"Oh yeah I-I've seen you around sometimes"

"Yeah we've seen you around sometimes," Ten calls out, a shit-eating grin plastered across his face. Yuna laughs and hits his chest in warning.

"Shut up!" Mark grabs a nugget from his tray and chucks it at the older boy. Like a slow-motion scene in a movie, Ten catches the piece of chicken between his teeth and flashes a wink back at the flustered junior.

You burst out in laughter at the interaction, slapping a hand onto your knee at the dumbfounded look on Mark's face.

Mark feels his heart clench at the sound of your bright laughter filling the air. You gasp with glee, one hand slapping your knee repeatedly and the other gripping your fork. Truth be told, he is freaking out inside. And this is not how he imagined you would meet. 

All thoughts about Ten abandoned, a wide smile spreads back onto his face as his eyes scan across your laughing form. You sport a casual outfit consisting of a grey t-shirt and denim shorts like you usually do. A simple gold chain hangs from your neck, tucked away under the collar of your shirt. Up close, Mark feels even more drawn to you than ever before.

Beautiful as ever.

"I-I can't breathe," you wheeze, "what just happened?"

"My talent," Ten states, moving his arms from around Yuna's waist to hold them up in a 'well duh' shrug.

"Nah bro, it was a good throw from me," Mark cuts in, holding up a hand to stop the gloating boy.

"Nah bro, it was a good catch from me," Ten sasses back, moving Yuna off his lap to kneel up. You meet Yuna's eyes and you both hold back laughter at the ridiculous argument.

"Nah bro" Mark moves onto his knees as well.

"Nah bro's," Haechan suddenly interjects, "It was me. I have telepathy and I moved the chicken". Haechan promptly stands up and does a body wave, posing with a finger gun pointed over the slope of his nose to his forehead.

You laugh silently between the three boys who are suddenly all standing as they argue over who was responsible for the nugget trick. You had just met these guys a few minutes ago, but you're more confused and intrigued at them than you've ever been with anyone.

Look at you go, making new friends and everything!

"Guys..." Jeno tries, but his low voice isn't nearly loud enough to be heard over the chaos.

The boys point accusing fingers at each other like in a Renaissance painting. You scooch your way over to the other girls to get out of their way, bringing your food with you.

"You're dating..." You gesture your fork at Ten who was is caught in a three-way head lock with Mark and Haechan.

"Yeah". Yuna's face remains expressionless as she nonchalantly pops another piece of chicken into her mouth. After dating Ten for almost five months now, she is well aware of what the expression 'boys will be boys' really means.

"Are they always like this?" Hope asks, bewildered. Lisa just laughs on the side, enjoying the spontaneous fight more than she should. Jeno gives up, laying down to stare at the sky and wonder why his friends are like this.

Click

Your ears perk at  strange noises coming from behind you. Turning around, you notice that several of the girls you saw earlier are now pulling large, fancy cameras out of their book bags. Baffled, you watch incredulously as they shamelessly snap photos of the tussling, oblivious boys.

"What the heck?," you gawk. You haven't been here but twenty minutes and it's already one surprise after the other.

"Tell me about it. Those weirdos are these guys' fans, the 'Lovelees' as they call themselves," Yuna explains, "You would not believe how crazy they can get. Remember when I had to put all my socials on private a few months ago? It's because they found out I was dating Ten".

"Right, I remember that" you nod your head sympathetically. Your eyes move between the unsuspecting boys and the audacious crowd of girls. Maybe you haven't known them for long, but the Lees seem like a regular group of guys. Admittedly, they are above average in the visual department (and in the strange department), but the existence of the Lovelees is really unnerving. Is it just you?

One particular girl at the forefront stares you down intently. Her hair is a mousy brown with two striking streaks of bright red down her bangs in a distasteful take on E-girl style hair. Too-light foundation is packed onto her skin and you winced internally at the severe creasing by her nose. Black eyebrows not matching her hair, her fake eyelashes bat at you threateningly.

"What's up with her?". You are genuinely confused. Why does she look like she wants to murder you?

"She's so scary," Hope's eyebrows knit in worry.

"Yeah, what's with her? She's staring at y/n," Lisa suddenly adds, attention turning to the concerning conversation.

"That's Hillary, the club president or something," Yuna confirms with a shudder, "she's super psycho about Mark. Definitely stay away from her".

"Gotcha... but why is she looking at me like that? Is it just me?"

Hillary's creepy stare never leaves your face and you feel chills run down your spine like a thousand invisible spiders. Generally speaking, you sometimes shy from even ordering food over the phone. Being under her flaming gaze makes you want to shrivel up like a raisin.

If someone could write a story about Seoul University campus life, you'd for sure be a background character. Attracting negative attention to yourself for no reason is surely a new feeling and unequivocally uncomfortable... perhaps because there is any attention on you at all?

"Well for one," Yuna smiles, poking an accusing finger into your side, "you seem to be getting along with these guys pretty well. Especially Mark". The blonde wiggles her perfectly threaded brows at you. Flustered, you shove a nugget in her mouth before she could say more.

"What are you even talking about, we literally just met". You fight to keep your voice steady and expression unaffected, but alas you can't stop the heat from spreading onto your unwilling cheeks. Admittedly, it's been a while since you've gone out with a guy. More honestly, you haven't really dated anyone since you came to campus last year. So needless to say, your single self is a little bit flustered to be thrown into the notion that you even have a chance to be with a super popular, charming guy like Mark.

You shake your head to clear the ridiculous thoughts.

Let's not err on the side of desperation today.

Peering back at the crazy fangirl who you now know as Hillary, you're relieved to find her piercing gaze has shifted from boring holes in your skull to her cell phone and she types away at lightning speed.

"I have a feeling that he likes you, y/n," Yuna presses. Hope and Lisa giggle and nod in agreement, exchanging knowing glances at each other. 

You don't have ample time to ponder more as your attention is ripped away by the fighting boys. They've shifted from the shade of the willow tree to the basketball court, disregarding all onlookers and fighting like their lives depended on it.

"Let's go. Rooftop. Right now!" Haechan screeches, taking a leap at Ten while Mark struggles to hold him back.

"Fight me here, bro," Ten taunts, "we all know I'm built different". The sass in his voice gives Haechan the strength to break away from Mark's grasp and tackle the senior boy. All eyes glue to the two boys rolling around on the hot pavement, screaming.

"Yuna, can you-" Jeno starts, eyes closed as he lay on the blanket listening to his friends beat each other up.

"Yeah," Yuna gives the tired boy an apologetic pat on the knee. "Chittaphon Leechaiyapornkul".

Her boyfriend's entire body immediately freezes at the sound of his full name. Letting Haechan go from his chokehold, Ten scurries back over to his spot on the picnic blanket to kneel by an unamused Yuna like a scolded dog. "I'm sorry".

You suppress another laugh. This... this is what the cool kids are like? You were really nervous for nothing. Mark shuffles back next to you, supporting a limping Haechan who insists he's fine.

"Sorry girls. They're not... actually no, they are usually like this," Jeno apologizes, "Hope we didn't scare you away".

"No, actually. I think you guys are really... funny. It's cool how comfortable you all are". You smile at the hockey players. Weird as they may be, you don't feel uncomfortable.

"She thinks you're cool!" Haechan cries, slapping Mark on the back.

"Shut up!" Mark smacks the back of the younger's head, ready for another fight already.

"But don't you guys think it's weird we haven't met earlier? We always see the hockey team around our practices but I think this is our first time officially talking," Hope suddenly points out the elephant in the room.

"Yeah I guess that's true," Haechan ponders, "to be honest, we didn't think you guys liked us very much... or let me rephrase that- we were kinda scared to approach you".

"YOU were scared to approach US," Lisa exclaims in shock, "did you forget that you four are, like, the most popular guys on campus or what?".

The four boys look amongst each other blankly. "No, but we thought...," Haechan starts.

"... that figure skaters hated hockey players," Mark finishes. Silent glances are exchanged between all parties as this new information is revealed.

At the sheer awkwardness of the situation, you decide to interrupt the silence with light laughter. "Why would we hate you?"

"You- agh," Haechan's reasoning is cut off by a sharp jab to the ribs from Mark. No way is he going to let the blabbermouth sophomore spoil that they stalked your Facebook last year and found your post.

"I mean you all seem really cool and," Mark saves, looking at you, "I'm really glad we got to meet you today. But we were just... intimidated before".

You raise an eyebrow and your eyes meet Yuna's, Hope's, and Lisa's who shared similar expressions.

"Babe, I'm intimidating?" Yuna asks her boyfriend, peering into his eyes. Ten promptly places a hand at the back of her neck and brings her in for a deep kiss. Everyone in the group groans in disapproval and you hope the sour expression on your face isn't too obvious. Why, Ten. Why.

"Uh.. ok then," you divert, "I was never a fan of hockey itself, to be frank. The sport, not the team. And maybe I've been annoyed at you guys for hogging the ice sometimes, but I've never ever hated you! Don't worry haha".

"Bro what?!" Haechan cries, "hockey is the greatest sport of all time! It's all about strategy, speed, strength, and skills. If anything, figure skating doesn't have a point".

You gasp in full-offense. Sure, you just gave your honest opinion on their sport and it was only fair that they give theirs, but that one burns. Before you can make your counterargument, the boy next to you beats you to it.

Tapping the back of his hand to Haechan's arm, Mark's next words made your heart skip a beat: "dude, you don't know what you're talking about," he turned to look into your eyes, "it's beautiful".

Mark's eyes are a deep brown color, you notice, and they sparkle gold in the light streaming past the branches of the willow tree. Softly, they peer into yours, bringing with them a rare kindness that pinches at your chest.

"Thank you" you smile at him. Is your face always this warm?

"Okayyy," Jeno finally opts to sit up, "now that we've determined that we don't hate each other and we're all cool, are we good to be friends?". A chorus of "Heck yeah"'s and "duh"'s filled the picnic area and your heart swells with happiness. You look back at Mark and smiled again.

New friends

"You should come eat with us here more often," Mark suggests to you, warm gaze making your heart strain for the hundredth time that afternoon. What is happening? "All of you should," he corrects, looking away shyly.

"Yeah we're here everyday," Ten adds. Looking down to Yuna who had laid her head in his lap, he stroked her hair lovingly. "You should come hang out with us whenever".

"I'd like that," you grin.

"Let's make a group chat. Everyone gimme your numbers," Haechan declares.

While the brunette went around collecting numbers, you chatted with Mark, wanting to get to know him more. You quickly find that he's so very endearing, blushing and fiddling with the bandages on his fingers at your every word. His words are kind and he listens to you thoughtfully when you speak. Talking to him is so easy, surprisingly easy, and you feel the conversation unfold out effortlessly. You hardly notice as the minutes of your lunch break tick to an end.

"That's crazy! There was this one time that-" the jarring sound of your phone alarm cuts you off. Scrambling for your phone, you tap on the screen desperately to shut it off.

"Sorry guys," you apologize, "Lisa, oh my goodness, it's time for us to go to Frankie's".

Lisa checks her own watch and gasps, "Oh gosh! We gotta go guys".

"Who's Frankie?" Mark questions, eyes slightly crestfallen.

"No," you laugh while picking up your bag, "Frankie's. The diner down the street next to the lake. We work there".

Haechan, Ten, and Jeno crack up silently at their sensitive friend. 

"It was nice meeting you all!" you exclaim, "It was nice meeting you, Mark".

"Great meeting you, y/n. Hope to see you around," he waves back at you.

Bidding their goodbyes, you and Lisa make your way down the alley to her parked car.

"Y/n don't you think Mark is super into you?" Lisa says excitedly once the others are out of earshot.

"What are you saying!?" you proclaim, looking back to make sure the Lovelees aren't following you. Seeing the coast is clear, you consider your friend's accusation. So much has happened in the last 2 hours than in your year and a month at college, or your entire life honestly. 

You walked into the alley with no guy friends and are leaving with four. Is it greedy to say that Mark really does stand out to you and you might be starting to like him, or are you just like every other girl who likes him too? The last thing you want is to be like Hillary.

"He's probably just friendly to everyone," you decide.

"No way, y/n, you good in the head? This dude only looking at you the whole time," Lisa retorts.

You shake your head in denial but thinking back, it could be true.

There it is again. That nervous, light feeling in your chest.

Oh, God. What if I like him?

Mark flops down on his bed, still not down from the high that he's been on all day. No, not that kind of high. Smile plastered on his face, he runs his fingers through his freshly washed hair, recounting your conversations from earlier.

"Dude, you look so stupid," Jeno walks into their shared room, shirtless from just getting out of the shower. A simple white towel wrapped around his lean torso is the only thing censoring the spectacular scene. Messing his hair with a second towel, he chucks the wet fabric at Mark's face.

"Fuck off," Mark swings it back at the sophomore. This year, he chose to live in a suit with the rest of the guys to save some money. Him and Jeno shared a room while Ten and Haechan occupied the other. It's undeniably small and only has one bathroom, but he is grateful he at least doesn't have to room with Haechan anymore.

Mark's phone buzzes with a notification on his nightstand. Propping himself up with his elbow, he checks to see who it's from.

1 new message from unknown

Mark sighs. If it's these crazy girls again he's going to get really annoyed. Today was a really good day and the last thing he wants is another stranger asking him to father her children. 

Maybe: Yuna?: hey mark, it's Yuna. I got your number from the group chat! If you're not too busy I'd love to talk to you about a few things

Oh crap.

Suddenly nervous, Mark scrambles to sit up properly.

"Text from your new girlfriend?," Jeno taunts unknowingly.

"No, dickhead, it's Yuna," Mark rebuts, thinking hard about a good, casual reply.

"Oh, shit," Jeno states, taken aback. The sophomore swaggers onto his own bed, now sporting a pair of grey sweatpants and a fitted white t-shirt. The bare minimum makes him look like a poster boy every magazine photographer would clamber for. The man could put all models out of work if he had the heart for it. Fortunately, he only has the heart for hockey, video games, and pizza.

Mark: Hey Yuna! What's up?

Yuna: Hey :) nothing much! Not to freak you out, but I know all about your crush on y/n from Ten

Mark: ahaha... yeah I figured

Yuna: ok, so as her best friend and someone who cares about her a lot I just wanna put a few things out there

Yuna: is typing...

Mark watched as the three dots of the impending message taunted him. What could she be talking about? What if you have a boyfriend and Yuna's telling you to back off?

Yuna: if you're going to get close with her, you gotta make sure you keep her safe from those crazy fangirls. Y/N is a shy and sensitive girl she'll definitely take the hate to heart and if Hillary and those other crazy bitches come after her, I won't let you live

Hillary? Mark wracks his brain for any memory of a girl with that name. That girl from calc? No, that's Helen. Hillary...

An image of a mousy girl with red bangs comes into his mind. Ah yes, that's Hillary. She sends him love tweets and gave him chocolates for Valentine's Day.

Mark: I barely know Hillary and I'm pretty sure I've told her I'm not into her, but i'll make sure she knows. Yuna I'm serious about y/n

Yuna: as you should be! She's a real diamond in the rough and she's never confident in herself. All she does is work and study and practice. She never does anything for herself but she never complains either. Also, I don't wanna butt in too much, but I gotta you ask one thing

Mark: yeah ask away!

Yuna: y/n says today is the first time she met you but Ten says you've "been simping for like a year". Add it up for me?

Mark: It's kind of hard to explain... it like... do you believe in love at first sight?

Yuna: HA!!! You're too cute omg

Mark: It's like that but I never had the chance to talk to her... it never seemed right idk

Yuna: boy

Yuna: I had to force y/n to go to your game with me and Ten had to bribe Haechan to set up the picnic today early

Yuna: not to mention we made Hope and Jeno sit together even though they're both awkward just so y/n would have to sit next to you. you better make ur fucking move now

Mark curls his fingers into his blow-dried hair, letting out a low, stressed groan. He's gonna owe the guys big time.

Mark: I really appreciate it! :)))

Yuna: oh and one more thing

Mark: yeah?

Yuna: If you hurt her, I will gouge out your eyeballs and stick them up your ass and while you cry, I'll force feed you your own severed balls until you choke and die. Got it? :D

Holy fuck.

Mark: understood

Yuna: Yay!!! Approved :) good night mark! Nice getting to know you today!

Mark: same here. Night!

Mark's thumbs shake as he types out his final message. So this is what your friends are like, huh? It's such a contrast to your easy-going attitude. A smile spreads across his lips at the thought of you again.

Stretching up to shut off the lamp on his night stand, Mark tucks himself into bed. It's finally happening. You're here. You're right within his grasp. And he wants nothing more than to give you everything you need.

Mark contemplates Yuna's messages as he lay there in the dark; she said you aren't confident in yourself. This comes as a surprise to him. You're so beautiful, smart, kind, funny, and talented, the last thing he expected was that you didn't know it. You exude put-togetherness and wear elegance like a favorite sweater.

His eyes squeeze shut as Mark replays the first night he saw you in his mind. The image is engraved in his brain as he must have revisited that unintentional performance a thousand times.

This whole time, he never got to know you, but today he dipped his hand in the water. And he wanted so much more, to dive in completely and surround himself with you. All this time, he's only been on the sidelines.

I want her so bad

It's time to stop waiting around and get in the game. He's going to talk to you, walk you to class, make you feel special. So much time has already been wasted due to his own fears and misunderstandings. If it's confidence you need, it's confidence he will give you.

Wait for me, y/n, I'm gonna do it right this time

previous || m.list || next 

[gingerwritess]

nipnops

welp assuming you mean nipples

makes me wonder…first time you saw the Loki shirtless hmmm

just a lil lil somethin, enjoy!

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

Communal showers are never a good idea.

Like. Ever.

You’re fairly certain Tony just likes to have them so that he can create drama between pining coworkers, but you’ve sworn you’ll never use them. Those are reserved for sweaty super-soldiers, gods with long hair, and agents who wear bulletproof vests all day long.

But when the water in your dinky little apartment gets shut off with no more than a post-it on the door saying “until further notice,” you figure they’ll have to do.

You opt for a morning shower; hopefully less people, and then you can start each day fresh, right?

Wrong.

Arms filled with towels and products and soap, you’re greeted by a half-naked Bucky Barnes and nearly slip in your flip flops.

“That one’s open,” he smiles, jabbing a thumb at a stall behind him. “And be quick about it, unless you wanna see everything Thor has to offer, f’you know what I mean.”

“Th-thanks.” Keeping your head down isn’t as inconspicuous as you hoped. “Thanks for the heads up, too.”

Shuffling to the empty stall, you dump your things and set to work, glad you wore a swimsuit and trying to keep from glancing around too much, just in case other people didn’t.

Sure enough, you’re halfway through scrubbing down and Thor walks in, stripping down to…ah. Nothing.

Literally nothing.

Oh good gravy, the amount of people you know who would kill to be in your spot.

Averting your gaze and going back to your shampoo, you make the decision to never do this again, just use a friends—then an entire squadron of agents walk in, weapons in hand.

Oh.

Escorts, apparently, to the fuming man in the middle of their little group.

“Just hose me down in my cage,” you hear him hissing, followed by a clanking of metal against the floor. “Is this supposed to humanise me, letting me wash myself?”

No big deal, but the god who threatened your life just a couple weeks ago is barely two stalls away from where you’re showering.

You speed up, awkwardly hopping around the little tiled area to rinse off as quick as possible.

“This is darling, all of you coming to watch…” Loki’s voice is smooth and sharp as ever, crooning at his entourage of armed agents. “You expect me wash myself while wearing these?”

No one answers, but you pause and hear another clank of metal—the handcuffs, no doubt.

He sighs and you can tell he’s stretching, a low groan rumbling through the bathroom. “Ah…much better. Look at you all, waiting here for me. Expecting a show, are we?”

You can’t help but roll your eyes, shutting off the water and hurrying to wrap yourself in a towel.

“We’ll shoot you.” Someone finally answers him. “Watch it. You’re only here ‘cause Stark didn’t want you to get lice or some shit, so hurry up.”

“Appealing to my humanity. How precious of him.”

The sound of rustling leather floats into your stall as you pack up your products and secure the towel around your chest, grabbing your change of clothes and hurrying out towards the door.

“Sorry, excuse me, sorry, sorry,” you mumble, trying to keep your head down as you wind around the agents guarding the doors, clutching your towel even tighter when you pass the stall he’s in. “Sorry, just tryna get out…”

“Oh, hello again.”

“Damn it.”

Luckily this time you’re surrounded armed guards; you plaster on an unamused smile and turn around.

“Not today, Loki, c’mon.” You take a breath, ready to tell him you’re not his toy, leave me alone—stopping short when your brain processes what your eyes are seeing.

Modesty must be taboo on Asgard.

His hands are clasped in front of him—thank god—hiding something from view as he smiles at you.

…smiles and covers his junk with both hands, cocking his head to one side like some curious little puppy as you stare.

He hadn’t gotten far on his shower. His hair is only wet, no suds or anything in it yet, and you fight back a gulp when you realise he’s right: it does humanise him, in the strangest, most wrong way.

The water rushing onto his back, dripping onto his forehead while he stares right back, head tilted to one side with that awful little smile, it is strangely human. You’d never thought about the fact that even super villains would probably need to shower—duh.

For a split second the stupid image of Loki, this psychotic god, leaning over a sink and brushing his teeth flashes through your mind.

Loki laughs.

“Yes,” he hums, and a pair of boxers thankfully materialises over his hips as he moves his hands to grab the little bottle of hotel soap he’d been given, pouring a bit into his hands. “What else did you expect?”

Next thing you know his hands are gliding, slipping, sliding over his skin, long fingers moving with each dip of his abdomen, working the soap into a slow lather over his shoulders and down his toned arms.

“It’s alright.” He grins.

Snap out of it.

“You can watch.”

Those hands slip down past his boxers, running over incredibly sculpted thighs, but your gaze snaps up to meet his cool blue one.

“N-no, thanks,” you choke out—the last thing you need is this guy thinking that you’re attracted to him.

He has a pretty deep scar curving just above his left hipbone.

Not that you’re looking.

“Next time, let’s say I get to watch, hm?”

His words haven’t even processed fully before one of the agents cocks their handgun, stepping in front of you. “Don’t even think about it, Loki.”

“Oh, but I already am,” he purrs, eyes raking over your towelled form.

“I’m-I’m leaving,” you stutter, backing out the doorway. “You’re sick, you know that? Sick, Loki, sick.”

The smile doesn’t waver.

Holding your towel tighter around you, you turn on your heel and rush out the door, not looking back.

That image, the god who nearly killed you, showering, naked, and dripping with water, will be ingrained in your mind for a very long time.

And that image of you, wrapped in a towel and…running away from him?

That’ll be ingrained in Loki’s mind for just as long.

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

hope you enjoyed, please reblog and feel free to send me ideas!

loki tags: @bluediamond007 @himitoshi @drakesfiance @destiel1597 @dangertoozmanykids101 @archy3001 @jcalpha1 @yzssie @skullvieplu @forthesnakeofdragons @skulliebythesea @wegingerangelica @storiesfrommirkwood @agarwaeneth @adaliamalfoy @laurfangirl424 @paradisaicsam @fitzsimmons-is-forever @ladylokimischief @katelinwrites @tarynkauai @polaristrange @loavesofmeat @canadian-ravenpuff-multishipper @lou-makes-me-strong @holyn0vak @chocolatealmondmillk @swtnrholland @kenzieam @jessiejunebug  @catticas @the-republic-and-face-of-texas @doralupin01 @whitewitchdown @atomiccharmer @falconfeather23435 @babygirlicecream @avengrcs @vethrvolnir2 @bookgirlunicorn @wabisabigrl @myhealingstar @khaleesi-marvel @ei77777 @spacecrumbs @scarlettghost13 @rocks-are-pretty-odd @confessionsofastrugglingteen @easilydistractedwriter @arttasticgreatnessoftheawesome77 @fluffyllamaswearinghats @milktearose @lcyouinhell @h0tshotholland @dontmesswithmemundane @southsidesarcasticwriter @helnik-s @lilith-akemi @fire-in-her-veinz @unlikelysamwinchesteronahunt @mischievousbellerina @kcd15 @mellowgirl01 @lokislilcaribbeanprincess @allthingzhiddleston @scorpionchild81 @lokixme @blue-automne @galaxycharmed @devilbat @kangaroobunny @end-up-well @planetariumx @sarcsep @mrfandomtastic @amaru163 @im-way-too-many-fandoms @caswinchester2000 @kybaeza @wester-than-west @vintagesunshinebitch @adefectivedetective @poetic-nikolai @moonduhsted @kerri-masson @iamverity @innaminitus @spnbarnes @narcissxblack @woohoney @anxiousamandapanda @padmeisgay

[scullymakesmefeelautopsyturvy]

Several Times Scully Got Locked Out Of Her Motel Room In Her Scanties (First Time Smut Ensues) Chapter Three

Chapter One here.

Chapter Two here.

Teso Dos Bichos (Season Three)

Scully had been awake for more than forty hours. 

It hadn’t been a good forty hours either. The last two days had careened from bad (partial rat body parts littering the car engine of a suspected murder victim) to worse (bloodied entrails dripping from bare tree branches onto Mulder’s oblivious face) to so appalling they competed with only a few choice cases for worst X-File ever (getting mauled in the face by a domestic short hair while negotiating the labyrinthine tunnels beneath the Boston Museum of Natural History). 

By the time she and Dr. Winters had finished the autopsies on Doctors Horning, Bilac and Lewton, as well as Mona Wustner (conclusion: animal attacks), she’d lost all track of time, and certainly all count of the number of coffees she’d consumed in an attempt to keep her wits about her after an entire night with no sleep. 

Killer cats? Sure, fine, whatever. She was too exhausted - and too not Mulder - to even attempt to raise his amaru curse theory with the coroner. She downed one last cupful of caffeine for the drive back to the motel then lifted her weary limbs out of her aquamarine scrubs and back into her trusty gray short-sleeved ribbed sweater and by now slightly limp black suit, draping her purple overcoat over her forearm instead of donning it. It would be better to be a little cold; it would keep her more alert for the journey. She cracked the window and cranked the heating down to the lowest setting she could tolerate on this late-winter north-eastern evening. 

Pulling out of the morgue’s underground parking structure, she called Mulder to give him the rundown of their postmortem findings, and to make sure she remained awake. She probably should have called a cab; her brother had cautioned her more than once that her pride would get her killed one day. What a waste to fight tooth and nail for truth and justice, to return from the brink of death after her mysterious disappearance, to achieve the Pyrrhic victory of avoiding the assassin’s bullet meant for her brain, only to flip over into a ditch through plain old fatigue. 

She rolled her shoulders and bounced her left knee, turning the heat down another notch. She guided the car steadfastly to the right of the centerline, closed one eye then the other for momentary reprieve, sighed with relief as she pulled into the motel parking lot and shut off the engine, wishing Mulder goodnight and hanging up with a satisfying beep.

She stumbled into the room with her eyes half closed already, leaning down to loosen the laces on her utility boots before toeing them off as she walked, making a beeline for the bed. She flopped backwards onto the comforter, intending to rest for a moment, but her eyes flickered shut and she drifted off unawares. 

Dank, dark, echo-filled. Flashlight beams zigzagging off metal walls, the hemoglobin tang of which she can taste in her mouth. A snarling tangle of tabbies and tortoiseshells pursuing the two of them along corridors, dropping down through open vents and scratching viscously at the feeble barrier of an ancient wooden door. Dr. Bilac’s body blocking the only route of escape. Stuck. Turning to face the meowing horde as it descends on her and Mulder, miniature canines sinking into their flesh like a thousand shamanic cuts. 

She stands to run and finds herself alone in an abandoned hospital corridor, her reflection staring back at her from the polished, squeaking floors. She inches forward with growing trepidation, readjusting the Kevlar pinching at her waist, too-swiftly reaching the entrance to room 128. The room she has been entering over and over for weeks on end. 

The unwitting unconscious participant in the scene lies in a bed to the right, Mulder and Modell sit at the table to the left, enacting the tableau she’s feared since her ever-reckless partner donned the ‘Eyes and Ears’ kit in the mobile surveillance unit outside.

‘It’s designed for bomb disposal work to keep only one officer at risk.’

She’d felt nauseated. Didn’t everyone know that only one of them dying was actually the worst case scenario? She wished neither of them ever had to risk their necks, but if this particular one of them had to, she’d always rather be right alongside him. 

Modell talks Mulder into pointing the gun across the table and pulling the trigger. She balks. But nothing happens. No flesh is punctured, no spark ignites the pure oxygen in the canisters by the bed: no bullet in that chamber. She watches in horror as Mulder lifts the barrel to his temple without hesitation. His finger squeezes, and the world goes into slow motion as the bullet sails out of the pistol and through his skull, exiting above his left eye, leaving a volcanic crater that erupts blood and bone and gray matter onto the ceiling, walls, and floor. Onto the underside of her uplifted arms as she shields her face and roars her pain, falling, screaming, to the ground.

Scully jerked awake, her heartbeat pounding in her alternately flushed and arctic chest. She sat up on the edge of the bed and collected herself, rubbing at her sweat-moistened face. She checked her watch: one seventeen a.m. She patted her torso. Still dressed. Her mouth tasted atrocious. She must have passed out before getting ready for bed. 

Her bladder was full to bursting; the inevitable after-effect of her overzealous caffeination. She fumbled with buttons and zippers and stepped out of her pants on her way to the bathroom, flinging her suit jacket onto a nearby table, littering the room with rumpled attire. She almost tripped on what might have been one of her boots as she struggled to pull the sweater over her head, finally managing to extract her elbow and shake the top to the ground behind her as she grabbed for the bathroom door handle and yanked it open. God, it’s cold in here, she thought, as the door clunked shut behind her. She tucked her fingers into the waistband of her underwear and opened her eyes to locate the toilet.

Oh, shit. No, no, no, no, no. 

She whirled around and hammered at what she now realised was the front door to her motel room. The outside of the front door. Firmly locked shut. 

She clawed at the handle in desperation, twisting it uselessly as she clenched her Kegels and cast her gaze about her, checking for any witnesses. No one was about, thank god. She now sported only her underwear, her investigate-the-missing-archaeologist-underwear; not even a matching set, she thought, laughably, as though being trapped outside her motel room in her bra and panties would be somehow more acceptable in coordinated undergarments. 

She remembered she’d left her overcoat in the car, and was briefly and euphorically buoyed by the idea of grabbing it to preserve her modesty, before recalling that she didn’t have any keys on her; if she did, she wouldn’t be in this predicament. She had two options here: wake up the proprietor in her underwear or wake up Mulder in her underwear. She was caught between a rock and a hard place. Dashing herself against either lithic precipice did not appeal, but needs must. 

She did the best impression of herself she could muster in her current state of undress, and mulled it over rationally. One of these options had already seen her half naked. He’d handled it like a gentleman then; she knew she could trust him to do it again now. Also, he was currently in possession of a bathroom, and she was about to make a puddle on the floor if she didn’t get access to one. 

She padded swiftly along the bare cement to Mulder’s door.

* * *

Scully runs a feline gauntlet towards him, advancing along the seemingly endless corridor foot by interminable foot. Every few steps, she is thrown off balance by a squalling creature flying at her face from a novel direction. He watches helplessly while she wrenches each furry attacker from her tattered skin, hurling them behind her as she approaches the barrel of his raised pistol. 

Sweat beads on his forehead and cheeks, pooling at the small of his back beneath his white undershirt. 

Scully looks at him with wounded disbelief as his forefinger teases the trigger. She is still approaching him, the cats now vanished, her ivory visage inexplicably pristine. “Mulder,” she whispers, “you don’t have to do this.” Tears form on her lower lids, and she stops, finally halting her feet and simply looking at him. 

“Scully, run!” he warns her, as Modell grins at him, thumping the tabletop and urging him on. But she just stands there, staring, tears starting to spill down her cheeks.

“Mulder,” she pleads again, and he fires. 

The bullet pierces the base of her neck just above her vest; a pointless piece of armour, he despairs, if it leaves the cranium and jugular so exposed. The boom of the gunshot ricochets off the walls and pounds at his eardrums several times. Her eyes go wide and she grabs at her throat in horror, never breaking eye contact as she collapses, gurgling, to her knees. Crimson lifeforce pulses through her dainty fingers as he hears another bullet leave the chamber, and she opens her mouth to speak once again. The word leaves her lips at a strangely loud volume for a death rattle.

“MULDERRR!!!” 

Further shots stutter out in the distance.

He looks into Scully’s unrelenting gaze as she finally drops to the linoleum. 

Mulder gasped himself awake, perspiring like he was still back at Fairfax Mercy. He pinched his brows laterally with one hand, reaching over to the nightstand for his glass of water, and heard a pounding at his door.

“Mulder!” Scully’s inimitable hiss came from the other side of the wall. She knocked again, sounding frantic. “Mulder, wake up and let me in! Please!”

He turned on the bedside lamp as he launched himself out of bed, throwing back the covers and leaping across the threadbare carpet in his underwear, heading in the direction of her voice and continued hammering, and pulled open the door.

He was met with the sight of Scully on the concrete walkway. Rather a lot of Scully. Scully in white briefs and a light pink, underwired bra, plain but for a satin ribbon rosebud nestled deep in her cleavage. Her considerable cleavage, as shaped by this heroic garment, he thought. He barely had time to register this surprising turn of events before she flew past him, her thighs pressed oddly together as she walked, heading directly for the bathroom. 

“Don’t look at me, Mulder!” she chastised, hurtling across the room. 

“Scully, what-” he began to query, but she interrupted him before disappearing through the open doorway.

“Grab me a shirt!” she growled, “I need to use the bathroom.” The door slammed shut behind her.

Mulder played with his lower lip, twirling it between thumb and forefinger, and startled. He’d remembered the copy of Hanky Panky he’d left sitting atop the tank. Well, how was he to know he’d have company tonight?

He heard the toilet seat clatter down and, after an interval, a flush, followed by the faucet running. He rooted around in his duffel bag, seeking a spare, clean T-shirt as per Scully’s instructions, and stood awkwardly by the side of the bed in his boxer briefs as he awaited her return.

She soon opened the door with a sigh, drying her palms on a fresh hand towel. She raised an eyebrow at him. “Reading girlie magazines on the can? Nice, Mulder.” 

He held onto the shirt. 

She finished with the towel and remained in the doorway, holding the terry cotton rectangle to her stomach. She looked up at the ceiling, shaking her head, and he took the brief opportunity to appraise her figure. He knew he shouldn’t, but she was standing right in front of him with more skin than clothing on display, and her curves and bones undulated and jutted so appealingly he couldn’t tear his eyes from her gently leaning form, propped as it was so improbably on his motel bathroom door jamb at one thirty in the morning. 

She huffed out a breath, her chin pushed to the side, her eyes locked on the stipple. “I keep having this dream, Mulder,” she announced, apparently not about to address her noisy and insistent arrival, apropos of nothing, at his door in her underwear in the small hours. “Since Modell.”

“Uh huh?” he answered, vaguely, roaming his gaze over the delicate skin and rolling muscles of her upper thighs before snapping his eyeline up to meet hers as she tilted her chin down from the ceiling. 

“You aim the gun at your temple and pull the trigger, just like you did, only the gun goes off... and you die.” Her voice jumped an octave on the last three words, a piccolo flute floating on a whisper.

Next, she looked at the floor, her head tilting towards the door frame.

He didn’t tell her about his recurring nightmare of shooting her. Instead, he mumbled at her while taking in the dip and swell of her waist as it dropped down to her left hip, pushed out to one side. She rested one bare foot atop the other, absentmindedly rubbing one arch against the knuckles of her opposite toes. There was something so unguarded about her posture, something he would have found endearing and appealing even if she were wearing a hazmat suit. As it was, with her gracing his sleeping quarters in an as yet unexplained state of semi-nudity in the middle of the night, his body had started to respond in an inappropriate, if predictable manner.

“I thought you didn’t want to let him take up another minute of our time, Scully?” he said, shifting the so far unproffered T-shirt in front of his groin.

She looked up at him then, her doe eyes watery and wide, and folded her arms across her middle, squeezing her breasts together as she gripped opposing elbows for comfort. “It was a one in five chance, Mulder, after you aimed at Modell. You could easily have killed yourself. Without a moment’s hesitation.”

He hung his head in shame, for the ease with which Modell had subdued his free will over his own mortality, and for the growing problem in his underwear that Scully’s little self-hug had exacerbated.

“I couldn’t resist him, Scully. I tried, but I wasn’t strong enough.”

“You didn’t shoot me,” she countered, her voice pure susurration now.

He nodded, holding her gaze. Her dainty face was so open, almost entirely make-up free, with the exception of a few smears of eyeliner around one eye, and the remnants of two-day-old mascara clinging to a few lashes.

“It was easier,” he murmured, “to fight harder. For you.”

She scoffed, lifting her hands to her hips, the towel hanging over one thigh, the new stance offering him an unobstructed view of her taut stomach, the intimate sight of her belly-button punctuating her torso, and his erection twitched beneath its makeshift shield.

“Why?” she pressed, with some disdain. “Because I’m a woman?!”

“No!” he insisted. “Not at all.”

She looked down at herself and seemed to only now recall her sartorial condition. Or lack thereof. She tutted and reached out, gesturing for him to toss the shirt.

He stalled for time, frowning at her as though he didn’t understand; as if they didn’t have four years of honing their unspoken communication under their belts.   

“Mulder,” she said, irked by his apparent obtuseness. “Give me the shirt.” She looked at him like he was crazy. Like she wasn’t the one who had burst in here half naked, demanding items of clothing and access to the facilities.

“What happened to you?” he asked, reluctantly throwing the bundle of distressed white cotton in her direction and turning to perch on the end of the bed in an attempt to hide his own indiscretion. With great relief, he surmised from her complete lack of reaction that she hadn’t seen it. He averted his gaze as she turned away from him to tug the T-shirt over her head. Too little, too late, Fox, he thought, ruefully.

“I locked myself out,” she stated, matter of factly.

“In the middle of the night? In your underwear?”

She rolled her eyes, although whether at him or herself, he couldn’t tell. 

“I was half asleep, I got disoriented and opened the wrong door. And I drank so much coffee yesterday; I woke up having to pee so bad, and ended up outside. It would have been a complete disaster if you hadn’t woken up, finally.” She placed great emphasis on the last word and eyed him with playful annoyance.

“You surprise me, Scully. Your sleepwear choices are usually a little more formal,” he grinned, risking a look back at her now that she was safely ensconced in his borrowed shirt. It fell just beyond the tops of her thighs, resting on her right leg just where her smooth muscles gave way to soft, rounded flesh.

Her lips tightened into an almost smile. “Yes, well, I didn’t quite make it that far. I pretty much passed out as soon as I got back. I haven’t brushed my teeth or washed my face or anything.”

“Oh, try the top drawer,” he said, indicating behind her into the bathroom with a nod. “I think I saw some complimentary travel toothbrushes in there next to the soaps and shampoos.” 

She disappeared into the tiled anteroom for a moment and he heard the sound of little-used wheels rolling along rusted runners.

“Mulder, my hero,” she called out, and he heard a warmth in her voice that didn’t do much to alleviate the situation in his shorts. Listening to the sounds of her nightly ritual, he tried to think of something that would make it go away, but was always terrified to venture into any surefire turn-off territory lest he found himself in the horrific scenario of picturing his mother while sporting a raging hard on. He settled on mentally listing the groceries he’d try to remember to pick up when he arrived home in Alexandria. It worked, thankfully, and he could safely shift to the top of the bed and lie back against the pillows by the time she returned, her smeared eyeliner now completely wiped away.

“So,” he ventured, his fingers interlaced over his bare stomach, one thumb playing with a swirl of hair just above his waistband, “Do you want me to throw something on and run over to reception to find the owner? Get someone to let you back into your room?”

She sighed. “You could, I guess. It’s just so late. I’d hate to bother anyone. And I’m still not really presentable.” She looked down at herself, four fifths of her bare legs still on display.

“I can lend you some pants,” he offered. “You’ll look like Charlie Chaplin. Very fetching.”

She smiled properly now, laughing lazily through her nose. “I’m so tired, Mulder,” she whined goodnaturedly. “Can I just crash here? You already saw me in my underwear; it can’t get any worse.”

Mulder silently questioned her word choice. He was no writer, but he was pretty sure the term he would have used was ‘better’. 

“Sure,” he agreed, lifting the covers back and patting the side of the bed he wasn’t occupying. He fluffed the pillow for her and curled over onto his side to face her as she clambered in, demurely keeping her knees pressed together as she slid them beneath the comforter. She turned to face him too, tucking one hand beneath her cheek and using the other to encircle her wrist. She blinked across at him. He took in the claw marks on her face, including a couple of particularly bad ones that had been disinfected and covered with band-aids by a paramedic, despite Scully’s insulted protestations. She’d removed the bandages now, and he could see the cuts were beginning to heal over nicely.

“So why was it easier?” she murmured, her feet rubbing together absently beneath the sheets.

“Hmm?” He’d forgotten what they were talking about.

“With Modell. You said it was easier to resist shooting me.” The particular blue of her eyes always reminded him of his childhood marble collection at this close range: the elegant swoops inside delicate and beautiful, untouchable.

He swallowed, nodding, biding his time. “Well,” he said softly. “It wasn’t because you’re a woman.”

She made a subtle shrugging motion, mostly with her lips; a halfhearted defense of her earlier assertion.

His toes reached out across the cool expanse of linen that separated their feet, and he touched them to her nearest sole, stopping her fidgeting. “It was because it was you.”

She moved her other foot so that she had his toes trapped between her own, and they gripped one another like jungle primates. She held his gaze for a moment then curled her toes even tighter around his as she closed her eyes and whispered, “I could have lost you, Mulder; so easily. Too easily.”

He covered her hand with his own, his fingers easily encompassing her fist as well as the wrist they were wrapped around. 

“But you didn’t,” he stated, and rubbed her knuckles with one thumb.

Her only answer was a chaste kiss on his little finger, the closest one to her mouth. She pressed her lips to a phalanx or two and held them there, her eyes clamped shut.

“I know you probably think I shouldn’t have gone into the hospital at all,” he continued, and she opened her eyes and lessened the pressure of her affection, but her lips remained a hair’s breadth from his finger, the warm air from her nostrils tickling and warming his skin. “But I can’t sit back and let others take the risk if I’m the guy who could make all the difference. Someone like Modell, most people just won’t listen to him. I really thought I could talk him down. I’m sorry.”

A subtle darkness clouded her expression, and he wondered if she, like him, was thinking of Duane Barry. “No, Mulder,” she said, disentangling her thumb from his grip and braiding it over his own. She held his eyeline without blinking, her voice hushed. “It’s okay, I understand. I know that’s just who you are. Your stubbornness; it’s why I-” she stopped herself there, her eyes flitting over his face. “I really admire that about you.”

He went to pull his foot back to his own side of the bed, but she tightened the grip of her toes and held him in place. He darted her a look of surprise, but acquiesced, relaxing his heel back into position. Scully continued to stare at him, and he was waiting for her to say something else when he felt her begin to move her feet once more. Only instead of rubbing her own arches together, she was now very deliberately gliding the sole of one foot over his ankle and down to his toes, and back up again. Repeatedly. Without breaking eye contact.

She held his gaze and brushed another peck against his pinky, and that little problem he’d managed to take care of earlier began to reassert itself.

He cleared his throat, growing nervous. “And anyway, you came right into that hospital after me, knowing Modell was armed.”

She nodded, her breathing deep and calm, her expression unreadable. Her eyes slid from his irises down to his lips, as he’d noticed they often did. When they flitted back up, her face had changed, certain muscles contracting and others relaxing, so that he felt eerily like a solitary marsh deer grazing in the brush, head uptilted at the crack of a twig beyond the treeline.

She extracted her hand from beneath his now slightly sweaty palm and placed a cooling caress on his cheek, her fingertips scraping over his unshaven whiskers and down to his lower lip, where she let her thumb rest for a second or two before cupping his jaw. Her mouth was hanging slightly open, and she looked at him with what he could only describe as bedroom eyes.

His straining cock throbbed and pressed against the fabric of his boxer briefs, and he had no idea what to do. 

Well, he had some ideas.

But he settled on his old faithful, and made a joke out of it.

“Are you coming on to me, Scully?” he managed to croak out through dry, constricted vocal cords.

She blinked once, took a breath, and pounced.

She was all over him before he knew what was happening. One hand in the hair above his ear, another pawing at his chest, the weight of her torso twisting him awkwardly onto his back from the waist up. Her hot, spearmint mouth pinned him to the pillow, her tongue laving against his, and he sucked in sips of air as he gathered his wits. 

Scully was kissing him.

Scully.

Kissing him.

He had to get his act together. He had to take back a modicum of control. 

He reached up and held her face in both of his hands, her autumn tresses cascading forward, falling down like an auburn mane over his outspread digits and framing her features twice over.

“Scully, what’s happening?” he asked, checking in, making sure. “You didn’t pilfer any of that yajé from Dr. Bilac’s place, did you?”

She smiled wide, flashing her teeth at her chosen prey. “Go with it, Mulder,” she breathed, and kissed him again. 

This time, he matched her intensity, still supporting her skull in his palms. He lifted his head from the pillow, meeting the force of her mouth with equal pressure, and ran one hand down her neck, resting his index finger gratefully at the dip of her clavicle, where he’d watched her bleed out in his dream.

She loomed above him, her breasts rising and falling with her rhythmic panting, their hips side by side, the extent of his enthusiasm as yet unrevealed to her. He wanted to pull her to him, press the hard length of himself against her, show her that he appreciated her with his body just as much as he always had with his mind, but first, he wanted to be sure that’s what she wanted, too.

“Wait,” he mumbled against her writhing lips.

She sat up and away from him, holding herself up with one hand on his pillow. Her lips were pink and swollen, a sheen of mixed saliva glistening in the lamplight.

“What’s the matter, Mulder, don’t you want to?” she asked, but without waiting for an answer, she moved her other hand and delicately peeled back the covers, hunting for a non-verbal response to her question. 

Mulder watched her face as she slowly lifted up the sheets, delaying the moment of revelation when she would be absolutely certain that this was an ambush he did not want to outrun. He was the weakest of the herd, separated off to the side, just begging to be taken down, dragged off to the nearest tree and devoured. She drew back the comforter the vital final inches, and knew it. The sizable ridge in his boxer-briefs told her so.  

She peered back at his face with a look of lustful delight, practically purring. “It’s back,” she grinned, and he blushed, wincing. 

So she had seen it earlier. 

It was his turn to shrug, this time half in apology.

“Come here,” he instructed, his flush fading, and she leaned down to kiss him again, lifting her leg to climb on top of him, but he grabbed her behind the knee and rolled her onto her back, settling himself between her thighs.

She laughed, then gasped as he rolled his hips into hers, grinding himself against her sex through layers of thin cotton, feeling the tantalizing soak of desire between her legs. She drew up her quadriceps and pulled him into her froggy embrace, folding her elbows behind his neck and groaning into his mouth as his tumescence rode the wet seam of her panties.

He lifted himself backwards, grateful for his daily discipline of morning push ups, and watched Scully as her eyelids batted open and closed in response to the varying amounts of pressure he was applying to their languid frottage. She peered up at him now, squeezing his hips with her adductors, and tangled her fingertips in his chest hair, trailing down until she reached the elastic banding around his hip flexors. She tilted them both sideways on the mattress and dipped one delicate palm beneath the fabric at his waist, the pads of her fingers grazing the tip of his erection then taking firm hold of his aching girth, stroking him with a fluid twist of the wrist, feathering kisses along his slack jaw all the while. His balls jumped at the sensation of her hand on his shaft, her confidence and dexterity making him even harder.

But this wasn’t right. 

Mulder gently reached for her arm and stilled her movements. She pulled away from his face, frowning.

“Mulder, I thought you wanted-” she began, but he stopped her with a shake of his head.

“I do,” he assured her. “But ladies first.” 

With that, he guided her onto her back again, and took advantage of his position at her side to trace his right hand up beneath the hem of his loaned T-shirt and down into the soaked valley of flesh beneath her plain cotton briefs. It was nothing he hadn’t done before: it was high school and college and Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, it was back row at the movies and spin the bottle and seven minutes in heaven; it was kid stuff, really, to slide - yes, slide, he was deliriously happy to note - into third base and pleasure a woman manually. 

But tonight, it felt like a revelation.

The heat of her engulfed his third and fourth digits, the rest of his hand brushing against soft curls and cushioned by flesh and liquid yearning, and she spread her knees to allow him room to work. His wrist stretched the fabric of her panties, and he circled his buried fingers within her, polishing the smooth roof of her inner walls and tugging upwards with each carnal circumference.

Scully rewarded him for his efforts with heavy panting and the occasional muted whimper, her mouth falling open and her right hand creeping up his back, her nails scratching at his rhomboids. Her other hand fussed at the top sheet, and she flexed and stretched her legs as he worked. 

She turned her face towards him to resume their kissing, and he covered her mouth with his own, lifting his thumb from its position limply resting against her upper thigh, and applying pressure to her clitoris, matching the circles of his fingers within. Scully moaned now, an open throated release, the sound of her pleasure reverberating down his larynx, and he felt his own need begin to drip out of his sensitive tip, marking the inside of his underwear.

“Oh my god,” she rasped, lifting her hips to draw him deeper inside her, and the angle gave him the chance to slip his index finger alongside his working digits, all three now soaked to the third knuckle. 

Scully thrust her head back into the pillow, ceasing their heavy petting in order to tilt her chin up and frown, crying out. Her right hand scraped the skin of his shoulder blade and she threw her left elbow over her eyes, covering her face as she mumbled and moaned and tossed her face from side to side, bucking her hips to the rhythm of his insistent pumping. 

“Oh god,” she shuddered, “I’m gonna-” 

But she didn’t need to tell him that, because she froze beneath him for a divine moment, a curse on her lips and a breath caught in her throat, and convulsed and flowed around his hand, his knuckles trapped in a pleasurable vise, and then she was panting and twitching and clutching, feral, gasping his name and seeking his mouth with her own, and he saw that seven minutes was the real kid stuff: this was a heaven he wanted to lock himself inside forever.

Their mouths fumbled for one another in her post orgasmic melee of limbs and spent lungs, and she held his mandible like a precious archaeological find, treasuring his nearness, weak with gratitude. He laid down beside her and gingerly removed his hand from between her legs, but she grabbed his retreating arm and rested his palm over the top of her underwear, cupping her lust-warmed sex. She started at the renewed contact with her apparently still sensitive clitoris, and nestled her forehead against his cheek on the pillow. Her eyelids drooped shut.

“Hey, Scully,” he teased, “You’re not going to fall asleep on me, are you?”

But she already had.

He looked down upon her scratch-marked face, her proud but delicate nose curving gently above her lips, which were slightly parted and dewy. A soft snore rippled her tongue. 

What a time for a cat nap, Mulder mused with considerable regret.

He tucked an errant strand of red hair behind her ear with his little finger, and went off to solve a problem in the bathroom. 

Scully needed her rest. He could only hope she’d be on the prowl again tomorrow night. 

I wrote a whole cat-based smut fic, and not once did I manage to make a pun on the word pussy. I’ll show myself out.

AO3 link here.

[crewhonk]

... Of The Line (4 1/2)

Warnings: Piet is a little shit and we love him, violence, guns, overall battle warnings, jealous!Steve, steve sees YN naked ad has to pick out her underwear

Words: 3.6K-- I’m trying to break down my chapters a little more-- plus if i kept this all one part, it would have been 6k long lolololololol

Chapter summary: The team try and find Klaue ina n African ship yard, and Pietro seems to be having too much fun

A series collaboration with @nomadsgrogers where she writes for Giovanna as the reader! We’re just projecting onto our writing, its FINE

Series Summary: Steve watches YN Banner grow up before his eyes-- from a shy, dorky sixteen-year-old to a fierce, brilliant woman who never fails to keep him on his toes. He knows that she’s untouchable, but that doesn’t stop him from being completely wrapped around her finger for the rest of his long life. 

Series Warnings: Mutual Pining, age gap, gun use, these two are idiots-- seriously they're so dumb, slow burn

Pairings: eventual Steve Rogers X Banner!Reader, eventual Buky Barnes X OC!Stark

AN: PLEASE, PLEASE COMMENT AND LIKE AND REBLOG OUR WORK! We’re getting a little discouraged due to the recent lack of notes on this series!

Till The End Masterlist / Of The Line Masterlist

___

It was early the next morning when a new voice woke her up, her Scottish lilt comforting but unfamiliar. 

“Miss, Mr Rogers is at your door.” YN groaned, and shoved her face deeper in the pillow she was cuddling with. “Should I let him in?”

YN was a moment away from saying yes when she realized what her current state was. She shot up out of bed, blankets pulled around her naked body as she searched wildly around the room. 

“Um— tell him to give me a minute?” Her voice was shaking slightly with panic. “I just need to get ready.” She threw the blankets off of her body and cried out when her feet touched the floor. Damn it, she had almost forgotten she had run around barefoot last night while fighting— drunk-YN was a dumbass. 

“YN, are you okay?” She could hear Steve’s voice on the other side of the door and she wanted to laugh the loudest she had ever laughed before. Of course, she would be doing this right now. 

“I— yeah, I’m just. Not decent and can’t do anything about it.” She replied, tying her hair in a lopsided bun to try to get the greasy locks out of her face. The soles of her feet rocketed pain up to her knees and she cursed drunk her. 

“I’m coming in,” Steve said, barely giving her enough time to cover herself with her duvet before overriding the lock and walking in.

The sight before him would make any man's knees weak. YN Banner was in her bed, blanket wrapped barely around her thighs and chest, shoulders gleaming and bare. Her lipstick was smudged, eyeliner and mascara a cloud around her eyes, and her hair was messy and unkept. If Steve squinted he could picture her in a similar situation, instead, his blanket wrapped around her modesty— the light from his window warming her skin. 

“I— hi.” He said breathlessly, frozen in the doorway. 

“Hey, could you close the door please?” She grinned sheepishly and he fumbled into her room after doing so, looking anywhere but the woman in her bed and shoving his hands deep into his pockets. 

“I— where are your clothes? I’ll get them for you.” He offered and she desperately wanted the floor to swallow her whole. Sure, she could just pretend she was wearing anything at all and ask for a sweater and sweatpants but that would, in fact, be a lie and YN would find herself very uncomfortable the rest of the day. On the other hand, she would have to ask Steve Rogers to get her a pair of underwear and she knew that it was only three days before that she had thrown out all of her granny-panties in lieu of getting new ones. 

So, of course, it would be her lucky hat Steve would have to open the top drawer of her dresser and find pretty, soft underwear of all shapes and materials and oh, god couldn’t Ultron just crash through the window and kill her right now?

Not to be dramatic. 

“I— yeah, okay. Um, my fuck. My underwear is in the top drawer, and my long sleeves and sweatpants are in the drawer under that.” She flushed at the shock in Steve’s eyes and didn’t miss the way his gaze drifted over her bare thighs hungrily. 

“You’re not— okay I’ll just.” He tore his eyes from her and turned to her dresser, looking briefly over framed pictures of her with her apparent favourite people. There was a picture (there were more strung on the wall) of her and Giovanna at a concert, their hair wild and makeup dressed to the nines. Their mouths were open in song and stretched with smiles, hands raised in the air at praise of whichever artist it was. There was one of her and Natasha— a selfie, Steve learned— of them both in matching neon pink facemasks and cheesy smiles. There was one of young YN, side by side with her dad in what looked like a warzone— both of them smiling and holding dripping ice cream cones. Her and Tony, apparently playfully arguing in the lab, Tony with a look of shock on his face and Giovanna with an expression of pure unadulterated joy at the horror on YN’s face. There was a screwdriver in the wall next to Tony’s head. 

Then, there was another that shocked him— it was a picture of him and YN. They had been on vacation in Disneyland when she was eighteen. She had managed to coax him into not only wearing matching bright pink bedazzled Minnie Mouse ears but also to feeding him cotton candy from his back as payment for the piggyback ride he was currently giving her. The setting sun bathed them in an orange glow, and it made his heart soft looking at it. 

He shook his head, eyes flicking up to look at the picture once more before opening the top dresser drawer and feeling his skin fill with boiling water. Sure, he knew she was twenty one now, but he had never expected her to be wearing anything like this under her clothes. There was a rainbow of fabric in this drawer, all the underwear and bras different ranges of cotton and lace, and his hands shook as he picked up a light blue pair, sucking in a breath at the lack of fabric at the back and bundling it into a ball in his fist and out of mind. He grabbed the softest shirt and pants, next, rushing over to hand her the clothes and refusing to make eye contact by any means. 

She thanked him breathily and he swore under his breath as he followed her next orders and went to the bathroom, grabbing her makeup wipes and mouthwash and returning only when she gave him the okay. 

“You good to go?” His voice sounded distant over the blood rushing in his ears. At her nod, he handed her the StarkPad he was carrying and bent on one knee in front of her to allow her to climb like a monkey on his back. 

“Any updates?” She asked into his ear as they left her room. He had told her that Helen's cradle was ready for her and that they would meet together while the cradle did its magic. 

“Yeah, actually. It’s not good, but its a huge lead and we’ll probably be heading out tomorrow for another mission.” He hummed, jogging down the stairs and walking into the lab where everyone was waiting. With a little help, YN was placed into the cradle on her stomach, warmth spreading through her feet as the cradle did its magic work on her. 

Steve walked over to Tony once YN was situated and unlocked his tablet, handing it to him. 

“What’s this?” He asked, handing the pad to Natasha who clenched her jaw. 

“A message. Ultron killed Strucker.” He replied, and Natasha passed the picture over to Giovanna who raised her eyebrows and showed it to YN. 

“And he did a Banksy at the crime scene,” Giovanna commented, YN nodding slowly in agreement and her nose wrinkled. 

“That’s gross.” She mumbled. 

‘‘This is a smokescreen. Why send a message when you've just given a speech?” Natasha commented, taking a sip of the cup of coffee Clint had just arrived with. YN smiled gratefully as he placed an extra large cup in her hand, knowing that while the cradle was magic, it still sucked to have to use it. 

“Strucker knew something that Ultron wanted us to miss,” Steve grumbled. Of course, he would be beating himself up for this— for allowing their government agency to take him in rather than Steve doing it himself. If he had just done the work himself rather than following orders, this could have all been avoided. 

“Yeah, I bet he—“ Natasha rolled over to the computer and opened any files she could get her hands on, slouching when she found nothing. “Yep. Everything we had on Strucker has been erased.”

Giovanna walked over and sat in a low riding chair next to YN, taking a sip from her coffee and immediately gagging. 

“I don’t know why you keep trying coffee, you hate it so much,” YN whispered, amused as she watched her best friend chug the nearest water bottle. 

“I honestly don’t know either.”

“Not everything.” Tony had reappeared with a box of files in his hand, and the team stopped and groaned. It was another five minutes before boxes and boxes of files were brought in and lids tossed haphazardly around the room and the team skimmed files and papers relating to anyone even remotely related to Strucker. 

“Steve.” YN piped up as he went to pass her. “Bring me a box.”

“YN, you’re still injured.” Steve looked down at her and she groaned, flopping her forehead against the table under her. 

“Yeah on the opposite end of my brain. Give me a box, I want to help.” YN pleaded, and cheered when Giovanna returned with two boxes in her arms. Steve only rolled his eyes and huffed at YN’s cheer. 

“Didn’t you take notes during the meetings?” Giovanna asked, handing her a millennia folder. YN snorted, propping herself up on her elbows and flipping it open. 

“Yeah, along with notes about how great Steve’s ass looked during them. As if I would ever share them.” YN muttered, gaze drifting from her work to Steve who had made himself comfortable on a couch he and Thor had pulled from the far wall. 

“You’ll share them with me, though right?” Giovanna chuckled, throwing a piece of paper to the floor and picking up the next report. 

“Wanna do a girls night later? I’ll do a dramatic reading of them.” 

“You got it, Dude.”

Tony was pacing again and stopped to look over Bruce’s shoulder. He pulled the file from Bruce’s hands and let out a breath through his nose. 

“Wait. I know that guy— from back in the day. He operates off the African coast, black market arms.” Steve’s head shot up accusingly and Tony rolled his eyes. “There are conventions, alright? You meet people, I didn't sell him anything.”

“I made sure of that.” Giovanna piped up and Tony shot her a glance. 

“You weren’t even there. You were what, thirteen?”

“I went to Paris alone when I was ten and was back before you even knew I was gone, remember? Black market conventions in Africa were nothing.”

Tony jabbed a finger in her direction, and YN raised an eyebrow. “We are talking about this later.”

“I don’t actually need to listen to you, you know— I’m twenty-one now.” She smiled, propping her chin on her fist and shooting him with a mischievous smile that Tony knew would result in just a light chastising. 

“Anyways,” He continued with a glare shot toward Giovanna. “He was talking about finding something new, a game changer, it was all very ‘Ahab’.”

Thor pulled the paper from Tony's hands and nodded towards it. “This.”

“Uh, it's a tattoo. I don't think he had it—“ Tony replied, squinting around Thor’s arm. Yn held out her hand and wiggled her fingers, looking at the picture. There was a man in the picture— well built, grey hair, wide smile and smile lines to match. His skin was plastered with tattoos— some fresh and others bleached from the sun or scars. There was a mark on his neck, though. It was still pink and the skin around it was irritated and puckered. 

“No, those are tattoos, this is a brand.” She said. “ Looks like he’s not too good at making friends. It looks like a hieroglyphic?”

“What dialect?” Steve asked, and YN shook her head. 

“It doesn’t look quite like anything I’ve ever seen before. It looks central-west Africa, almost?” She replied and handed the paper to her dad who scanned the symbol. 

“It's a word in an African dialect meaning thief, in a much less friendly way.”

“Wakanada...? Wa…Wa…Wakanda?”

The word meant nothing to anyone in the room but Steve and Tony who had let their faces drop. Steve looked rather pale, and YN could feel her brows furrowing as they turned to each other. 

“If this guy got out of Wakanda with some of their trade goods—“ Tony began, clenching his fists nervously. Even Giovanna, who was rarely concerned with her father's anxiety, knowing it was usually something he wanted to deal with himself, sat up straighter. Something was very, very wrong. 

“I thought your father said he got the last of it,” Steve said, turning his body away from the rest of the team and towards Tony. If his hunch was correct, this week was about to get a lot worse for everyone. 

“Can someone tell me what is going on?” Giovanna asked, her voice sharp. 

“What comes out of Wakanda?” Bruce asked, and Steve turned, picked up his shield and handed it to YN’s dad. 

“The strongest metal on Earth,” Steve said, his voice low and saturated with worry. He turned to Tony once more. “Where is this guy, now?”

____________________

The flight and fight in Africa was supposed to have been an easy one— quick. Take out a man who had nothing special to him, capture the twins, take out Ultron and then make it home before Chick-Fil-A closed. 

How very wrong they were. As soon as Steve had announced their arrival, both YN and Giovanna knew that this was going to go terribly wrong. Maybe it was the way that the girl was holding herself, or maybe it was the way that the boy was looking at YN like he wanted to take her to a closet and make her squeal (Steve didn’t like that look very much at all). Maybe it was the way Ultron’s left side was covered in blood with Klaue nowhere to be seen. 

“Something is wrong, here.” YN pressed her finger to her ear as she spoke into the comm system. None of the team on the ground floor made any more to acknowledge her statement but Natasha, who looked warily over to her and nodded in agreement. Something was very much off. Her worries were cut off by Ultron making a noise of disgust. 

“Captain America,” He sneered. “Gods righteous man. Pretending you could live without a war. I can’t physically throw up in my mouth but—“ YN didn’t hear what Ultron had to say next, as Giovanna had appeared by her side, hand gentle on her arm and coaxing her to stay by the doorway. Keeping YN from punching the face off of that damn robot. 

“Throwing punches before the plan starts won’t end well.” Giovanna's voice was sharp in her ear and YN only nodded, shoulders still tense and eyes burning into Ultron. 

“—Casue I wanted to take this time to explain my evil plan—“ Ultron cut himself off by capturing Tony in a magnetic pull and throwing him to the metal wall just left of where the girls were hiding in the shadows. 

“Dad!” Giovanna cried, pulling her helmet over her head and launching herself at Ultron who almost giggled. 

“Human bonds— cute.” He said, punching her to the ground and through the metal bridge. It didn’t take long for YN to plunge off the edge after her best friend, finding her shaking herself of dust and rubble. 

“I’m going to kill him,” Giovanna growled, launching herself right back up the boat and kicking the large robot in the chest immediately after a blast from her father. There was a little pause between their attacks and YN would have to inform her best friend just how cool she looked in that moment. The blasts and kicks were quick— precise, and the rage seemed to seep out of the lines of her suit. 

“She’s pretty cool, huh?” The male twin appeared beside YN suddenly, and YN squealed and jumped, momentarily forgetting she was, in fact, in a fight for blood. She moved quickly, grabbing a pistol from her hip and a chained baton from her thigh. Her attacks seemed fruitless— he was much too fast and before she knew it, he was spinning the baton in the air, circling her. 

“You are very beautiful— brave, too.” He hummed, coming face to face with her. She growled, surprising him enough to land a kick to his chest and knocking the air out of his lungs.  She aimed her gun at his shoulder, narrowly missing as he sped to his feet. 

“If I was a normal man, I would surely be dead by now.” His voice crooned in her ear and her elbow moved quickly enough that it caught the tip of his chin. She heard his hiss in a breath—good, the steel-tipped elbow pads had been a good investment after all. 

“Not everyone can get a hit in on me, you know. The HYDRA agents were practically useless. The Soldat got close, but the metal arm was too clunky.” He commented absently and YN stopped long enough for him to throw her to the ground, pinning her and smiling down as he straddled her waist. 

“Bucky. Bucky trained you.” She whispered, breathlessly and the man rolled his eyes. 

“Sure, if that was his name. Angry. Ruthless. Only cared about missions— something I never understood. I always got distracted by the pretty girls.” He smiled, and YN swung her hips and legs forcefully, throwing him off of her and grabbing her other baton, turning it on and feeling the hum of electricity shoot pleasantly up her arm. 

“Do you always talk this much during a fight?” YN said breathlessly and swung, catching the tip of his finger and making him yelp and hold it to his chest. 

“Why do the most beautiful things in the world always come with the most painful bite. God’s greatest play if you ask me.” He then moved too quickly for YN to see his next attack, but it wasn’t unlike a speeding fist colliding with her jaw. YN fell to the ground in a heap and she spat out a fragment of a tooth and some blood, wiping her lip and stumbling to her feet. 

“Now, are you going to tell me your name?” He asked, faking concern and cradling her face briefly before she aimed a kick to his knees. 

“In your dreams, Buddy.” She snarled, aiming her gun and quickly firing three shots— all missing by a hairsbreadth. 

“I’m counting on it. And it is not ‘Buddy’.” He muttered, running around to her back and whispering into her ear. “It is Pietro Maximoff.”

And then he was gone. 

___________________

Steve had just barely caught the interaction, but he seemed to have gathered the gist of it. The Maximoff twin wasn’t afraid to get handsy and was incredibly quick on his feet. His charming smile shot in YN’s direction and making something akin to anger bubble in the pits of his heart and stomach. He hopped down, throwing his shield at the place where he once stood and catching it before running to YN’s side whose gaze darted quickly over the field. 

He came to stand in front of her, clutching her jaw gently in his hand and hushing her when she jumped. Her eyes and skin seemed to be glowing— stress and anger and something else simmering under her muscles. 

“YN. Are you okay?” He said softly but severely. Her gaze finally landed on him— his untouched face and still perfect uniform settling her. So long as he wasn’t hurt, she would be able to keep going. 

“Fine. I want to kick the twin in the teeth though.” She pushed Steve off of her— one part angry, two parts embarrassed at him seeing her lose that battle. He followed her, wrapped his hand around her forearm and spoke through his admiration of the fight still in her. 

“You watch the Starks and Thor’s sixes. I’ll take care of him.” He muttered and something in his eyes told her that there would be no argument in this. 

“Yes, Captain.” She turned away, leaving the ugly green monster who had reared its head a purring puddle of mush. 

______________________

The silver-haired boy wasn’t hard to find— he had been thrown into a pile of crates by the force (or pull) of Thor's hammer. He was stumbling blearily to his feet when Steve hit his chest with the flat of his shield a little too hard for necessity, sending him flying back to the Pietro-shaped hole in the boxes. 

“Stay down, Kid.” Steve’s voice was almost unrecognizable— rage boiled in his words. A flash of fear covered his face before Pietro followed his gaze to where YN had just taken out three bots all the while swinging from Giovanna’s free hand across the open air of the cargo ship. 

“She is your girlfriend?” His irritatingly suave voice called Steve’s attention back to him and all Steve wanted to do as climb on top of him and pummel his smirk to ash. 

“I don’t think it’s any of your fuckin’ business.” He continued, rolling his shoulders and puffing his chest out. The kid only rolled his eyes, standing in a flash and patting Steve’s shoulder. 

“She is beautiful. If you do not make a move, I will. Several quick ones I know she will like.” And with a high pitched giggle and a brush of air, Pietro was gone, leaving Steve about one hundred times more irritated than when he had first arrived. 

____________

Tags (open, send an ask): @i-am-always-famished / @filia-sapientiae / @somekryptonitewriting / @fashionlive15 / @godlymissbalor / @fanfictionjunkie1112 / @nerdy-bookworm-1998 / @songforhema / @army-crawl-andersen / @buckybarneshairpullingkink / @shynara51 / @deathofmissjackson / @a–1–1–3 / @liffydaze / @shymarvelfannanni / @freakpotterfan / @callie-bear15 / @sunflower-borhap-boys / @criedwolfwritings / @vxidnik / @captainomad / @lazinessisalliknow / jjlevin / @gwlaxygirl 

[mainly-kpop]

Viagra Series

Jin

Word count: 1726

Warnings: smut obviously, not serious smut, pretty vanilla, little dirty talk, pill taking, I mean it. This sex is really not serious. It’s like established relationship normal ass piss take sex.

He had been laid up in bed with a chest infection, finally feeling better he requests his girlfriend to pass him the last two pills. That’s the last time he ever trusts anyone else with medication, and the last time he does a favour for a friend.

The thought of never having to be on this couch again thrilled him. The realisation that in the next two days, he would be back at work, rehearsing and laughing without coughing every 3 seconds. The chest infection had really taken a toll on him but he was so glad to finally be better. His alarm went off, signalling it was time to take tablets, the only problem being he would have to get up. For someone who hated this couch he had become rather accustomed to it. The indents becoming more and more comfortable the longer he lay there, the musky smell of the second hand couch becoming strangely comforting.

He switched the channel over, deciding if he was going to ignore the need to take his tablets, he should actually watch something mildly distracting.

A few hours later the door closed gently, the small sound of her heels clacking on the wooden floor waking him from his nap. She poked her head around the corner, making sure he was awake.

‘Hey babe! How you feeling?’ She spoke cheerily, despite the nightmare of a day she just lived through.

‘Feeling pretty good I guess, oh I forgot could you get me the pills off the table? Just pop them out and bring me two.’ She shrugged rolling her eyes, she popped the two tablets out handing them to him, along with a glass of water. She checked her watch frowning at the man before her.

‘Jin, you were supposed to take those at 4pm, it’s now 7pm.’ She scolded, he pouted, grabbing her hand and pulling her down to the couch with him. She cuddled into his chest, getting some much needed affection after such an insufferable day.

‘You seem tense baby, bad day at work?’ He rubbed her shoulder, providing her with a little comfort. A frown contorted her features. Drawing light circles into his chest she opened her mouth to reply.

‘Just work stacking up, people blaming things on me, the usual work place bullshit.’ She replied patting her hand gently against his chest she moved to stand.

‘I’m going for a shower, we can order food when I come out.’ He nodded, turning back to the TV after giving her a peck on her cheek. He lay there watching absentmindedly at the TV, he started to feel funny after about 20 minutes. Deciding to ignore it, he put it down to finally feeling better, well at least a little bit. His eyebrows furrowed feeling his pants tightening gradually. ‘What the…’ He muttered, genuinely confused. He wasn’t horny, well, he didn’t THINK he was. She came back through to the living room looking down at him. She took in his confused face, his boner, then his face again. Sighing she sat down at his feet.

‘Can we not tonight though? I’m so tired and I-‘

‘Babe what pills did you give me.’ He asked suddenly, cutting her off. She furrowed her eyebrows, his eyes popping out his skull. She couldn’t have, there’s no way.

‘The pills sitting on the counter, next to your keys. The blue ones.’ He sunk down into the couch, audibly grunting. She looked at him alarmed, what did she do wrong?

‘What? What is it?’ He rubbed the palm of his hands over his eyes, then ran his fingers through his hair. She placed a hand on his thigh, it was meant to be comforting but damn she was so close to his dick right now it was driving him mad.

‘Those aren’t antibiotics baby, that’s viagra.’ He mumbled, embarrassed. God this was the last time he did a favour, for anyone.

‘What the fuck, JIN WHY DO YOU HAVE VIAGRA?!’ She screamed, horrified and amused all at the same time. He sat up defensive, grabbing her face in his hands.

‘THEY’RE NOT MINE IT’S FOR NAMJOON, NOW ARE YOU GOING TO HELP ME WITH THIS OR NOT?!’ She looked down at his pants, debating whether or not to help. She shrugged, it was her fault to be fair.

‘Okay, I guess so, let’s go.’ She muttered standing up from the couch, he scoffed at her passiveness, following her to the bedroom anyways.

‘I guess she says. You act like your boyfriend isn’t the most handsome man in the immediate vicinity.’ She smirked, opening the bedroom door, dropping her dressing gown instantly.

‘Immediate? Meaning there’s someone more handsome than you?’ He scoffed, letting his hands trail over her naked body. Goosebumps following where his fingers trailed.

‘Baby, you know there isn’t, I was being modest.’ He spoke, cocky nature contrasting his “modesty”. She giggled, breaking the small amount of sexual tension he had built up.

‘Ya! You ruined it you deviant, we had some sexy tension going there. You broke it with your giggles.’ He whined, tickling her sides until she was running to the other side of the bed.

‘You fiend! Why must you tickle me!’ She spoke, moving as he did trying her best to stay away from him. He pounced onto the bed causing her to screech, she didn’t run in time. He wrapped his hands around her waist throwing her down on the bed, boobs bouncing at the impact. She giggled lightly, stroking a hand through his hair.

‘You’re so much fun Jinnie.’ She whispered lightly, placing a small kiss on the tip of his nose.

‘You’re not so bad yourself sweetheart. Now, are we gonna get down and do the dirty?’ He whispered, pulling her nipple between his fingers. She whined, the feeling something foreign almost. She felt bad, with her working so much, and him at practice and been unwell lately. Basically, they hadn’t done “the dirty”, as Jin so candidly put it, in a while.

‘Only you could do something sexual, while saying childish words.’ He giggled, letting his fingers slip to her clit, drawing light circles into it. Drawing moan after moan from her throat, whimper after whimper through her lips.

‘I can do worse, don’t challenge me buttercup!’ He spoke, a teasing grin on his lips.

‘I think that’s something you should prove.’ She composed herself enough to speak the sentence confidently. There was no such thing as serious sex with Jin. One time, their chests pushed together in such a weird way it made a fart noise. Throughout the whole of the sex he continued to try and make this noise, both of them laughing throughout their orgasms.

‘Challenge accepted tiny, let’s get to putting my thingy in your thingy then.’ She giggled as he stepped of the bed, shimmying out of his clothes. He climbed back on top, positioning himself so his head poked her entrance.

‘Can’t believe we are about to do this, how gross. What if I get cooties?!’ He whined, running his dick through her juices, getting it wet enough to just slip right in. She rolled her eyes, smacking his arm, laughing she tilted her hips up to meet him. A little groan slipped through his lips, a smirk gracing hers.

‘I’m sure we got cooties shots when we were like six right? It should be fineee!’ She played along, Jin nodded in affirmation, slipping himself in easily. She let out a lewd groan, burying his face in her neck he chuckled.

‘That was a dirty noise!’ He whispered, voice sounding shocked as ever. She didn’t have to see him to know he was pulling a stupid face. Letting another one slip passed her lips, clenching her walls around him. He hissed in her ear, hips stuttering slightly.

‘Don’t do that, I can’t keep doing this childish talk when you clench like that.’ He moaned, game dropped for a moment. She apologised, telling him to continue while tilting her hips to meet his. Thrusts quick and sloppy, sweat building on their skin.

‘Can I try the fart thing again?’ He asked, eyes popping out his head in excitement, she giggled, but scolded him anyways.

‘You keep the child words, or you can do the chest fart. Not both.’ He contemplated for a second, hips coming to a stop. Pushing his chest onto hers she could tell what he picked. With each thrust his chest pushed on hers, air squeezing between their bodies making the noise he was so delighted with. Then he flipped the game, the filth pouring out his mouth something she didn’t recognise. Sex with Jin was vanilla to give it a name, not that she minded, it was still incredible. She much preferred sweet intimate moments, having him giggling and having fun. Clumsy sex, anything not serious. She couldn’t stand those porn films, the ones with the girls tied up and them whimpering “daddy, oh daddy fuck me harder”. It was something that made her cringe, she couldn’t believe it. However, the filth falling from him while he makes fart noises with their chests. That right there, was confusing the shit out of her.

‘God baby, you feel so good around me. Feels so good when you meet my thrusts. Yes baby, work for it. Fuck, you’re so hot.’ The words making her whimper, walls tightening on instinct. He could feel that she was close, his hips falling in an uneasy rhythm, he was close too.

‘You like it when I talk like this baby? Mmm I can feel you’re close, let go baby. Cum hard around me, fuck I wanna feel it so bad.’ She whimpered, a small scream passing her open mouth. Walls clenching as she came, forcing his quicker than he expected.

‘I CAN’T BELIEVE YOU!’ She screamed, slapping his arm as they both came down. He laughed, slipping himself out and grabbing his t-shirt to clean her up. It was going in the wash anyway who cares.

‘I’m not quite sure I know what you mean princess!’ He spluttered, trying to act calm and collected.

‘I cannot believe, you whispered that SIN in my ear while making fart noises with our chests.’ He let out a loud, very loud, laugh. Her laugh following closely behind until they were play fighting on the bed.

‘OKAY OKAY!’ He screamed, calling it quits. ‘But did you enjoy it though?’ He asked, making sure he hadn’t done something she wasn’t happy with.

‘Yeah, I guess it was okay.’ She replied, fully downplaying how much she really enjoyed it.

[son-of-the-omega-blog]

#SL #BlindedByTheDark

Written by @Son_OfThe_Omega and @ToTheGrahve. Mentions @Qhuinn_BDBFM and @Dehstruction.

#TriggerWarning #Abuse #Sexual #GraphicViolence

*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Grahve: Good behaviour was rewarded. It was the fastest lesson I had to learn. Maybe even faster than I learnt anything from the Brotherhood. After all, they didn’t punish failure with bloody screaming torture. They didn’t rip you down for having a moral compass by murdering innocents.

I still didn’t know that female’s name, and I suspected I never would. Her blood had covered me like a crimson baptism. I couldn’t remember much after it either. I knew there’d been Lash. I knew there’d been pain. I knew I’d wanted to die in her place.

Sitting up on the bed, I put my back to the wall, shifting to place a pillow there to keep the mesh of the cage from cutting into my flesh. Absently, I rubbed at the shackle wounds and scabs around one wrist, then reached for the book off to the side. Setting the book in my lap forced me to look down my bare chest, and the litany of new scars, wounds and bruises made my stomach flip slightly. With a huff I shifted, laying across the bed and propping myself up with one elbow.

The wounds weren’t the only thing. Lash wasn’t a fool by any stretch - in fact, I could admire his cunning, albeit reluctantly. Keeping me alive was clearly an art he’d perfected. Just enough food so I wouldn’t die but couldn’t fight back. Just enough blood to let the worst of his afflictions on my body heal. The result was I’d lost weight. The tattered black sweats I was granted as some semblance of modesty hung dangerously low on my hips, the bones becoming more prominent every day.

Those days had felt impossibly long in the first week. And the second. Each moment of fight back, every snarled curse I’d tried to hurl at him… and for what? The Brothers weren’t coming. They didn’t know where I was. Fuck, they didn’t even know if I was alive. I’d been a nomad before arriving at the compound; me up and vanishing after being rejected by the only two lovers I’d taken probably looked like I’d hit the road. I couldn’t hold out for a rescue that wasn’t coming. And I couldn’t force Lash’s hand to end me either. I’d tried. And every time he’d just gotten more creative in his ways to make me regret it.

Staring at the page for a minute, I gave up trying to read the words and closed my eyes, letting out a sigh. Thinking of Crhis, or Qhuinn, didn’t hurt so much anymore. In the beginning thinking about them had been like a knife wound, another wound that Lash could poke at and hurt. While I hadn’t given them up to him - hadn’t forsaken the last morsels of my morality by betraying them to the demon, I had let whatever other feelings I had die.

There was only so much of me I could keep alive anyway.

‘Another time, another place, you could’ve been /my/ brother.’

My jaw locked at Lash’s voice in my head, at the memory of him sitting beside me to stare out the window as we sipped a beer. Together. It hurt more because some tiny, desperate part of me wanted it. Craved it. Any family I’d had had died long ago. I’d wandered the world alone. Lash musing about how nice it would’ve been to have a real partner, a real ally in the world, tore at some part of me I wanted to cut out and throw away. And yet I couldn’t forget it. I couldn’t forget the look on his face, the smile he’d flashed me that had been less malice and more amusement. The fact he’d clicked his bottle to mine, and left me alone that night.

The door burst in, but I didn’t flinch. Instead I opened my eyes and looked up, maintaining my spot on the bed as Lash strolled in, clearly irritated. Anxiety shot through my chest, even as I kept a cool facade. Any sign of weakness and he’d be on me, taking out his frustrations on my body, or in my body. Instead I adopted a drawl as he ripped off his jacket and flung it aside.

“S’matter? Brotherhood finally lift the lockdown and start breaking all your toys again?”

Lash: [The stifling wind ruffled the tails of my coat; even the hideyhole I’d concealed my presence in did little to buffer the weather. Add to that King Wrath, son of Wrath, sire of Wrath, had lifted lockdown protocol. Low growls and curses floated up as the Brotherhood wiped the alley with a half dozen new recruits.

Fucking fools. The only bene that would come from that was I didn’t need to mete out the only punishment they truly feared. Being sent back to the Omega. The Dehstroyer wasn’t among the bulk of the males below, the pack consisting of Tohrment, son of Hharm, Rhage, son of Tohrture and Zsadist, first born son of Aghony, blooded twin to the Primale Phury. Such a cast. The males below moved with astonishing efficiency, the entire encounter from the first sighting to the fading light of the last Lesser being sent back to the Omega lasted less than fifteen minutes.

Movement a block over caught my senses, my scattered molecules ghosted to materialize feet away from one of the last few Primes left in my army and held a hand up.]

Let the fuckers go for now. Meet back here at dusk and don’t fucking disappoint me of you’ll be that fucking purple dragon’s appetizer on your way to the Omega.

[On that snarl and string of curses I chose to ignore from the lead male, I ghosted back to the warehouse. I was pissed to say the very least, but the thought of the trainee still chained up waiting for me eased my mood only a little. The male proved worthy enough of keeping alive despite his efforts to try and force me to end him. While that had been my ultimate plan, he had earned a grudging piece of respect in that will of his just prior to his breaking.

Materializing back at the warehouse hadn’t done much to calm down the fury that still boiled beneath the surface of my thinly veiled control, the door slamming closed didn’t even elicit a jump from the trainee on the bed across the room. He’d learned early on that quick moves brought swifter interception. Throwing my jacket into a chair with a low growl, I pinned the male with a look that said I wasn’t in the mood to fuck with at the point of his words. Truthfully, yeah, the fuckers did. But let’s not get ahead of ourselves.]

Matter of fact, it seems King Wrath set the whole bunch loose on my troops. And wiped the alley with them. Fucking pathetic wastes of skin.

[Pacing toward the work table, I picked up a long bladed knife when I paused, the thin metal honed sharper than a scalpel, glinting in the light.]

Six of them gone just like that. As fast as the Omega can crank them out, the fucking Brothers take them out. [Looking over my shoulder at the male, I could scent his anxiety, and a minute hint of fear. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t enjoy the way he’d squirmed and screamed, begged for the life of others with his own in their place. But the now, I was the slightest disappointed. Just the slightest. Slowly setting the blade down and turning, with a firm grip on my spontaneous desire to hurt, I walked over to the cage and with a flick of a key, unlocked the door, letting it swing open.]

Grahve: The open door was a test in itself, and one I’d learned to pass. Rather than eye it like the gateway to freedom I knew it wasn’t, I instead closed the book, sat up and swung my legs off the side of the bed. There I remained, hands loose in my lap, until Lash indicated otherwise. Thankfully, there was no steel collar in his hand - but the night was young. I had to play my cards carefully.

“I could point out that that was the reason for this war, wasn’t it? Besides, the Brothers have had centuries to perfect the art of being a killer or a soldier,” I point out calmly, watching him. “Whereas you only had a few weeks of their lockdown to do it with your… troops.”

Word used very loosely there. Lash’s Lessers (say that five times fast) were about as capable as a headless chicken, with the upside for the chicken that it would at least smell good once it was cooked.

Finally tearing my gaze away from the male, I let my mind consider who, realistically, could pose a threat to the Brotherhood. Lessers gained strength by handing over their souls to the Omega, but if you didn’t know how to use strength, you were fucking useless, just really strong about it.

“There’s almost something to be said for narrowing the field of humans,” I muttered to myself, then realised I’d spoken aloud. Regret flared, immediate and sharp, but Lash’s eyes had narrowed on me now, clearly curious, and I couldn’t pull back. To do so would be to incite his wrath, and I’d barely healed enough from the last beating. Another round of torture and the demon spawn would be bringing another female in. I had to heal on my own, or someone would pay the price for me...

“Picking drug dealers and street thugs gives you pawns on a chessboard, but pawns are only good for one thing; sacrifice. You need Bishops. Rooks. Knights.”

I held off saying ‘Queen’. Cause barf. If it was true that Lash was hung up on having that Lassiter back here too, then I could just about picture that poor angelic fuck being some equivalent of a queen too. He had enough glitter and sparkles for it. I actually missed the shit…

“Why not take your sights higher?” I continue, every word tasting like bile in my mouth as I forced them out. “Imagine politicians, senators, businessmen. What was it they said about human CEO’s? Half of them are borderline psychopaths already? Imagine giving them power. Immortality. Then they give you money. Men. Or prison wardens,” I add, trying my hardest not to clench my hands into fists. “They can then refer more pawns. More options that aren’t just… cannon fodder.”

Scribe, forgive me. Please forgive me…

Lash: [Casually watching the male, I didn’t miss the fact that he’d learned well. He didn’t bolt as he had the first handful of times I’d left the door open, in fact, he waited properly. Like a good pet. That wasn’t all that caught my attention. The seed he’d planted made sense if I could cultivate it to my own needs.

Humans were needed for the Omega to turn into Lessers, that was a given. Generally, /any/ human would do. But those that had a propensity to more questionable morals, no family to speak of, were full of evil and vindictiveness, /those/ were the ones that made more desirable lessers. Less mess in the human world to deal with such as ‘missing person’ reports and human law enforcement poking their noses where it didn’t belong. Not that I had issues with dispatching my own clean up crews to deal, it was just more convenient.]

Prison wardens, huh. [If the crap spewed on TV even remotely portrayed that class of rat adequately, then I had a new solid lead on replenishing my troops. Tossing the male a slow grin and a nod, a flick of a few fingers, his cue that he was given permission to get up and move about freely, I turned and walked to the small refrigerator.

Being half Lesser didn’t mean I couldn’t eat, but I saw no need to withhold nourishment from my pet for a good idea. Keeping the small unit stocked still miffed the Lessers assigned to the duty, but no less derelict in their choices. Removing two bottles of beer and a plate that held a decent meal of meat and vegetables, I set one bottle and the plate on the makeshift table, the other I twisted the top off and downed a swallow. The male moved slowly, but I could see the hunger in his body, the way he moved. And it wasn’t just for food.

Facing facts, the male was going to have to have another feed soon. His clothing hung off him like tattered rags. If this idea of Grahve’s panned out, I’d reward him with something that was fitting for a male of his worth. Sending a Prime squad out for a female would be priority.]

So. Where’s the nearest human prison?

Grahve: Leaving the cage felt like I was a bird finally allowed to stretch my wings. It felt like breathing again after spending hours holding my breath. Shuffling over to the table, I sat before the meal and took my time taking up the fork, even as my stomach snarled. At Lash’s question I glanced sideways at the male, brutally aware of how he watched me.

“Upstate, I believe,” I answered automatically. Sure, I’d probably been the one vampire in the whole manse that had chosen to live among humans, but that didn’t mean I kept track of where they were incarcerated. Like, c’mon…

Taking several mouthfuls, I chewed slowly to savor it, hoping against hope that I wouldn’t see it again soon and could, in fact, digest something. When I felt the monster that’d been growling in my stomach was distracted enough by the morsels it could munch on, I grabbed the beer and took a long, generous swig.

Fuck me that was brilliant. Honestly, when you were living on scraps and from moment to moment, every single thing became so much more. One beer was god damn ambrosia.

“Having authority figures on your team within the system would mean they could notify you as inmates are going to be released, or even intervene on sentence lengths and commuting sentences if they want them out early,” I continue, pushing a bit of meat around with the fork then piercing it to put it to my lips.

The idea that Lash had essentially got me dinner and a drink like this was a date passed through my stupid and sarcastic brain, and I shoved it away. Besides, it wasn’t like I could say ‘no’ if Lash got me drunk and stuck his hand up my skirt. The male was going to take whatever he wanted from me. Just like he already had…

“The Brotherhood expects you to be in places like this,” I said instead, turning my head to watch him. “Imagine if you had a benefactor that could put you in a high rise? A condo? Somewhere the Brothers would never expect and letting you live the luxury life you deserve?”

Lash: Upstate. [I repeated, toying with the bottle as I watched the male intently consume his food. He had manners worthy of sitting at any table, even with his shabby clothes and scruffy beard growing in he still made quite a good looking piece. Yes, the male was definitely due a good feeding. Maybe this female would last longer than a few days before another was needed. It had been at least a week since the last one was brought in, fewer of the weaker sex were tracked alone between clubs and their homes. Time to step up the hunt for blood, and in that end a good fucking.

In the meantime, I was quite eager to work on this idea that Grahve had set to my mind.]

Sounds very lucrative, and highly promising. To hide right under the Brotherhood’s noses and they be none the wiser. So tell me. [Leaning forward, elbows on my knees and eyes fully on the male, I was cataloging every move he made from here until I was satisfied, and took another drink from my bottle.]

How do you know all this, how the human’s authority system works? How do I know you’re not just feeding me a few good sounding lines so I’ll send a squad on a wild chase that will end in a trap? [It occured to me that while the idea was definitely appealing, it also held the lurking questionable danger that the Brotherhood would be there, set up to ambush the squadron. If that held true, Grahve would be sent back to Wrath in pieces, each part gift wrapped and addressed to the children. Gifts from the glymera to their wellbeing.

But, in the chance that what the trainee was saying bore fruit, he would live longer, and maybe even be partially inducted as the once human Brian O’Neil. Either way, Grahve was mine to do with as I pleased.]

Grahve: The panic I had worked so hard to hide reared its head at Lash’s question; at the implication I was setting him or his minions up for an ass whooping. The fork clattered to the plate as my hand shook, and I clenched it into a fist to control the tremor. Somehow keeping my voice even, I spoke.

“I lived among humans. For over fifty years. I trained with their masters, their best. I know how they function, what they like.” I looked to Lash now, and I hated that he would see the fear in my eyes, but it was there, and I couldn’t stop it. “And I wouldn’t feed you anything. I have no contact with the Brotherhood now. How would they know? And why would I give you a reason to…”

I didn’t need to finish the sentence, because I was sure both of us were thinking of /exactly/ what Lash could do to me if I lied or deceived him. The fact I held out on giving up more information on the Brothers or Qhuinn and Crhis was no doubt a sore point he hoped to remedy as soon as I was physically able to withstand it and not die. In the meantime, he made a point of finding other ways, and he was creative.

In my younger, more naive years, I’d thought I could survive or withstand anything. I’d never be broken. I’d never surrender. I would /die/ before I became something I hated. Turns out pain is a great motivator for just about anything. Being broken by Lash… was never something I could have anticipated, and as each piece of my soul was sold to him, I realised I had no idea who I was, or what I could withstand.

Dropping my head in a bow, like a bad fucking dog, I closed my eyes.

“I have not lied. Did you smell a lie on me?” I whispered. “I will do as you ask.”

Lash: Good boy. [Grahve spoke the truth as he knew it; he neither smelled of lie or deceit, but I still needed to feel him out all the same. Even if his reaction was indicative of a lie, there was absolutely nothing I sensed that told me otherwise.]

I figured you would do as I asked. But I needed to be sure in asking, you understand. [Had I sensed a lie coming off the male, he’d have at least enjoyed his last First Meal.

The new building had a similar set up last the last persuasion center, the usual tables, benches and work spaces. And the remote skylight, with one little detail adjusted. I could will it open as easily as I could turn off lights with hardly a thought. Four deep set posts appeared only as stabilizing columns, that doubled as a four post rack. A body would be strung from all four corners by long cables just under the roof’s opening, which was angled to catch the first of the sun’s rays. And if the weatherman couldn’t get the forecast correct, large mirrors were erected in strategic spots around the main space in the event cloud cover was an issue. Just open the skylight, let the sun shine in, bounce a few beams around like a dancefloor party and, poof! Clean up would be a breeze.

Leaning back in my chair, fingers toying with the bottle in my hand, I gave more thought to the idea of hiding in plain sight. It would certainly help with bringing in females to feed the trainee, less distance to move them, and more opportunities to watch the Brotherhood, engage from a shorter distance with the males being none the wiser. And didn’t that give me a hard on. A chance to take those fuckers out was that much closer.]

Finish eating, you’re going to need your strength. [Tipping the bottle to my lips and taking a long drink, I watched the male’s reaction. Relief. Shock that I believed him. Wary that I didn’t beat him with his fork or fuck him into submission. Though the latter I’d do just for the sheer enjoyment.]

Grahve: My relief was short lived. The phrase ‘need your strength’ sapped at my will to live and any appetite I’d had left. But he wasn’t kidding. If I didn’t eat it now, it’d probably be pureed into a mix that could be put in an IV, threaded through my nose and down my throat. Ask me how I know. I dare you.

Forcing myself to take the last mouthfuls and chew slowly, savoring this moment before whatever hell had to come next, I finally swallowed and sat back. Reaching for what was left of the beer, I felt no measure of pride that my hand didn’t shake. It had in the beginning, but now it wasn’t courage or bravery that held me steadfast - it was the knowledge that nothing I did would change it, and there was no escaping it. What level was that in the stages of grief? Acceptance?

Downing the bottle, I put it beside the empty plate and rose from the chair, turning to face Lash and wait. His eyes ran over me, examining his last marks, looking for where to make new ones. When his eyes ghosted over the dangerously low waistline of the sweats, the jut of my hip bones, I knew he was considering me naked.

What did it mean when I could anticipate the look on his face with the kind of pain, humiliation or torture that would come next? I knew people that played cards had a tell, so maybe expert torturers did too.

“...what do you want, sunshine?” I asked tiredly, glancing down at myself. “What’s it gonna be today?”

Lash: What’s it to be, what’s my choice of the night… I think.. [Lustful eyes glanced over the male with dark interest, a deeper hunger of my own boiled under the surface, a near insatiable hunger that I’d not deny myself, just not yet. I’d branded this male in ways he never thought possible, each scar a visual reminder that I owned him, and with good behavior, he’d been guardedly rewarded.]

Why do you protect them? They haven’t come looking for you, I’d have eyes and ears all over Caldwell, yet not a peep from the Brotherhood. [The big burning question had yet to be answered, kudos to the trainee for keeping such a tight lid on the info.

That information I needed, it was vital in a way to hit the Brotherhood where it counted most: their hearts. Hit the heart and weaken it, then the rest was easy pickings. And what better way to shred a male’s heart than to target the one person, or persons as in the case of Wrath, his shellan and his only heir, that said male would give his life to protect at all costs. Take loved ones out of the equation and everything else crumbled. Just look at what my little shopping trip with the Queen brought on. And that was just a test.

Two fingers gripping the neck of the bottle tipped it to my lips, the less-than ice cold amber liquid sliding down my throat without a taste, eyes never leaving the male in front of me.]

You chose me that night when you sought to ease your wounded heart, not one of them. So why not choose me now?

Grahve: I felt my lips part in stunned surprise. Of all the questions, all the interrogations, I’d never expected that. Choose Lash?

My gaze slid away from him, like I could hide the myriad of emotions running through me, but it was one of the few defense mechanisms I had left. His observation that the Brotherhood hadn’t looked for me, hadn’t cared enough to try and find me, struck at my core. I thought of Crhis, of standing beside him in battle and lying beneath him on a bed. I thought of Qhuinn, dropping down in an alley after I’d dispatched Lessers and bringing me into the Brotherhood, kissing me. I thought of every Brother, of Doc Jane and hell, even fucking Murhder, and it /hurt/. A chasm opened up in my chest where I’d put those new feelings, those new loves and admirations and friendships, and it ached.

They hadn’t looked for me. Had they even cared? Could Lash ever replace that? Ever fill the void that existed now that I’d known those emotions?

Clenching my jaw, I closed my eyes.

“I chose Ahrmour. I chose a male that was a flirt and kind and… and not a fucking demon,” I managed, drawing a ragged breath in through my nose. “I was looking for someone that wasn’t going to hurt me…” I actually let out a snort, my laugh bitter. “Look how fucking well that worked out for me…”

Lash: [Here it came. The tide of emotions the male carried with him made him sway in his shackles. In a lightning quick move with no warning, I stood and pulled the male against me, caging his thin frame in my arms. Hindbrain said he was dangerously thin, I felt his bones jutting from under his skin as I pressed him to me. Keeping him weak was beneficial for the both of us; he wasn’t strong enough to fight his way free, and that in turn kept him alive.]

Contrary to popular belief, I wasn’t born this way. [Nor did I have a choice with what the Omega turned me into. It didn’t matter to me one way or the other when it occurred, I was just as eager to put a blade in Qhuinn’s chest now as he did to me back then. All for a damn joke that mute John Mathew took too fucking seriously. Qhuinn was the one who needed putting down, even the glymera had failed at that attempt.

The cyclone of emotions Grahve kept locked down lurked under the surface, his grunt of surprise and tensing muscles gleaned of fear and wariness, filling my nose with their telltale scents.]

Grahve: I didn’t fight the lock of Lash’s embrace; it was the only warmth I knew anymore. There was nothing cruel or painful in it either, other than the fact it wasn’t who I wished was holding me. I stood in the brace of his arms and felt my body lean into him, against him, some pathetic part of me grateful for the support.

It was true - he hadn’t been born the way he was now. He’d been broken and shaped, same as any weapon, as any tool. A part of me sympathized with that. When forged in fire and blood most things ended up lethal and dangerous. But there was always choice.

“And if I say no… again…” I whispered, dropping my forehead until it rested on the curve of his shoulder, “will you hurt me… again? You’re making your choices… and I made mine…”

I’d chosen the Brotherhood. I’d chosen to fight for the race and protect people. Even if I couldn’t do that anymore, even if I was helpless to do nothing else but suffer and die, I could hold on to that. To the idea.

“What do you want from me, Lash?”

Lash: [No verbal answer would satisfy either of us, and as it was in the moment, my desire to hurt and kill was admonishingly overwhelmed by another more basic need. Lips brushed the column of his neck from ear to base, hands spreading fingers wide to devour a meal of touch that was wasn't full of fight. Yet.

Shifting gears and turning the pair of us to back step by step until the the male was within inches of the bed he'd been given; Grahve knew better than to resist, though I'd have had no problem had he been unwilling. Hands tore at his pants, my fangs, teeth and lips now scraping along the male's flesh as the growing scent of arousal thickened the air.]

Grahve: His lips were gentle. His hands were gentle. And far be it for me to complain when I knew what the alternative was. I could resist all I liked, but it wouldn’t change anything other than how broken I’d feel after. Maybe, just maybe, I could pretend the fangs grazing my skin belonged to Ahrmour, the bright eyed, sassy male I’d met at that bar. Maybe then I wouldn’t hate myself for the way my body reacted, the way a part of me yearned for something as simple as a kind caress.

As the pants were ripped away to leave me bare, and with the bed behind me, I lifted my head to look at Ahrmour. He was all energy and arousal and need, and I let myself be swept away in that as my hands stroked up under his shirt, shackles clinking as I ran them across the smooth, taut flesh. I kissed him if he wanted to be kissed, I touched him only when he wanted to be touched.

I could feel my body growing hard with every kiss, every lick and nip of his fangs. My own fangs slid down as I groaned softly, half dropping back onto the bed and staring up at him, waiting.

Lash: [Fangs long and throbbing with hunger, I glanced down at the display before me: male worthy of feasting on spread below, ready, nacht, /willing/ to bed a viper. Willing the cage door closed and the thick shackles unlocked, the metal sheaths dropping with a thick metal-to-concrete sound to leave the male completely unencumbered, the tingle of the male’s touch still echoing through my every nerve. The immediate image of the male laying out under me, those dark eyes of his filled with utter devotion of free will, however grudgingly, with a collar of shiny steel filled my mind. And made me harder than I’d been since juicing up on Angel blood.

I could see this male, in a haze of a possible future moment, fighting beside me against the Brotherhood. The same males that, ironically, did not come looking for one of their own. Gripping Gravhe’s thighs and pulling him to the edge of the bed, I lent over him and took his mouth in a heated, messy lip lock as my hands pushed his thighs up and wide. The tip of my hard cock brushed against the underside of his, probing along his rim as I caged the male under me, my hips shunting for a brief moment until finding home and sinking balls deep.

Fangs dig into his lip and tongue as my hips pounded hard into his. I could keep this male, bring him into the fold and use his years of experience among the humans to my advantage in destroying the Brotherhood. My hand slid between us to wrap around his cock, tugging in strokes designed to bring the male as much pleasure as did the idea I could make him fully mine.]

Grahve: The shackles clicked and fell away, the last article of ‘clothing’ I’d been wearing gone to leave me totally bare for the male above. I barely noticed the cage door close behind him, too intent on the feel of his hands as he seized my hips to pull me forward. The kiss was hot and wet, and I battled his tongue with my own even as his cock pressed against me, then into me.

I gasped into his mouth at the intrusion, the hardness of him and the sudden stretch and tear of my body. There was a twinge of pain, then the wash of pleasure as he moved. The relief that ran through me was almost as sweet; the proof that this wasn’t about torture or hurt in the stroke of his hands, the lick of his tongue.

This was a reward, my mind supplied, my eyes locking with Ahrmour’s as he moved inside me, the head of his cock brushing against that bundle of nerves and making me gasp, moan. Without shackles my hands moved to clutch at his back, my nails half biting into the strong wings of his shoulder blades as he rode me harder, faster.

There was another kiss and I tasted blood, his fang nicking my lip. The smell only seemed to heighten the moment, my own length impossibly hard in his hand as he pumped me in time with every thrust. I whimpered as the pressure inside me built toward a crescendo, some pathetic, miserable part of me /grateful/ for the pleasure if it meant there was no pain.

Lash: [The look of adoration, the sounds the male was making under me, was a boost to my ego after the failed night out hunting the Brotherhood. Taking the male, as I often felt the need to, was something I saved for. Other captives that had been housed herein, I had no desire to fuck. Fuck /with/ and torture, yes. But getting this male to bend and break had been easier than I thought, and with the intel he provided earlier, it would make keeping him alive and healthy a benefit I needed to keep.

Breaking from his mouth, my fangs drug a path down the column of his throat, each pounding thrust into the male’s ass cementing my growing plan. The lingering taste of his blood and the raking of his nails down my back fueled everything right now; the need to make him cum, the need to mark him inside and out with bites and my own scent, the need to keep him mine and keep him willingly obeying me was driving every move. Growling darkly, my hand kept steady pace with each impaling punch of my hips, urging the male to come undone beneath me.

Not something I was used to commanding of others, the mental grasp that this male needed the release tickled the knowledge that it would serve to increase the pliability of his willingness. And lock his devotion to me.]

Cum for me, Grahve. [Words purred in a panting growl as I worked the male, my own balls burning and aching from being unaccustomed to holding back and filling my spine with a raw tingling sensation I’d not felt since my transition.]

Grahve: My back bowed off the bed as one hard thrust pushed me closer to the edge, a starburst of pleasure going off that filled me up and had me panting, moaning. This pleasure was so much more exquisite with the knowledge it could have easily been pain, and having known great agony now, great suffering, it seemed fair that this was ecstasy.

As my nails dragged at him, my fingers clutching for purchase, his words penetrated the haze. Ahrmour had given me permission, wanted my release. I looked up into his eyes and saw no guile, no lie, only need. The need to see me satisfied and satiated. The desire for ‘me’.

I stopped holding on, relaxing those last muscles that had clung to self control and kept me from teetering into a climax. Which came with his next thrust, the head of his cock nailing my prostate and launching me into another fucking world.

I cried out, back arching, cock throbbing as thick, hot spurts of cum released over his hand onto my stomach. My body clenched around him, my vision fading as I rode the wave into a bliss I rarely knew any more.

Lash: [The heat of his release, the pulsing jerk of his cock in my hand as he spilled his cum triggered my own barely held-back orgasm. The pace I’d maintained became furious and raw with primal need, the bone jarring slap of skin on skin echoing only slightly louder than the groans, grunts, and the growled curses that colored the air added to the scent of my marking Grahve.

A final driving thrust in, my head tipped back with a roar and my balls released, coating the male deep with my scent. It didn’t matter that I’d not “bonded” with him, he’d smell like me regardless of that ancient act. Chest heaving with each breath, my body oddly trembling with postcoital aftershocks and the occasional hip jerk as the waning waves of pleasure rocked through me. I dropped low to cage the body under me and brushed a faint whisper of a kiss to the male’s mouth and grinned breathlessly.]

I want you to fight by my side.

Grahve: Ahrmour’s release filled me, his body hunched over mine as he slowed and finally stilled inside me. Every breath was a shallow pant as the high faded, my hands lightly stroking at his back in an absent fashion - a small affection that didn’t seem out of place in the moment. The brush of his lips to mine earned a faint smile, my eyes half closed as I basked in the afterglow.

‘Fight by my side…’

The words took a second to register, and my eyes opened fully as they did. I stared up at him, at Ahrmour, only… it wasn’t Ahrmour. And despite the fading glow of the orgasm colouring my view of this tiny caged world, it wasn’t the only other lovers I’d taken since coming here either. It wasn’t Qhuinn and his quick smile, his dual coloured eyes. It wasn’t Crhis and his protectiveness, his sarcasm and humour.

It was Lash. Lash, who’d do anything to hurt them. To end them. Lash, who had ripped away parts of me that were beyond redemption or salvation. Lash, who hurt me just as often if not more than he cared for me. And while I wanted to believe the look in his eyes, the idea that I could stand at his side and never feel his wrath again, I knew it to be a lie.

‘Better to be the right hand of the devil than in his path’? Sure, but that was only if you weren’t leaving others to be consumed in that fiery path as well.

I shocked myself with the fact I wanted to want him. I wanted to help him. But I couldn’t help him hurt them. As much of me was shaped by them as it now was by him.

“I’m sorry…” I whispered, and a part of me truly meant it. “But I would rather see myself dead than betray Qhuinn or the others to the fate you have consigned to them.”

Lash: [Grahve’s words sliced through the miazma I’d allowed in so short a time to fill my desire to destroy the Brotherhood, pissing me off instantly. All that had happened in the last few hours faded, all the gratitude I’d felt, the twinges of all the ‘feel-good’ vibes? Vanished in less than a heartbeat.

A deadly growl replaced my gorged, sated state as I gripped the male’s face with both hands, fangs bared in lethal rage, smoky gray eyes locked on his, the trainee’s widened with shock.]

You will be sorry, sorry you can’t watch those you love die by my hand one by one! And to think I had great plans for you...

[The gall this male had to deny what only I could offer him, just to ‘save’ those who couldn’t be put off enough to even organize a search party for the trainee. No skin off my nose, as it were. But for the male below me to flaunt it after all this time? How stupid.

Hand shaking, I ignored the male’s gasp of surprise as the thick musk of his fear perfumed the air, his body beginning to jerk under me as he grabbed my wrists. Nails dug into my flesh the harder I squeezed but I neither felt it nor would I let go had I the inkling. No. This male didn’t want to watch me take down the Brotherhood?

His screams mixed with the scents of sex, blood pungent fear, the skin giving way to the tender tissues underneath the hard pressure of my thumbs. Another idea formed, and my sadistic side took over.]

You don’t want to watch? [The shriek of pain and flailing of the male under me scored points as his eyes bulged, bloodied and messy down the side of his face. Laughter scorched the air as I leaned back, plucking both eyeballs out with a sucking, flesh-tearing sound.]

Now you don’t have to.

#BondedBrothers #BlindedByTheDark

[rather-impertinent]

The Girl Next Door Chp. 3

A/N: Hi friends! Here is chapter 3 at last! It’s a long one, so you might want to grab yourself a cup of tea or, in the spirit of this chapter, pour yourself a drink! I hope you enjoy it and I’d love to know what you think! xo

Demelza Poldark 9:09pm

DWIGHT <3

Hurry up!!!

Dwight Enys 9:10pm

I’m ready, I’m just waiting for Caroline. Literally waiting right outside her front door. Maybe she’s ignoring me?

Demelza Poldark 9:10pm

Don’t be ridiculous! You’re handsome and lovely, what’s not to like?! X

Dwight Enys 9:10pm

Haha oh ffs how much have you had to drink?

Demelza Poldark 9:12pm

Oh, A LOT! You’ve got some catching up to do! How amazing is autocorrect btw?! Anyways MOVE YOUR ARSE DON’T MAKE ME COME OVER YOU KNOW I WILL

Dwight sighed loudly. She would definitely come over to drag them both out if they didn’t show up soon. Dwight knocked on Caroline’s door again. “Caroline? Are you ready yet?”

“Just a sec!” She called through the door. Dwight heard clattering behind the door and assumed she was likely still getting ready and would thus be much longer than one second. He genuinely couldn’t believe she had agreed to come in the first place, and, more than that, seemed happy to be invited. That is, before she had smiled at him in her unusual way, as she had won an argument they had not been having.

While Caroline was busy still getting ready, Dwight seized the opportunity to take out his phone to see if he looked semi-presentable. He eyed his stubble and began to feel that he should have probably shaved, but he supposed he still looked fine. He smoothed his hair and double checked that there was nothing in his teeth, which of course there wasn’t as he’d literally brushed them twenty minutes ago and had neither eaten nor drank anything since. His aftershave was a little strong though, maybe. Why was he so fidgety? Probably because he hadn’t seen his friends for a while and didn’t want them to go all parental on him if he looked like shit. Yeah, that was it.

Demelza Poldark 9:18pm

DWIGHT WH Y ARE YOU STILL IN YOUR FLAT I CAN SEE YOU ON SNAPCHAT MAPS I WILL PUT MY JACKET ON IN A MIN I SWEAR TO GOD

Just as Dwight began typing a soothing reply to his distressed, inebriated friend, Caroline’s flat door swung open. She snatched her coat off its hanger and grabbed her bag before stepping onto the landing. “Sorry, sorry! My stupid fucking shower took ages to heat up!”

Dwight simply stared at her, blinking several times, as if unable to believe she was real. Yes, normally she was very pretty, but he had never seen her properly dressed up before. She stood in front of him in a one-shouldered white dress, her hair long and wavy, with a pale pink colour on her lips and a light smoky-eye behind her thick, black eyelashes. “Wow. Um – you – ehm – you look great.” She fought a smile at his compliment and smoothed her white dress. “Thank you,” she replied evenly as she buttoned her coat. She then shrugged and flipped her long curly locks over her shoulder, “I know.” He laughed at her lack of modesty. “You do know we’re only going to the Red Lion around the corner though, and not some red-carpet event?” he taunted cheekily, then immediately prayed it wouldn’t offend her. Caroline gasped quietly and eyed him with surprise, but appreciated the tease. “Well, in the words of Coco Chanel: ‘A woman can be overdressed but never over elegant.’” She sauntered past him and headed down the stairs with as much grace as if she was wearing her fluffy pug slippers, that he’d seen when he attended on her pet, as opposed to heels.

It was then Dwight realised that a small dog, by the name of Horace, was following her closely at her heels. “Um, are you bringing Horace, too? I don’t think the pub allows dogs…” He frowned and bit his lip.

She looked at him as though he was the stupidest person in the world. “Yes, Dr Enys, I thought it would be a great idea to bring my pug to a bar that wouldn’t let him and then chain him to a fence for the night while I get drunk inside,” she replied, her voice dripping with scathing sarcasm. “Do you think I’m an idiot? I’m dropping him off at Mrs Figg’s flat, she loves him.”

“The latter sentence would have sufficed,” Dwight said tightly, not caring for her tone at his simple, reasonable, question.

She knocked on door number 12 of their building and awaited an answer. “Well, not for me!” she replied sweetly, a sardonic smiled on her face. Mrs Figg appeared at her door then, very happy to see Dwight and Caroline, and – above all – Horace; whom she promised to spoil rotten, telling Caroline to enjoy herself and that she could come and collect Horace the next day at any time, or even allow him to stay until Monday, if she so wished.

A little over five minutes later, as the door to their apartment building slammed shut behind them, Caroline asked: “So, how far is it to the pub?”

Dwight made an uncertain noise, as it had been quite a while since he’d gone on a night out, and longer still since he had been to this specific pub. “About a ten to fifteen-minute walk, I’d say. Will you manage it in those shoes?” He motioned to her glossy white heels, which made her an inch taller than him.

Caroline looked down at her shoes and then at Dwight and proceeded to laugh heartily. “Oh, trust me when I say I can walk better in heels than I can in flats!”

He looked at her 5-inch heels, genuinely perplexed. “What? How is that even possible?” His mind went into overdrive as he tried to recall the exact, medical formation of the human foot.

“Well, you’ll remember that I said I did a bit of modelling to you yesterday?” He nodded. “I kind of lied. I actually did a lot of modelling, it was kind of my career. It was nice to wear expensive clothes and have your makeup done by other people but honestly, seven years of being told how thin you should be and how you should wear your hair and how you should dress just got really tiring.” She laughed it off, but Dwight had a feeling that the comment wasn’t as flippant as she’d intended it to be.

He scratched his ear, unsure of what to say next. He coughed, which came out in a puff in the cold, night air. “So, is that why you–“

Dwight’s phoned vibrated and pinged at full volume, not once, but twice. He gritted his teeth together – this better be a spam email from Dominos. “Sorry, hold on, two seconds.” He fished his iPhone out of the pocket of his dark jeans and opened the messages. Caroline distracted herself with her phone, too.

 Ross Poldark 9:27pm

Where are you mate?

Think Dem is about to have a nervous breakdown, if I don’t fucking kill her first for being a pain in the arse! Move it!!!

Dwight Enys 9:27pm

OMG IM FUCKING COMING IM LITERALLY AROUND THE CORNER

Ross Poldark 9:27pm

Alright keep your cock on! See you in a min. Want a beer?

Dwight Enys 9:28pm

Yeah please. Heineken

Ross Poldark 9:28pm

Well then hurry up and get here so you can order yourself one ;)

Dwight Enys 9:28pm

Why am I friends with you? Can’t believe I fell for that

Ross Poldark 9:28pm

You should know better by now Enys. We saved you and your lady friend a seat btw ;)

Dwight Enys 9:29pm

Oh don’t fucking start she’s not my lady friend

Ross Poldark 9:29pm

She is a lady is she not? And your friend?? Or are you lying to us and bringing a bloke? If this is your way of coming out Dwight it’s a bit extra but we accept and love you no matter what

Dwight Enys 9:30pm

Omg Ross

I’m gonna kill you before the end of the night I can feel it

If you fucking say anything embarrassing about me to Caroline I will never speak to you again. I will literally unstitch the scar on your face and let you slowly bleed to death

Ross Poldark 9:30pm

:(

Now now Dwight we mustn’t fight, you don’t want to upset your lady friend x

And with that, Dwight firmly locked his phone and let out an exasperated groan. Caroline, who had been watching Horace on her phone via the PugCam she had given to Mrs Figg, looked up at Dwight with furrowed brows. “What’s wrong?” she asked as they continued their way down the narrow streets, Caroline’s heels echoing loudly.

Dwight wiped his face. “My friends…” He sighed. “They are lovely people. Really, truly, the best people ever. But please, please, don’t listen to anything they say about me tonight, they are determined to ruin my life.” He chuckled, but his eyes held a serious, somewhat nervous, gaze.

Caroline placed her phone into her coat pocket as the sign of the Red Lion came into view. “But that’s the best part about having friends, Dr Enys!” she cried in amusement, smiling in victory as Dwight sighed and held the door open for her.

Ross Poldark chuckled as he placed his phone back in his pocket. “Well, I’ve managed to wind Dwight up nicely, so let’s see how flustered we can make him when he gets here,” he announced to the table, rubbing his hands together like a cartoon villain. Francis and George laughed in agreement, but all of the women looked at Ross, appalled. They were very defensive of their ‘little brother’ friend, even though he happened to be almost 4 years older than Demelza and was only 2 months older than Elizabeth.

Demelza slapped Ross on his, admittedly large, bicep. “Enough, Ross. When was the last time Dwight even talked to a girl that wasn’t any of us? He must genuinely like her – even if it is just as a friend – so don’t ruin it for him, please.” She placed her hand on top of his which rested on his thigh. He moved to place his hand on top and shook hers gently before interlacing their fingers, a gesture which Demelza knew meant that he had agreed to her terms.

“Yes, Ross, please don’t ruin it for him,” Elizabeth begged from the top of the table, before whispering aside to her husband: “Francis, darling, please make sure Ross doesn’t do anything stupid.” She placed a hand on his shoulder and brought out her largest doe eyes.

Francis took a gulp of his beer and whined internally at her ability to make him do anything. “I promise I will try, my dear. But you do know that no one can actually stop Ross from doing something stupid, I think it’s part of his DNA at this point!”

Elizabeth chuckled and leaned in to place a kiss on his cheek before wiping away the stain of her red lipstick. “Well, I’m definitely glad it’s not part of your DNA.”

Her phone buzzed, and she snatched it quickly, causing Francis to raise his eyebrows. “Who’s that?”

“No one,” she lied, concealing her phone from her husband’s view as smile spread over her face.

“Elizabeth.”

Elizabeth sighed. “Okay, fine! It’s Emma, I was just making sure that everything was OK.” She showed Francis a picture of Geoffrey Charles and Julia watching what appeared to be Finding Nemo.

“That’s a sweet photo but you’ve got to loosen the reins, darling, he’ll be starting school next year. He’ll be fine.”

“I know. I just miss him, that’s all,” she said glumly, leaning into her husband. He rubbed the side of her arm in comfort and discreetly pushed her fifth glass of red wine further away from her grasp.

George tapped Francis on the shoulder. “Is Elizabeth alright?” he whispered, his brows furrowed in concern.

Francis waved a hand dismissively and pointed at her glass of wine, a small smirk on his face. “Yeah, she’s fine, just missing GC.”

George nodded and continued his conversation with Verity, Andrew and Sam. “So, Sam, why didn’t you stay at home with Emma?”

Sam sat up stiffly, having spent most of the night thus far silently and contentedly listening to the conversations around him. “Well, ye see, she insisted that I go out ‘cause I’ve not seen you guys for a while. Plus, she ain’t feeling too well and was happy to babysit since it’s kind of her job anyways.” Sam smiled, beaming with pride that his soon-to-be wife was the friendliest nursery teacher in all of Cornwall. Resolutely sober on account of his strong Christian faith, he was all too happy to ensure his friends were able to get home safely at the end of, what would undoubtedly be, a long night of drinking.

Demelza and Ross were discussing plans for Julia’s third birthday when Demelza’s phone pinged.

Dwight Enys 9:38pm

We’re here. Where are you guys? Can’t see you, it’s weirdly busy in here tonight wtf

Demelza squealed and leaped out of her chair. “Dwight’s here!” She informed the rest of the table over her shoulder as she pushed through the groups of people, making her way to the front door.

Dwight glanced around the crowd of people in the pub – searching for his friends – before shrugging his shoulders in defeat and looking at Caroline, “Can I get you something to drink?” He had to shout slightly due to the amount of people drunkenly chatting as well as the rather loud jukebox music.

She smiled. “Yes, please, I’ll have a–“

“–Dwight!” Shrieked Demelza, stealing the end of Caroline’s sentence, before flinging her arms around her friend, nearly crushing his bones with the tightness of her hug. Although, it had been about three weeks since they’d last seen each other, and so Dwight wasn’t complaining. In fact, he was quite glad that one of his best friends seemed to miss him just as much as he’d missed her.

“Demelza,” he greeted, trying to smile and breathe. Demelza realised him from her grasp and looked curiously at the beautiful blonde woman who accompanied him.

“Demelza, this is Caroline. Caroline, my friend Demelza.”

Caroline extended her smooth, porcelain hand. “Hi. How do you–“

Demelza ignored her proffered hand and enveloped the stranger in a tight hug instead. “Hi, Caroline! It’s so nice to meet you!” She grinned widely at her, and Caroline couldn’t help but returning the redhead’s infectious, genuine smile. “Come meet everyone!” Demelza insisted, taking her arm and pulling her along.

“Demelza,” Dwight hissed, but it was too late, and they’d already began approaching the table, so he quickly followed like the obedient puppy he was.

The three of them made their way through the crowded pub to their table, which just so happened to be right at the other side of the building but was conveniently located next to the bar. “Excuse us, sorry, pardon me, sorry, excuse me, sorry, can I just get by one second?”

They arrived at the large table to a chorus of “Hey, Dwight!” followed immediately by not-so-subtle staring at the woman who accompanied him.

“Hi, guys!” He cleared his throat. “This is my new neighbour, and friend, Caroline.”

Caroline smiled, confidently waved and said: “Hello! Pleased to meet you all.”

Dwight again cleared his throat, glad that the introduction was over and that he had escaped unscathed. “So, what’s everyone drinking? My round.” George knocked back the remainder of his beer and tried to conceal a burp afterwards. “I’ll have a Becks, please.” “Red wine, please, Dwight,” Elizabeth slurred slightly, a happy smile on her warm face. “Same for me, please,” chimed Verity, her head resting on her husband’s shoulder.

Francis scratched his stubble in contemplation. “Err, I think I’ll go for a rum and coke this time, please.” Ross simply held up his glass, which proudly displayed the Jameson logo, staring at Dwight as though he was questioning the bonds of their friendship. Demelza rolled her eyes at Ross’s inability to simply ask for a drink. “I’ll have a gin and tonic, please, Dwight. Thanks.” She patted his shoulder and sat back down in her seat next to her husband. Dwight nodded at Demelza and turned his attention to Caroline. “What about you, Caroline?” “Do they have any Moët?” she asked as she removed her coat and sat down on the last seat of the booth, peering past his form to studying the drinks behind the bar. Everyone exchanged eyebrow-risen glances at her request. Dwight shook his head slowly. “Um, I’m not sure. But even if they did I’m afraid I don’t really have the budget to pay about £35 for a glass of wine,” he laughed nervously, rubbing the back of his neck. Caroline’s eyes widened; she did not know it cost so much for a single glass, and it happened to be her favourite drink. “Oh, of course not. Sorry. Um, do they have cocktails?” she inquired coolly, trying to read the menu behind him.

Again, Dwight shook his head. “Unfortunately, not. This is kind of a shithole pub, you see. But we’re all very fond of it. Great memories and all that!” Everyone else hummed in agreement.

Caroline’s face fell. What the fuck was she going to drink? She couldn’t bear cheap wine after all the fine wines she’s drank throughout her life, prosecco would be a struggle too – as would cheap gin – she knew she did not like rum… Dwight noticed her struggle and the pretty pink flush creeping up on her cheeks. “How about a vodka lemonade?” he suggested lightly. She smiled in relief at her saviour. “Um, yes. Sure,” she replied brightly. “Thank you!” She called at his turned back as he approached the bar. “Oh, shit,” Dwight muttered as he got to the bar, realising he had just accidentally been rude. “Sam, Andrew, do you guys want a coke or something?” he shouted over the playing jukebox, which had been turned up when The Arctic Monkeys came on. “No, thank you,” the designated drivers called in unison. Caroline examined her nail varnish and tried to make herself feel at ease without Dwight being there. She didn’t even know anything about these people, she only knew Demelza’s name, how does one even start a conversation? Demelza sensed her hesitation and opened her mouth to speak before Elizabeth’s excited shriek pierced everyone in the vicinity’s ears.

Elizabeth repeatedly slapped her hand against the wooden table, and off her husband’s arm before pointing to the bar. “Guys, look! Rosina is talking to Dwight!” She wiggled her eyebrows suggestively.

Everyone’s heads snapped around and the boys began to wolf whistle, which Demelza reprimanded them for. “Stop it! Rosina is a nice girl, don’t embarrass her!”

Ross insisted: “We’re not trying to embarrass her, love, we’re trying to embarrass Dwight!”

Caroline examined Rosina from her seat. She was a young – late teens or early twenties – pretty, blonde girl, with a curvy figure, full lips and chubby cheeks. In other words, serious competition. Not that Caroline was in competition with anyone for Dwight, of course. He could talk to any girl he liked, she didn’t care. Besides, even if she was interested in Dwight – which she wasn’t – there wouldn’t be any competition. Wrapping men around her little finger is what Caroline had always done best, and could do with Dwight, if necessary. But it wouldn’t be. Satisfied, she relaxed in her seat and tried to catch everyone’s names as they spoke.

Dwight soon returned with drinks and without Rosina. He placed the tray of alcohol on the table and dispensed the drinks to his friends before sitting down.

Elizabeth stared at him, her glance then shifting around the pub. “Where’s Rosina?”

Dwight’s brows furrowed as he took a sip of his Heineken. “What do you mean? She’s over there somewhere,” he pointed vaguely to the other side of the room, “She came out with Ruth.”

“All the more reason to have invited her to join us,” Elizabeth insisited, “Ruth has fancied George since she was about eleven years old! Then George could’ve had a lady friend, too!” Elizabeth smiled, oblivious to the fact that she was the lady friend that George desired.

George physically shivered. “Ugh, she’s so annoying, though! And she’s like half my age!” George protested to Francis before laughing into the rim of his beer bottle.

Ross’s spine straightened. “Actually, George, she’s only nine years younger than you. Demelza is nine years younger than me, is there something you’re trying to say?” He inquired seriously, his narrowed eyes fixed on George’s form as the grip on his glass of whisky tightened.

Demelza placed a hand on her husband’s chest. “Ross,” she warned quietly, trying to push him back against his chair.

Francis, too, placed a hand on George’s shoulder; he had definitely had enough to drink that he would not hesitate to fight Ross if he suggested it. George felt the firm grasp of his friend’s hand and relaxed. “Of course not, Ross,” he said, painfully cordially before taking a sip of his beer. “Not everything is about you, dickhead,” he muttered under his breath.

“What did you just say?” Ross demanded, his voice rising. “Fucking say it again, I dare you!” He stood up, his index finger pointing at George, his nostrils flaring. Demelza grasped at his arm, willing him to calm down, her brows furrowed.

Dwight and Verity groaned. But Dwight merely took another sip of his drink.

“Guys, enough! Stop it!” Elizabeth cried in distress. She hated violence and was having a good night up until now and did not want it to be ruined by a silly fight.

“’Love one another with brotherly affection. Outdo one another in showing honour,’” Sam preached, hoping to diffuse the tension.

Francis stood up beside George and grabbed his arm. “Yes, I agree. Stop it. Both of you. Come on George, we’ll go outside for a cigarette until you calm down.” He hauled him from the table by his arm and thence out of the fire exit into the night air.

Caroline tapped Dwight on the shoulder and motioned for him to lean in. “What was all that about?” she whispered, her eyes alight with intrigue.

“Oh, yeah,” Dwight whispered, realising he’d forgotten to explain the politics of his friend group to her, “Ross and George hate each other, they have done since school. No one can remember why, not even them. But George is best friends with Francis, who is Ross’s cousin and who is also married to Elizabeth, the pretty, drunk brunette over there,” He pointed to her and she offered a drunken smile and small wave. “So, they try tolerate each other for the sake of the rest of us.” He then pointed to Verity in the corner. “That’s Verity, Francis’s older sister and Ross’s cousin, obviously. She’s married to Andrew, he’s really nice. He’s in the Navy so we don’t get to see him often. Beside him is Sam, who is training to be a minister and he’s getting married to our other friend, Emma, pretty soon. You know Demelza, and she’s married to Ross, for sins she committed in a past life,” he concluded with a smile.

Caroline sipped her drink through the two little black straws in her glass as she glanced around the table; everyone now engaged in pleasant conversation once again. “They seem nice.”

He smiled thoughtfully. “They are. You should talk to them,” he encouraged, “don’t be scared!”

“OK, I will,” she quipped, accepting his challenge. “Demelza,” she called across the table with confidence, causing everyone else’s conversations to halt, “is that your natural hair colour?”

Demelza twisted a long, copper curl nervously around her index finger. “Uh, yeah, why?”

“It’s amazing! Do you know how many people would die to have hair that colour in the fashion industry?”

Demelza jumped out of her chair and rushed over to give Caroline another hug. “Oh, thank you, Caroline!” She beamed at the pretty blonde. “Dwight, I love this woman! You can stay!” she told Caroline, patting her hand while making Sam move up so she could sit next to her new friend.

Dwight and Ross exchanged amused glances. “So, Ross, how’s work?”

Ross groaned, and sipped his whisky. “Shite, and you?”

“Shite,” Dwight agreed with a strained sigh.

“Nice.” They clinked their drinks together and took large gulps, illogically hoping that the burning sensations in their throats would somehow alleviate the stress of their respectable professions.

Demelza noticed this and sighed in sympathy. Caroline looked at her quizzically and so Demelza motioned to the two drinking men in front of them. “I think they’re both having a bad time at work right now. They’re both exhausted, you can tell, but they won’t ask for help or any time off. Ross works for Shell, and he’s pretty high up in the company,” she paused to smile proudly, “but as the oil industry is a little on the fence right now, he’s been having a hard time. And Dwight… Well, Dwight is just Dwight. His entire life is his job – and he’s worked hard for it – but I just wish he’d spend more time with other people, doing normal things. This is the first time he’s been out for about a month and last time he didn’t even drink because he was working a nightshift the next day! A nightshift!” She raised her arms in exasperation and Caroline laughed at her animation. It was clear that Demelza cared deeply for Dwight, as she no doubt cared for all her friends, thought Caroline. It would be nice to have a friend like her.

Caroline took another sip of her drink, finding – to her own surprise – that she liked it very much. “Yes, Dwight does work a lot. I hear him go to work every day, sometimes I see him leave or come in if I’m walking Horace.”

Demelza’s face lit up. “Is Horace your dog?”

Caroline smiled and immediately pulled out her phone to show Demelza a picture of him. “Yes, I love him so much. He’s my baby.”

“Awww,” cooed Demelza, also pulling out her phone from her handbag. “This is my dog Garrick, he’s getting old which makes me sad but he’s the sweetest dog in the world. This is him with my daughter Julia, she’s nearly three, I can’t believe it!”

“Oh, what a sweet photo! Horace doesn’t like children. Or people in general, really. He hates Dwight!” Caroline began to laugh as she recalled how Horace had growled every time Dwight had touched – or attempted to touch – him.

“Who hates me?” Dwight inquired, his ears turning hot at the mention of his name.

“My dog,” replied Caroline, her eyes dancing with mirth, “And me!” she added, her pink lips pursed cheekily.

Dwight chuckled quietly and took another gulp of his beer, which was now empty. “Aha, see, you clearly don’t hate me; if you did, you wouldn’t have come with me tonight.” He crossed his arms across his chest and smiled in victory at her.

Caroline flipped her hair over her shoulder and narrowed her eyes at him, resenting the implication that she was interested in him. “Goodness, are all men so odiously conceited, Dr Enys? Or is it just you?” Ross whooped at her comeback, thinking there was no way his shy friend could retaliate.

He smiled tightly before replying in a light tone: “Demelza, could you look in Caroline’s glass? I thought I asked the barman to put in some lime cordial, but it seems he put in the Oxford Dictionary of English instead.”

This time Ross whooped so loud the table beside theirs turned around to see what was going on; Ross slapped Dwight hard on the back and began to roar with laughter. “Oh-ho, Dwight! Good one, mate! I didn’t think you had it in you!”

“Neither did I,” Caroline commented as she continued to stare at him, her eyes still narrowed. Though Dwight thought she somehow looked… impressed?

Before he had time to contemplate this further, he started as he felt a hand on his left shoulder. “Hi, Dwight!” sang an absolutely inebriated Rosina, running her hand down his arm without hesitation.

Dwight’s cheeks instantly inflamed. “Uh, hi, Rosina,” he said quietly.

Caroline cleared her throat, waiting to be introduced to this pretty blonde, but Dwight took no notice of her as Rosina pulled up a chair beside him. “How’s your leg?” he asked her.

She pulled her dress further up her thigh as if he would somehow be able to see her cured knee ligaments better. “So much better! All thanks to you!” She placed an arm on his shoulder and smiled sweetly.

Dwight laughed uneasily and wished he hadn’t already finished his drink. “You’re welcome.”

The two of them then became engaged in light conversation, which Caroline watched with slightly narrowed eyes. Why wasn’t he paying attention to her? And who was Rosina? And why did she even care? Caroline went to take another drink from her glass but realised it was empty. Perhaps she could win Dwight’s attention over with a kind gesture. “How about we do some shots?” Caroline loudly asked the table, “My treat!” Everyone else agreed immediately and Caroline felt proud of her brilliant idea and went to order twenty-odd Jägerbombs.

A little over 3 hours later, Caroline began to think that her idea wasn’t so brilliant after all, as she sat crouched over the toilet, her sick everywhere except from the actual toilet bowl. Through the incessant ringing in her ears, she thought she could hear banging on the door behind her. It vaguely sounded like Demelza, but she could not make out what she was saying. Her face felt numb, as did her hands and the rest of her body, and the room span so violently she felt like she was on the teacup ride at the fair.

“Caroline! Are you alright? Can you open the door, please?” Demelza heard no reply and began to worry her bottom lip.

Verity came in then, looking for Demelza, very tipsy but not quite drunk. “My dear,” she said, placing her hand on Demelza’s shoulder, “Ross is looking for you. He told me to tell you that he loves you with all his heart and that he misses you and wants you to come back to your seat so he can admire you,” she snickered, “He is so sentimental when he’s–“

The worried look on the redhead’s face made Verity stop speaking. “Demelza? What is it?”

“It’s Caroline, she’s been sick, and now she’s not answerin’! I think I’m going to have to climb over the stall and get her. Will you hold my shoes?” Demelza did not wait for a reply and removed her black heels and placed them in Verity’s arms before climbing onto the toilet cistern and then over the cubicle wall. She landed with a thud but was unhurt. “Shit, she’s been sick everywhere. We’re going to have to take her home. Verity, will you go tell Dwight that we’re going to get Caroline a taxi?” Demelza called through the locked door of the bathroom stall.

“Yes, of course! I’ll just leave your shoes by the sink!” Verity replied, as she went off in search of Dwight.

Six minutes later, having waded her way through the various groups of people, Verity tapped Dwight on the shoulder. He turned to look at her, his eyes slightly glazed over. “Dwight, we’re going to walk Caroline to the taxi rank, she really needs to go home.”

Dwight’s neck craned past Verity, looking for Caroline, his pulse growing faster. “What? Where is she? Is she alright? And you can’t mean the one on Hilton Street? That’s far too dangerous for you guys at this time of night! I’ll take Caroline home, she is my neighbour after all.” He excused himself from Rosina’s company and went to find Caroline, but was halted in his search by one of Ruth Teague’s sisters as he tried to enter the ladies’ toilet.

“Eh, what do you think you’re doing? This is the girls’ toilets; the men’s is over there!” She pointed behind him and crossed her arms in feminist defiance.

Dwight sighed and danced impatiently on the spot. “Look, Tracey, I’m not a creep, you know I’m not a creep.” Weird start, Enys. “I’m just looking for my friend Caroline, is she in there?”

Tracey snorted: “Is she the gorgeous blonde who’s spewed all over one of the cubicles? I think Demelza is looking after her, pretty sure she’s slumped on the floor.”

Oh, fuck. Not good. He would have to pull out the ‘I am a doctor’ card. He willed himself not to slur and said, in his best professional tone: “Yep, that’s her. Could you please let me by? I need to make sure she doesn’t have alcohol poisoning.”

Tracey, mercifully, stood aside and let him enter without another word. Sure enough, Caroline was slumped on the floor, Demelza’s arm around her, trying to coax her into drinking some water.

Demelza breathed a sigh of relief as soon she saw Dwight. “Oh, Dwight! Thank God! Caroline is fucked, I think she’s asleep.”

“I’m… not… asleep…,” mumbled Caroline against Demelza’s shoulder. “I want my bed,” she moaned. “Want my bed.”

Dwight kneeled in front of them on the floor next to the sinks, his jeans becoming wet. Considering the amount of stick men get for being unhygienic, Dwight would wager that the ladies’ toilets were far more disgusting than the men’s. “Caroline? Can you hear me? Do you want me to take you home?”

Caroline made an effort to lift her head, though it felt very heavy. A handsome man’s blurry features can into her view. “Dwight?” she asked weakly. “Yes… please take me home.”

With the combined strength of Dwight and Demelza, they managed to get Caroline on her feet and walking – or rather, stumbling. Their arms were wrapped around her back, holding her up. As they exited the toilet and entered the bar area again, they were met by Rosina. “Oh, Dwight! There you are!” she smiled and ran her fingers through her curly hair. “Elizabeth said you’d gone to find Caroline and take her home. Could you drop me off, too?” She fluttered her eyelashes at him.

“I think we’re going to walk, it will be a nightmare trying to get a taxi at this hour,” he deflected calmly.

His deflection was unsuccessful. “Oh, that’s fine! I only live about 5 minutes away anyways! I’ll just grab my coat.”

Dwight sighed and carefully let go of Caroline, leaning her on Demelza. “I’ll go grab our jackets, too, Dem, one second.”

He returned to their table to find Ross and Francis preaching about the disarray of the government – Verity, Andrew and Sam all ready to leave. Elizabeth was asleep on George, who did not seem to mind one bit. Dwight grabbed his and Caroline’s coats and tried to sneak away without being noticed.

Sam ruined his plan. “Dwight! Do you want a lift, mate?” Everyone looked at him expectantly, except Elizabeth, who snored quietly in the corner.

“No, thanks, Sam. I have to walk Rosina and Caroline home.”

Francis’s mouth fell open before an amused smile stretched across his face. “Rosina and Caroline? My, my, my friend! This is a change!” He raised a suggestive eyebrow.

Before Dwight could tell him to fuck off, Ross grasped his best friend’s hand. “I’m so proud, Dwight,” he slurred, wiping away a mock tear of pride. Everyone else laughed.

“Fuck you all,” Dwight sang, releasing himself from Ross’s grip and making to leave, “Goodnight, dickheads. Love you.”

A chorus of affection rang out as he left the table, shaking his head and smiling. They were the closest thing he had to a family and he loved them all dearly, even if he did – occasionally – want to hit them.

When he returned to where Demelza and Caroline were standing, he was pleased to see that Caroline was finally drinking the water Demelza had been trying to feed her for the past 15 minutes. “This is her third glass of water,” Demelza told Dwight, “she said she was thirsty and hasn’t stopped drinking since you left.”

Dwight smiled slightly. “That’s good. Feeling any better, Caroline?”

She nodded slightly and continued to glug the cooling elixir of life until the glass was empty. “A bit. Can we go home now?” She pouted prettily at him and Dwight could not help but think how much she looked like Horace in that moment.

“Yes, we’re going. We’re just waiting for Rosina.”

“Rosina?” Was all Caroline could say. She refrained from commenting further.

“Yes?” Rosina asked as she appeared behind Dwight, wearing a pretty pink and white gingham coat.

He started when she spoke from behind him. “Nothing. I was just explaining to Caroline that we were waiting for you.” He then turned to Demelza and kissed her on the cheek as he enveloped her in a hug, “Bye, Dem! Give Julia a kiss from me.”

She held her friend tightly. “I will! Bye Dwight. Come over for dinner next Sunday and see her if you’re free, she misses you!”

“That’s perfect, I’m off next Sunday. I’d love to.”

While the two best friends said their goodbyes, the two blondes had engaged in a stare off, which Caroline lost when Demelza bid her goodbye and gave her a friendly hug.

Several minutes later, Dwight, Caroline and Rosina made their way through the dimly lit streets of Cornwall, the old brick townhouses appearing slightly menacing in the dark. Their breaths came out in icy puffs and Caroline shivered, wishing she had worn her wool coat instead. The stars above them glistened steadfastly, and a crescent moon cast some semblance of light as they made their way down a narrow side street to Rosina’s flat. Her flat was luckily one of the first few, though only accessible by a daunting number of steps. Caroline almost whimpered at the sight.

“Caroline, you stay here. I’ll just walk Rosina to her door and then we can go home.” Dwight quickly made his way up the steps, Rosina on his arm, and Caroline sat down heavily on a concrete step. So, he was really going to leave her here, drunk and out in the cold, while he shagged Rosina. She couldn’t believe it. She couldn’t believe she thought that he was a gentleman, a true gentleman, not like the actual gentleman she had met, who were all ridiculously arrogant and pompous. A hand on her shoulder nearly ceased the function of her heart. She gasped out loud.

“Ready to go?” Dwight asked. Feeling her jump, he frowned at her. “Caroline? Is something wrong?”

She pulled herself up by the carefully crafted railing. “Oh, no. It’s just… that was quick!”

He frowned at her, again. “I said I was just going to walk her to her door,” he laughed slightly, and offered Caroline his arm.

She took it and walked down the three steps. “Oh, yeah. Of course.”

It took them ten minutes to walk back to their apartment building, and they did so in silence, both lost in their own drunken thoughts.

Caroline made to fetch her keys from her small handbag, realising she had left it in the toilet of the pub. Her heart rate quickened. “Oh, shit! I left my bag at the pub!” She stared at Dwight in panic.

He pulled out his own keys and opened the entrance door. “Don’t worry, no one will steal it. You can get it tomorrow.” He held the door open for her and she stumbled inside, holding the wall until she reached the stairs, where she then hung onto the railing. They began their way up the staircase to their landing.

“No, but it’s got my keys in it!” she whined. She then clutched her chest, and swallowed, before beginning to pant. “Dwight, I think I’m going to be sick again. I hate being sick. I don’t want to be sick again,” she whimpered in a mumble, pushing her blonde curls out of her face.

“Ok, it’s alright. You can just stay at mine tonight,” he tried to say casually, “and we can go and get your bag tomorrow. It’s way too late and cold to go all the way back to the pub, and it’ll probably be shut now anyways. That is, if you don’t mind staying over.” He was glad he was two steps in front of her now because his cheeks burned furiously. He recognised the implications of his offer but at that particular moment, his only concern was that she would choke on her sick or something.

Caroline considered his offer for a minute. “No, I don’t mind. Thank you,” she said gently, before clearing her throat and raising an eyebrow at him. “Did you not want to go back to Rosina’s or something, though?” She managed to slur this remarkably innocently considering the bitter jealousy that stirred within her, which she convinced herself was merely the cheap vodka swirling around her unprepared stomach.

Dwight laughed a little and shook his head as he searched for his keys for the one to his flat, which he had still not colour coded. “No. Rosina is a lovely girl, but I think she’d be lovely for someone else,” he said thoughtfully, a gentle smile on his face. Caroline’s intoxicated state meant that she could not smother a grin at this news. As Dwight fell asleep that night, he convinced himself that he had imagined her reaction. The door to his flat finally opened, he entered, immediately turned on the light and unbuttoned his coat. He was quickly followed by Caroline, whose white heel caught on the door frame. She swore and stumbled clumsily, before falling right into Dwight’s arms.

[bidisasterevanbuckley]

Caught in the Middle (4/?)

Read on AO3!

First prev. / next

Stan was waiting for Bill to finish his shower, it was date night and regardless of the information Richie had dropped on him the other day, they were going to have a good time. However while waiting Stan got a bit antsy he started poking around instead of sitting comfortably on the couch flipping through tv channels that could barely hold his attention. He started to minorly adjust little things like the throw on the back of the couch and the pillows placed strategically in the corners.

Eventually he made his way down the hall and into Bills bedroom, his eyes gravitated to te small sqaure pillow half slouched out of place, no second thoughts as he fluffed and replaced the pillow. His eyes were on the walls again, taking in the shelves of knick knacks and book, some appearing to be for drawing. He was staring down a paper boat with S.S. Georgie written along the top of the body. He smiled to himself recalling Bills story about everytime his families in town his little brother hopes it rains so they can go out and watch the paper boat sail. He was too trained on that when he closed a dresser drawer and a file fell. Emptying half another one and threatening another 2.

His eyes snapped to the floor papers finishing their dance across waxed hardwood floors. "Shit." He hissed out making quick of scooping them all up his heart jumping with the spike of anxiety praying he can distinguish what files go where before Bills out.

He felt clammy when he realized the file he was holding was on the one and only Henry Bowers, he took a deep breath peeking at the other three still sitting on the spotless dresser. Lo and behold he was met with the names of Patrick Hockstetter, Victor 'Vic' Criss, and Reginald 'Belch' Huggins. How much nformation did Bill have on these idiots? He didn't have enough time to find out right now he couldn't have had much longer before Bill made his grand entrance.

Curiousity was digging at him as he lightly skimmed pages and shoved them into place. Some papers dated to Richie and Stans run in with them in middle school. No time to dig, was all he could repeat to himself.

Stan had just finished readjusting the files,setting them properly on the dresser when Bill had come in the room, only a towel to keeping his modesty intact. He felt even more flustered as Bill made his way over to where he stood. "How nuh-nice to find you here." Atleast Bill didn't sound upset even though Stan felt like he was over stepping a boundary. He didn't move until he felt soft lips drop a kiss on his neck. "You're more than wel-welcome to stay while I change." Stan loved that half teasing voice.

In a swift motion Stan had turned in the trap of Bills toned arms. "You're not getting lucky tonight. Get dressed, I'll be out in the living room." Stan managed to distract him with a kiss opening up his escape from the cozy room.

Bill trailed out of his room shortly after, dressed casually in jeand and a flannel layered over a t-shirt. Stan couldn't help but trail his eyes up his boyfriend. Yeah he looked good in suits but seeing him in street wear always unleashed butterflies in his tummy. Bill had a smug smile when their eyes met,his hand reaching out once he got close enough, fingers dancing alone Stans smooth jaw, leading him into a gently kiss. "You ready?" Stan just nodded, letting Bills hand slide from his jaw to his lower back, letting himself be guided out the door.

-

Stan was looking at is and Bills hands intertwined over the center console as Bill was driving. He spared Bill a glance, almost breathless at the glow casted upon him in the setting sun. "Why do you have such heftly files on Bowers gang?" He cursed the shake of his voice, making how unsure of himself he was known.

The surprise that crossed Bills face was mostly hidden by sunglasses. He gave a small squeez to Stans hand, running his thumb over the soft skin above his thumb. "Eddie and Mike were worried to begin with once news traveled that they were back in town. Then after Richies little confession, Eddie contacted Bev for me for any information she had on file. We'd all preferto be prepared if the stalking has to do with them."

Stan nodded, "Okay. Thanks for telling me." Questions took a back seat in his mind as Bill pulled their hands up to his lips, kissing Stans knuckles. He could tuck them away for later. They could have a nice date night and not worry about anything. They would enjoy alone time with the peace of mind of having both Eddie and Mike at his apartment with Richie.

-

Back at the aparement Eddie had made himself comfortable in Stans room, creeping about online fore any more information he can find on the hivemind that called themselves Bowers gang. Trying to figure out more than just what went on in the malls of Derry's public middle school and highschool. Something that could have cause Richie to so aggresivley avoid any chance of coming in contact with Patrick Hockstetter.

Mike had made them dinner, introducing Richie to the wonders of vegan food with his personal favorite of buffalo cauliflower tacos. He wont be admiting to anyone how flustered he felt at every bit of praise that fell from Richie as he graciously at the meal placed infront of him. Eddie almost fondly rolled his eyes at the two dancing around each other, taking his dinner with a quick thank you as he escaped back to Stans room.

Hours later Eddie had given up out of frustration, no one he had contacted had been helpful, all saying the same things that were in Bevs files he had past on to Bill early that morning. Eddie had grabbed his dishes and headed out of the room, full intentions on cleaning up. Given what Stan had told him about the mess Ricie tends to produce, he expected for his work to be cut out for him. But he was met with a spotless everything and Richie very much asleep atop Mike. Both made themselves comfortable on the couch, Richies light snores barely audible above the movie they had fallen asleep during.

Eddie debated on taking a peek in Richies room to the sound of The Breakfast Club humming over the tv speakers. He huffed out a breath as he decided to risk it, once again sneaking past the sleeping pair and back down the hall. When the door popped open he was pleasantly surprised. The room wasn't a mess, it was scattered and very much fit Richies abit scatter brained personality. He managed his escape with Richies year books for all four years of highschool. Getting cozy once again in Stans room to do a little more personaly digging.

-

On the otherside of town Stan and Bill had made their way out of the cinema still snickering at the so bad it's funny orror flick that had just witnessed. Bills hands were on Stans hips, letting himself be led out of the crowded lobby, full of angry people and into the cool night air.

Stan relished in the intimacy of Bill kissing his neck so openly, melting into warm toned arms tha thad made their way around his waist as those slips traveled up to his ear. "Care to fuh-finish off this night with pizza and a guh-good movie?"

"Sounds like a dream, babe." with that Bill began to pull him away to the warmth of his car. Stan watched on with hooded eyes as Bill did the simple task of ordering a pizza for them. Bill took one glance at Stan once he was done, flushing ever so slightly.

"You're so cute. It's buh-borderline unfair, Stuh-Stanley." He accepted Stans kiss, relinquishing all control. Liking Stan in charge more than he's currently willing to admit.

"I'd argure that you're the cute one, William." Stan smiled as Bill laughed, taking a moment to steal one last kiss before heading on their way to pick up their dinner.

-

Both boys, now full of Pizza were cuddled up on the couch, being over critical of the logic in a rom com they had found on tv. Stan was situated between Bills legs, face smushed against Bills chest. Bills fingers were making their way through perfect curls, watching them bounce back into place effortlessly more than he was watching the movie if he was honest.

It wasn't long before the movie was shut off prematurely, garbage was finally tossed and both boys sleepily made their way back to Bills bedroom. They didn't have to share words as Bill handed Stan pajamas for the night and went to the bathroom to change himself, taking the time to relieve himself. He hadn't wanted Stan to get off of him even though he had to go the second they got comfortable.

By time Bill returned Stan had already gotten cozy in his bed. The fuzzy pants may fight him with staying up and the shirt is big enough to constantly try and expose one of his shoulders to the cold. But he was cozy and the warm blanket were encouraging him more as he waiting for Bill to join him.

The second Bill had gotten comfortable he was met with an armful of the one and only Stan Uris. Warm breath already fanning over his chest, the rhythmic pattern of soft noises that left Stan lulled Bill to sleep effortlessly.

-

Later that night when Stans eyes peel open agaisnt his will he's annoyed. He really has to pee but he really doesn't want to leave the warmth he had burrowed in. It takes way too much contemplation before but he fianlly pulls himselfs from Bills arms  and blindly made his way to the bathroom. He opted to leave the pants folded atop the closes hamper, no longer willing to pull them up every two seconds.

Just as he was about to crawl back into bed, the soft sheets and Bills peaceful face calling his name, but his curiouslty peaked once again when  his eyes caught sight of the folders still on the dresser. It wouldn't hurt to take a peek or actually skim through them would it? He spent more time that he'd like to admit doing just that. Skimming over things he had already known. He was constantly glancing back at Bill to check if he was still asleep, not witnessing his odd disappointment. Nothing deviated too far from the information he already had found himself. But he knew what was in the files now and it wouldn't drive im crazy. At least that's what he told himself as he curled up with Bill once again.

-

Eddie made more headway than Stan that night. He made himself a note to ask Richie about what it was like having braces junior and senior year when any feeling of betrayl passed over.

However what was more important to thetask at hand was the disturbing message he had found in the very back of his sophomore year, yearbook. Adding upto Bowers gang being seniors if they put their heads together to form one brain to finish highschool. Patrick had left him a not and it made Eddie feel ill.

"You were so good this year, my sweet toy. Sad to see it go.Possibly our paths will cross again and we could have one more night.Just like you're protecting Flamer again. Never forget out time together Bucky Beaver."

His hand writing was so neat and his signature was so practiced it only left a deeper uneasy feeling in Eddies gut. What had he done when Richie was only 15.

Eddie was pacing the room while he texted Bill to be over as soon as possible in the morning.

[green-eyeddragonfanfiction]

Running from the Past: Epilogue

(NSFW, 18+ Version)

Summary: Female!Reader is a mutant who was experimented on by HYDRA. Due to her unique powers, she escaped a year and a half ago without being seen when the Avengers attacked the Hydra compound she was kept in for 5 years of her life. Her mutations and Hydra experiments allow her to blend in with her surroundings (like a chameleon/cuttlefish/octopus) and change her appearance in minor ways (such as hair, skin, and eye color), though the changes are only temporary. Some time has passed since she and Bucky reconciled and she’s regained all of her memories as the infiltrator and most of her life before Hydra meddling. Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader Warnings: Language, violence/fighting, traumatic past, torture/experimentation, angst, slow burn, FLUFF, smut 18+ Word Count: 4,411 A/N: Alright, friends. I hope you enjoyed the ride. This is the NSFW, 18+ version. I ask that if you’re under 18 you read this version. Sorry for the delay, I’ve been painting my friend’s birthday gift. It’s kept me quite busy. (Y/Full/N) = your full name A VERY HAPPY 35TH BIRTHDAY TO SEBASTIAN STAN (August 13th, 1982)

Masterlist // Previous Chapter

One month after the events of Chapter 12

“Cloaking tech working well, then?” you asked, leaning against the doorway to the gym, watching Bucky and Steve spar.

They paused their practice, both smiling when they saw you. You noticed that most of the women and some of the men in the room had been watching the pair go at it with rapt attention. You couldn’t blame them. At some point they had deemed it necessary to take their shirts off. You were surprised Steve’s modesty allowed for it.

“Workin’ great,” Bucky said, beaming at you. Tony had come by earlier that day to outfit Bucky with tech that would cloak his cybernetic arm. It was an enormous show of good faith after the events following the Sokovia accords. You’d missed it, though- you’d had an important mission across the country. Now, to the naked eye, Bucky appeared to have two completely normal, fleshy human arms. “We were just stress testing it. Wanted to see if it could hold out against a pummeling,” he explained to you.

“Are you sure you two don’t just like to beat the crap out of each other?” you asked, smirking at them.

They exchanged a quick glance. “Well I suppose there is also that,” Bucky said, punching Steve in the arm, shit-eating grin plastered on his face.

Steve punched him back good-naturedly. “All in good fun, though, of course,” he said, smiling at you.

“Your definition of fun scares me, Stevie,” you said, chuckling at their antics. He ducked his head sheepishly which only made you laugh harder. After a moment, you sobered. “Can you turn it off?” you asked Bucky, biting your lip nervously.

He gave you a knowing smirk. Without doing anything you could see, the tech flickered off and you could once again see the metal arm underneath. “Of course,” he said, eyes darkening at the look on your face.

“Alright, so, I’m gonna go now,” Steve said awkwardly, reading the sexual tension between you. He walked away, shaking his head, and smiled. You made his best friend happy, which is what mattered most to him.

“See ya,” you both said distractedly to him. Bucky sauntered over and pulled you into his arms, placing a tender kiss on your forehead.

“Welcome back, (Y/N). Things go well?” he asked, pulling back enough for you to look up into his eyes.

“Of course,” you said, smiling. You looked him up and down, admiring him. He was truly a work of art, your Bucky. Cybernetics and scars included.

“See something you like, Doll?” he asked, smirking down at you.

“Ah, damn. Did the obvious staring give it away?” you asked, laughing.

“Something like that,” he said as he leaned down to kiss you. It was hot and rough, his adrenaline still going from his spar with Steve. Heat pooled between your legs and you kissed back hungrily. You’d missed him. It’d been a week since you saw him last.

Without warning he lifted you up and tossed you over his left shoulder, metal arm keeping you secured by holding onto you behind your knees, and walked out of the gym.

“Bucky, what-” you began indignantly, but he silenced you with a quick slap to your rear with his free hand. You hissed. The sting felt good. You were facing the wrong way, but you could tell you were headed back towards your shared room.

“I can walk, you know,” you said, rolling your eyes. Your lip earned you another swift slap to the ass. You gasped softly, heat creeping up your neck and intensifying between your legs.

He nearly ran to your room. You waved bashfully to people you passed. The sight of you thrown over Bucky’s shoulder earned a wolf whistle from Sam. You flipped him off and stuck your tongue out at him. Bucky turned the corner before Sam could escalate the interaction. You tapped his back in mock impatience, pretending to check a watch for good measure. He threw you a dirty but sultry look over his shoulder. You pantomimed zipping your lips shut and shrugged helplessly.

“You’re ridiculous,” he growled, slapping you hard on your ass once more. You gasped a little too loudly at the mingled pain and pleasure. You’d probably have bruises tomorrow.

Finally, he turned to the door of your shared room and punched in the combination. He marched into the room. You had just watched the door click closed before the world spun. When it righted itself, you were laying face up on the bed. You glimpsed the ceiling for only a moment before Bucky filled your view.

“I missed you,” he said huskily, crawling on top of you, legs between yours.

“I missed you, too,” you whispered. He leaned down and crushed his lips against yours, kissing you greedily. His metal hand slipped under your shirt. The cold metal against your skin made you shiver. You moaned, but it was swallowed by the kiss.

He broke the kiss long enough to smirk down at you and whisper, “I love the noises you make, Doll.”

Then he went back to kissing you. He licked your bottom lip in asking and you opened your mouth, allowing him entrance. Your tongues danced together, breathing growing heavier as you both got more excited by each other’s touch. He pressed himself against you, thigh parting your legs as he ground his leg against your core, causing you to moan lewdly into the kiss. His hand snuck under your bra and rolled one of your hard buds between his fingers, causing your back to arch in surprise and pleasure. He let out a low groan when you ground against the erection straining his pants.

His lips left yours to trail hot kisses down your neck, nipping and licking as he went. He bit the junction between your neck and shoulder particularly hard, making you gasp, before he soothed it with a lick. When he got to the hem of your shirt he growled his displeasure. He lifted you up enough to yank your shirt off of you and throw it over his head. After a brief moment it was followed by your bra, his deft hands working to quickly free you of its confines. Before your lust-hazed brain could catch up, his kisses trailed down to your breasts. He licked around one of your nipples, flicking and teasing the other with his hand. He popped a nipple into his mouth, tongue grazing over the bud tantalizingly before he bit down gently.

“Oh, god, Bucky-” you moaned, tangling your fingers into his hair. You gave a sharp tug and he groaned into your chest. He gave one torturous, slow grind of his hips against your core. You could easily feel him through his pants. “Bucky, please,” you moaned, hands moving to his back, nails digging into the broad expanse. He hissed in pleasure and moved his free hand down between the two of you. Your stomach coiled in anticipation. A second later, his fingers slipped experimentally over your shorts, caressing your folds through the fabric. You bucked up into his hand, searching for friction. He smirked and, with a wet pop, released your nipple from his mouth. He kissed your neck and jaw before claiming your lips with his. As he moved, he found your clit with his fingers and massaged the sensitive bud gently, causing you to moan lewdly into the kiss.

“Please what?” he asked, pulling back from the kiss. His voice was husky and his eyes were dark with lust. His finger danced expertly on your clit, causing you to buck against him, body needing more.

“I need you. Please,” you whined, sitting up to plant needy kisses on his neck and lips.

“Be more specific. I want to hear you say it, (Y/N),” he breathed, breath tickling your ear, causing you to shiver.

“Please, Bucky, I want you to fuck me with your mouth and fingers,” you pleaded, too turned on by the man you loved to even consider being ashamed of your begging.

Without another word, Bucky moved back on the bed, quickly pulling off your shorts and underwear. They got tossed to the wayside as Bucky admired the view laid out before him. He ran a single finger up your slit, making you shiver and whimper. He leaned down, planting light kisses up your inner thigh. The occasional nip made you gasp, and you could feel his smirk on your skin. His stubble only added to the sensations. He took a moment to admire your soaking pussy. “So wet for me, Doll,” he whispered reverently. His hot breath on your sex gave you goosebumps. He licked one long stripe up your folds and your hips bucked involuntarily when his tongue grazed over your clit. He wrapped an arm around your leg, keeping you in place as his tongue began to dance in your folds.

Needing more friction, you tangled your fingers into his hair and pulled him closer, silently begging for more. He obliged, tongue spearing into your depths. “Oh, fuck, Bucky. Yes,” you moaned, fingernails scratching his scalp, which earned a low groan from him. Wordlessly, he switched a metal finger with his tongue, moving his tongue up to lick gentle circles around your clit. He pumped his finger in and out of you slowly, admiring how you writhed under his ministrations. He knew how much being touched and fucked by his metal arm turned you on. He added another finger and began sucking lightly on your clit. You moaned loudly, fingers clenching in his hair. Heat coiled low in your belly- you were getting close. His fingers curled up inside of you, stroking your g-spot slowly, and it was all you could do to keep yourself from coming undone then and there. “Bucky, I’m- I’m gonna-” you whimpered. He must have sensed it, because he pulled his fingers out before you even finished saying his name, mouth almost reluctantly leaving your clit behind as he trailed kisses up your body.

He quickly stripped his pants and boxers off, letting you drink in the sight of him standing at attention. You licked your lips hungrily as you watched him move over you, his thick cock rock hard, swaying between his legs. He leaned down, kisses trailing from your cheek to your ear, and whispered “What do you want, Doll?” He bit your earlobe, pain and pleasure spiking through your system.

“You, Bucky. I want you to fuck me with your cock.” As you finished the words, his lips were on yours, muffling your cries as he carefully lined himself up with your entrance and thrust forward, slowly burying himself inside you.

You both groaned as he bottomed out inside of you. He was still for a moment, letting you adjust to his size, before he pulled nearly all the way out and thrust back in again. The brief pause between him working you with his mouth and now had been enough to bring you off the edge, but you were fast approaching it again. After a few experimental thrusts, he set a steady pace. You pulled him down and kissed him deeply, both of you moaning into the kiss. He hooked an arm under one of your legs, pulling it up, allowing him to thrust deeper into you. You moaned loudly; the new angle let him penetrate you deeper than before. But it still wasn’t enough. You wrapped your other leg around his back, pulling him closer while you angled yourself up. He found your sweet spot, ramming into it with every thrust.

“Fuck, Bucky. That’s it. I’m so close- fuck,” you moaned out. His pace increased, his own orgasm closing in.

“Me, too. Come for me, (Y/N),” he groaned into your ear. His free hand reached between you and rubbed circles into your clit, sending you over the edge.

“James, I’m- oh fuck, I’m coming,” Your walls clenched around him as you screamed your orgasm, calling his name, unable to form proper sentences. Between your pussy clenching around his throbbing cock and the use of his real name, Bucky couldn’t hold out any longer. His hips stuttered, pace growing erratic as his own orgasm overtook him. He buried his head in your neck as you rode out the throes of your orgasm on the waves of his. His hips slammed hard against you, burying himself inside of you until, at last, he came deep inside of you, coating your walls with his release. He groaned, collapsing after a moment.

“Hell, Doll, you’re gonna be the death of me,” he mumbled, smiling into your skin. You simply smiled and ran your fingers through his hair, other hand absentmindedly tracing the scarring along his cybernetic arm. After a moment he pulled out, both of you gasping slightly, mourning the loss of him inside of you.

“You’re amazing, Bucky,” you said, placing a kiss on his forehead. He smiled almost shyly at the compliment before kissing you sweetly on the lips.

“So are you, (Y/N),” he said as he cupped your face and ran a thumb along your cheek. He smiled down at you before kissing you once more on the lips. “Now, let’s go get you cleaned up.”

Some time later (months)

According to the clock on the bedside table, it was 3:14 in the morning when the door to your and Bucky’s room opened, Bucky stumbling inside.

“Hey, babe, how did the mission go?” you asked, sleep making your voice deep and hoarse. He didn’t respond, so you were immediately concerned. “Bucky?” you asked, a little more alert. You sat up against the headboard, looking at him in the gloom as he approached. He didn’t respond again, instead crawling into bed next to you. He rested his head on your chest and you wrapped your arms around his shoulders, holding him close. You placed a kiss on his head as he pulled you into a tight hug. “Is everyone okay?” you asked. A tight nod. Good, so no one was hurt. The mission seemed to have gone south, though. “Do you wanna talk about it?” you asked quietly.

He shook his head. “Tomorrow,” he said softly, planting a kiss on your neck. It must have been bad if he wasn’t even willing to talk about it yet. He usually liked to talk the missions out with you if they went south.

“Alright, sweetheart. Get some rest,” you said, scooting the both of you down so you wouldn’t have to sleep sitting up.

“Mm, yeah. Love you,” he said sleepily, already drifting off in the safety of your arms.

You smiled down at him. “Love you, too,” you whispered, kissing him between his brows. You watched him and half dozed while you waited. If it was as bad as you thought, then-

Sure enough, the door to your room opened again a short time later. You glanced over your shoulder at Steve who was standing in the doorway, looking a little unsure.

“Come on in, Stevie,” you said just loud enough for him to hear you. Bucky stirred beside you, but didn’t wake. Steve’s shoulders relaxed a little in relief as he entered the room. He walked over to the bed, taking off his shoes as he went. He was already in his pajamas. With a little difficulty, you pulled an arm out of Bucky’s vice-like grip on you. You laid on your back and pulled the blankets up on the other side of you. “Hurry up, then. I’m letting all the heat out,” you said, smiling up at him.

He returned the smile sheepishly and crawled into the bed beside you. “Thanks,” he said cuddling up next to you, mirroring Bucky’s position by resting his head on your shoulder. “You were expecting me, huh?” he asked, blue eyes bright in the darkness.

You nodded. “Bucky’s attitude gave it away. Figured I’d see you in here sooner rather than later,” you whispered, reaching over to pet his hair. He closed his eyes against the touch, throwing his arms over you and Bucky both.

You didn’t know when this particular arrangement came to be. It had just happened one day after an extremely brutal mission went awry. Steve hadn’t wanted to be alone, so you all passed out on your and Bucky’s huge mattress together. Since then, whenever they went on a particularly bad mission, you’d find yourself with an extra Steve in your bed at night.

“Sorry for intruding,” Steve said quietly.

“It’s no trouble at all, Stevie,” you said, smiling at him.

“That depends on if he keeps talkin’ all night or not,” came Bucky’s groggy and slightly miffed voice from your other side.

“The lady said it wasn’t any trouble, jerk,” said Steve wearily, his light-hearted, joking tone falling flat due to exhaustion.

“Get your own girl to cuddle with, punk,” Bucky said, pulling you closer to himself.

“Both of you go to sleep right now before I make you regret it,” you said, giving the both of them light smacks against their heads.

“Yes, ma’am,” they said in unison. You smiled at them both absentmindedly, rubbing circles into their shoulders with your thumbs. Before long their breathing evened out, and it was only a few more minutes before you followed them into blissful sleep.

Some time later (months)

You paced the bathroom in Wanda’s room, mind going a thousand directions at once. When was the last time you took it? How could you forget? Between missions and training, you supposed it wasn’t that surprising that you’d forgotten somewhere along the line. But then you realized one day that you hadn’t had your period in a while. The longer you thought about it, the longer you’d realized it had been. You’d gone discreetly out to the closest town from the base, picking up a few boxes of pregnancy tests. Wanda had caught you coming back and sensed your trepidation before you’d even said hello and immediately asked you what was wrong. You spilled everything to the woman, and she immediately whisked you away to her room.

“Everything alright in there?” she asked through the door, worry lacing her tone.

“That depends on your definition of okay,” you said, stopping your pacing to stare down at the test on the sink. A single, accusatory line stared up at you and you renewed your frantic pacing. Two other tests with the same result laid in the trash can already.

“Are you decent?” Wanda asked through the door.

“Yeah, why-”

She bursts through the door, eyes immediately latching onto the test on the sink. “So?” she asked, looking expectantly from you to the test.

You weren’t sure if you wanted to say the words out loud. Saying them out loud would make them all the more real. After a moment you huffed out a sigh. “Positive,” was all you said.

Wanda squealed, pulling you into a huge hug. “Do you have any idea how far along?” she asked, pulling away to look at your stomach.

You felt heat creep into your cheeks. “I think maybe two months? But I can’t be sure...” you said, thinking back once again on when the last time your period was. “I suppose that explains why I thought I had the flu, but didn’t have any of the other symptoms... God, I’m dense sometimes,” you said, grumbling at your own obliviousness.

Wanda looked at you seriously. “You have to tell Bucky... assuming it’s his, that is. I am assuming it is,” she said, almost asking you to confirm.

“Of course it’s his, Wanda,” you said, rolling your eyes. She beamed at you.

“Alright then, you have things to do! Namely, telling your boyfriend you’re pregnant with his kid!” she said much too happily as she shoved the test into your hand and practically threw you out the door.

You spun to yell at her, but the door shut in your face before you could get a word in.

“So much for solidarity between sisters. Didn’t even give me any advice on how to say it,” you grumbled loudly and angrily at the door.

“Say what?” asked a voice behind you.

You spun, hiding the test behind your back.

“Bucky,” you said, eyes widening. “Uh, fancy meeting you here.”

“Well, I do live three doors down. With you,” he said, eyeing you suspiciously. “What’s up, Doll?” he asked, reading the tension rolling off of you like he would read a book.

“Nothing,” you said a little too quickly. He raised an eyebrow at you.

“Nothing?” he asked, disbelief clear in his tone.

“Yup, nothing,” you said, cursing Wanda for throwing you out and Bucky for his timing; you’d had no time to prepare at all.

He sighed heavily, eyes searching yours. “Look, Doll, if you don’t want to tell me, I won’t pry it out of you. When you want to talk about whatever’s making you act like a paranoid squirrel on coffee, I’ll be there for you,” he said kindly, leaning forward to place a kiss on your forehead before turning to walk towards your room.

All at once you made up your mind. You sprinted forwards, grabbed his hand, and dragged him into your room.

“What’s that?” he asked, spotting the test in your hand as you punched in the code to your door.

Without responding, you flung him inside, running in after him and slamming the door behind you.

He turned and looked at you, confusion and concern lining his face. Wordlessly, you held out the test to him. He raised an eyebrow at you as he took it from your outstretched hand. He looked down at it, brows furrowing deeper each time you saw his eyes flick from “pregnant” and “not pregnant” to the little indicator that clearly indicated you were in fact, pregnant.

“This... is yours?” he asked dumbly, still staring at the test, brain struggling to process the information.

“Yes,” you breathed. This was the moment of truth.

“I’m reading this right? You’re pregnant?” he asked, finally looking up at you.

You nodded, tension mounting, barely daring to breathe. “Yes. It’s yours,” you said, needlessly specifying, wanting him to know for sure he’s the father. You hadn’t been with anyone but him in years.

“How long?” he asked, glancing between you and the test, feelings unreadable.

“I think about two months,” you said, voice almost apologetic. “I didn’t know until today,” you said quickly, motioning to the test. “About fifteen minutes ago, in fact.” You studied him closely, trying to get a read on what he was thinking.

Without warning, his legs seemed to give out. He landed on his butt on the floor with a thud, sitting up and staring at the test in his hands, then at you. You rushed over to him, kneeling down next to him.

“Bucky?” you asked, unsure.

“I’m gonna be a dad?” he asked, eyes wide with wonder, searching yours.

Tears sprung up in your eyes- stupid hormones- and you nodded your head vigorously.

In the space of a heartbeat, he pulled you into his arms, crushing you against his chest, test forgotten on the floor.

“You’re not... upset?” you asked, voice muffled against his chest.

“No, Doll! Never! I’m ecstatic,” he whispered, peppering your hair and face with kisses. His enthusiasm had you smiling, hugging him close. When he released you, you noticed a couple tears had escaped his eyes. The sight nearly sent you into tears again.

“Damn hormones,” you said, blinking them back as best you could. He chuckled, kissing you softly on the lips.

“I love you,” he said, cupping your face in his metal hand.

You smiled at him. The moment was perfect- everything you’d hoped it would be. He wasn’t only accepting of the situation, he was happy. He’d long since gotten past the insecurities of his past as the Winter Soldier around you- he’d learned early on that blaming himself for the actions he committed while brainwashed wouldn’t be tolerated with you. Still, you’d thought that something as delicate as this might bring up those old bad habits. Raising a baby and being an Avenger as well as a wanted man didn’t go hand in hand. However, he made no notion that he was worried about that. His confidence boosted yours.

“I love you, too,” you said happily, kissing him softly on the lips. He smiled into the kiss and ran his fingers through your hair before breaking it.

“Look, this was supposed to be a surprise-” he said, seeming almost... embarrassed? “-and it was gonna be a huge thing. The whole team was in on it- but now seems like the right time, and-” he dug around in his pockets for something. You quirked an eyebrow at him questioningly. “-deep down I’m just a boy from Brooklyn in an era long past, but some of those values have weight-” you leaned back now, giving him more room to search as you stared at him in confusion. What on earth was he talking about?

At last he seemed to find what he was looking for. He pulled it out with an “Aha!” and you swore you stopped breathing. It was a tiny black velvet box.

His eyes locked onto yours. His expression to open and vulnerable and earnest it made your heart ache. He opened the tiny box, revealing a simple yet beautiful diamond ring. “(Y/Full/N), would you do me the honor of becoming my wife?” he asked, love for you clear in his voice.

It was your turn to be struck dumb. You didn’t know how long it took for your brain to catch up, but before you knew it you’d thrown yourself at him, both of you tumbling backwards on the floor.

“Yes,” you said breathlessly.

“Yes?” he asked, almost as if he didn’t believe his ears.

“Yes, Bucky! Yes yes yes!” you said, each yes punctuated by a frenzied kiss to the lips. “Yes, I’ll marry you,” you said, grinning broadly down at him.

It was like his time as the Soldier never happened. It was like James Buchanan Barnes had never gone to war. He looked like the kid from Brooklyn again. His face was bright- brighter than you’d ever seen it.

“I love you,” he said, smiling up at you. He slid the delicate ring onto your finger.

You smiled at it then leaned down to kiss him tenderly. “I love you too.”

The End

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[angelia-dark]

The Price of Kindness, Part 3

The Request:  The Swap Brothers get stuck in Fell, and as a repayment, Stretch becomes Edge’s pet.

Part 2

Word Count: 4312

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Stretch wanted nothing more than to go home more than when he wanted nothing more than to return to Edge's side.

It was too much to handle, emotionally or psychologically.  The vileness of the situation was mixing into the physical desire and pleasure like oil and water, leaving Stretch feeling completely torn after every session.

Edge wasn't kidding when he said he'd make use of the rest of Stretch. Every time was different, but none very pleasant...emotionally, anyway.  Stretch hated how Edge was able to make him ENJOY it.

There was the degradation and the humiliation, naturally...but Edge seemed to go out of his way to make his touches light and sensual, to keep his voice as a low, guttural purr, keep his movements slow, firm, and UNBEARABLY restrained.

It was humiliating, craving Edge's touch and wordlessly begging for more night after night and leaving for the basement after, almost always unsatisfied in return.

Stretch found himself tucked in the corner of the basement more than once, gagging himself by biting his hoodie as he fondled his pelvis in an attempt to relieve himself of the arousal that Edge was never kind enough to satisfy.  He felt shamed that he couldn't force himself to do so in front of Edge but rather down in the basement with his brother within spitting distance.

He supposed that's what made him break the most cardinal rule of all: Don't leave the house without Edge.

The opportunity arose when Red was away at Grillby's, Blue was taking a nap, and Edge was going out to run an errand.  Stretch managed to find a pack of cigarettes that belonged to Red hidden under the couch cushion and the intense desire for a smoke (or two) had him going outside and back around the house, flicking open the lighter and lighting one up.

GODS, it felt great to have that buzz going again, he thought in ecstasy as he savored the cigarette in long, drawn-out drags.  This was well worth whatever punishment the edgelord could come up with later.

He was halfway through the cigarette when he became aware of the presence of LV—more than one of it—and he looked up in time to see at least four Monsters step out into view.  Just at glance, he recognized this universe's version of his buddies Chester the Hare Monster and Doggo, and the other two were either too changed or completely different Monsters than who he knew.  None of them, he felt, were at all what he felt to be familiar or safe.

“Lookie here boys,” Doggo growled, his tongue lapping at his sharpened teeth.  “A nice fresh set of bones to chew on.”

“I dunno, Doggo,” Chester muttered.  “A Skeleton Monster, an' near th' Lieutenant's house?”  His nose twitched.  “...he smells like him too.”

Stretch's teeth clenched around his cigarette, his hand twitching to fight his way out when his arm was wrenched behind him by one of the Monsters in a grip with intent that threatened his HP.  It was a warning that kept him from struggling; this was Fell, and these Monsters were no different than Edge when it came to intent to dust.

Doggo leaned in closer, growling through his teeth.  “Trying to pull one over on us, chew toy?”  He took Stretch's jaw in his paw, the claws digging in just enough to be painful.  “I'm wondering which of your bones will be tastiest to chew on first.”

“Let me go!” Stretch hissed, jerking his jaw from Doggo's grasp, his hoodie shifting to show the collar looped around his cervical bones. Out of the corner of his eye socket, he saw Doggo visibly pause at the sight of it, claws twitching as though wondering what to do next. The pause was only for a moment, and then Doggo grabbed Stretch's skull with one hand and jerked it to the side, showing off a length of neck vertebrae.

“I think we'll start here,” Doggo growled, visibly salivating as he leaned in, jaws parting.  Stretch froze, his soul hammering wildly in his rib cage as he braced himself for pain and possible dusting, but the pain never came.  

Instead, the hold on him was thrown off as sharp bones tinged in red magic flew out of nowhere and impaled the Monsters, eliciting yelps and howls from them.  Stretch dropped to the snow, his bones rattling from shaking as a sharp staccato of snow-crunched footsteps approached and Stretch saw a pair of familiar red boots in his line of vision.

The homicidal aura permeating the area was more of a giveaway than the boots, and Stretch felt his soul shrivel at the deadly tone Edge spoke with.  “You backwater pissants are even more dimwitted and brainless than even I could imagine!” he snarled.  Stretch wondered about Edge's actual anger for only a moment before his hoodie was yanked up, showing off his collar.  “Did you not SEE this, you simpering bitch!?” Edge snapped at Doggo.  “I would think a DOG would know better than to touch someone else's property!”

Doggo's slumped form looked torn between heeling and hackling, his expression stubborn but fearful.  “We didn't do ANYTHING to him!” he growled, letting out a yelp when Edge kicked his side.

“Only because you were caught, you idiot!”  Edge grabbed the bone impaling Doggo's shoulder and twisted it hard before pulling it out, not bothered by the Dog's keen of pain before he kicked him again. “You have five seconds to get out of my sight, or be damned what Captain Undyne will say, she's losing a Dog in her ranks.”

Doggo didn't need any further prompting as he scurried off, stumbling in the snow and leaving red stains as he went.  Edge grabbed Stretch's hoodie again, pushing him into something solid and Stretch instantly recognized Red's arms hastily curl around him to prevent him from falling.  

“Get him inside the house!” Edge barked to his brother.  “And get him changed out of those clothes.  I can smell those disgusting cigarettes on him.”  He turned away from Stretch and Red, focusing instead on the remaining three Monsters with no intention at all to give them the mercy he'd shown Doggo.

Stretch wasn't left to ponder the repercussions for even a moment as Red pulled him inside and shut the door behind him, silently moving them both upstairs and into the bathroom, shutting that door too before his frame finally relaxed.

“You got off fuckin' lucky, Stretch,” Red remarked, reaching out and tenderly prodding at the arm Stretch had pulled behind him.  “You break or dislocate anything?”

“N...no,” Stretch muttered.  “Just a little sore, that's all.”  GODS he needed another cigarette.  

Red sighed.  “Good,” he said, then slid off Stretch's hoodie in one quick motion, tossing it into the laundry pile Blue hadn't gotten to yet before examining the arm and shoulder anyway.  “Boss was gonna completely flip his shit if you got so much as bruised...”

Stretch couldn't help the bark of laughter that rattled his frame.  “THAT wasn't him 'losing his shit'?” he asked weakly.  Red gave him a look that plainly said 'are you fucking serious'.

“THAT was Boss in a charitable mood, considering th' circumstances,” Red replied, putting Stretch's arm down.  “You don't ever touch a Monster's property.  It's just not done.”

Stretch's hand unconsciously touched the collar around his cervicals before he forced it down, his cheekbones burning at the knowledge that Red KNEW.  “Fuuuuuuuuuuck....” he muttered, rubbing his face. “Property?  The fuck is even WRONG with this world!?”

“Hey, don't knock th' system,” Red replied, crossing his arms.  “It works down here.  Weak Monsters....Monsters with soft souls and innocent consciences...they have no hope of survival unless they're under the possession of stronger Monsters that have status in th' Underground.”  He paused, reaching under his collar and hooking his finger around a red collar and tugging it up to show.  “What, you think this is just for decoration?  Down here, it's my LIFELINE.”

He tucked the collar away, shoving his hands in his pockets.  “Kinda felt jealous that Boss got one for ya.  And yours is nicer too.” He gave Stretch a lewd grin.  “Betcha get all the nice perks of servitude too.”

Stretch felt a rush of embarrassment and humiliation; had Red KNOWN about this the whole damn time!?  Oh gods, did BLUE know!?

“Blueberry's in the dark, cool yer bones,” Red said.  “An' just deal with it a little longer.  It's all you CAN do down here.”  He gathered up the laundry, opening the door and giving pause.  “...Boss is down there dusting Monsters for touching you, Stretch,” he said.  “You might think it's humiliation, but down here, that's the sincerest form of flattery you could fuckin' IMAGINE.”  

He left the bathroom, and Stretch sat back in grim contemplation before stripping off the rest of his clothes and turning on the shower.

The hot water drummed against his cold bones yet it did nothing to warm him up.  He could only think of what could have happened if Edge hadn't been there.  Of how much worse it could have been had he not had this collar around his neck bones.

This was an uncomfortable revelation to him, that he was being kept safe and untouchable with Edge's methods, and it didn't seem to be completely for Edge's own amusement and pleasure.  Blue being kept inside and out of sight, Stretch having a badge of ownership on him at all times; Edge was PROTECTING them.  

…..............it sucked.  It really, REALLY sucked.

Stretch finished rinsing his bones and turned off the water, grabbing a towel and drying his bones off, turning to his clothes with intent to put them back on despite being dirty when the bathroom door opened.

Edge gave Stretch a quick once-over, glancing at Stretch's hand reaching for the clothes.  “They're dirty,” he said shortly.  “Leave them for Blue.”  He turned on heel and headed toward his bedroom with clear intent for Stretch to follow.  Stretch did so, his hands clenching tightly around the towel as a last shred of modesty as he tailed Edge into the room.

Much like the rest of Edge and his demeanor, the room was dark and pin-tidy with nothing out of place.  It hardly seemed personalized and rarely used, which Stretch figured was the case, as many late times Edge was out at work.  He stood awkwardly to the side as Edge rifled in the closet and brought out a black tank top and a pair of worn jeans.  

“They're old, but they should fit,” Edge said, handing them over.  “And you had best not get that disgusting cigarette smell on them.”

Stretch numbly reached out and took them, giving them a quick feel with his phalanges before tugging them on; the denim was light and very worn-in and the same felt of the tank top.  The outfit was very comfortable, if not leaving him feeling slightly exposed with the threadbare make of the material.  He smoothed the tank top with his hands, and got the sudden realization that it was leaving the collar out on display.  His hand shot up to it and as if getting the message, Edge spoke up.

“Your filthy hoodie will be clean before tomorrow,” he said shortly. “Not that you should even worry about it.”

That was true; the collar WAS a literal saving grace in this world and having it on display was safer than keeping it tucked down the collar of his hoodie.  Thinking about what could have happened then seemed almost WORTH his brother seeing and asking questions.  

“....why are you doing this?”

Edge looked up from tidying his closet, glancing back at Stretch with dim red eyelights. “What do you mean?”

“Don't bullshit me,” Stretch muttered, rubbing his arm.  “You don't HAVE to do anything like this in Fell, do you?  It's no trouble for YOU if me an' my brother dust here.  It's YOUR universe.   And nothing good here is given for free, even to your own damn family.”  He sat down hard on the bed, all fight and strength leaving him.  

“...so what is it?  My humiliation?  Holding something over my head?  Just wanting a new outlet for your cruelty?”  He rubbed his face, his shoulder slumping.  “...what does any of this mean?”

There was nothing but silence in the room for the longest time before Stretch heard footsteps cross the floor and was suddenly pinned back on the bed, staring up into those cold red eyelights.

“You're so close and yet so blind to things, ash trash,” Edge growled, his hands clasping Stretch's forearm bones.  “You're right.  Kindness has a price here, and the price for it depends on the Monster.  I may be cruel, but I am not unfair.

“My brother would be dust without me.  His HP is handicapped, he's a godsdamned drunk, and if left alone he'd be devoured without mercy.” He hooked a finger into the collar ring, tugging it lightly.  

“When others see this, they know to whom Sans belongs, and the price they pay by touching him.  Do you really think if I was so cruel, I would bother letting him wear it?  I passed that same kindness to you.  You and your brother are under my protection while you are here.  It would make no difference if you were outside smoking your disgusting cigarettes or inside on your knees.”

Stretch felt a surge of indignation swell in his soul.  “Then why the fuck would you make me, you ass!?” he snapped.  “What was the POINT of it!?”

Edge grinned.  “You haven't figured it out yet?” he asked.  “Even Sans could have told you; I'm a narcissist, and I happen to enjoy seeing a side of myself I could never indulge in.”  He took Stretch's jaw in his hand, a red ectoplasmic tongue slithering from between his teeth.  “And I must say, I do look good on my knees.”

Stretch's indignant retort was cut off with a rough kiss, one that was forceful and passionate enough to make him submit.  Accept.  Reciprocate.  

Gods, he hated himself.

Edge scraped his sharpened teeth over Stretch's mandible, a growl rattling his frame.  “You might have a Papyrus's pride, trash,” he said, “but you're too much like my brother to not be able to see through.”  He gave the collar another tug.  “Sans gave up feeling shame for giving up control long ago.  And that's what YOU want too, and you know it.  You want to stop shouldering everything...you want to give in, and give someone else the reins to your life.”

He nuzzled the side of Stretch's skull, grinning.  “Just give in.”

Stretch stared up at the dark ceiling, not knowing if he should laugh or cry or scream or maybe all three at once because damn if that wasn't accurate in every way.  

And he hated himself.

So fucking much.

Even more now that he turned his head to Edge's and kissed him.

He was already in hell.  How much farther could he fall by consorting with the devil?

Despite the harshness of Fell, the early morning hours were almost peaceful. The late crawlers were finished with business and the day workers had yet to get their day started, so it left the window between making coffee and Edge leaving for work open for quiet.

Stretch was loathe to get such early starts in his own universe, but the atmosphere of Fell left him savoring the peace before the rest of the Underground woke up to get the malice underway.  He took the time to get the coffee started and take the first cup for himself, reflecting over the previous night.

It had been humbling to the point of degrading.  It had been rough.  It had been loveless.

But gods above and below, Stretch hadn't wanted it to end.

It almost seemed like it hadn't, since Stretch even woke up in the edgelord's bed so who KNEW when it had really ended?  

Stretch sipped his coffee silently, not even noticing he had an audience until it made physical contact with him.  He nearly spewed on his sip of coffee when gloved hands curled around his iliac crests.  

“You're getting more prompt with your morning coffee, ash trash,” Edge growled, grinning.  “Good job.”

Stretch felt a flush from his skull to his collarbones, his hands trembling as he fixed Edge up a cup, adding in the perfect amount of sugar to satiate the edgelord before handing it over.  Edge took it and sipped from it, giving Stretch a smoldering look over the rim.  “You learn quick when given the proper...incentive.”  He lowered the cup, leaning closer.  “I wonder what incentive it would take to get you to cook for me.”

He reached up and tipped Stretch's jaw up with his fingertips, kissing him lightly.

“....Papy?”

Stretch and Edge turned around sharply, seeing Blue standing in the basement doorway, his cerulean eyelights wide and flicking back and forth between the two Papyruses.  “....what is going on?”

Stretch's mind went into panic mode as he mentally flailed for something to say—some excuse he could use—!—when Edge's arm casually slung over his shoulders and pulled him close.

“Oh, good morning Blue,” Edge greeted, his tone smooth as the coffee in his cup.  “Your brother made coffee, if you want some.”

Blue's eyelights continued to shift between the two.  “....okay...” he said slowly.  “But....what was....you two were just...”

“...bro, I...” Stretch stammered, settling on telling a half-truth when Edge interrupted with,

“We're dating.”  

Edge casually sipped his coffee again, unaffected by the gaping of the two Swap brothers.  “We got to know each other a little better, and even began getting along.”  He gave Stretch a smile that was in no way, shape, or form loving or tender, but Stretch couldn't help the flush that spread over his cheekbones.

Of ALL the things for Edge to say, WHY did it have to be THAT!?

“Well that's good!”

Wait, what?”

Blue shut the basement door behind him, smiling.  “It's good that you're finally getting along!” he chirped.  “I knew you two could, if you just gave each other a chance!”  His expression went stern, his hands going to his hips.  “But don't think for a second you're going to be distracted with dating.  Just because you like each other now doesn't mean you're going to be canoodling all the time.  It's simply indecent!”

“Perish the thought,” Edge said, though he looked close to actually laughing.  “I wouldn't want Stretch slacking off, now would I?” He gave Stretch a lewd look before draining the rest of his coffee cup and putting it on the counter.  “Until later.”  He headed out of the kitchen and to the stairs, shouting for Red to get a move on before he wrote him up for lateness.

“It's good you're finally getting along, Papy!” Blue said, smiling.  “I knew they were really good deep down.  And now you have a datemate!” He started tidying up the kitchen.  “Ahh, little brothers grow up so fast...”

Stretch just stood there, emotionally numb and mentally fizzled out.  He had no answer for his brother.  He had no retort for Edge's falsification.  

He had nothing.

“Give me a minute to grab a damn coffee, ya slave driver!” Red groused to Edge as he walked into the kitchen.  “Yo, Blueberry, give me one to go.”

“You COULD say 'please' one of these days, Red!” Blue admonished, but conceded in rifling among the cabinets for a thermos to put the coffee in.  While his back was turned, Red silently and smoothly crossed the kitchen for an apple on the table and slipped a folded-up piece of paper into Stretch's hand before grabbing the cup as soon as it was handed over.

“SANS! HURRY UP!”

“KEEP YER ARMOR ON, BOSS, I'M COMING!”  Red glanced at Stretch with an expression that said quite a few things before turning and heading out of the house with his brother, the sound of several locks signifying another day out at work for them.

“Red needs some manners,” Blue huffed before heading to the stairs to get laundry started, leaving Stretch by himself in the kitchen with the note.

Stretch flexed his hands for a moment before unfolding the paper and reading it.

it's finished.

His soul pounded in his rib cage, adrenaline pumping through his frame with newfound purpose and urgency.  Shoving the paper into his pocket, he bolted upstairs and found Blue fetching laundry from Red's room, not pausing before scooping his smaller brother up in his arms.

“HEY—Papy, what gives!?”

“We're leaving, Blue,” Stretch said, rushing downstairs and fumbling with the locks on the back door to get them open.  

“Papy, what's going on?  Why....what happened?  What—“

“Sans, just shut up for five seconds, I promise we'll talk when we're home!” Stretch got the door open and quickly made his way to the shed, hurrying to the machine and seeing that Red obviously did the finishing touches on it whilst he was—

NO. LATER.

Stretch felt his skull perspire as he quickly typed in coding and felt a wave of euphoria when the machine started up smoothly.  He quickly situated himself into it, holding his brother to him tightly.

“Papyrus, talk to me!” Blue cried, sounding incredibly worried.  “I thought everything was okay!”

Stretch said nothing, only tightening his hold on Blue as the world around them disassembled and faded them into the Void.

EPILOGUE

In the end, Stretch knew he could never tell Blue everything.  That just wasn't an option, ever. Eventually Blue stopped asking questions and set to readjusting to life back in his own universe, all too quickly picking up where he last left off as puzzles, training, and cooking became the norm once more.

If only it was that easy for Stretch to forget and move on.  Every day, every moment, he was plagued by the memory of what had happened, unable to get the sensations to wash off of his bones no matter how hard he tried.  None of his usual vices could overshadow what Edge had replaced them with.

He had become addicted to a hate so powerful he CRAVED it.  

And for what?

Protection against a world he could have tried harder to survive in solitude?  Throwing aside his dignity, his pride, to become the pet of that...that......!

Stretch spat bitterly into the snow, even his cigarettes doing nothing to improve his mood or get the taste of Edge's sharp spice of magic out of his mouth.  It was something more addicting than the magical strain of nicotine he had become so accustomed to, and something Stretch hated to crave.

He glowered at the half-spent cigarette before snuffing it out in the snow and pocketing the unused half, leaning against the side of his house with a shaky sigh.  

Gods, he had this addiction BAD.  

And he HATED himself for it.

Stretch glanced up, seeing his brother's bedroom light off, signaling that Blue had gone to bed. Normally he'd be on his way to Muffet's for a bottle of mead and a good lay but now?  Lights off had grown to mean one thing over weeks he spent in Fell...and he was starting to feel it.

He looked between the path down to Muffet's and the door to his basement, feeling his bones crawl with....

….desire.

On autopilot, his hands unlocked the door and opened it, shutting it behind him and leaving him in the dimness of the basement, alone with the machine.  

He had finished it himself some time ago for lack of anything better to do with his sleepless nights, and now it was ready to be used whenever he liked.  

But he didn't LIKE to.  He was LOATHED to use it.

So why?

Why was he turning it on?

Why were his fingers typing in a code?

Why was he crawling inside of it?

….......why was he here?

….......and more importantly, why was HE here?

Blood-red eyelights glimmered in the darkness of the basement of the deathly musk-scented world, looking almost expectant.  Neither said a word for what seemed like hours.

“You kept me waiting, ash trash,” Edge purred, his heeled boots clacking on the basement floor as he crossed the basement in three long strides.  “All the time, for you to crawl back to me like the beast you are.”

“I didn't crawl back, edgelord,” Stretch bit back with the last shred of nerve he had managed to scrounge up.  Edge smirked, his hand shooting out and burying into Stretch's hoodie, looping around a collar and jerking it up.

“Oh?  Then why do you come here with your master's mark of ownership around your pathetic neck?” he retorted, pulling Stretch closer.  “I hope you don't have any plans, because you need a good punishment for making me wait so long.”

Stretch scowled, unable to quell down the orange flush over his cheekbones.  “I didn't come back for a godsdamned punishment,” he growled.  “I don't know WHY the fuck I came back, I just.....I.....”  He winced, hating with a passion how disgustingly stupid he sounded.  

Edge laughed, letting the collar go and turning around, folding his hands behind his back.  “It's almost cute how torn you are,” he purred.  “And I'm feeling a bit pleased that you came back at all, considering how stubborn you are. So...I might be feeling charitable.  Kind, even.”  His grin broadened.  “For a price.”

Stretch clenched his hands, staring at the floor as his emotions swirled within him ranging from seething hatred to almost overwhelming desire.  “....what's your price?” he finally asked.

Edge chuckled darkly, turning back around, a chain leash clenched between his hands.  “How much do you think my kindness is worth?”

Even now, Stretch thought that the price of kindness was too high.  

But he was going to pay it anyway.

[goldnsyren]

Charlie/Steve and Odette/Seth for the kid meme!

For Odette/Seth…

Name: Alexander Edward Fuller

Gender: Male

General Appearance: While his father is borderline pretty, Alex leans more towards the classically handsome. He has his fathers brown eyes and strong jaw but his mothers pointed chin and lighter skin. He keeps his dark hair in a neat comb, and his facial hair a neatly groomed stubble. He’s not one for suits or ties (break his father’s heart) but he does lean towards a good leather jacket and the dark color pallet his mother seems to love, casual, but well dressed all the same.

Personality: Having been brought up by two of the most sarcastic beings in the world, its no wonder that while he had a happy childhood, Alex still ended up being tall dark and broodingly snarky himself.

Special Talents: Culebra hunting / hand to hand combat. Taking after his mom, Alex seems to have a talent for sensing the blood suckers and being pulled in to fights that really have nothing to do with him. While he’s not as great as a weapon as the rest of the family, he can certainly hold his own in a fight with the leeches.

Who they like better: Uncle Scott, of all things.

Who they take after more: Seth. Sure he had a happy childhood, but coming from such great and well known stock makes him feel like he’s not good enough to fit in with his family, leading him to get himself in some trouble now and again as he tries to take on projects on his own.

Personal Head canon: Seth took Odette’s name when they settled down, though they never married. As Gecko was particularly distinct, they decided to go as the new Fuller family, never telling Alex but occasionally letting a tidbit of information slip when they fought and thought he couldn’t hear. It wasn’t until he was fourteen that Uncle Richie none to gracefully spilled the beans, forcing their hand into telling him the truth about everything: the culebras, his fathers past, his mothers family, and all the shit that came with being them. And just like that, Alex’s entire world changed.

Face Claim: Jack Falahee

For Charlie/Steve…

Name: Eleanor Marie McGarrett

Gender: Female

General Appearance: Damn her good genes. Blonde like her mother, “Nori” inherited her father’s green eyes and competitive athleticism. Lean and very tan from all her time surfing and working as a life guard, she’s the perfect beautiful combination of those two attractive bastards. The only downside is that she’s a bit short, standing at a mild 5′4. Do to her work and upbringing, Nori is usually dressed in swimsuits and flip flops, jean shorts and a ratty t-shirt thrown over for modesty sake at her fathers request.

Personality: The Hawaiian spirit is strong with this one. Friendly and relaxed, Nori prefers to go with the flow rather than try to take control of everything like her father. A happy and bubbly girl she’s rarely phased by the gruesome and dangerous work her parents did/do. While her grades may be abysmal and her smarts a little more street leaning than academic, Nori has a way of surprising people with her random and usually helpful knowledge of facts. More the type to know a little about a lot of things than the type to know a lot about a few things… The fact people think she’s dumb has never bothered her, she cares little for other peoples opinions, even her parent’s.

Special Talents: Survival. If there’s anything she picked up from her father it’s the ability to survive almost any situation. From knowing what to do in a hurricane to detecting a tsunami, to spearing a boar if she’s lost in the woods, if her parents keep giving her a hard time she can easily slip into the jungle and live there like some Hawaiian-Barbie Tarzan(a?).

Who they like better: Charlie. Steve is far too overprotective, becoming just like what Danny said he’d be. Feeling suffocated by him, Nori often uses her mom as back up seeing her as the reasonable parent between them.

Who they take after more: Steve. They will both deny it till their dying breath, but everyone else can see it in their small mannerism, from how they sit to how they speak to their smile and glowering eyes, Nori is definitely Steve McGarrett’s baby girl.

Personal Head canon: She applied to many colleges all across the country. Barely passing all the requirements, she was accepted into a hearty handful of mild colleges, all of which where on the mainland. When she told her parents where she applied, they were heartbroken but tried to put on a brave face. Nori, realizing she’d miss them too much, pretended she didn’t get into any of them (going along with the dumb blonde people thought her as) and instead was going to the university of Hawaii. Only Grace and Chin knew the truth for decades after…

Face Claim: Sarah Roemer

-: Send me a couple and I’ll tell you what their kids would be like :-

[lalka-laski]

The Day Before Thanksgiving = Slooooow Work Day

Have you ever been served breakfast in bed? On school days as a kid my mom would gently wake us up and ask us what we wanted for breakfast. Then she’d go downstairs to make it while we stole a few more minutes of sleep. She would then bring us up our bagel/pop tart/waffle/fill-in-the-blank and we’d eat it in bed. Wow, she was a saint. And if only I could still start my mornings that way...  What is the most challenging meal you have ever cooked? I’m slowly getting into cooking, so every meal poses more than a few “challenges” for me lately. But I’m having fun with it and learning a lot!  Are you one to approach others, or let them approach you first? I almost exclusively have others approach me. There are two reasons behind this: 1) I’m introverted  2) I just have a very approachable look/energy. Seriously, strangers come up to me or sit down next to me and tell me very intimate details about their lives, completely unprompted! I guess it’s nice that I look like a friendly and trustworthy person, but it can feel overwhelming at times. Just the other day at Dunkin Donuts it took me 5 minutes just to place my coffee order because the guy behind the counter was telling me how sad he was that his girlfriend broke up with him. I was like “Uh I’m sorry dude, but did I ask??”  When was the last time you took painkillers? When I had oral surgery years ago Have you ever picked flowers out of someone else’s garden without asking? I might have as a kid

What is your favorite thing to do as a little kid? I was- and still am- a huge bookworm, so reading was always a favorite activity. I also had a wildly active imagination, so I could entertain myself for hours living out fantasies in my head. I used to pretend I was a pioneer girl like the characters in my favorite books, and I’d make dirt and grass “soup” and pretend to churn butter in a bucket. Good times lol.  Are holidays as fun for you now as they were when you were younger? They’ve definitely lost some of the “magic” since I’ve grown up, but that’s true of most things. But I still really enjoy the holidays and I cherish the time spent with my family. Plus now I have a partner with whom to share all these traditions (and build new ones!) and that’s such a gift. I have a feeling this holiday season is gonna be one of my best yet.  Do you find non-fiction to be boring? What a silly question. That’s like asking “do you find movies to be boring?” Non-fiction is just an umbrella term encompassing an infinite number of sub-genres and topics. To find that “boring” would be saying that there’s not a single topic on earth you find interesting.  Are you a punctual person? Or are you always late? I’m very punctual, usually early. It’s the anxiety! :)  Do you own a thesaurus? Do you actually use it? I used to, but nowadays I just have Thesaurus.com bookmarked. And it’s almost always in an open tab. #WriterLife  Do you ever write your own short stories? Funny you should ask, ha! I wrote tons as a kid and I had a Creative Writing concentration, so I wrote plenty for assignments in college. I’d love to say that’s still something I actively do but sadly, it’s not. Time to change that... 

Have you ever won money by entering a contest/raffle? Not cash money but I’ve won prizes  Have you ever lost something very valuable? My dignity? Ha I’m just kidding. I still have a few shreds of that. Otherwise I can’t think of anything majorly valuable that I’ve lost.  Have you ever lost something with a lot of sentimental value? I’m an extreeeemely emotional person and I collect/keep everything of sentimental value. The only objects that I regret throwing away are some journals from my youth. I still have most of them, but there were a few I deemed too embarrassing or incriminating to save. I’d give anything to leaf through one of those now... Have you ever been close to drowning? That’s a horrifying thought. Thank God I never have.  Have you ever had a panic attack? Yes.... What stores do you go into when you go to mall? I have a problem where I insist on browsing in nearly every store, even knowing full well I’ll never buy anything. It ends up a huge waste of time. I’m trying to get better about just setting a plan for myself on a shopping trip and only hitting the stores I KNOW I’ll buy from.  Do you ever stop to eat in the food court? Yeah! Just the other day my sister and I ate some very disappointing pizza and fries.  Do you find it easy to relate to other people? I’m empathetic and I always seek to understand and relate.  Who is your favorite philosopher? I can’t say I have one What is your favorite song to sing? Whatever is stuck in my head at any given moment. I love to sing! (Doesn’t mean I’m *good* but...)  Do you consciously try to be unique, or do you just be you? Interesting question. I don’t like to feel the need to be mainstream just for the sake of it but at the same time, I don’t feel the need to deviate from the mainstream just for the sake of it.  Do you worry about being judged by other people? Only every moment of every day  If someone doesn’t like you, do you usually want to know the reason? Oh of course. And I’ll torture myself reliving every mistake I’ve ever made in my life until I find out why  When was the last time you told someone something really important? Yesterday maybe?  Have you ever lost a large amount of money? Nothing more than about $40. Which is still valuable, don’t get me wrong Have you ever tried to blame something you did on someone else? Well I grew up with two sisters so, of course.  Did that person get in trouble, or did the plan fail? We all had our failures and victories... 

What is the weirdest hairstyle you have ever had? Well I was a tween at the height of Lizzie McGuire’s popularity, so I was definitely a fan of crimped hair. But not totally crimped, no no. Just random stray pieces here and there with no rhyme or reason. And don’t forget the butterfly clips!  Describe the ugliest pair of shoes you own? I don’t own any shoes that I consider ugly. Why would I buy shoes I didn’t like?  How many times a day do you look in the mirror? For how long? I have a slight phobia of mirrors. Well, not a phobia, but I have obsessive tendencies about my appearance so it’s best for me to avoid my reflection as often as possible. For that reason, I don’t look in mirrors often.  Are you ashamed to leave the house when not looking your best? I give less and less of a shit lately. It’s freeing  If you are antisocial, WHY are you that way? I’m not. Would you describe yourself as modest? Modesty is a concept steeped in misogyny and it’s one I certainly don’t endorse. These days I probably *could* be described as modest just as far as my lifestyle and clothing choices BUT.... ya girl used to be a huge slut. And I don’t regret it. I support women making their own, informed decisions and doing whatever makes them comfortable!  What is your favorite singer? Bowie, of course! If you could relive one day from last year, what day would it be? Why? There’s one day, one small incident, that I’d kind of like to do-over. But that’s it.  What is something that you are afraid to fail at? Uhh... everything?  What would happen if you did fail at it? .....  Do you ever worry about your loved ones dying? It’s a constant worry. Thanks for reminding me :)))  What is the cutest thing a guy could do for a girl? Well I’m really partial to love letters, songs, poems and the like...  Stuffed animals–immature, or should everyone have one? I have several stuffed animals, some from childhood and some that were recent gifts, and I love them dearly. They make me happy! Surround yourself with things that make you feel good!!  What do you like in your breakfast burritos? Egg and cheese, and veggie sausage or bacon if it’s available.  What restaurant would you choose to go to for breakfast? There are a few trendy brunch spots around here that I like, one of my favorites being a Mexican place. But I love some good old-fashioned diner food, too!  How much money do you think you cost your parents? Um? A lot?? What an odd question though.  Do you have good hand/eye coordination? Laughably bad.  Can you do a flip on a trampoline? I’d 100% kill myself if I tried.  Do you remember the last time you climbed a tree? Sadly, no. But this tree in my front yard was one of my favorite reading spots as a kid. There was this one thick branch that was the perfect size for me to stretch my legs on while I leaned against the trunk and read my books.  Did you ever lie on your back and pick shapes out of clouds as a kid? I still do that Do you watch any Japanese anime? My boyfriend’s really into it so I’ve *seen* some but I can’t say I’ve actually WATCHED it lol  Is there a foreign culture you are interested in learning more about? So many! The world’s a big place, ya know...  Do you let your emotions get the best of you in a fight? HA HA HA HA HA. Do you know me? I am nothing BUT emotions.  Logic? Reason? Rationale? I don’t know her.  Do you know anyone whose reputation has recently been ruined? All the recently outed sexual predators in Hollywood come to mind.  When did you first get a cellphone? For Christmas my freshman year of high school.  And fun fact: a month prior, I gave my parents a presentation as to why I should have one. I had notecards and everything. And clearly it worked! I wish I could put that on a resume...  Do you have your own laptop computer? A chromebook, but I barely use it.  Do you drive your own car, or your parents? I don’t drive Say something inappropriate? No thanks!

What were you doing before you started taking this survey? I just had my lunch “break.” I use the term loosely because not a whole lot of work is getting done today. So it was a break from a break.  Describe the best summer you ever had? I could more easily describe the WORST summer I’ve ever had. I guess my favorite summer was the one right before I left for college. I had the tightest group of friends and we partied every night. It was just your typical care-free teenage dream.  Do you eat any meat other than turkey on Thanksgiving? I don’t eat meat any day of the year! Did you attend a pre-school? I did, and I went a year earlier than usual because my mom was the teacher. So, free childcare. Go mom!  Do you remember what it was like to learn to count to 100? Not even slightly  What is something you lost in the process of growing up? My ability to drink liquor straight  Do you wear any wristbands? If so, what’s on them? Nope  What was the last picture you were in? I took several selfies with me and the girl I nanny the other day Did you have required reading material in high-school? Of course. Most of it I really enjoyed and would’ve read for leisure anyways.  Do you keep your room organized? Yep. I’m a pretty neat person.  Do you vacuum daily? No, but weekly. 

How many board games do you own? I have one card game in my apartment now but no board games, sadly!  Own any books? No. Not a single one. I don’t know how to read. I don’t even know what a book IS???  Recently checked any books out from the library? I just borrowed an e-book from a virtual library so does that count?  Does your cat give you kitty kisses? I don’t have a cat but I wish I did! What’s in your make-up bag? I have several. And I have no idea why they’re separated the way they are. All my makeup is just tossed together