#they say to this man in his early thirties okay first you’re gonna play an 18 year old. then later we see him at 38 (MINIMUM).

[kenisle]

so funny how in the first season of the witcher which spans decades has so many major characters that are basically immortal and don’t age… except for one, the totally normal human bard who looks exactly the same in his last appearance of the season as he did in his first twenty years prior for absolutely no reason. like did they just forget or

[karatekels]

Hello:) first time with an ask. I have to preface by saying I absolutely love your account and your fics and just everything about what you've created ❤️❤️ may I ask, can you write something about CK Terry falling for a 30 something young woman in an adult class? She's learning and new to karate, yet Terry sees potential and asks if she'd like to grab dinner (or have his chef cook for them), then maybe "train" a little in his private dojo 😉

Thank you so much for your comments – they make my heart sing and make me blush horribly. I’m happy to write this for you – enjoy! ❤️

Shoutout to @terrysilv for helping me brainstorm some ideas for this!

---

Legacy

---

“Asa!” you cry out, the kiai escaping your lips in a short grunt as you lay into the punching bag with your fists and feet, the bag supported by your sparring partner. “Ya! Isa!”

“Okay okay!” your partner exclaims from behind the bag after awhile. “Jesus Y/N, you’re gonna knock me on my ass – can we take a break?”

Rolling your eyes, you step away from the bag, helping the man up before moving to your bag to get a drink of water. You were here to put the work in, and intended to do so the entire time, not wanting to waste even a minute.

You had been training with the Cobra Kai dojo for a few months now, and had gotten good; very good. You knew you were rather late to the game, starting to learn karate in your early thirties, but you were determined to prove yourself. You had quickly exceeded the introductory levels of the adult classes, and had worked your way up to the top of the expert class as well, having impressed the senseis of the dojo the whole way.

You didn’t like doing anything halfway – if you were going to learn karate, you were going to do it right, and not stop until you had perfected your skills.

The owner of the dojo, Sensei Terry Silver, walks past you, moving to snap at another pair of students whose form had gotten sloppy. That right there was another reason to do the best you could during these lessons; that man was likely twice your age, and incredibly fit, still able to instill fear in anyone he came across. You knew he was the best in the Valley, and you wanted to get to that level yourself. You wanted to be respected, you wanted to be able to take care of yourself, and karate was the perfect avenue to get you there.

Returning to your punching bag, your partner represses a sigh, bracing himself against the bag once more.

--- Terry’s POV ---

Terry glides past you, his feet silent on the training mats as he moves to scold a pair of students who were goofing off yet again. Really, how the majority of these people were accepted into the expert-level class baffled him. He’d need to talk to Kim at some point about her selection process.

There was, however, one student in particular that had been able to exceed his expectations…

He circles the dojo discreetly, positioning himself so that he could watch you, seeing you approach the punching bag for another round, fire in your eyes. Your form was perfect, and you were so graceful in your movements he found himself hypnotized.

You had been dedicated to your training since day one; he couldn’t think of anyone (other than himself, of course), who so fully encapsulated the 3 D’s: desire, devotion, discipline. He had taken notice of your beauty immediately, from the moment you entered the expert class, but had dismissed his attraction immediately. He didn’t sleep with students, and he didn’t date students, the work and romance spheres of his life remaining separate by his design.

He'd never had an issue abiding by that rule, until you’d shown up.

The better you got, the harder you trained, the more you wore down his resolve without you even realizing it. You had captivated him, and he couldn’t remember the last time he had fallen for anyone this hard. He had tried not to let his attraction for you interfere with his work – if you took offence and left, he would lose his only means of seeing you.

No, he had to play this perfectly, find an opportunity to test the waters with you, find out where you stood. Something away from here, away from everyone else, where he could turn on the charm and bring you around to his way of thinking. He was now a man past middle age; he didn’t have time to waste.

He’d have you eventually.

---

Terry waits until almost everyone else has left the dojo before approaching you. Yet another benefit to your dedication to karate: you were always the first to arrive and the last to leave. He lets you finish your cool down stretches, then walks over to you.

“Great work today, Y/N,” he compliments, savouring your pleased smile at his praise. You valued his approval; that was something, at least.

“Thank you, Sensei,” you reply, moving to retrieve your water. He follows smoothly behind you, not done with you yet.

“You’ve really improved during your time here,” he continues, determined to draw you into a conversation. “What’s driving you?”

You look over at him as you put your shoes and socks back on, considering the question. You were so contemplative, the type of person that thought things through, and he loved that about you. Everyone seemed so hasty these days, rushing headlong into situations without giving them thought, and it frustrated him to no end.

“I don’t like to do anything halfway,” you say after awhile. “If I’m going to do something, I want to do the best. I want to be the best,” you add, getting more passionate as you speak to him. He finds himself transfixed.

“I see the respect that you command around here, and I’m not a big tall guy like you, and I may never be a sensei, but that’s something I want,” you confess, looking up at him with that same fire in your eyes.

You were envious of him? You looked up to him? He could work with that.

“How do I become the best, Sensei Silver? What can I do next?”

Terry thinks about how to play this. Part of him did truly want to help you succeed; Cobra Kai was his legacy, and you were now not just part of that, but one of his shining stars. The greedy, primal part of him wants to promise you the best training money could buy if you would only become his. He settles for something in the middle.

“This dojo is really meant to cater to a group, and the lowest common denominator, even in the expert class. I don’t know if you can get the full attention that you deserve…” he begins, hesitating briefly, as though considering something, but he’s already finalized the plan in his mind.

“If you’d like, I could offer you private lessons at my personal dojo, where I could focus solely on you,” he offers, ever the generous benefactor. As if you weren’t already the centre of his attention every time you walked into the same room as him. Your eyes go wide, shining with delight at the thought.

“Wow, that would be incredible,” you breathe, and he feels his cock stir against his thigh at your excitement. While your interest wasn’t out of desire for him, it was about spending time alone with him, and that was enough to have his mind racing. Picturing you coming to his home with him had him nearly giddy.

“I just don’t think I could afford private lessons, Sensei Silver…” you say, and he resists the urge to scoff. Screw the money. This was about you, getting you, having you alone… but he had to be careful. You were fiercely independent, and proud, and while he admired and respected those traits in you he also knew to be wary of upsetting them.

“I would be happy to charge the same rate as you’re currently paying for the expert class,” he offers. “The success of my students is my main objective here with Cobra Kai. You are easily one of our best, and have clearly outgrown the expert class.”

“Are you sure?” you ask, clearly not wanting to take advantage of him, and he bites his tongue to keep from beaming at the thought.

“It would be an honour, Y/N.”

The grateful smile you level him with has his heart pounding in his chest. Were you really so oblivious about the effect that you had on him, on everyone in any room you were in?

“Thank you, Sensei. I won’t let you down.” He plans on taking that promise to its absolute limit.

“One stipulation, Y/N, if you don’t mind,” he presses, giving you a slight smile. You cock your head at him, waiting, though he gets the sense that you’ll accommodate anything he asks for.

“Allow me to speak with you once beforehand, to get a better sense of your goals and to develop a training regimen. Perhaps over dinner?”

Christ, when was the last time he had felt nervous about anything?

You blink, seemingly speechless. Terry thinks he detects the faintest hint of a blush on your cheeks, but doesn’t want to give himself too much credit.

“You want to take me to dinner?” you ask, tone slightly incredulous.

“I could ask my personal chef to cook us a meal. It would give you a chance to see the dojo before we get started.” He pointedly doesn’t address your shock at him asking you out, hoping to subtly reframe the evening as a purely professional one; he can’t have you getting cold feet, not now. He just had to get you there, get you alone, and he could win you over. The thought of training you in a dozen other things before you even get started on karate dances through his mind, and he suppresses a groan. It wouldn’t do to lose focus now; you always kept him on his toes.

“Could…could I go home and change first?” you ask, looking down at your gi. It’s strange, seeing this more hesitant, shy side of you, but he finds that he enjoys it just as much as your typical fierce attitude. And, more importantly, this wasn’t a no.

“Of course. I can have a driver pick you up in a few hours – my home is rather difficult to find if you don’t know where to look.” He knows he’s laying it on thick with the show of wealth, but he can’t contain his excitement; if he has his way, he’ll be spoiling you for the rest of his life and beyond.

“Oh, that’s… wow, alright. I guess being the best student has its perks, huh?” you joke, and he smiles encouragingly at you. You scribble down your address – as if he didn’t already know it – on a piece of paper and hand it to him.

“I’ll see you in a few hours, then?” you say hesitantly, and he’s fully enjoying your nerves, now.

“I’ll see you then, Y/N,” he replies, trying to keep the purr from his voice. You give him a shy smile as you throw your bag over your shoulder, exiting the dojo and missing the pleased grin he directs at the back of your head. Having watched you leave, Terry immediately moves to collect his own things and head home.

There was much to prepare for.

--- Reader’s POV ---

The car finally breaks through the treeline after what feels like ages, driving smoothly up to a gorgeous estate. You knew that Mr. Silver was very well-off, but to live in a place like this… then again, he was offering to train you in his private dojo, so perhaps this shouldn’t be so surprising to you.

Looking down at your hands, twisting around themselves in your lap, you hope that you’ve dressed appropriately for the evening. What, exactly, was one meant to wear to a private dinner at your sensei’s gigantic house to discuss karate? You had settled on a simple summer dress, the green complimenting your hair and skin tone wonderfully, and a pair of wedges, keeping your hair down in loose waves and your makeup simple.

The driver stops the car – having a driver, that was strange for you as well – and you nervously hop out before he can come around and open your door for you. You weren’t the Queen of England, you could get out of a vehicle on your own. He guides you up to the front door, ringing the bell, then nods to you and turns to, presumably, go park the car.

“Thank you!” you call after him, not wanting to be rude, and then you hear the door open behind you. Turning, you see an older woman at the door, smiling warmly at you.

“Ah, Miss L/N. Please come in, and I’ll take you to Mr. Silv –”

“No need, Janet, thank you. I’ll take it from here.”

Mr. Silver approaches from a room off to the left, looking decidedly more relaxed in a pair of tan slacks, a white button-up shirt and a royal blue blazer, his hair out of its signature ponytail and framing his face. You hadn’t thought it was possible for someone to appear so at home in a place as luxurious as this, but he does, and you’re happy for him. Hopefully, these private lessons from him would help you become even half as successful as your sensei.

“Welcome to my home, Y/N. I’m glad you could make it,” he greets you warmly, and you smile at him. You would not ruin this opportunity for yourself, even if you were a bit nervous about how to behave in this situation.

“Thank you, sensei, and thank you again for sending someone to pick me up,” you reply graciously.

“Sensei is reserved for training, Y/N. Please, call me Terry outside of the dojo.”

You nod your head in acknowledgement, hoping to keep things straight in your head. You didn’t often have relationships with people that transcended more than one social circle; it complicated things, made them messy as the lines blurred. You didn’t think that that would happen with Terry – he was on such a different level from you in every way – but you wanted to be aware of the possibility.

“Thank you, Terry. It’s so… strange, seeing you outside of the dojo.” You want to acknowledge the difference in the setting, but think that you may have come across a bit standoffish, and try to recover. “I’m so used to the ponytail,” you joke, gesturing to his hair, and his lips twitch in amusement.

“Yes, well it doesn’t get in the way when I’m just relaxing at home. You look lovely,” he compliments, approaching you with his hands in his pockets. “I’ve just spoken with the chef, and we have a half hour before dinner. Would you like to see the dojo now, or can I offer you a drink?”

You pause to consider this, worrying your lower lip between your teeth. You didn’t want to refuse his hospitality and make it seem like you were only here for the training he would offer you by wanting to get right into the dojo, and perhaps a drink or two would help you loosen up…

“A drink would be lovely, Terry, thank you.” He smiles, gesturing down the hall with an arm, and you follow him, taking in each new room with a sense of wonder. It was all warm, comfortable, relaxed… not at all what you would have expected from viewing just the exterior of the house.

Eventually, he leads you into a parlour with a collection of liquor bottles, one wall made completely of glass, looking out onto a large balcony and the gardens below. Smiling at the dwindling sunlight streaming in through the windows, you find yourself briefly distracted.

“Wine?” Terry asks, having selected a bottle of red. You nod to him, and he seems to take a long moment to look at you before pouring two glasses. Bringing both with him, he hands you a glass, which you accept gratefully, thanking him quietly.

“Come on, I’ll show you outside,” he says, a knowing tone in his voice. He was so good at reading people, anticipating their thoughts and actions; you supposed it was a necessary skill to have, both for teaching and for karate. You smile, and follow him to the door leading out to the balcony, walking up to the balustrade to get a full view of gardens below. They were massive, seeming to stretch out forever, and were so lush and full. You sigh longingly as you take in the view.

“You get to come home to this every day?” you ask, awe evident in your tone. “It’s incredible!”

“It’s refreshing to see someone appreciate it,” Terry replies, coming to stand beside you. “I think I’ve come to take it for granted.”

“I don’t think I could ever get used to this…” you murmur. Terry is quiet, seeming content to let you take in your surroundings, the two of you drinking your wine in a comfortable silence. After awhile, a member of the staff finds the pair of you out on the balcony to inform you that dinner is ready. Following him through more spacious rooms of the home with Terry, you find yourself feeling far more comfortable than you had when you had first arrived, and couldn’t attribute it all to the wine.

--- Terry’s POV ---

The evening had been very successful so far, Terry thinks to himself as he surveys you from across the table. He can’t remember the last time he’s shared a meal with someone in his own home when it wasn’t for some business matter or another, and he finds that he has missed it.

He had been awestruck upon first seeing you at his front door; having never seen you in anything other than your gi, you were particularly striking in your soft green dress, your hair flowing down your back. You had been clearly nervous at first – hell, he couldn’t judge you for it; he was nervous himself – but had adjusted quickly, and he found himself impressed by your tenacity.

The look on your face as you had taken in sight of the garden, the sunlight illuminating you, had briefly taken his breath away. You were radiant even without the sun’s glow, but in that moment you had looked so serene he had been positively enchanted by you. He hadn’t planned on taking you outside, but he couldn’t resist giving you exactly what you wanted. He could see that happening a lot with you, should things progress the way he intended for them to.

You had opened up more once you had moved inside, telling him about yourself and asking about him in return. Ordinarily, Terry was rather cautious – if not outright reluctant – to divulge personal information about himself, but he found it easy to open up to you.

Having asked you further about your motivations to study karate, you had become more animated in your responses, speaking about your desire to make something of yourself, and to leave a lasting mark on the world. Again, Terry finds himself recognizing the similarities between you, especially in how you saw the world and your respective places in it, and he finds himself in a difficult position.

What would be the greater legacy for him to leave behind: training you to be the best and being your mentor, or pursuing a relationship with you that would, if he had his way, last as long as you both should live? He finds himself wrestling with complicated feelings, wholly unaccustomed to trying to prioritize someone’s hopes and dreams over his own.

But he had sacrificed before; he could do it again, and being your mentor would most assuredly connect your names together in history. There was something beautiful, poetic even, about that, and it eliminated the possibility of rejection, of failure. Terry decides to shift his goals again; he’s put love on the backburner his entire life, and he can do it again, at least until he’s cemented himself as a keystone to your success. He would have something that tied the two of you together, at least, and perhaps that would be enough.

He can’t help but take in the way your eyes glimmer in the candlelight with a slight smile, ignoring the slight clenching of his heart. Let him do something good and selfless for once in his miserable life.

You both finish your meal, and he offers to show you the dojo, the excited smile you give him making him ache in a way he hadn’t experienced.

--- Reader’s POV ---

After several months of intensive training, you truly felt like you were on top of the world. You felt almost as tall as Terry, your confidence having reached new heights. Terry had been incredible, working with you as often and as hard as he had, like your success was intrinsically tied to his own. You had appreciated everything he had done, and was doing for you more than you could ever say.

Having finished your session for the day, you both step off the mat, moving to get water and take a brief rest before you went home for the day.

“So, what’s next, Terry?” you ask, always excited to learn more. Terry doesn’t respond, and after a moment you look over to him seated on the bench, radiating tension.

“You know, Y/N, I’m not sure if I have anything more to teach you,” he replies, his large body caved inward slightly, like he’s being crushed by some heavy weight. You had learned to read him somewhat in your time together, and think he’s disappointed.

“I’m sure that’s not true, Terry. I don’t think it’s possible for you to run out of knowledge,” you say, smiling encouragingly, but he scowls.

“Well, I have. This is over,” he says firmly, harshly. Some of his hair has come out of his ponytail, and he’s got a frustrated, defeated energy radiating off of him that you’re not sure what to make of.

You bite your lip, debating what to do. While you had definitely become more comfortable around Terry during this time together, you wouldn’t exactly call yourself his friend. What were the boundaries of this relationship after all of this? Should you give him space or offer to listen? Throwing caution to the wind, you decide on the latter.

“Will you tell me what’s really wrong?” you ask softly, sliding closer to him on the bench, trying to coax the truth out of him. He barks out a humourless laugh, throwing his head back, before he levels you with a serious, almost cold expression.

“It’s you.”

“I…what?” you ask, confused and hurt, and he seems to burst, leaping off the bench to his feet and whirling around to face you.

“It’s you!” he repeats, getting louder, and you’re not sure which emotions you detect in his voice, only that there are many of them and that they all seem to be entangled within one another.

“I am an old man, Y/N. I am old, and I am alone. I’d come to terms with that years ago, really I had,” he rambles, words flowing quickly from his lips without much thought. He was never like this; he was like you, looking before he leaped. What had happened?

“And then you walk into my dojo, and it’s like I’m seeing the sun rise for the first time.”

You stiffen, your eyes going wide, but he’s not even looking at you right now, pacing up and down the edge of the training mats like a caged animal.

“I thought I could be professional. I thought I could be your teacher, your mentor, and that that would be enough. Then, I thought up a dozen ways to try to win you over, to sweep you off your feet, to make you see… I’ve gone back and forth so many times, and every time you’ve done nothing but draw me in deeper. I’m trying to do what’s right, harder than I’ve ever bothered to try before, and now that’s it!” He turns suddenly to look at you, his eyes wide and searching, though for what you’re not sure.

“I’ve taught you everything I could, and now there’s nothing for you here anymore. Nothing to keep you here with me.”

He looks broken, and you’re stunned into silence by his revelation. Terry had feelings for you? The very idea seemed ridiculous. He was older, wealthy, successful, talented… you had never bothered to even consider him in that way; what would be the point, since it would never be reciprocated? Thinking about it now, though…

You had admired him from the moment you met him, respecting his dedication to his craft and his students. He had shown such wisdom in the dojo, and had fascinated you with his stories and experience. Over the past few months, you had become so comfortable with each other, and you had gotten to see his humour, his kind heart, his passion… And even you had recognized from the very beginning that he was incredibly attractive, especially for a man of his age, but again, you had pushed that kind of thinking out of your mind the second you accepted that it wouldn’t do anything for you but get you distracted.

He had been supportive, generous, shared his life and his home with you, and you had come to cherish the connection you had together. What was that if not love?

Looking over at him, where he had retaken his seat on the bench, slumped in a defeated position, it’s like you’re seeing him with fresh eyes. This man had loved you, presumably for quite awhile, and instead of acting on it had been nothing but professional, putting you and your needs above his own without you even realizing it. He had sacrificed so much, and even now was only upset that he had nothing else to offer? What a ludicrous notion. He had become your everything.

Getting up off the bench, you move silently to walk around in front of him, bending to his eye level. He doesn’t even seem to notice that you’re there, his eyes closed in defeat with his head in his hands, and now you feel like the idiot for not recognizing your own feelings sooner.

Tilting your head, you lean closer to him, pressing your lips to his softly.

He doesn’t respond for a moment, staying perfectly still, and you pull back a bit, looking at his face. His eyes flutter open, and he looks at you, confused.

“Why would you do that?” he demands, his voice low and hoarse. You nibble your lip nervously.

“To apologize, for not recognizing your feelings,” you say, and you think you see the light leave his eyes, pain evident on his features.

“And for not recognizing my own,” you add in a whisper. His gaze snaps back to yours, intense once more.

“What…?” is all he manages to get out in a choked voice.

“I never thought you would see me in that way, Terry, so I didn’t bother letting myself see you like that either. We’re from two different worlds, you could have anyone you wanted –”

“Not anyone,” he corrects pointedly, and you take a deep breath.

“Yes,” you counter, reaching out to take one of his hands in your own. “Anyone.”

He seems to freeze again, his eyes staring past you into the distance, into nothing, and you wait, knowing he needs a moment. Sure enough, his eyes soon snap back to yours, and he slowly stands up, closing the space between you with his large body so close to yours. He reaches up slowly, as though he doesn’t want to startle you, taking your face gently in both of his large, warm hands.

“You want me?” he whispers incredulously, stroking your cheek with his thumb. You swallow.

“I can’t believe I didn’t see it until now… Yes, Ter –”

Your confession is cut off suddenly as he pulls your face none-too-gently up to his, kissing you with a fierce joy that takes your breath away. His arms wrap around you, one at your waist and one around your upper back, hand tangled in your hair. You gasp into his mouth, hands coming up to clutch the top of his gi, pulling him down to you, overwhelmed by the desire that courses through you.

You could kick yourself for how stupid you’d been these past few months, wasting all this time together, but that would mean you would have to stop kissing him, and you’d already spent more than enough time doing that.

He is the one to break the kiss first, his blue eyes dark as he looks at you in his arms with thinly veiled wonder, and you feel your knees go weak. No one had ever looked at you like this before; you hadn’t thought that anyone ever would. You smile up at him shyly, your heart pounding in your chest. You can’t remember ever feeling this happy, this complete, standing in his arms.

“I adore you, Y/N,” he admits reverently, resting his forehead on yours. Tears spring to your eyes at his words, and he wipes them away gently with his thumb before you even realize they’re there. You let out a breathless laugh, hardly able to believe your ears, your heart singing.

“I love you, Terry,” you reply, and the smile that he gives you in return nearly brings tears to your eyes again. He scoops you up into his arms, sitting on the bench with you on his lap, kissing you soundly. You wrap your arms around his neck, toying with his hair, toes curling in delight. Gradually, you move to shift in his lap, straddling him, never breaking your kiss. His hands come around your hips, and you feel something primal course through you as you feel him getting hard against you.

He leans back from you, breaking the kiss again reluctantly, almost shyly.

“We don’t have to do this now, or here,” he tells you, considerate and gentlemanly as always, and you grin at him.

“It seems oddly appropriate though, doesn’t it?” you reply coyly, gazing at him with lust in your eyes. “And you’ve waited long enough, haven’t you, sensei?”

His eyes go nearly black in desire and he growls at you, taking your gi in his hands and somehow shredding the clothes off of you in his haste to get at you. You may have poked the bear a bit too much with that comment, you think to yourself as he tears your bra from your body, leaving you in only your underwear on his lap.

“I think I have more to teach you after all, my dear,” he purrs, his mouth closing around one of your nipples and making you moan, digging your nails into his scalp and clutching him to your chest.

“Please, Terry, show me everything,” you beg desperately, throwing your head back as he toys with you.

“Oh, I intend to,” he promises, picking you up and turning to deposit you on the bench, taking off his own gi. You find yourself licking your lips as he pushes his pants past his hips, whimpering as his cock is bared to you. Fuck, this man was gorgeous.

Trembling slightly, you come to stand on the bench, now almost the same height as him as you push your underwear down your legs. His arms come around you, hands gripping your butt firmly, and your knees nearly buckle, but he’s there, he’s everywhere, supporting your weight with his body.

You pull his hair out of its ponytail, tangling your fingers in it as you tug him closer to you.

“Take me, Terry. I need you,” you ask him breathlessly, staring into his eyes, reading the love in them and hoping that your own eyes reflect the same growing devotion.

Not hesitating, he takes you in his arms once more, your legs coming around his waist like they were always meant to be there, and he carries you over to the wall of the dojo, bracing you against it before gently lowering you onto his cock. You whimper as he enters you, and his eyes roll back in his head as he sheathes himself fully in your tight, wet heat.

“Oh God, Terry!” you groan, feeling so deliciously full of him, your nails digging into his back. Supporting you with his hands around your butt, he sets a slow pace of lifting you up off his cock before dropping you back down again. Slow and rough, it’s perfect, and you can’t get enough, burying your face in the crook of his neck as you moan.

“Fuck, you’re perfect, Y/N. I knew you would be,” he croons in your ear, and you’re again stunned as you recognize how long this man has desired you.

“Made for you, Terry, only you!” you cry out, lifting your head to capture your lips with his own again as you grind your hips against him, feeling deliciously sinful. The pace of his thrusts increases, as though he’s urgently needing to make you his, but you meant what you said. This man was it for you; there would be nobody else.

“Yesss,” he hisses against your lips. “My woman, my everything.” You both tighten your grip on one another at his words, like you’re wanting to claim the other even more. Your orgasms hit you at the same time, and you both cry out the other’s name in your ecstasy, your pace slowing until you’re both just wrapped up in one another. You realize you’re crying again, and he kisses your tears away as they fall.

Reluctantly, he lowers you to the ground, but keeps his arms wrapped around you, unwilling to let you go completely, and you share the sentiment, nuzzling into his chest.

“You have given me everything, my treasure,” he murmurs against your hair, kissing the top of your head, and you tilt your head up to look at him, still teary-eyed.

“So have you,” you admit with complete sincerity, and he smiles at you, stepping away to retrieve your clothes.

“Oh, you have no idea what I’ve got in store for you. We’ve only gotten started,” he promises, handing your underwear to you. He pulls the pants of his gi back on, but holds his top in his hands, taking in the scattered scraps of fabric that were your gi. Smiling at you, he approaches, wrapping his top around you and tying it to you, big enough on you to look like a full robe.

He ties the obi around your waist, taking in the kana on either end that read Sensei Silver. It seemed appropriate. He takes your hand and looks you over, hair mussed, face flushed, smiling brightly at him as you wore his gi, and feels like the luckiest man in the world.

“Come with me, my dear,” he purrs, leading you to the exit of the dojo. “We’ve got some planning to do.”

---

[erodasfishtacos]

~ MLB Curious Gazes ~

prompt: four different situations where people have run into or hung out with MLB!H - told from their perspective.

word: 6k +

warnings: language, mentions of sexual content

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-=-=-=-=-=-

The Doctor’s Office

Aubrey couldn’t believe her eyes as she sat in her uncomfortable, too small chair in the empty waiting room at the OBGYN office in the early hours of the morning. 

She was sitting alone with her baby boy sitting in his carrier on the floor - it was his nine month checkup and it was taking forever to be seen.

The woman was sitting, scrolling on her phone when out of her peripheral she saw an extremely - like extremely handsome man step into the area with a carrier.

Aubrey was a married woman but holy shit this guy was hot- without even trying is the thing. 

He had on a New York Yankees Nike hoodie and a pair of Nike athletic shorts with some calf length Blake Nike socks and trainers.

In the carrier was a fresh little baby, couldn’t be older than three months who was bundled up with a sunflower headband on.

The man was multitasking with a curly haired toddler on his other hip as he finds a seat a little bit down from Aubrey on the opposite side.

His wife was standing up at the check-in and of course it made sense that she was absolutely beautiful as well even though Aubrey could relate to how tired she looked.

The woman still had a small bit of her pregnancy bump left signifying that the baby was indeed very very new to the world.

She keeps glancing over at the man, he looks so familiar but she would remember if she had even met someone that handsome.

Then the context clues hit her, his hoodie, his toddler son was also in a little Yankees hoodie that matched his fathers and Aubrey googled quickly.

Her eyes flitted throughout the recent articles.

Styles’ Alleged $65 Million Dollar Bonus

Hot Head Harry Styles - how he managed to start three bench clearing brawls in one game!

Breaking Records and Bats - Styles manages to break his own record in the same season followed by breaking a bat in celebration

Holy shit.

She could help but watch them - this was much more interesting than reading a magazine.

Aubrey didn’t follow baseball but Harry had turned celebrity status and was this well known cocky dickhead to the media - women and men loved and drooled over him for his looks and his skills.

Right now, he sat down with his two babies - the boy looked exactly like Harry, it was quite unbelievable from the curly locks to mossy green eyes that was copy and paste.

Harry was currently tucking an applesauce pouch between his lips and guiding the boy's small hands to hold it for himself.

“Good job,  ,” He murmurs in the dead quiet waiting room as he tucks him further into the crook of his arm.

Harry looks up to his wife who joins them, she is a bit in awe when Aubrey sees him palm a bit at her bloated belly and whisper, “Y’look gorgeous today, mama.”

Aubrey couldn’t help but frown, she wished her husband did that.

YN sits down, leaning her head on his shoulder - Aubrey didn’t know her but she seems tired - of course she was a new mother.

The silence is broken when a nurse comes out and with an apologetic face says, “I’m sorry, we are running really behind today. It might be another thirty minutes,” before shutting the door again.

Harry kisses his wife’s forehead before wrapping his unoccupied arm around her shoulder, a flashing gold band on his ring finger.

Aubrey zones off for a little when her son wakes up, rocking the carrier a few times before he settles again.

She’s brought back to the couple when she hears a sniffle comes from Harry’s wife and his face turned towards hers, hand rubbing her shoulder reassuringly.

“Mama, she’s so healthy. There’s nothin’ to worry about, did a perfect job growing her in y’belly. I know these check-ups make you anxious but nothin’ is gonna be wrong,” He soothes, a near whisper because of how quiet the room is and he didn’t want to disrupt.

“I just don’t know if she’s been getting enough milk, it’s so hard to tell,” YN replies sadly, like she’s disappointed in herself.

“Y’kidding me? She’s our chunkiest baby - look at those little rolls. She’s on y’tits more than any of the boys including me,” He jokes softly, obviously trying to make her feel better.

It seems to work a little bit because she lets out a light giggle with a roll of her eyes, “No one is on them more than you.”

Harry shrugs unashamed before replying seriously, “Everything will be okay. She’s perfect and healthy.”

The curly haired little boy gets a bit squirmy with the wait after he finished his pouch, asking to be set down which his father does.

Harry is watching him carefully, his nervous but still adventurous little two and a half year old, as he toddles around the waiting room.

When he spots Aubrey and her carrier, he wanders over looking up her with wide curious eyes, he points at her son and squeaks, “Baby?”

Ever the diligent father, Harry is up and next to his son, Aubrey is a bit starstruck if she’s honest when he talks to her.

“M’sorry, he’s a curious little one,” Harry smiles at her, going to pick Ezra back up to guide him away from bothering her.

Aubrey waves her hand though, lifting the visor to show the sleeping baby, “Yeah, he’s a baby. That’s Dominic.”

The boy gazes at the baby before lisping, “Bry!”

Aubrey isn’t sure what he means but his father clarifies, “You’re right, Dominic is a baby just like your little sister Briar.”

“Okay,” Ezra shrugs and goes back to his mom to inform him of what he just discovered before crawling up and cuddling into her chest.

Harry nods, “Thanks for indulging him.”

“No pro-problem,” She stutters like an idiot and Harry smiles a bit like he knows but doesn’t say anything else before going back to his family.

A few minutes later when a high-pitched cry resounds through the room, Harry is carefully cradling his daughter who Aubrey notes looks nothing like him but like her mother even though her features were still so little.

“Shush, darlin’,” Harry coos with a soft drawl, leaning in to kiss at the newborn’s button nose.

Briar roots at her father’s chest, smacking her plump lips, and squeaking in frustration when she doesn’t find a nipple. It makes Harry chuckle before he glances at his wife and his smile falters a bit, “Sweetheart, did y’bring a bottle?”

Aubrey watches his wife shake her head, she is facing away from her so she can’t see her expression but gauging Harry’s it seems that she may be upset, “No, I completely forgot. I didn’t bring my nursing blanket either - I’m going to have to go the bathroom. M’being such a bad mom.”

The observer feels a pang in her chest, she can definitely relate to not always feeling like she is a good mother because of little mistakes she makes like forgetting diapers, buying the wrong formula, forgetting to bring a pacifier.

“Hey,” Harry’s voice is firm, “Y’not going to talk like that when s’the farthest thing from the truth. S’okay, we have four babies, we’re both goin’ t’forget things sometimes, okay? Here, let me help you.”

Aubrey wishes she had a husband who was as empowering, supportive of his wife.

He hands the whimpering baby over to his wife, he’s then tugging off his hoodie. Aubrey tries but fails to divert her eyes when his shirt rides up revealing  a glimpse of his taut abdomen and a light dusting of hair leading into his shorts, obscene tattoos covering his hipbones .

Harry maneuvers the hoodie over his wife’s shoulder, helping her tug down her loose shirt and nursing bra, and guiding his newborn to his wife’s breast until she latches and starts suckling hungrily.

“There y’go mama,” He whispers encouragingly before tugging Ezra back onto his lap to rock him a bit as he’s getting whiny - ready for a nap soon and not liking being in an unfamiliar place for too long.

-

Aubrey is buckling Dominic into his carseat when she spots the other family exiting the office. 

Harry’s wife looks much more relaxed, a smile on her face, and her arm tucked around her husband’s narrow hip, they’re parked close to each other, and Aubrey climbs into her small sedan - blasting the aircon.

She watches the parents strapp their kids into a massive, tinted and brand new cadillac escalade that was no doubt over a hundred thousand dollar car but who could expect them to be driving around a mid-level minivan?

After the kids are secured and they close the doors, Harry presses his wife up against it with his arm resting over her shoulder against the window. He is whispering to her, their mouths close before he ducks down to connect their lips.

His hand comes back to her deflating baby bump like he did in the doctor’s office, hand massaging the skin with adoration that was visible even to Aubrey as she sat in her car watching them.

Later on in the week, as she sits on her couch, a video pops up on her timeline. It’s a sports report she was about to skip until the name caught her attention. 

The sports reporter stated, “Harry Styles was fined an alleged sixty thousand dollars at last night’s game after getting into a verbal altercation when the second base man purposely tripped him.”

It flashes to the man she just saw in the doctor’s office in a form-fitting Yankee’s blue and white striped uniform with a helmet on as he ran at an impressive speed from first to second, stumbling when the baseman put out his foot.

Harry recovers quickly enough to touch the base to be considered safe. 

After that though, he’s pushing himself up and brushing off the dirt, then he’s charging towards the man who fucked up the play. 

He has no fear as he gets in the man’s face, veins on his neck standing out as he shouts. They don’t play the audio but you could tell Harry was cussing this man up and down.

It flashed back to the reporter speaking to another, “Nearly every team in the league reports that Styles is an absolute nightmare to play against from his skill to his downright arrogant and cocky attitude. He’s not someone I’d find myself wanting to hang around.”

“I agree with you there, Tucker. He has a right to be proud with all of his broken records and achievements but being a bit humble would do this man so good. I feel sorry for his wife and kids. He probably just spends all day bragging about himself.”

Aubrey clicks off the video, if only everyone in the world just saw the Harry Styles she saw just a few days ago - well they’d all change their minds on what kind of person he is. Especially what kind of husband and father.

--

The Charity Event

It was a charity event at Madison Square Garden in Time Square. 

It was for all Major League Baseball teams who had qualified for the playoffs and of course, The New York Yankees were there.

There were tables filling the whole stadium, extravagant in white linen tablecloths, multiple bars, and it was black tie dress code. 

It was a private event and it was not open to the public but after the dinner there would be awards given out and that would be broadcasted.

Nicole was there with her husband, Trent, the left outfielder with an average batting score. He wasn’t the most popular on the team by far - well everyone got outshined by Styles. 

She couldn’t help but be a little bitter that Harry had gotten a $60 million dollar bonus (the biggest bonus ever gifted but also the Yankees were not taking any chances at losing their star and their ultimate money-maker). Trent got a measly bonus of $100,000 which was nothing in baseball terms. 

The wives and girlfriends of the Yankees players did not like YN one bit. It really wasn’t fair because she was always lovely, kind, and friendly. It didn’t matter because they were all spurred on by jealousy of what she had.

Nicole couldn’t help by gaze at Harry as they sat at the same circle table towards the podium where the awards would be presented after dinner. He was in a sharp all black suit with a small team logo pin of the lapel.

She couldn’t deny how stunning YN looked in an absolutely stunning dress. It was a one-shoulder with sparkling black stripes against a tan background, it fit like a glove and accentuated her stunning legs with a high slit. ***

It blew Nicole’s basic black Gucci dress out of the water which made her even more infuriated at the woman. She knew she was being irrational and if she hated her so much, why couldn’t see stop staring at the couple?

Nicole could get away with it by looking past them at other tables but to be quite honest, the two were much too wrapped up in each other to be aware of any of their surroundings or people watching them.

Trent was off bullshitting with all the other players while the Styles’ sat at the table and Harry waited for people to approach him - like the cocky asshole that he was. He would give them a minute of his time before becoming visibly bored and returning his attention back to his wife.

As the appetizers arrived, Trent finally sat down with a grunt, giving his wife literally no attention as he dug into the salad like a slob. 

Across the table, Harry looked down at his plate, picked out all the tomatoes and stabbed them with his fork. He then brought his hand over to his wife who giggled and let him feed her the three little tomatoes for his salad.

“Don’t like tomatoes, Styles?” Henry, third-baseman, jokes as he watches him feed his wife without any shame.

“I love ‘em, m’missus just really like the little grape ones,” Harry shrugs casually - like that didn’t just sound like the most whipped thing that he could say.

Trent probably couldn’t even guess Nicole’s favorite color - let alone know something so minuscule like YN like the little tomatoes that come on house salads. 

Throughout the whole dinner, it was quite disgusting how infatuated these two were with each other - Harry had at least one hand on her body at one time - her thigh, shoulder, even cupping her neck in a way that was almost too intimate for the setting.

At one point, Harry notices that YN is a bit quiet - sipping on her glass of water and he pulls back from the conversation, murmuring, “Y’alright, mama?”

Nicole bites her lip hard at the cute pet name, feeling even more dislike towards YN - why couldn’t she have had someone like Harry?

“D’you think the babies are okay? Ezra’s been so anxious lately,” YN replies quietly, there were no phones allowed at the event and had to be left at home or at the door.

Harry kisses her temple, “Y’know Ezzie is good with m’mum, doesn’t get as anxious as he used to at sleepovers. Y’know East and Cash are probably on a sugar high.”

YN nods, agreeing and Harry jumps right back into the conversation but she notices that he keeps looking over at his wife to check on her.

Trent accidentally knocks her elbow hard and just grunts out a bland, “Sorry.”

The topic changed to traveling for games. Ellie, another wife of a player who was nice to YN were chatting about how stressful it is.

“I know, loading all three boys up is rough when we do decide to travel to games with H,” YN says to Ellie, a small smile on her face.

“Ugh, I know. Lily and Parker are the worst flyers! They usually end up throwing up or not being able to nap at all,” Ellie groans about her two little ones she has back at home.

YN let’s out a laugh that just irked Nicole to not end.

“It's going to be even harder when we have more kids,” YN laments like she’s bothered.

“Oh? More kids?” Ellie squeaks with excitement, clapping her hands together.

Nicole reaches a breaking point, jumping into the chat,“Really? More kids? Don’t you think you should focus on the ones you have? Or do you think because your husband makes an unfair amount of money, you can just have as many as you want? Hire nannies and act like you take care of them?”

Before YN frowns, about to respond when Harry interjects with a booming, displeased voice, “First off, why don’t y’mind your own fuckin’ business. My wife and I can ‘ave any many kids as we want, last time I checked.”

He continues with tense posture, all of his previous calmness disappears, “Second off, don’t take it out on my wife tha’ your husband got a shit bonus, we all know tha’ why y’pissy. And don’t act like y’dont have a nanny for your one kid while we don’t nor ever will have one.”

Nicole sneers, “You’re a cocky bastard.”

Harry smiles in faux charm, “Of course I am, dear. I’ve got a fucking beautiful wife, three healthy babies, the most records broken in history, and the fattest bank account in this room.”

“Alright, alright,” Trent interrupts and it doesn’t go unnoticed that he doesn’t defend his wife. Instead he shoots Harry an apologetic look for his wife’s behaviors.

Harry just scoffs at the couple, rudely rolling his eyes, and tugging his wife in for a kiss that’s a bit too intense but he can’t help himself, smiles against her lips when his wife pinches his thigh playfully.

He says (not quietly at all), “All these women are jealous of you, hm? S’cause you’re so beautiful and such a fuckin’ catch.”

Nicole feel a sharp pang in her chest at the indirect comment - fucking asshole.

Deep down, Nicole is unfavorably realizing that somehow YN has it all - a loving husband, who is seemingly head over heels four her, three well-behaved children, and everything she could ever want - sitting on Harry’s $600 million dollar net worth, on top of being gorgeous.

She didn’t have that. Trent and her were on the rocks constantly, has definitely cheated on her, their kid is a literal nightmare, and they’re both so reckless with money they have no savings.

It made her jealous to see Harry whispering in YN ear to make her giggle- lips brushing her ear, his hand splayed across her bumcheek while they waited for drinks at the bar, she even hears them murmur ‘I love yous’ at least twice.

Then the lights dim, spotlight on a podium in the front of the room, an older man in a crisp navy suit taking the stage.

“It is an honor for me to announce ‘Player of the Year.’ The decision by the board of Major League Baseball wasn’t a hard one. The statistics and records broke continuously by the man has led us to only one option.”

Everyone watches all the other players in room deflate a bit because they realize the award is going to Harry yet again.

 “He is again breaking a record tonight, he is the first player to earn this achievement four years in a row. The duality of this man when it comes to pitching a curveball or hitting a homer is truly remarkable.”

It makes all the players even more irritated than they already are when they look over at Harry who’s sitting back, manspreading, hand on the back of his wife’s neck gently, and a cocky, unbothered grin.

Like this award wasn’t the biggest accomplishment he could earn.

One of the players from an opposing team at a different table mutters to one of his teammates, “Fucking arrogant asshole. The only thing this award does is feed his gigantic ego.” 

“Such a douchebag,” The other agrees, jealousy tinges his voice.

“I’ve most likely made it obvious who the the recipient is this year. The New York Yankees pitcher with the most strikeouts to date and top-scoring hitter - Mr. Harry Styles!”

The crowd erupts in applause, whistles, and a standing ovation because despite his unsavory demeanor - no one could deny he was a legend.

Before he gets up, Nicole watches as he cups his wife’s cheek - locking her lips in a kiss before she has to give him a playful shove when he tries to slip some tongue.

When Harry gets up to the stage, he shakes the hand of the announcer and takes the award from him, setting it on the podium.

“Fourth year in a row has a nice ring to it,” Harry gives the crowd a dazzling white smile that have his dimples digging into his cheek.

The crowd whistles and coos.

Nicole notices YN getting teary-eyed as she watches her husband accept the award.

“I want t’thank a few people tonight. I want t’thank m’wife and the mama of my babies - YN. She’s supported me from when I was in college with no other career path but baseball, unsure of if I’d fail or not, she stuck through it.”

She can sense everyone’s eyes dart over to YN who is still staring up at her husband - who is giving her a gleaming smile right back.

“We’ve been through some really hard obstacles in our first years as a couple but she’s the reason for all this - the fact that she always believed in me when I didn’t believe in myself.”

The audience is respectful, quiet as he publicly tells a story of his deep love for his wife.

“I want t’thank m’three babies. Easton, Cash, and Ezra. They inspire me to be a better better man and a good role model - even though I think y’all agree they won’t be if they watch too much how I play when I’m out in the field.”

The crowd erupts in laughter at Harry poking fun at his own antics that he’s most famous for. He goes on to thank the team, coaches, Nike, everyone on the professional side of career.

When he’s done, everyone stands back up to congratulate him, patting him on the back as he returns to his seat.

Nicole watches as Harry sits back down, chuckling as he swipes a tear off his wife’s cheek, “Why y’crying, mama?”  

“I’m just so proud of you. Everything you do for me and our babies. The best husband, best daddy. My heart is just full,” She murmurs, clearly not meant for others to hear but Nicole was eavesdropping.

Harry’s eyes darken with something Nicole can’t identify but does notice his hand creeping a bit further up her thigh.

He leans into whisper something into her ear before she sees his lightly nip at her lobe before pulling back to join into the conversation.

-

After the lights come back up, Trent abandons her to go shoot the shit with other guys.

When she trails off to the bathroom, down a long hallway from the main area - she hears a rustling from behind a door labeled with a plaque that says ‘executive meeting room’.

Nicole pauses confused, all these offices and other rooms were strictly off limits during events obviously. She was confused to hear someone in a room that was not supposed to be in use.

Then she realizes it’s not just someone - it’s two people.

“S’good, sweetheart. Give it t’me so good.”

And she knows right then and there all she needs to know about who’s in that conference room and what they were doing.

“Be quiet, you’re being too loud,” YN scolds back, the walls were clearly thin because she could hear the exchange.

“Make y’cunt not feel like heaven then,” He remarks back, his voice slower and more soft than it would be in front of people.

God, Trent and her haven’t slept together in ages - let alone has spontaneous hookups or dirty talk like that ever.

When they all end up back at the table before the closing speech for the night, Nicole spots a nicely sized mark under Harry’s jaw that he’s wearing with pride.

YN had her lipstick wiped off and was much more clingy as the night rolled on which Harry seemed to thrive on.

As she and Trent are on their way home, Nicole speaks into their silence, “I don’t think our relationship is working.”

Not after she saw love and happiness at that event table tonight - she wanted that kind of love not settling for some cheating asshole.

-

The Little League Game

It was a cool autumn evening, it was an important game - if you could call it that for the little league team that Kayla had her son on.

The goal was to determine which team would move onto the playoffs, even though most of this was all in good fun because it was for eight-year-olds and it wasn’t serious.

Kayla couldn’t lie and say that she didn’t spend some of the time curiously gazing at the New York Yankees player who would come to watch his son play.

He wasn’t at every game due to his schedule but it seemed like he came to whatever ones he could with his wife and other three kids.

They had taken the bench on the bleachers right below her so she had an up close and personal view of the family when they’ve never sat this close before.

As the kids warmed up, Harry had his youngest son who looked to be about four sit next to him, squished between his dad and mom happily.

Their middle son was next to his mom on the other side, looking to be about six, and he was wriggling impatiently in his seat - eager to join the other kids in the jungle gym.

The baby girl who looked about a year and a half old didn’t look anything like her brothers - it was obvious that she was a spitting image of her mother (who was stunning).

She was curled up in her mom’s lap, asleep with her face squished against her mother’s chest - a pacifier suckling fiercely between her puffy lips.

“Mama, please,” The curly haired boy begs with greedy puppy dog eyes as he keeps glancing back to look at the other kids.

“You stay right where daddy and I can see you, yes?” YN murmurs, brushing back his unruly curls that where getting long, “And what are our rules?”

“Stay where you can see, don’t talk to strangers, and be nice to others,” He recites perfectly, Kayla was a bit blown away by his manners.

She watches baseball. It was hard to believe their children were so mild mannered when their father was the exact opposite - at least on the field.

Harry was rustling in the diaper bag for something as his son looked at him with wide, concerned eyes, “My baby, daddy.”

“I know, Ezzie. M’lookin’ f’your baby,” His father replies softly, the polar extreme of his normal brash, crude language that had a nasty tone like he couldn’t bother giving people the time of day.

“Daddy, please,” The youngest whines, his little hand grasping at his father’s tattooed wrist as he gets to his knees to help his dad look.

“Left inner pocket,” YN murmurs offhandedly as she makes sure Cash gets to the playground safely with his friends.

“Say ‘thanks mama’,” Harry coos to his son as he manages to tug out the baby doll and hand it to the awaiting little boy.

“Thanks mama,” He replies instantly with a gapped smile as he nuzzles right back into his father’s side as if he can’t get close enough.

“How are you feeling, Ezra?” His mother leans over to ask, keeping the baby close to her chest.

“M’happy, mama,” Ezra replies simply before starting to babble to himself as he plays with the babydoll.

Kayla watches Harry and YN swap a fond look at their son but she couldn’t help but wonder why they asked him that? He seemed fine so why did they feel the need to do that?

The game is going okay, Harry stands up to cheer and whistle when Easton hits a two-base hit but YN smacks his thigh and motions to their sleeping baby.

He looks at her sheepishly before sitting back down, kissing her cheek in apology, and peeking down into the fleece blanket to watch his daughter sleep for a moment.

Then it seems like Easton starts to lose momentum after he pitches two home-runs, his face pinched in disappointment as the other team scores but Harry is attempting to keep him motivated with encouraging shouts.

Easton struggles from then on, he strikes out for his final three turns, doesn’t catch two pop-ups, and his pitches start to get a little shaky. It’s obvious in his facial expression he’s getting upset because he’s breathing heavier like he’s trying not to cry.

Kayla feels a sense of dread for the little boy, his father who’s the best baseball player in modern day history is watching his son not do well during an important game.

 Because of what she knows of him from his temper and attitude on the field - she worries that he’s one of those father’s who will hound their kid for doing poorly.

“Oh, c’mon East,” Harry murmurs softly when his son stumbles over a ground ball before another kid picks it up and throws it in - their son smacking his glove down against the ground in frustration.

“He’s getting himself worked up,” YN notes as she watches her oldest kick his cleats in the dirt with a quivering bottom lip.

“I know,” Harry replies to his wife, “Wish he wouldn’t, he’s gettin’ upset out there, I can tell.”

“Sad?” Ezra squeaks, clambering onto his father’s lap and stating, “Hold me, daddy.”

Harry obliges easily, gathering up his small son before his attention is directed back onto the game - it was down to the last few minutes and unfortunately Easton pitched a ball that resulted in a home run for the other team.

“Fuck,” Harry mutters, running a hand through his messy locks before he’s setting Ezra back down on the bleachers, “I’m going to go talk to him. Do you want to meet back home?”

YN nods, leaning down to tuck the baby into the double stroller before buckling Ezra in as well, “I’m going to go get Cash and head out. Why don’t you take him out for some ice cream? I love you.”

“I love you too, mama,” He replies, kissing her softly before kissing both of his kids foreheads and stepping down the bleachers - ignoring all the adults who are staring at him with a starstruck expression as he heads to the dugout.

It cleared out fast, nobody sticking around after the loss that ended with them not continuing on to the championship, and Easton was sat on the bench - he was stoic and there was a hard, angry expression on his face that reminded Kayla of what she saw Harry look like when he played.

As she gathers up her son and makes sure he’s got all of his equipment, Kayla stands and chats to a few of the moms before she’s heading to her car - which happened to be parked next to a sleek Masserati crossover, who would let their muddy kid go in there? Rich people, she guesses.***

Kayla pops the trunk to her van with her key as they get closer, she notices that Harry also has his up and Easton is sitting on the tailgate with his eyes looking down at the pavement. She tries not to appear as nosey or eavesdropping as she tucks her items into the back.

“Sweetheart, s’okay. Y’did so so good tonight,” Harry assures his pouty son, he squats down to start to untie his son’s nike cleats but continues to make eye contact with him. 

“No, I didn’t, Daddy!” Easton whines, tears finally starting to bubble over the surface as he begins to sob with a shuddering chest, “I gave up home runs and then I missed ground balls!”

“Whoa, bubby,” Harry simpers after he tugs off the shoes and throws them carelessly into the back before standing up, “Y’did amazing, are you kiddin’? You did three innings of strikeouts, hit two of y’own homeruns. Y’played like a professional, way better than daddy.”

Kayla’s heart aches a bit when she sees Harry sit down next to him before hugging him harshly into his side, thumbing at the tears that are running down his son’s sweaty cheeks with soft reassurances.

“Daddy, are you mad I didn’t win?” Easton asks shakily, keeping his head buried into his father’s side and his small hand clutching into the fabric of his hoodie.

Harry chuckles lowly, “Daddy would never be mad at you f’anythin’, definitely not a baseball game. Remember what mama and I said? If at any point y’want to stop playin’, just let us know and we can find something else, yeah? Just like how Ezzie does art classes.”

Easton seems to calm down after a few moments of Harry rocking him and reassuring him of what an amazing son he is.

As Kayla drove away that night, her perspective on the all-star baseball player definitely changed. It was refreshing to see someone to not hold their child to an unreasonable expectation just like she thought Harry would.

--

The Campfire

Austin was the shortstop on the baseball team, he’d brought along his girlfriend, Chelsea, to the frat party to celebrate another win.

Everyone was in whispers that Harry was bringing his new girlfriend but nobody knew who she actually was because it was just a rumor.

It was surprising because Harry wasn’t a relationship kind-of man. He wasn’t into hookups much - always said he needed to focus on baseball.

Many of his teammates were envious of how many girls were constantly coming up to Harry at parties to flirt and try to get a dance in but he had always rejected them.

Harry had never showed interest in any of these girls at the parties, never seen him disappear upstairs with one or really entertain a conversation over a beer like they’d expect.

Chelsea pokes his shoulder and nods towards the entrance when Harry walks in with his arm around YN’s shoulder.

Most were in a little shock because they seemed like such an unlikely couple - YN had written some scathing articles about him and it was no secret he hadn’t been a fan of her.

“Holy shit, Harry’s dating YN?” Chelsea whispers to Austin as the group of party-goers cheer and whistle at the allstars appearance.

“Guess so,” Austin replies with a shrug, tugging Chelsea into the kitchen for a drink.

Later on that night, there’s a bonfire on one side of the backyard and a volleyball net on the other where a group was gathering to play.

Austin and Chelsea are on the opposing team of Harry and YN - she can’t help but watch them with curiosity because of what a surprise it is that they’re dating.

Even Austin has been watching because Harry’s acting in a way that he’s never seen throughout his time on the team with him.

Harry is just all over YN which was confusing how he went from not being remotely interested in the college girls to being a lovestruck puppy.

When she throws the ball up to serve, Harry reaches over and pinches her bum which makes her squeak and accidentally drop the ball which has him cackling as she glares at him.

As they change positions, he crowds up behind her, and massages her hips, leaning down to murmuring something in her ear.

She blushes wildly before smacking him off which has him laughing hard and kissing the back of her head before taking his position.

After Harry jumps and spikes the ball hard, earning them the winning point, YN turns around and wraps her arms around him to hug him tightly.

Harry wraps his arms around her shoulders, returning the hug before pulling back to kiss her lips in a soft peck.

Chelsea elbows Austin, “Who’s that and what did they do with Harry?”

Austin shakes his head, “I really don’t fucking know.”

The group migrates over to the fire as they might become cooler and the stars are high up in the sky, the fire flickering orange and yellow crackles of sparks.

Harry plops into a chair, pulling YN right onto his lap, and she wriggles until she’s comfortable. Chelsea notices him tap her thigh as if telling her to cut it out, too much motion right on his crotch.

Jake, one of his teammates, says in a teasing tone, “YN, I’m surprised to see you around these parts . I clearly remember a strongly worded article about how stupid frat parties are.”

YN takes it in stride, smiling as she replies, “And this party just proves my point.”

The group laughs easily, they enjoy YN’s sharp wit and comebacks as they get to know her. Austin can’t help but to notice how quiet Harry is.

Normally, he’s the life of the party, loud and making his presence known to everyone but not tonight. He has his chin propped on her shoulder and she’s cuddled back into his chest.

Austin can’t make out what Harry is saying but he’s constantly whispering in her ear and accentuating each time with a squeeze to her thighs.

“Are you guys official?” One of the teammates asked bluntly, a few beers deep by this point in the night.

Harry replies instantly, a possessive squeeze, “She’s mine and off the market, s’don’t even think about it.”

“Well I don’t think it matters because she’s turned down the whole baseball team by this point. I think everyone tried to ask her out at least once,” Steve jokes as the others agree.

“Tha’s m’girl,” Harry murmurs to her before teasing his friends,“Who’d want to go out with any you? You’re all dickheads.”

Everyone continues to joke around, it’s nearing midnight and that’s right about when Harry gets in his prime - like the party just started.

But not tonight.

YN’s eyes start to flutter shut as everyone banters and drinks around the fire, obviously not used to these late night parties.

“I better get this one t’bed,” Harry states after a few minutes, thumbing at YN’s cheekbone as she tries to stay awake.

“I’m okay,” She mumbles weakly, head still heavy against his shoulder.

“You’re coming back though, right?” Kyle asks expectantly, brows furrowed.

Harry shakes his head, “Nah, m’in for the night when she is.”

All the players look at him with a bit of a dumbfounded look, Steve shooting out, “Who knew you’d be so pussy whipped, Styles?”

Chelsea’s eyebrows raise at the crude comment, waiting with bated breath as Harry’s jaw clenches as it seems like he’s biting his tongue.

“Goodnight,” Harry says in a tone Austin has never heard before - agitated and almost…offended.

When Austin and Chelsea are sneaking up to his room for a late night hook-up, she overhears Harry and YN in his bedroom.

At first, she thinks they’re in an actual argument but as she listens to them - it’s not the kind of arguement she thought it was.

“You’re always the little spoon,” YN groans from behind the closed door.

Harry squawks, affronted before huffing back at her, “S’my favorite, please spoon me, darling?”

“You’re so fucking spoiled,” YN giggles as Chelsea assumes they move into a position where Harry’s the little spoon.

“Mm, I like feelin’ y’tits against my back, s’nice,” Harry hums with a boyish tone.

Chelsea doesn’t even realize she’s smiling until Austin drags her from her stupor. 

All she knew was that Harry Styles really really fancied that school reporter.

-=-=-=-=-=-

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[malleux]

PART THREE PART THREE PART THREE

spell [3]. | corpse husband

part one ; part two

-> Pairing: Corpse Husband x Fem!Reader

-> Genre: Fluff

-> Warnings: Anxiety, Self Doubt, Cursing, Hate Comments

-> A/N: here’s the long awaited part three! it’s definitely longer than the last chapters, but genuinely thank you all for 300 followers in literally 4 days lol. also, i wrote this under the small assumption that corpse’s main love language is physical touch!

corpse husband taglist is closed!

You didn’t realize that it was possible to shake so much. You were practically panicking- just from standing in front of an apartment door, ready to knock and meet the man who changed your life.

You’d woken up this morning bright and early. The Facetime call was still on with Corpse and small snores could be heard from his line. You had prayed that he’d gotten at least more than an hour, but doubted it as you hung up and sent a message about when you’d be leaving.

Corpse soon messaged back saying that he was awake as you finally finished packing- you’d stopped last night when he called- so you got in your car and drove the two hours it took to get to San Diego.

So now you stood in front of his apartment, practically trembling. Why you were so anxious, you didn’t know. You’d been talking to him for how long now? And it was never awkward.

But things could easily change when you met him in real life, couldn’t they?

You shook those thoughts out of your head and mustered up enough courage to knock on Corpse’s door, already becoming out of breath from such a simple gesture.

A crash sounded from in the apartment, followed by a small ‘fuck’ that made your heart flip. Soon after, the door opened and you looked up, finally coming eye to eye with him. You couldn’t help the grin that stretched across your face, mirroring his own as he smiled at you as well.

“Hi.” You internally smacked yourself for not saying more, but that’s truly all that could come out of your mouth at the moment.

“Hey. You’re uh- you’re so much prettier in real life.” Corpse responded, looking nearly everywhere but you.

You flushed. “And you’re super attractive, but I already suspected that.”

You could tell he was taken aback by your compliment because he suddenly became even more shy, silently moving out of the doorway and gesturing for you to enter.

“I’m going to film again with everyone in a few minutes, but first I can show you my bedroom so you can make yourself comfortable.” Corpse said after he closed the door. “You can sleep in there and I’ll stay on the couch-“

“Absolutely not.” You interjected, “I’m not kicking you out of your bed.”

“But you’re the guest and I’m not about to let you sleep on my couch.”

“And you’re the owner of this apartment and I’m not going to take over your space like that. I’m sleeping on the couch.”

Corpse groaned and reached his arm out towards you. You thought he was going to just shove your shoulder away for being stubborn, but instead he wrapped his arm completely around your shoulders, pulling you into his side as a hug. You grinned and turned, giving him a full hug and resting your cheek against his chest as his chin laid on your head.

“I’m for real glad you came to visit.” He murmured into your hair, squeezing you a bit tighter before letting go. “Do you wanna stream with me tonight or just chill and watch?”

꧁꧂

“Corpse is streaming Among Us again with Sean, Felix, Rae, Sykkuno, Dave, and Leslie!”

“Where’s Y/N? I miss #CorpseY/N !!”

Twitter was truly your go-to platform when you were bored. You’d been scrolling on it for about thirty minutes now, laying on a small couch that Corpse had in his gaming room.

The man himself was sitting across the room at his desk, talking loudly as he defended himself from being accused as Imposter.

You continued to scroll, feeling a little anxious that somehow Corpse just magically knew that you were looking through your ship tag with him. These were your only worried thoughts until you went past your first… unsavory comment of the day.

“Y/N isn’t playing with them again today. Maybe she finally got the hint that they don’t want her around.”

You rolled your eyes and ignored it, but couldn’t help the rather loud sigh that escaped your lips.

“Hey, guys, I’m going to mute the mic for a second. Everything’s good, don’t worry.” Corpse said into his mic before turning around and facing you. “Is everything okay?”

Turning the phone off and laying it on your chest, you contemplated telling Corpse the truth. He’d just worry about you and you didn’t want that. But he already was worried about you- he’d muted Among Us just to check on you.

“Why are people so mean to others?”

Corpse studied you for a minute before patting his lap. “Come here.”

You quirked an eyebrow. “Excuse me?”

“You're excused. Now come here.”

You stood up and cautiously walked towards the man, who sat before you expectantly. He playfully rolled his eyes and grabbed your wrist, pulling you into his lap sideways. Your back rested against one arm of his gaming chair while your legs draped across the other.

Corpse had one arm reaching around your back, placing his fingers on the keyboard while the other rested on top of your knees, grabbing the computer mouse. You laid your head on Corpse’s shoulder, resting in the crook of his neck.

“It’s in that shipping hashtag, isn’t it? I swear- whoever says that shit about you is dead wrong. Tell me if it gets worse, I’ll put them back in their fucking place. Nobody gets to decide who I’m with or who’s worthy of me.”

You only nodded and closed your eyes, breathing in Corpse’s cologne as he unmuted his mic once more to defend his honor, much like he was ready to defend you.

꧁꧂

Your body ached.

As you had argued your first day with Corpse, you’d been sleeping on his couch for four days now. The first night was okay- his couch was rather comfortable, but it didn’t compare to a bed. Now, your back, shoulders, and neck were killing you.

Every day, 7am would roll around and you would wake up, the soreness preventing you from sleeping in longer.

Usually, you would go into Corpse’s room and talk to him as he messed around on his laptop while sitting in his bed, but today when you entered, he was finally sleeping. It was the first time you’d seen him rest since you’d arrived and you quietly left, not wanting to disturb his much-needed sleep.

You made your way to his small kitchen, pulling out the few groceries that he had in his refrigerator to make breakfast.

Corpse often ate fast foods and takeout, and apologized earlier in the week for not having much to eat. You reassured him that it was okay- that him just letting you visit was enough- and now, you were determined to make it up to him with the best breakfast in bed ever.

You were halfway through making breakfast when the soft thump of feet echoed in the doorway before a chin planted itself on your shoulder.

“Whatcha cookin?” You practically shuddered at Corpse’s morning voice before suddenly gasping and shoving him out of the kitchen.

“No! No!” You pushed him back to his room, “Stay! Go back to bed, now!”

Right as you turned to go back to the kitchen, Corpse caught your wrist and pulled you down onto the bed with him. You practically squealed as you fell, making him laugh.

“Why? What’s going on?” He turned to face you with a teasing smile.

“I was making you breakfast in bed! I was gonna surprise you when you woke up, but you ruined it.” You pouted.

“Aw, poor baby.” His hand reached up and brushed a stray hair out of your face before he traced down your jawline, reaching your chin and using his finger to tilt it up. “I think I’ve got a better surprise, though.”

You quirked an eyebrow, but before you could say anything his lips were on yours. Your heart stopped, but you almost immediately melted into his kiss, bringing your own hand up to cup his cheek while his moved to rest on your waist.

Corpse soon propped himself up on his elbow, never once leaving your lips- just deepening the kiss. He smiled and gave you a few more pecks before finally pulling away and looking at you in adoration.

“Those little hate comments? They’re wrong. If anything, I don’t deserve you. You’ve still got me under a little spell and I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

“Corpse, you deserve the world and I’d be honored to be the one to give it to you.”

“God, you’re perfect for me.”

You couldn’t say anything else. You could only lay beneath him, admiring the man who was now yours. Corpse leaned down again to capture you in another kiss, but you suddenly jerked away before you could lose yourself again.

“Shit, the pancakes!”

┎┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┒

spell taglist: @tanchosanke @paoisabelll @save-the-sky @yukinesekki98 @stephn-prkr @honestlyimstilllivinginthe90s @lustypielita @bi-andready-tocry @coruscaret

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┖┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┚

[leslie-lyman]

Stranger At My Gate - Chapter 2 (Pero Tovar x modern!OFC)

A time-traveling Pero. A modern woman trying her best. A kitchen full of possibility. A helping of Midwest kindness. A dash of magic. And a lot of Christmas spirit.

pairing: Pero Tovar x modern!OFC

rating: T for now

word count: 5.3k

a/n: okay, first of all, wow. The reaction to the first chapter of this story was far beyond what I could have hoped for, so thank you. One general note/warning I want to put here for this fic before we proceed further: as you may have guessed, food is going to play a huge role in this story - the preparing of it, the enjoying of it, and some issues around it regarding food insecurity and hunger that would be expected of someone from Pero’s time. I know that discussion of food can be tough for folks, even outright triggering, so I did want to say something about it here. I will do my best to tag individual chapters with any warnings and such as we go along. If that’s cool with you, read on!

Previous chapter.

————

Two.

“Why is it always ‘Henry, please come over to help me deal with the dirty, wounded stranger who showed up on my doorstep in the middle of the night’ and never ‘Henry, please come over just because I love you and miss you and want to spend time with you, the best brother in the whole world’?”

Tessa elbows him in the ribs with a precision honed from thirty years of practice.

“You’re the best brother in the whole world because you come over to help me deal with the dirty, wounded stranger.”

Tessa hadn’t heard the man knock on her door, she’d felt it, her Gift waking her up from a dead sleep around four in the morning with a wild sense of urgency. She hadn’t even realized she’d gotten out of bed and run to her front door until she’d opened it and found...him.

For a few terrible moments, she’d been afraid he was dead. She’d been relieved to feel a strong, steady pulse under his jaw, though he hadn’t stirred once the entire time she’d wrestled his large frame into her house and out of the storm.

After getting him inside, she’d called Henry, knowing that regardless of the early hour, when she asked him to come over right away with his basic medical kit and some spare clothes, he’d answer.

If Tessa’s Gift is intuition, her brother’s Gift is healing. He can’t work instant miracles, but his patients tend to get over their flus, their colds, their ear infections far more quickly than usual. If you were to ask them, they’d also say there’s an inexplicable sense of comfort they feel when they see him, that something about his manner just puts them at ease. As far as Tessa is concerned, that part has nothing to do with his Gift. Henry has the biggest heart of anyone she knows. It’s just who he is. Tessa is certain that even without his magical talent, he’d have become a doctor regardless.

After a preliminary examination hadn’t revealed any obviously life-threatening injuries, at Tessa’s insistence the two of them had managed to carry the mysterious stranger into Tessa’s guest room. They’d gingerly stripped him of his boots, leather outer tunic, rough cloth undershirt, and a somewhat concerning number of very real-looking weapons before covering him up in several spare blankets to get him warm and dry. He’d flitted in and out of consciousness a few times, especially when Henry had cleaned the wounds on his knuckles and the cut on his temple, but never long enough to be coherent before slipping off again.

Now, just after seven in the morning, Tessa and her brother stand in her still-dark kitchen, waiting for the sun to come up and debating what to do next.

“Think he’s gonna be okay?”

Henry shrugs, grabbing two mugs from Tessa’s extensive collection and helping himself to her coffee maker.

“From what I can tell, there’s no immediate issue. The wound on his head doesn’t look severe enough to cause a concussion, and he’s not exhibiting any clear signs of infection. But I can only do basic first aid with what I’ve got, otherwise there’s nothing for it except to wait for him to wake up. If we took him to a hospital - ”

“No.”

They’d had this argument when Henry had first arrived, and she’d shut him down then too.

“Tess, why the hell not? His appearance is odd, I grant you, but if it turns out he could use a psych eval, too - ”

“He came through the Gate.”

Henry jerks his head to look at her, alarmed.

“He what?”

“He came through the Gate,” Tessa says again, and she’s not sure why she says it, but as soon as she does, she knows it’s true.

“The Gate.” It is impossible for Henry’s eyebrows to rise any higher. “You can’t be serious. Those strange looking trees in the woods? The little fairy circle Gran always warned us away from as kids? You think, last night, it actually acted as, what, some kind of portal?”

“Gran warned us to stay away from it for a reason, Henry.”

“Yeah, I always thought the reason was she didn’t want us wandering too far away from the house. Not because it was real.”

“We of all people should not be surprised when magic in this world rears its head,” Tessa chides him gently. “You know the lore about All Hallow’s Eve and Samhain the same as I do. Gran would sit us right over there by the fire and tell us about spirits and fairies and the borders between worlds growing thin, magical things happening that wouldn’t be possible most other nights.”

Henry hands her a full mug of coffee that reads “Pritzker School of Law” on the side and firmly decides not to explore that particular topic any further.

“I’ll call out of the clinic today.”

“You will do no such thing.”

They both try to make it sound like they will brook no argument, but only Tessa pulls it off. Henry tries to protest anyway.

“Tee, you can’t be serious, I am not leaving you here with a strange, injured man, alone. Especially not after telling me you think he’s some kind of magical time-traveler from who the fuck knows when and where.”

“You are not shirking your responsibilities at the clinic to babysit me. You said it yourself, there’s not much we can do at this point besides wait for him to wake up, anyway.”

Henry runs his own small family practice, but he volunteers several times a month at the free clinic run by the county. Under absolutely no circumstances would she prevent him from spending the day caring for folks who need his help far more than she does.

“Besides, I’ll be fine. He won’t hurt me.”

Henry narrows his eyes at her.

“Are you telling me that? Or is your Gift?”

“It’s the truth, Hank.” And it is.

“You think this is it? The thing your Gift was telling you about?”

Tessa snorts. “I’m not sure yet, but I fucking hope so. I’d hate to see what else the universe has in store for me if it isn’t.”

Henry takes a long sip from his own mug, then sets it back down on the counter with a sense of resolve.

“I expect you to text me at least once an hour so I know you haven’t been murdered.”

“I will.”

“And I’ll be back as soon as my shift ends to check on you. And on him.”

“Of course.”

“If anything happens, call me. If I don’t answer, call the front desk and have them page me.”

“It’s so cute when you think you’re in charge of me.”

“Tess.”

“I’m teasing, jeez. I promise if anything goes wrong, you will be the first to know.”

“Good. And for the love of god, don’t tell Amie.”

Tessa rolls her eyes.

“Do I look like an idiot? It’s less than a month until the farm officially opens full-time for the season, she’s got enough on her plate. She doesn’t need a reason to go into ‘protective eldest sibling’ mode right now.”

“No she does not.” Henry eyes the green glowing numbers of the clock in Tessa’s microwave, still looking unsure about leaving. She reaches over and puts a hand on his arm.

“Henry, go. This isn’t where you’re needed most right now. And if it will make you feel better, I’ll call Aunt Moira.”

Henry nods. “You should.”

“I will.”

“She should know about this.”

“Did you not hear me when I said I would call her?”

“A text every hour or I’m sending the cops, understood?”

“You’re lucky my Gift isn’t telekinesis. Now go.”

———

The door shuts behind Henry, and Tessa is alone.

Well, sort of.

She runs a hand over her hair and exhales a big raspberry of a breath.

What now?

She finishes her coffee, leaving the mug in the sink for later.

She wipes up the lingering water the stranger had left on her floor when she’d first wrangled him inside. As the sun starts to make itself known, the sky remains cloudy, but the rain has since stopped, the storm blown over.

She changes from her pj pants and hoodie into leggings and a cozy sweater dress.

There are lots of other things she could do. Her unfinished to-do list from the day before still needs addressing. She has Halloween decor scattered around that needs to be taken down. She has boxes and boxes of Christmas decor sitting in the attic that she usually cannot wait to start putting up as soon as November rolls around.

She does none of those things.

Instead, she grabs the current book she’s reading from her nightstand and settles into the chair in the corner of her guest room.

She wonders if she’s being a bit creepy by just hanging out in the same room where her mysterious stranger still rests, dead to the world. But she figures she should be here when he wakes, in an unfamiliar place and in an unfamiliar time. To try and reassure him that he’s okay, he’s safe, and that there’s no cause for alarm.

The room is much lighter now than it was when she and Henry had first laid him out on the bed. Tessa lets herself take in the mop of dark, unruly curls that flop over his brow, the patchy stubble that covers his jaw and the fuller mustache across his upper lip. His nose is strong and slightly hooked, and he has a faded scar over his left eye. The rest of him is covered up by blankets now, but she can’t help but remember how broad his shoulders had looked, how solid his arms and back had felt under her hands when they’d gotten him out of his wet clothes.

Despite the wet dog smell and the fading bruising under his eye and the fact that he’s covered in several layers of dirt, sweat, and grime, he’s undeniably handsome in a rough, rogue-ish, Viggo-Mortensen-in-Lord-of-the-Rings kind of way.

She isn’t worried that she’s in any danger here alone here with him. She hadn’t lied to Henry.

It was frustrating, her magic. Her siblings had active Gifts; they could call on them when they needed to, wield them like tools to shape the world around them. Tessa’s simply was. She could never predict when or how it might surface, a vague feeling in her gut, a prickle in her bones. A bubble of knowledge she hadn’t had a moment earlier, but once spoken out loud she can feel the surety of truth snapping into place like correctly matched puzzle pieces.

He came through the Gate.

When she meets someone for the first time, it usually gives her a general feel for the person, a sense of their character, their being. Tessa knew what a bad person felt like, the greasy feeling of selfishness and greed, or the hot, sharp warning of a desire to do harm.

He won’t hurt me.

She reads for a bit, looking up every few minutes to make sure she can still see the stranger’s chest rising and falling.

She fires off one “still alive” text to her brother, then another. She makes a little more progress on her book.

By hour three, one of her legs has fallen asleep, and she’s actually starting to get slightly annoyed at the mystery man.

“If you’re going to break multiple laws of physics and time, the least you could do is be conscious while you take advantage of my hospitality,” she grumbles at him, albeit very quietly.

She gets up and takes a closer look at his clothes and belongings they’d stacked on the dresser. She fiddles with the two swords for a moment, admiring how much heavier they are than she’d anticipated, before turning to the little pouch tied to his belt. Inside she finds a handful of silver coins with irregular edges, each stamped with the design of a Greek cross. And something else, too, some sort of...necklace?

The angry grunt of an unintelligible sentence from behind her makes her nearly jump out of her skin. Tessa whirls around, both coins and jewelry making small ting sounds as they clatter on the dresser.

The stranger is awake.

Awake, and staring at her as she rifles through his things.

“Uh, hi,” she says, years of debate and public speaking and experience as a litigator apparently flying right the fuck out the window.

He glares silently at her in response.

“I, uh, I was just looking, you know, at, at your stuff,” she tries again. “I wasn’t going to do anything with it, I promise. Except maybe try and google the coins, see if I could find out more about when they were made, and when you might be from. Cause you were still passed out, and I didn’t want to wake you, and I think you might have come here from a different time - ”

She finally takes a breath and approaches him, hands held slightly out in front of her like she’s trying not to scare off a wild animal.

“Sorry,” she says softly, coming to sit on the edge of the bed. “I don’t mean to overwhelm you right off the bat. How do you feel? You were out for quite a while.”

He says something in response, but it’s not in a language she recognizes.

“I’m afraid I can’t understand you, buddy.”

He repeats himself, or at least she thinks he does. It almost sounds like Spanish, but there’s something vaguely Latin about some of the pronunciation. A dialect of some kind, maybe?

Fuck. This was a complication Tessa had not considered.

“This is gonna be a lot more difficult if we can’t communicate with each other,” she tells him.

The next thing he says to her is a question, based on his intonation. When she doesn’t give any indication she understood him, he asks her again in what is clearly a different language from the first one he tried.

One she cannot understand, but thinks she recognizes, thanks to a semester in college spent studying Beowulf using a translation alongside the original text.

Old English. A language no one has spoken in almost a thousand years.

She swallows thickly at the implication of that and shakes her head. “It seems you know more languages than I do, stranger, but none of them are ones I know.”

There’s a hint of concern in his stare now, as he must come to the same conclusion she has about their predicament. His eyes are brown, she notices.

He opens his mouth to say something else, but is suddenly overcome by a small coughing fit instead.

“Oh, shit, here - ” Tessa helps him sit up and hands him a glass of water that’s been waiting on the bedside table. He drains it in one go, nodding at her in thanks.

Tessa takes a moment to get an internal grip on herself. She can do this. She can figure this out. This man needs her help, even if he doesn’t quite realize the extent of his situation yet. This grumpy, injured man who did not speak or understand any discernible modern language and who was clearly way, way out of his own time.

“We should at least be able to tell each other our names,” she tells him. She jabs two fingers into her sternum, holding his gaze, and says, “Tessa. Tessa Walsh.”

She flips her hand towards him and looks at him expectantly, hoping it’s obvious what she wants.

He looks at her for a moment, then slowly rests his hand on his own chest. “Pero Tovar.”

Tessa can’t help the way she smiles at him then. “Pero,” she murmurs softly, trying to shape his name the same way he had with his accent and hoping she doesn’t fuck it up too badly. “Pero Tovar.”

Something flickers across his face, a millisecond of emotion she doesn’t get a good enough look at to identify.

“Tessa,” he says, and she has to suppress a shiver at how he makes it sound, his plush, full lips wrapping around the syllables of her name. “Tessa Walsh.”

A little bud of triumph blooms in her chest. “Okay,” she says, “that’s one thing we know about each other, then.”

———

Tessa grabs Pero a second glass of water, and it seems to slowly become clear to him that something isn’t right, that there are things about her home, just about this room, even, that are not what he would expect from his own time. She sees him looking closely or even running his hands over things she’d never even think of as being foreign, like the clear, perfectly round glass he drinks from, or the bright floral print on the extra blanket tossed over his feet, or the little battery-powered clock on the nightstand.

He pushes the blanket back and tries to stand up. He wobbles on his feet for one perilous moment, and Tessa doesn’t hesitate to reach out and steady him. His bare torso carries more scars, several white and red lines of tissue bisecting the outline of muscle under his skin and interrupting the light dusting of hair across his chest. But after a few seconds to get his bearings, he seems alright without her help.

Tessa tells herself that she is not disappointed by that fact. She makes an educated guess about what he needs, and shows him to her spare bathroom.

Things get further complicated here. There had been no need to have any lights on in the bedroom, but there aren’t any windows in the bathroom, so Tessa crosses her fingers as she flips the lightswitch. There’s not a simple way for Tessa to convey the concept of electricity and running water and all the things in her home that they make possible via hand gestures, so she resorts to simply explaining things to him in English anyway, hoping that a calm, deliberate tone of voice will help ease the anxiety of the unfamiliar for him. For his part, Pero processes what information he can with a mostly silent stoicism that Tessa knows she would not be able to emulate for a second if their situations were reversed. After a bit of awkward pantomime and a little show and tell with various faucets, she thinks she gets him to understand the relative functions of the sink, shower, and toilet.

She brings him an extra towel and a change of clothes that Henry had dropped off earlier, and leaves him to it. She lingers outside the doorway until she hears the shower turn on, then retreats into the kitchen.

Her mystery man - Pero - occupied for the moment, she calls her Aunt Moira.

Aunt Moira is actually her Great-Aunt Moira, but nobody with any sense of self- preservation ever calls her that. After Gran had died, she’d inherited the title of the family matriarch, which in Tessa’s family meant that when something odd and magical happened, you called.

“Somebody better be in the hospital or something better be on fire for you to call this early, Tessa,” she grouses by way of greeting.

Tessa is uncowed by her tone. “It’s almost noon, Aunt Moira.”

The older woman hmphs into the phone.

“It’s the day after Halloween, kid. This is early for the day after Halloween. I was up all night celebrating. Honoring the ancestors and whatnot.”

Playing bridge and drinking too much gin with her fellow octogenarian friends is hardly a traditional method of observing this particular holiday, but Tessa doesn’t say that out loud. Moira had been spending Halloween this way with a group of lifelong girlfriends every year since before Tessa had been born.

“Who hosted this year?”

“Ethel. You know it’s already below freezing here in Minneapolis? I don’t know how the woman can live here year-round.”

“Moira, you live one house over from me. In Michigan. There’s a non-zero chance we’ll get lake effect snow, like, next week.”

“Yeah, well, next week is next week, and today is today, and today I’m freezing my tits off in Minneapolis.”

“When do you get home?”

“Tomorrow morning.”

“Fuck,” Tessa mutters, but not quietly enough.

“What’s wrong, honey?” Moira’s tone softens with concern.

The water is still running in the shower.

“I need your help.” Tessa explains the events of the past few hours as quickly as she can.

“Damn,” Moira says when she’s finished. “This would happen while I’m away. Lived on the other side of those damn woods my whole life and never seen anything more interesting than deer come out of them before.”

“I think he’s traveled here from a long time ago. I mean a long time ago.”

“And a long distance too, no doubt. Nobody ever spoke Old English on this continent.”

“So you see why I’m in need of your particular talents.”

“I’ll see if I can’t get home sooner than tomorrow. But if I can’t, will you be okay until then?”

“This is far from the scariest thing I’ve ever done, Moira.”

Tessa swears she can hear her aunt purse her lips.

“That is not what I asked you, Tessa Elizabeth.”

Annoyed affection swells in her chest.

“I’ll be fine.”

———

It takes less time than Tessa had anticipated for Pero to emerge, dressed in a plain black t-shirt and sweatpants. Tessa wonders if this is all too new for him to truly relax and enjoy something like a hot shower.

He stands in the threshold where the hallway to the bedrooms ends, looking around her kitchen and the main living room it opens into. Even in modern clothing there’s something off about him, like he doesn’t belong in the current year. There’s something in the way he stands, maybe, or perhaps it’s the unmissable scar across his left eye, that makes him look mismatched to the present time.

She’s not exactly sure what she’s supposed to do with Pero for the next twenty hours or so until Moira can get there, but she’s damn sure of the immediate next step.

Food. And if there is one thing Tessa Walsh knows how to do, it’s feed people.

“Hi, Pero,” Tessa says brightly, watching him from her spot near the stove. She’s defrosted a container of homemade tomato soup from a batch she’d made last week and is now standing guard over a pair of grilled cheese sandwiches sizzling quietly in a pan.

He just gives her a tiny nod in response.

“I made lunch,” she says, “I figured you’re probably hungry.”

He wanders over to her, intrigued by the smell. And, she suspects, by the way she’s cooking something hot via something other than a fire. If she had to guess, she’d say he’s an inch or so taller than Henry; she has to look up quite a bit to meet his eye. A few spare drops of water cling to the ends of his curls.

“It’s almost ready,” she tells him. “You can go sit, if you want. Probably shouldn’t be on your feet too long, take things slow.” She points at him, then at the table, chairs, and built-in bench that serve as her breakfast nook in the corner. He takes her meaning and sits.

A few minutes later she puts a bowl of soup and its corresponding sandwich (cut diagonally) in front of each of them. She briefly considers the cans of Coke in the back of her fridge, but opts instead to fill up two more glasses of water. Pero may not be showing it, but he’s got to be pretty overwhelmed as it is. If indoor plumbing is new to him, soda is definitely going to be a shock.

“Bon appetit,” she says, clinking her glass against his before picking up her sandwich and dunking a corner of it into the soup.

He looks at her, then down at his plate, and picks up his own sandwich to follow suit. At his first bite, he makes a noise, eyes closing and brow furrowing in a combination of pleasure and surprise.

Tessa can’t help but grin at him.

“Good, right?” She says. “There’s no food as comforting as grilled cheese and tomato soup, I swear. My mom used to make it for me whenever I would stay home sick.”

After that first bite, however, Pero polishes off his food in record time, mopping up every last drop of soup with the last bite of sandwich so quickly Tessa isn’t sure he actually was able to taste any of it. He’s done before Tessa’s gotten through even half her sandwich, and she catches him eyeing the triangle of golden brown bread still untouched on her plate, perfectly melted cheese oozing from between the slices. There’s something a little feral, a little desperate in his gaze, that says he wants her food but doesn’t want to be obvious about it.

She pushes her plate over to him. He looks at her first with guilt at being caught out, then with suspicion, like he thinks there’s going to be some sort of catch, and it breaks her heart a little. He shakes his head the tiniest bit, and tries to push the plate back to her. He jerks his chin at her, as if to say, you need to eat, too.

But he’s still hungry. Tessa can see it, and she wonders what his life has been like, what he’s had to endure.

She picks up the sandwich half and deposits it directly on his plate this time instead. He scowls at her, and perhaps it’s because he thinks she’s taking pity on him. So she drops her chin into her hand, and looks at him with a firm, deliberate kindness.

“Don’t argue with me, Pero,” she says. “People don’t go hungry in this kitchen. Not when this house belonged to my grandmother and not now that it belongs to me.”

His frown deepens. She quirks an eyebrow at him instead.

“That’s a very intimidating look you’ve got going on there, Pero. Is that the look you use to instill fear into your enemies right before you gut them with those two pointy swords you carry around?”

It becomes a brief staring contest. Tessa meets Pero’s gaze head-on, and after a few moments, with a small huff through his nose, Pero relents, attacking the remaining sandwich half with vigor.

———

The rest of the afternoon passes surprisingly quickly. It’s clear that Pero is still exhausted and still healing. He settles on her couch after giving the contents of the shelves built into either side of the fireplace a cursory inspection (which are filled to bursting with books and the occasional framed family photo). He ends up nodding off, which gives Tessa a few hours to get some work done.

This work includes updating the post that should have gone up on her site yesterday and hitting “publish.”

It includes texting Henry to let him know she is still not dead, and to successfully convince him that he should come over to check on Pero tomorrow after Moira’s had a chance to come by, instead of today.

It does not include answering the emails.

The house is quiet in a way Tessa typically cannot stand. Normally she’d always have music playing or the tv on. There are lots of things Tessa loves about living alone, but being alone with the silence is not one of them. How ironic, then, that today, she doesn’t dare turn on her usual background noise out of concern for her mostly silent visitor. She finds after a while that she doesn’t mind it terribly much, though. It could easily be unnerving, having Pero - who is still a time-traveling stranger - take a catnap on her couch. But instead, she finds it oddly comforting knowing that he’s there, and that she can hear the occasional snore emanating from the cushions.

As quietly as she can, Tessa also gathers up the fall decor around the house: tiny decorative pumpkins on the mantle, orange and purple string lights in the window, cute wooden signs leaning up on her kitchen counters that say things like the witch is in. Once it’s all back in its designated plastic tub, she retreats to the hallway and pulls down the ladder that allows her to access her attic. Once up there she stores the fall bin away and looks fondly at the pile of plastic tubs that hold wreaths and garland and lights and ornaments. Soon, she mouths at them.

She starts thinking about dinner as she makes her way back down the ladder. There’s chicken in her fridge somewhere, she’s pretty sure. Some solid protein would do Pero some good -

She’s four rungs from the bottom when her foot slips. The hand she flings out to steady herself misses, and with a yelp of surprise she tumbles backward -

And crashes into something solid and unyielding, something that lets out an annoyed grunt at the impact.

Pero.

He catches her before she can hit the ground, wrapping his arms around her and for a moment, she’s cradled against his chest. Even in just a thin shirt, he’s warm, and then he puts both hands on her waist and sets her back on her feet with hardly any effort at all.

Tessa clears her throat to cover her embarrassment at both falling and the heat that licks up her spine and floods her face at Pero’s fortuitous manhandling.

“Thanks,” she manages to squeak.

He grumbles something that may or may not translate to the world’s grouchiest “you’re welcome” before heading into the bathroom and shutting the door.

Right. What was she thinking about before?

Oh, yes. Dinner.

———

Half an hour later she and Pero sit down to chicken breasts wrapped with prosciutto and stuffed with goat cheese, and brussel sprouts sauteed in olive oil and soy sauce until charred and crispy.

Pero inhales the meal again in record time (“I wish I could get my niece and nephews to eat their veggies with half that enthusiasm,” Tessa remarks as he practically swallows a brussel sprout whole). The cuts on his forehead and hand have completely healed over, the skin still a bright new pink. What swelling he had in one eye had lessened, and the bruising around it has gone from inky black to fading yellow-green. All evidence of her brother’s influence.

Tessa makes Pero help her wash the dishes this time, which he does without audible complaint. For as much as she loves to cook, Tessa despises doing dishes, and it’s actually nice to have another pair of hands around to get the job done.

As though by some unspoken signal, Pero and Tessa decide to head to bed at the same time. They find themselves at the end of the hall, doors to their respective rooms across from each other. Tessa turns to Pero, wanting to say something, but she’s not sure what. Some reassurance, maybe, that her Aunt Moira will be here tomorrow and she’ll help figure out what to do next. That they will get him home.

But before she can, he reaches out and takes her hand in his own, swiftly lifting it up to brush his lips across her knuckles. He breathes some phrase against her skin, and she can just make out her name at the end before he releases her and steps away, looking as surly as ever, like he’s a little angry with himself for what he’s just done.

“Goodnight, Pero,” is all Tessa is able to murmur in reply, her throat gone suddenly dry, and he gives her a tiny nod before turning away and disappearing into the guest room.

She shuts her own door behind her, leaning back up against it and letting all the breath in her lungs out in a big whoosh.

When she finally falls asleep that night, Tessa dreams of dark eyes and soft lips on her skin.

Chapter 3.

—————————————————————

a/n: Remember how I said all recipes I mention in this story are from Smitten Kitchen unless otherwise noted? Prosciutto-wrapped stuffed chicken is from Chrissy Teigen, and the brussel sprouts are how I make them. 😊

Tagging interested parties (some of you have explicitly asked to be tagged, while others just indicated they’re interested in reading where this story goes, so if you would not like to be directly tagged, please let me know!): @littlemisspascal @prostitute-robot-from-the-future @whataperfectwasteoftime @oonajaeadira @bunniesofsteel @jazzelsaur @ezrasbirdie @kiizhikehn-cedar @hopeamarsu @iamskyereads @thosewickedlovelies @theredwritingwitch

[shurisneakers]

harmless (vii)

Summary: Bucky volunteers to go stop a small time villain, but nothing can prepare him for what exactly he has to deal with. (Bucky x villain!reader, drabble series)

Warnings: cursing, existential crisis, frustrated bucky, dramatic reader, lil bit of angst, clint barton being a lil shit

Word count: 3.4k

A/N: hey shoutout to @ugherik for suggesting a spin on the “A PLATYPUS!??!“ [perry puts his hat on] “PERRY THE PLATYPUS!???” thing. i used it in here, it’s a really small part and probably missable but i tried!! also i like the next chapter better than this one, i just wanted to put this here so it doesn’t seem abrupt <3333

here’s

my ko-fi

if you’d like to support my writing <333

Previous Part || Series Masterlist

Bucky can’t stop staring at the mirror.

He wishes it was for narcissistic purposes. He had enough reason for it to be. His age may be a hundred but he had the youthful exuberance of a very drained sixty year old.

But no, it wasn’t because of the steel cut jawline or thousand gigawatt smile.

After last week’s mini-spiral, he does what almost half the videos on TikTok warn him not to do.  

He got a haircut.

Everyone’s reaction stopped him from following it up with an ear piercing, but he can’t confidently say he didn’t at least consider it once. Maybe a neck tattoo. 

He pulls at a lock of hair. It’s not even longer than his finger.

What did he do-

“It’s just a haircut, man,” he says to no one in particular, almost like he’s trying to reassure himself.

He runs his hands through his hair. It takes lesser time than he was used to.

Steve had told him he looked good. But then again, Steve wore a fugly costume 90% of the time, what did he know?

Clint acknowledged it and didn’t outright call him ugly, which he supposed was a compliment. Wanda simply smiled at him.

“FRIDAY?” he reaches out.

“Yes, Sergeant Barnes?” comes the automated reply.

“How are you?” It took him some getting used to her, given that she was constantly listening to everything, and in general seemed to go against the universal idea of privacy. 

But his therapist told him he needed to form friendships. 

She didn’t mention it had to be human ones.

“As good as ever. Is there anything I can help you with?”

He wants to ask her what she thinks of his hair until he realises fashion advice from a faceless AI is a new low for him. Maybe ‘Do you think I should crawl into a pit and die?’ would be more appropriate. 

“Never mind,” he dismisses instead. “Any messages for today?”

“A reminder to buy a harder bed because you can’t keep sleeping on the floor.” Ah, that was on Sam’s recommendation three months ago, but he wasn’t going to stop any time soon. “And a text from a contact named Nuisance saying to meet them at the attached location in thirty minutes.”

“Where is the location?”

“The local sports centre.”

“Isn’t that closed today?” 

If he had to go out in public looking like this, maybe he could wear a cap and sunglasses and no one would recognise him. Unfortunately, as he was reminded several times before by anyone with an iota of common sense, it was a stupid disguise. 

Beanie it was, then. Bare minimum. 

“It is, yes.” Fewer citizens to worry about.

“Okay.” He hesitates in front of the mirror again, adjusting the hat on his head. “Thank you, FRIDAY.”

“You’re welcome, Sergeant.”

He stares at the little tuft of hair at the front that refused to stay down no matter how much he shoved it back.

“Come on, man,” he exhales in slight despair. “Whatever.”

____

The lock of the door leading to the pool is easy enough to pick. He can see how you got in without a hitch even though it was closed. 

The deck around the pool was absolutely drenched in water. No one was using it, there was no reason for water to splash out unless it was deliberately kept like this.

He catches sight of you easily, being that you’re the only two people there. You were standing at the end of the hall, head ducked as you scrolled through your phone.

The door closes behind him with a soft thud.

You don’t look up from your mobile when you start talking, “What do you think 6 year olds like?”

Because James Barnes, carbon dated to 1917 and therefore certified young person, would definitely know the answer to this question.

“I don’t know. Lego?”

“Just how much money do you think a teacher makes-”

You stopped mid-sentence, finally lifting your head to catch his eye. He stares back at you, steps faltering when you don’t move.

"Who are you?" you squinted.

What

"It's me," Bucky says, tugging off the dumb beanie and using it to gesture vaguely towards himself. Fuck, he shouldn’t have worn it, it was ridiculous anyway-

"You sound like him..." You narrow your eyes. “You don't look like him.”

Great

He rolls his eyes before putting on a mock scowl. Can't have Bucky Barnes without a sense of eternal disgruntlement.

"Oh hey, that is you." You grin. "You got a haircut."

“I did.” He suddenly feels the awkwardness increase. His fingers fidget with the beanie.

“Nice.” You nod in acknowledgement.

He wants to hit himself at the words that just spill out before he could think about it. “You hate it.”

“I never said that,” you snort. “And since when does my opinion matter?”

“It doesn’t.” But now he wants to know what you think since he didn’t trust anyone else to tell him honestly.

“Must cut down on time in the shower, huh?”

It did.

He shrugs. He shoves the beanie into his back pocket.

“Was it a crisis haircut?” How did you kno- “Are you going to get bangs next time?”

“Shut up,” he says lamely, a dull burn in his cheeks. 

“I know a place where you can get hair dye for cheap. Not technically FDA approved, but I think purple streaks are a good place to start-”

“What are we doing here?” he interrupts, sighing.

“Skinny dipping. Take off your shirt, Barnes.” 

“Funny,” he says dryly, eyeing your shoes when you straighten up.

Ice skates.

“Fine, pants then.” You don’t make any effort to move from your end so he does, walking closer to you. 

“What are those for?” He doesn’t hide the annoyance from his voice when he points at your feet.

“Oh, these?” You look down at them. “Yeah, I’m going to freeze the pool.”

That seems... mild compared to the shit show you wanted to do last time.

“For?” He halts where he is. 

“’M gonna take my friends ice skating.”

“Is that all?” He wants to make a comment about the fact that you have friends but bites it back.

“Today is just a trial run. Tomorrow I’m gonna go freeze the East River.” There it is.

“The East River is not your personal ice skating rink.”

“Not yet it isn’t.” You lift up a middle finger.

It was too early for you to flip him off, even by your standards.

He raises an eyebrow.

Your face scrunches in confusion. You follow his gaze to your finger. “Oh yeah, no, that’s a freeze ring.”

Only then he notices a ring around the finger. From where he was standing he could make out the blue stone that adorned it.

“Joy.” He rolls up the sleeves of his black bomber jacket. “Let’s get this done with, then.”

“No no, wait.” You hold up your hand and he complies, having nothing to lose anyway. You pull out your phone and press a few buttons before shoving it back into your bag and tossing it aside.

The soft sounds of a piano start playing from a boombox near the corner of the room. A child starts singing following a series of knocks.

His eyebrows furrow. “What the fuck is this?”

“The Frozen soundtrack.” You beam at him. “I thought it was fitting.”

He doesn’t know what that is and at this point, he’s too afraid to ask. He can vaguely make out the lyrics being about a snowman but he isn’t too concerned.

He takes one step forward. You immediately point your fist at the ground in front of him, forcing him to jump back when a blast hits right in front of his shoes. Suddenly he gets why the floor is covered in water.

It sounds like a series of cracks as the water starts freezing over, a layer of ice now separating him and you.  

"You ready?” The mischief was woven in your voice as the blasts continued throughout the deck, effectively turning the entire floor into ice.

Bucky takes a step tentatively forward. Not bad. He takes another. Okay.

The third one is when shit starts to hit the fan. His hands shoot out to hold onto his balance when his footing slips from beneath him.

His Nike sneakers aren’t used to snow. They’re used to well manicured lawns and pavement trips to Starbucks and marble floors of the compound. Not swimming pool decks covered in ice.

He can hear you singing in the distance and every time he looks up you’re a little further away, making sure every inch of space is frozen.

It takes him a while to get over the initial fear of breaking his skull and just move forward swiftly with short steps. A goddamn penguin is what he looked like.

“There you go, you’re getting it,” you chirp as you whiz past him. He reaches out to grab at you, only to miss by an inch. He staggers, arms flapping wildly to regain his stability.

He hears crackling beside him. He gets a second or two to watch ice crystals spread through the water before turning it completely solid. You step onto the now frozen pool, testing your weight with one leg before cautiously getting on.

A triumphant smile emerges on your face. “Awesome.”

He manages to press himself against the wall as a form of support. 

There is no point to this whole thing. He knows this. It’s been well over 6 weeks and there is genuinely no point to this.

He realises it again when he moves from side to side, body erupting into a waddle. 

Why is he doing this. He doesn’t get paid extra. He doesn’t get any kind of compensation. All he gets is more wisecracking geniuses, embarrassment and the mortifying ordeal of getting caught imitating a penguin.

The song changes to a woman singing about doing something for the first time, forcing him to pay attention to it. He hears something about ball room and balls and tunes right back out.

Bucky manages to find his way to the actual pool since that’s where you’re twirling around, opting to land on his mental arm in case things go wrong. He takes a sliding step forward, followed by another. Maybe he can do this. 

“If a 200 pound super soldier can stand on this, I suppose it’s strong enough,” you muse, watching him slip and slide as he tries to invent makeshift ice skating.

Unfortunately, his method doesn’t have any brakes, so while he’s too busy trying to move forward, there’s no way to actually stop. He finds this out very soon when he almost launches himself off the edge of the pool.

Something yanks him backwards and back onto the ice.  

“Honestly, this is utterly useless since you can’t really do anything but it’s the most fun I’ve had all week,” you admit when he goes sliding towards the middle, arms flailing.

“You had to pick fuckin’ ice of all things.” He thinks that maybe he’s getting a hang of this. He can definitely move faster than what he was doing like, 10 minutes ago. It’s not like you were going anywhere, anyway. 

“I like to keep things spicy.”

He stays where he is to glare at you. You mouth the words to the song, watching his every move whenever it interested you. 

Okay, change of plan; a temporary distraction till he figures out how to actually get the ring from you. He settles on skating towards the edge of the rink slowly, taking a step off, slipping almost immediately when his foot comes in contact with the deck. 

“Where are you going?” you yell over the music initially but immediately break into song when it ends in a crescendo.

He takes a knee, lifting his metal arm up before driving it into the ground. It shatters magnificently, leaving small shards of ice at his disposal. 

He picks up one of them, waiting for you to complete your dumb twirl. He takes aim, and-

“Ouch, what the fuck?” You stop your off key singing to rub your shoulder where the ice hit you.

He wordlessly picks up another piece to throw at you, hitting you squarely in the leg.

“Stop that!”

He may not be able to move as fast but he can definitely throw. 

“Give me the ring,” he commands, stretching his arm behind his back before releasing another piece to hit your forearm. 

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” There’s nowhere you can skate to avoid his stupidly good marksmanship. 

“You gotta do what you gotta do.” He shrugs, breaking another patch of ice to replenish his ammo. “Hand over the ring.”

“Over my dead body,” you shriek when a particularly big piece lands next to your feet. You knew he missed that shot on purpose.

“I feel like I’m finally acting my age,” he says casually, finding your darting about in order to avoid him more fun than he initially thought. “Can’t throw pebbles at meddling kids so this is the next best option. Thanks.” 

“If you acted your age you’d be in a casket, Barnes,” you hissed, finding that skating in zig zags helped your cause, but not by much. “I’d be- you bitch- I’d be more than happy to help you get there.”

You raise your arm, ready to send another blast to freeze the water that was starting to melt around him, hopefully, keep him where he was if it froze around him. 

He flinches. You notice immediately, hand dropping slightly when you realise what it looked like.

“I’m not gonna freeze you,” you say, softer than you intended. From what you knew, he had enough and more experience with that and you weren’t going to contribute to it. 

He swallows thickly, giving himself a little shake of his head as if to jolt him out of his train of thought. 

Another piece of ice hits you in the leg. You let out a string of curses at him.

“The more ice you make, the more I have to throw at you, Y/N.” He waits for you to regain your balance when you nearly take a stumble. 

“Shut up, you’re so immature.”

“Remind me whose plan this was again?” No point waiting for you to regain your balance when you fall over only a few seconds later. 

He gathers a few shards in his beanie, tucking it into his belt like a little makeshift rucksack just in case before venturing out on the main rink again. 

It’s more difficult for you to stand without railings to guide you, giving him enough and more time to make his way towards you, staggering and skidding. 

Both of you looked ridiculous. 

“Stay away, fiend.” 

“Ring first.” He holds his hand out in front of you. He even considered pulling you up if you just made things easier.

Next thing he knows he’s on his ass on the ice beside you. 

“I hate you,” he groans, watching as you inch away from him on your knees.

He doesn’t really have any other options so he shoves aside the humiliation and gets on his knees, using his arms to drag him along the ice.

“For the love of Christ, none of us are winning here. Just give me the ring.”

The bitch from the soundtrack sings about letting it go but he won’t. 

“Never,” you shout, sliding away from him as fast as possible. 

You make use of the fact that the top layer of ice is starting to melt, using the ring to freeze it again. His knees and fingers get stuck as the water freezes over but he has super strength. It barely takes him a second to free himself. 

“Great,” he huffs, just settling down on the ice, ignoring the sting of cold that was spreading through his limbs. Running after you wasn’t going to work; he needed a way to get the ring. 

“You won last time, I’m not letting you win again.”

“Are we seriously keeping score?” He watches as you scramble towards the edge.

“No one likes a loser, Bucky.” You use the pool stair railings to pull yourself up.

“Explain why you have friends then.” He can’t help himself this time. 

“Hardy har har.” You roll your eyes. 

He doesn’t make an effort to move. Instead, when you take a step back into the rink, he raises his arm and pummels it into the ice, just to annoy you. 

The ground damn near shakes, pushing you dangerously towards losing your balance again. 

“Are you crazy?” Your arm shoots out in front of you to keep you from falling headfirst. 

“No.” He does it again. This time there’s a crack in the ice. “I’m just very tired.”

“If the ice breaks we’re both gonna be underwater, you moron!”

“Fine by me.” He shrugs. “Freeze it again. I’ll just find different ways to ruin it for you.”

You glare at him. He raises his arm above his head again.

“Fine! Fine, stop.” You eye him as he lowers his arm. 

He reaches for his stash of ice pieces from earlier, throwing one at your shoulder again.

“Boy, I swear if you don’t stop doing that-” you duck when another one comes at you. You had no idea he could be this annoying. 

It suddenly hits him, like a lightbulb going off in his brain. He wipes his hands off on his jacket, getting on all fours before slowly managing to pick himself up again. 

He looks at you, tilting his head slightly like he was studying you.

“What?” you ask suspiciously, eyeing as he starts inching closer towards you. “What are you thinking?”

It’s like watching a newborn deer stumble its way through the world, albeit more gracefully, until he starts picking up speed. The motherfucker was going to mow you down.

The skates are useful but not so much when an extremely determined bumbling oaf is barrelling towards you, his speed beginning to match yours even without equipment. 

You don’t know why you’re running, you don’t know why he’s chasing after you but when you see the end of the pool you take a sharp left only to have him knock right into you, sending you both sprawling.

You land half on top of him, breaking your fall but it doesn’t stop the very loud groan that escapes your mouth. He’s already in the process of sitting up straight, giving you less time to analyse what just happened.

“What the fuck was that for?” you speak through gritted teeth. “Fuckin’ acting like the both of us have free healthcare.”

“You refused to give up.”

“So your plan was to tackle me like a quarterback?” You threw your hands up.  

“One part of it.” He drags himself to the edge, away from you. 

“There's more to your monkey brained plan?” He doesn’t look at you. The ice around the pool has more or less melted, letting him gain proper footing on the floor before he stands up. 

“Oh, yeah.” He turns to you. “The other’s a trick I stole from Stark.”

Bucky holds up the ring. Your jaw slightly drops, eyes searching your finger for the now missing piece of tech. 

“Suppose that’s two points for me?” 

You’re impressed. You also want to stab him. So you do the next best thing.

“When I imagined you holding a ring in front of me, the circumstances were very different,” you comment.

“Bye, Y/N.” He spins on his heel, not even giving you a second’s worth of reaction. You found it amusing.

He heads towards the door, clothes all wet. He empties out melted ice water from his beanie before stuffing it into his pocket. Just when he’s about to leave, you remember something. 

Do you mean it genuinely or just because it has an effect on him? 

“Just for the record, Barnes, about your hair-” you call out, earning his attention from over his shoulder. “I think you look really good either way.”

The world may never know. 

You swear you can see the corners of his lips quirk upwards before he turns around again. 

He slips on a block of ice, cursing and clenching on to the door to keep him upright, quickly yanking it open and leaving before he has a chance to embarrass himself further.

Smooth.

Next part

[fruitcoops]

Night Changes

This isn't based on an ask, but I've had some early-Cap ideas brewing and think about the first time the team heard him laugh a lot. His and James' friendship is so sweet in SW--the beginning of it must have been such a shock to them both. SW credit goes to @lumosinlove!

So maybe James had bitten off more than he could chew. It wasn’t the first time, to be sure, but coaxing (read: drag kicking and screaming) his new teammate out of the carefully-constructed mosaic of scowls that made up his entire personality was proving to be a little more challenging than he previously expected. With most rookies, all it took was some elbow grease and overenthusiastic inclusion in group events to get them to open up—with his brand-new soon-to-be best friend, he had to handle things a little more delicately.

Sirius Black was a puzzle wrapped up in one of those freaky code-breaking machines from World War Two Lily liked to talk about. He was one of the best hockey players James had ever seen, but off the ice he seemed to shut down. The intense focus on his face smoothed out into almost perfect neutrality, and in the four months since he joined the Lions, he had never once smiled for real in front of the team. He sat in his stall and padded up in silence, then went out and kicked ass before following Pascal home like a living shadow.

Naturally, James took it as a personal mission to pry Sirius Black’s closed-off persona open like a stubborn oyster. He tried including Sirius in group events—the rookie went along with a quiet “yeah, sure”, but sat at the table and nursed a single drink for the entire night. He tried getting into friendly banter with him on the ice, but it was like Sirius had never joked with anyone in his life. Hell, he even tried finding him a girlfriend, which tanked harder than the goddamn Titanic.

“Rookie!” James shouted down the hallway.

Sirius jumped and turned around, obviously confused. “Me?”

“Yes, you,” James laughed, jogging over to toss an arm over his shoulders. “What’s up?”

“Not much.”

He waited for Sirius to continue, then rolled his eyes and gave him a friendly shake. “C’mon, man, how was your weekend? Has Dumo coerced you into being a stay-at-home babysitter yet?”

Sirius’ frown deepened. “What? I come with him to practice every day.”

Change tactics, change tactics— “Got any plans for Friday?”

James knew the answer, of course; it was always no or not yet or a simple shake of the head. If he was a less observant man, he would have assumed Sirius didn’t actually want to hang out with the team. But the longing looks toward their easy rhythm and the way he always tilted himself toward locker room conversations told a different story. “None yet,” Sirius said with a shrug.

James gave him a friendly slap on the back. “Good, ‘cause I’m having a party at my place and you’re not allowed to miss it.”

“Why not?”

“Because I want you to be there, duh.” The bewilderment didn’t fade from Sirius’ face, but beneath it—well, maybe James was just seeing things, but he looked almost hopeful. He ruffled Sirius’ hair and headed for the locker room. “Friday at five, rookie! I’ll be waiting!”

--

The week passed in a slog of practices and cold weather. Sirius clammed up more and more as the party drew closer, but James didn’t miss the way his eyes flickered between the rest of them like he was analyzing a play. He would make one hell of a captain someday, if he could just relax a little.

“Hey, rookie, want a ride?” he asked when the big day finally arrived.

“Don’t you want to go home and set up first?” Sirius’ brow furrowed. For an eighteen-year-old kid, he was awfully thoughtful. James couldn’t wait to see him let loose a little. “I wouldn’t want to get in your way.”

“It’s a yes or no question,” he teased, poking the bit of exposed shoulder through the widening hole in Sirius’ under armor.

“I…” He faltered, then the corner of his mouth twitched up. It was the closest thing James had seen to a smile from him yet. One point for Potter. “Sure, Pots. Thanks.”

“No problem. Meet me at my car in five or so, yeah?”

“D’accord.”

“Oho, fancy French,” James laughed, turning back to unlace his skates.

It wasn’t until thirty seconds after Sirius left the room that he remembered he never told the rookie what his car looked like. Horrible, terrible visions of the poor guy wandering around the parking lot—or, god forbid, thinking James had left without him—flashed through his mind. It would undo everything he had been working so hard to build.

“Shit,” he hissed under his breath as he shoved his gear into his duffel with reckless abandon and hurried out of the locker room. His legs would be stiff from trying to run so soon after a grueling drill practice, but it was worth it to save his friend. “Rookie? Hey, Sirius, you still here?”

There was no response. James cursed again and made a beeline for the door to the parking lot. Please, God, don’t let him get lost. I need him to trust me.

“Oh, thank fuck,” he panted as he burst out onto the half-frozen concrete.

Sirius looked up from his phone with a strange expression. “Are you okay?”

“Thought I lost you for a sec.”

“You said to meet at your car, yes?” He glanced between James and the car in sudden worry.

“Yeah, yes, absolutely, I just—” He made an aborted gesture and dug his keys out of his pocket. “I realized I forgot to tell you which one is mine.”

Sirius blinked at him. “I know what your car looks like.”

“How?”

“Because you drive it here every single day and you gave me a ride three weeks ago.”

‘Dumbass’ went unsaid, but James could feel it hanging in the air. He coughed lightly. “Right. Anyway, you can toss your bag wherever and hop in the passenger seat. My place isn’t far from here.”

Sirius took his duffel as he unlocked the car and settled both in the trunk with more care than James’ poor, battered bag had ever seen in its life. That was another thing that confused him about Sirius Black—he was so careful. He walked quietly for someone so tall, and each movement seemed pre-planned.

Each movement, that is, until he tried to get in the car. “Uh, Pots?”

“That’s m—oh.” James covered his mouth to stifle his laughter as Sirius tried to fold himself into the passenger seat and failed miserably. “I’m sorry, my girlfriend was sitting there last. Uh, there’s a lever on your right—yeah, there, just give it a pull and—”

With a harsh ka-chunk, the seat slid all the way back. Both men froze. It took everything in James’ power not to burst out laughing at the deer-in-headlights shock on Sirius’ face.

“Yep, that one,” he managed. “Nice job.”

They drove in relative quiet—James chattered on about weekend plans and hummed to the radio while Sirius watched out the window with the occasional monosyllable response. It took James a bit by surprise how comfortable he was, even without a steady stream of banter. Sirius might have been stubborn and silent and determined to foil all James’ plans at getting him to socialize, but he was calming to be near, like an anchor on unsteady water. Despite his overall quiet air, he was obviously paying attention to every word that left James’ mouth.

“You’re a good guy, y’know that?” he said as they turned onto his street. Sirius glanced over in surprise. “Most people tune me out within, like, five minutes.”

“I’m a good listener.”

James opened his mouth to respond, then paused. “Was that—Sirius Black, was that a joke?”

Something akin to mischief—mischief!—crossed his face. “Maybe.”

“Were you roasting me?” James gaped at him. “Oh my god. The guys are never gonna believe this.”

“Probably not.”

“You sick bastard. They won’t believe me.”

“You can give it a shot,” Sirius said with a shrug as the engine turned off. Pieces began to connect in James’ head as he stared, incredulous, at the rookie he thought would never even crack a smile. Four months of work had not been wasted, as he had feared; every joke, every one-sided conversation, and every attempt to get Sirius involved had been seen and heard and taken to heart. When he thought about it, he wasn’t sure he had ever seen Sirius actively agree to something unless James asked personally.

“We’re friends,” he said aloud, too surprised and too happy to hold it in. Not friends in the way James was with the rest of their loud, over-the-top teammates, but friends all the same.

“Well, yeah,” Sirius said as if it was obvious.

James unbuckled his seatbelt and socked him lightly on the shoulder, barely suppressing a shriek of excitement. “Love you, man. Grab your shit, we’ve got a party to set up.”

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

As much as it pained James to say it, having someone around who was six-foot-three was a huge help. There was no blow to his pride as he dragged Lily’s stepstool out; no grudging acceptance that he simply couldn’t reach those last two inches on the wall. Instead, he could foist any and all responsibility on his brand-new best friend in the whole wide world and focus on the things that mattered, like putting anything breakable or important far away from the grubby hands of his inebriated teammates.

His success was still ringing in his ears when the guests finally arrived—throughout the evening, James rode the high of accomplishing his mission to pull Sirius Black into his tight-knit circle. Every minute of those four months was worth it.

Midnight came and went, and by one-thirty in the morning James’ cramped living room was packed with tipsy hockey players in a vague imitation of a circle. “Non, non, I’ve gotta good one,” Dumo said, hiccupping. The room fell quiet as he leaned forward. “What do you call a body of water with a chicken in it?”

“What?” Kasey whispered, starry-eyed like a kid at Christmas.

“A swimming pool.”

The room stayed quiet, and then someone started to laugh. Slowly, they all turned to the source of the noise, and James felt a ripple of shock roll through the team as Sirius snorted. “It’s a swimming pool,” he said around a smile, his accent thick from three drinks. He had a nice laugh; James could get used to hearing it. “Like—poule, like chicken?”

His whole face was alight with happiness. James wasn’t sure whether to cry or cheer. That’s what I’ve been waiting for, he thought. That look, right there. Sirius fit in among the group like a missing piece of their puzzle, snickering away as if he hadn’t been stoically silent a day in his life. His laugh was downright bubbly.

“I don’t think they get it,” Dumo said into the rim of his cup.

Sirius shook his head, trying to catch his breath. “D’accord, so—so ‘chicken’ in French is poule, yeah? So a chicken in a body of water is a swimming poule. Do you get it now?”

A few oh’s of understanding washed over them, but several people continued to stare. “Too drink for this,” Sergei grumbled, though James could see the smile pulling at his mouth as Sirius turned to him with bright eyes.

“But it’s funny!” Sirius protested, so earnest it made James’ heart hurt.

“I think it’s funny, rookie,” he assured him with a clumsy pat on the arm. “And it’s my house, so I say Dumo gets a point this round.”

Kasey hiccupped. “Hey, anyone who makes the rookie laugh gets points in my book. No offense, dude.”

“None taken,” Sirius said, though his cheeks were pink.

James nudged him with his shoulder as Talker started a knock-knock joke. “It’s okay,” he said under his breath.

Sirius picked at the label on his cup. “I know I haven’t been very social,” he muttered.

“It’s okay,” James insisted. “It always takes rookies a while to warm up, so we’re just glad you’re happy. I’m glad my best friend is having a good time at my party.”

A heavy silence fell between them as Sirius looked over, eyebrows raised. “Best friend?”

“What, like you didn’t see this coming?” James slung an arm over his shoulder. “Yes, you French-Canadian nerd, you’re my best friend. And that means I’m your best friend, and there’s no take-backsies.”

“What the hell is a take-backsie?” Sirius laughed. “Did you make that up?”

James grinned. He had the feeling this was the beginning of an excellent friendship.

[mercy-burning]

Heatwave

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!Reader Summary: The air conditioning is out at the BAU, so things get very hot—in more ways than one. Category: Smut 18+ (penetrative sex, unprotected sex, creampie / minor breeding kink, sex in an elevator) Warnings: Sex, language (As always, if there’s anything I missed, please let me know what I should include in warnings! I want to be as mindful as I can about what I post. Thank you!) Word Count: 3.7k

MASTERLIST

***

"Oh, fuck, that's it!"

The exclamation nearly knocked Spencer off his feet. He would know her voice anywhere, so he didn't have to look to know that it was Y/N, but he looked anyway, sure enough spotting her on the opposite end of the bullpen, sorting through files at her desk.

If Hotch was any closer, he would have given her a warning look to signal his distaste for her swearing in the office, but his door was shut while he talked with someone so it never came.

"Wha—what did you find?" Spencer got out after clearing his throat to compose himself. It was bad enough he had already been distracted by her before, thinking about what it would be like to feel her hands weaved through his hair as she kissed him, but then she had to say that sentence of all things, slightly enhancing the fantasy.

It also didn't help that the air conditioning in the building was currently out, and in the middle of August. So when he looked up, he saw a low-cut, baby pink tank top with lace detailing on the hem, and a pulled-up hairdo that perfectly exposed her neck, which was currently glistening in a thin sheen of sweat. The way she leaned back in her chair, her legs crossed under a loose, knee-length floral skirt as she mulled over her file was giving him too many bad ideas, and it was a wonder he hadn't been caught or called out yet—everyone could always tell when he was thinking or off in his own world.

"Oh," Y/N said, briefly craning her head to meet his eyes. It took everything he had not to shudder when their gazes finally met. "I just misplaced one of my files, that's all. I was afraid I'd lost it. But it's right here," she said with a nervous laugh. "I didn't... bother you did I?"

"Oh! N—no, you didn't bother me at all, I... I was just wondering, that's all. I—I'm glad you found your file." He hated that he stumbled over his words, but when she looked at him like that, that sickeningly sweet kindness in her eyes that never wavered when she talked to him, he couldn't help it. She was easily the most intimidatingly angelic presence he'd ever met, in every capacity possible.

Even as she quickly frowned and shifted slightly in her chair, her eyes didn't lose that sparkle. But it was still evident that she was uncomfortable, so Spencer spoke again. "Are you okay?"

She set the file down on her desk and sat up straighter, bringing her back up off the chair as she uncrossed her legs. "Yeah, I'm fine, it's just the heat. I hate it. I'm definitely more of a cold, rainy day-type of girl, I guess."

Odd, considering you're just about the warmest soul I've ever met, he thought. Even as she talked about her distaste for the heat, she kept her voice light and her eyes kind.

"Hmm," is all he said, shortly and barely loud enough for her to hear.

The rest of the day seemed to pass by rather quickly, which Spencer was thankful for; the longer the day moved forward, the hotter it got, and it proved to be more distracting than he wanted to admit.

But soon he would be able to go home and take a cold shower, for one thing to cool off, but for another to relieve some of this feeling Y/N had been making him feel. He tried really hard throughout the day not to look at her, but he always found himself drawn to her anyway, and each time it happened he thought of dirtier and dirtier things, scenarios that he was positive could only happen in his wildest dreams.

But as usual, things didn't seem to work in his favor today. Just as he and Y/N were about to get onto the elevator, Hotch walked by, calling to them. "Sorry to ask you guys of this, but could you stay another hour or two? There are more files I need to get sorted, and I know it's hot, so I'm sorry for the inconvenience, but it would be helpful if I had an extra set of hands."

Two more hours at most, he could manage that, right? And at least he'd have more files to keep him occupied, something to focus on.

Hotch sent them to the file room with a list of the files he needed, and then it was just the two of them, stepping onto the elevator and sealing their fate.

It wasn't four seconds after the elevator started moving that it stopped and the lights inside dimmed red.

"Wait, what's happening?" Y/N asked, slightly panicked.

Spencer was just as puzzled. "I... I'm not sure. Maybe it has something to do with the heat?"

About a minute passed before she sighed, shoving her phone in her bag. "Yeah. Just got a text from Garcia, the power in the building shut down so they could fix the air conditioning. It's gonna take like a half hour."

"A—A half hour? Really?" He tried not to show how nervous it made him, but truthfully he didn't think it would work.

Y/N sighed. "Yeah... It's... fine, though, I mean, maybe someone will try to get us out."

"But we're in between two floors..."

Another sigh. "And it's hot as hell in here. Great... So much for going home early."

Spencer snuck a glance over at her, almost immediately regretting it when he looked her over. Under the deep red glow of the emergency lights, she looked absolutely sinful. Her bag was dropped on the ground and she leaned against the wall, her arms crossed and pushing up her breasts. Her head was leaned back and her eyes closed as she took deep breaths, no doubt trying to stay as calm as one could be in this situation. He noticed every breath she took, her chest rising and falling and her skin glowing. And in that moment he embarrassingly felt something stir in his lower stomach, only made worse by the fact that it was, as she'd phrased it, 'hot as hell' in the elevator. He was hot and practically squirming as he stood there, ogling Y/N like she was the only woman he'd ever seen before.

As if it couldn't get any worse, she opened her eyes quickly and caught him staring at her chest. He didn't seem to notice because, well, his eyes were elsewhere, so she closed them once more and smirked to herself for the briefest of seconds, an idea striking her brain like a match.

She brought her arms to slowly un-cross and stretch outwards to her sides, arching her back and puffing out her chest as she gripped the rail of the elevator. The moment she opened her eyes, she saw that Spencer's head was directed pointedly to the floor. She smiled a little, keeping her arms stretched out across the rail as she took him in.

The first thing she took notice of was how his hair stuck to his face, wavy and damp with sweat. His fingers tapped against his legs, and that's what she looked at the longest. Every time his middle finger tapped the outside of his thigh, she imagined that he was doing it to her clit, and she could practically feel it throb to the slow, steady beat of his finger. Her hands gripped the rail tighter and she crossed her legs, contemplating whether or not she should take advantage of this moment to finally do something about this tension she'd been feeling between them for the past year and a half.

The truth is, she'd always had a crush on him since they started working together. But when she started her job at the BAU, he was... a little odd. Every time she would join in conversation, he'd made it a point to look almost inconvenienced by her presence. At first she had to wonder if maybe he just didn't like her. And if that was the case, she didn't want to make it worse by asking him about it, so she left it alone. But then she noticed how he was like that with everyone, and then over time he seemed to get better. Eventually he warmed up to her and the two of them became fast friends. He'd quickly transformed from a guy who always seemed annoyed with everyone and into the adorably shy, brilliant man everyone had told her he was when she first got the job.

Now there had been almost two years' worth of a different kind of tension between them, and in this moment in the elevator, Y/N wanted to do something about it. Or at least try.

She thought for a moment, trying to find the best way to bring it up. Should she be straightforward? You know, flat-out tell him that she's liked him for a long time and wanted to kiss his face off? Or did she want to have more fun with it? Because she admittedly loved seeing him get flustered every time he noticed her noticing him staring at her, but if he really didn't feel the same way, she didn't want to come on too strong and ruin this thing they'd built.

Ultimately, Y/N decided to try a little of both.

She cleared her throat to catch his attention. "Hey, Spence?"

When he looked up at her, his stomach flipped again. Fuck, she was just so breathtaking, her arms spread and her legs crossed like she was the queen of the elevator and he was trespassing just by being there. Her chin was tilted upwards, exposing more of her neck, and it almost made him fall over. "Y���Yeah?" he stammered quietly, trying and failing to sound calm.

"What should we do to pass the time? I'm bored."

If he didn't know any better, he would have sworn he she was suggesting they— No. There was no way. He'd been a total jerk to her when they first met, and even though they were much friendlier now, Spencer wasn't sure she could ever want to do anything like that with him.

Right?

"Um... I—I don't know. Your phone works, doesn't it? Do you, um... Do you have anything you could do there?"

She shrugged, tilting her head to the side. "Battery's almost dead, and I want to save it in case something happens and we get stuck in here for longer than thirty minutes... I was thinking, actually... We haven't really gotten to know each other that well, and maybe would play... like 20 Questions or something."

"Oh..." He swallowed, shifting on his feet and blinking. "Well, um... W—what do you want to know?"

"Hmm... Favorite color?" She knew it was purple, but she wanted to hear him talk. Get him comfortable.

"Purple. What's yours?"

She leaned forward off the rail a little, and Spencer swallowed again, suddenly feeling a burst of warmth through his body.

"Light pink," Y/N said softly, "like so light that it's almost white."

He glanced down at her chest again, only for a moment to take in her shirt, which he'd remembered was the same color.

She continued. "What's your favorite snack food?"

"Pretzels."

"Me, too. Hmm... Favorite candle scent?"

"Peppermint."

"Spearmint. Favorite Star Wars movie?"

"Return of the Jedi."

"A New Hope. Favorite sex position?"

"Doggy."

She didn't say another word.

He wasn't even aware of the situation until about five seconds later, when she raised an eyebrow at him and his whole world came crumbling down.

As he visibly struggled to find words, Y/N only continued in conversation. "That surprises me. I would have thought you'd be more of a cowgirl guy."

If the way her voice sounded when she talked to him was the handle, then the way her eyes bore into his own was the blade, both of them coming together to create the weapon that would be his ultimate demise. The only thing missing was that twist of the blade, the one that would make sure he was gone for good, and the moment she leaned completely off the railing and took a small step towards him, he realized that final ingredient was her touch. If she touched him, he was done for.

"Aren't you gonna ask me what mine is? That's how the game works."

There's no way she wasn't flirting with him... Right? He was never good at picking up on those kinds of things, but she was being so obvious about it, stepping closer and closer to him with her chest puffed out and her head tilted to the side to reveal her neck. She was inviting him in, right? Especially after asking him to ask her that question.

That question...

Right.

"Um..." Spencer swallowed before speaking, his voice barely discernible. "What's... y—your favorite sex position?"

"Doggy. Especially standing up," she said with what was most definitely a flirty smile. "Looks like you and I have quite a bit in common."

"Y—yeah, I guess we... do..."

By now she had him backed against the other side of the elevator, and as soon as he felt his back hit the rail, he swallowed again, bringing his hand up to the collar of his shirt to relieve some of the heat he was feeling.

It didn't work, unsurprisingly.

"Look, if... If I'm overstepping, you should tell me. But I've liked you for a long time, and I feel like I'd be dumb to waste the perfect opportunity to tell you... So... The elevator probably won't be fixed for another twenty minutes at least, and since we're already on the subject... Maybe we should find another way to pass the time?"

Spencer noticed that she was careful not to actually touch him unless he gave her the go-ahead, and if anything it made him want her even more. She was giving him an out, and he knew that if he told her 'no', she wouldn't push it.

But here she was, in all her beautiful, radiant glory, practically inviting him to indulge in some of his biggest fantasies, and he would have to be brain-dead to pass that up. Even if he was a little nervous.

He tried to give her permission in a way that didn't make himself come off as some obsessed admirer, a shaky, breathy laugh exhaling from his throat before he spoke. "Well, it's already hot as hell in here, so... What's a little more heat?"

At first he regretted saying it, scared it was stupid and most definitely a mood-killer, but the way she practically lunged at him completely washed away all the worries written in the sand. And when her body pressed firmly against his, her lips coming to capture his in the most burning kiss he'd ever had, the waves crashed even stronger, loud with searing desire as warm as the August sun.

Immediately he brought his hands to cradle her face, loving the way he almost engulfed her with their size. He moved his lips against hers eagerly as her hands worked at unbuttoning the top buttons of his shirt. She only got the first few done before pulling away, and despite the heat, Spencer felt cold without her pressed up against him.

It took a moment for him to realize what was happening, but when she suddenly turned them both around and bent forward, leaning out to grab the rail, he felt warm again.

She turned her head around to look at him with a smile through a bit bottom lip as she reached one of her hands under her skirt and slowly pulled her panties down. Almost as soon as they hit the floor, pooling around her ankles, she lifted the skirt up and revealed herself to him, slowly running her fingers through her pussy.

"It's all yours, Doctor Reid," she said lowly, spreading her legs as far as they could go with her panties still confining her ankles.

He hadn't even realized he'd undone his pants until they were at his feet and his dick was in his hand. How had she managed to have that great of an affect on him?

He promptly decided he didn't care how, as he stepped forward and brought himself up to her ass and ran the head of his cock through her pussy, briefly meeting her fingers as he did so. "Are you sure?" he asked. Because once he started, he wouldn't be able to stop. He already lost his mind just being in her presence, but being this close to her, fucking her in a broken elevator would surely hinder his ability to think about anything rationally, let alone at all.

"Fuck me, please," she all but begged, pushing herself back a little to encourage him. Either that or she was just desperate, though there was a good chance it was both.

In any case, that was all he needed, the trigger that set him off, and within seconds he was plunged deep inside her, the both of them softly moaning out at how it felt.

Spencer set a steady pace, his hands firmly gripping her waist as she pushed back to meet his every move. Each thrust forward was another twist of the blade that sealed his fate, only made more brutal by the pure filth that dripped from Y/N's lips, a symphony of long, drawn out moans and curses that sounded just as loving as they did pornographic.

When she bent forward even more, so much that he could see her hands outstretched on the rail, it gave him the deepest angle he could possibly be at, and she clenched herself around him, calling out his name.

"Fuck, Y/N, keep doing that," Spencer breathed out, shutting his eyes at the sensation.

He could hear her laugh a little. "That feel good, baby? Huh, you like when my pussy clings to you?"

Each word was fuel that quickened his pace inside of her, and joined with the way his hands were wrapped around her, the very tips of his fingers felt her stomach bulge at every snap of his hips. He spread his right hand across her lower stomach to feel it, groaning out as he did.

He didn't even realize he'd said his next words out loud, but after she groaned out and clenched around him tighter, he knew she'd heard and liked what he was saying.

"God, I wanna cum inside you so fucking bad..."

She turned her head again to see him as best as she could, doing the most to come off as desperate as she felt. "Fuck, Spence, do it, please, I want your cum inside me, please..."

A few more quick thrusts inside of her was enough to make her cum, her mouth open in a silent scream as she stopped moving back against him and just let him pound into her. He followed closely behind, brokenly moaning out her name as he stilled and pulsated inside of her.

"Ohh, that's it," she said to him with wonder as she stayed clamped tightly around him, trying to get every last drop. "Fuck, that feels so fucking good..."

In a moment of blind lust at her words, Spencer pulled out just until only the tip was inside, before quickly and deeply fucking into her once more, holding himself inside for about five seconds as she cried out. He repeated that so many times he couldn't keep count. Or maybe it was only two times, and he was just to drunk on her to notice. However long he did it for, they both relished in the feeling before they were both overstimulated and out of breath.

While any other time he would have loved to see his cum drip down her legs, since they were at work he decided to lift her panties up instead, relishing in the way she whimpered when they were on all the way. He made sure to pull them up tight, so she could feel his cum soak them as she stood upwards.

He scrambled to put his pants back on as she caught her breath, leaning against the wall of the elevator with her legs crossed and her eyes closed. He watched her intently as her hand drifted under her skirt and rubbed herself through her underwear, letting out whimpers and ragged breaths upon feeling what he'd done to her. The sweat that had just started to form on her body earlier due to the heat was now dripping down her neck and over her chest, and he was once again mesmerized by her.

"God, you're beautiful," he whispered aloud. Of course he'd meant to say it to himself in his head, but he wasn't thinking straight. She'd utterly wrecked him.

Y/N opened her eyes and smiled, taking him in as well. His hair was wild, all over the place and just as sexy as she'd found it before. The top buttons of his shirt were undone, no thanks to her, revealing a glistening chest and making her pussy throb once more, knowing what they'd just done and how... hot the whole situation was, for lack of a better term.

As if she needed a reminder, more of his cum seeped into the fabric of her underwear, warm and ever present, which made her bite her lip and sigh. "Yep... Doggy is definitely my favorite position."

"Especially standing up," he added, a small smile adorning his lips.

They laughed as the elevator lights came back on, and the weight of what they'd just done came crashing down as with it.

Y/N shuffled to the other side of the elevator to grab her back, almost gasping at the way his cum felt in her panties when she moved. She was afraid it would come out, but there was nothing she could do to stop it except for hope.

The two of them were quiet when the door opened and Garcia met them in the lobby.

"Oh, thank God! I feel so bad I didn't warn you in time before you got stuck in th— Your faces are all red, geez! Was it really that hot in there?"

Thankfully the heatwave gave them both an alibi.

"Y—Yeah," Spencer said with a nod, stepping out of the elevator. "That's twice now I've been stuck in an elevator, and I really wish it would stop happening."

The girls laughed as the three of them made their way to cooler air.

Spencer and Y/N fell in step behind their friend and shared a knowing look as the approached the file room.

[chubbology]

Inertia

prompt: a man gains weight trying to get his ex-girlfriend back, but goes way too far and gets addicted to gaining

He hadn’t gone to the gym even once in ages.

After a year of singlehood, he wasn’t ashamed to admit anymore that he’d only really gone in the first place to impress women. Ironic, of course, since his ex had never been more than vaguely dissatisfied about his gym habit.

When they first started dating, he had love handles he hated and his thighs had been too thick. He assumed she dated him despite these flaws. Only after he lost weight to please her did he find out that it was his chub that caught her eye. It was bigger guys she was into. It was a lot of miscommunication. A lot of insecurity on his part, since what her preferences meant was that she wanted him to be a little heavy, and he couldn’t possibly accept that with his society-ingrained doctrines about attractiveness.

But those doctrines meant fuck-all now; he was eating a double cheeseburger in his car, helping it down with an orange soda, thinking about dessert. He was wondering if she’d be proud of him now that he’d gained thirty pounds. He wondered if she’d look at him with half-lidded eyes like she used to, if he put on another thirty. Fifty. Whatever.

His phone buzzes. He sits up straighter, belly swelling a little into his lap. It’s her.

Hey. My friend needs to sell her two tickets. I know it’s your favorite band. Interested?

The next text was a link to an information page about an upcoming concert. He’d been so disconnected lately, he hadn’t even heard about it.

Even though he wasn’t actually all that interested, he replied that he was, and they set a date to meet up the next week. Shit. He looked down at himself. If she were someone else, she might be repelled. But she wasn’t someone else…

He was hit with a brilliant, maybe brilliantly stupid, idea. It’s execution began with going right back through the drive thru.

In the days leading up to seeing his ex again, he ate almost constantly. Since he was only doing freelance online at the moment, his work didn’t get in the way of this. He let himself eat whatever he wanted, in amounts three times what his body craved. He pushed himself to a state of being constantly past full. She liked fat guys? Fine. Even if she still didn’t want anything to do with him, he wanted her to see what he could have been, if he hadn’t been such a gym-rat douchebag. If he’d let himself become a lazy, docile boyfriend like she wanted instead, weak and overweight.

It was hard, gaining a lot of weight in a week. The number on the scale didn’t go up as much as he expected, even though he’d eaten enough calories to gain twenty pounds at least. He compensated by showing up to their meeting spot wearing clothes that tightly hugged his body, which now had a good forty-ish pounds of fat clinging to it. Looking in the mirror before he left, he’d almost seen what she was into. His ass had gotten kind of wide and dumpy, but in a sexy way?

He was all nerves when she showed up looking healthy and cute and indifferent about him, holding the tickets in her hands. Almost indifferent. She definitely gave him a once-over, when she thought he wasn’t looking. He could tell she bit the inside of her lip.

“Well,” she said, meeting his eyes fearlessly. Were her cheeks a little red, or was that wishful thinking? “I’ll see you.”

“Really?” he blurted. “Kinda miss hanging out.”

She smiled and turned to leave. “Maybe.”

He went home and binged hard.

*

In contrast to how he grew too slowly in the week before meeting up with her, in the weeks afterward, he gained weight doubletime. Fat rounded him out as easy as if he were a swiftly filling water balloon, engorging his thighs and belly and ass and hips wide and heavy. He ate compulsively as his appetite skyrocketed, as cravings crushed his will to restrain himself. His budget was thrown out of whack as he spent his savings on pantry loads of unhealthy food. His clothes stretched and seams snapped as he struggled to fit in his largest clothes. He shopped in the plus sized section first for comfort, then by necessity.

All the while he could only think: I wished she was watching.

He started imagining her with him. In the car as he ate fast food. At the store as he bought new clothes. Walking beside him as he forced himself to get exercise.

“Slow down, big guy.” “No, I think you need one size bigger.” “Sweating already? You’re so out of shape.”

Why did he like it? Imagining her mocking him? Teasing him? Eyeing his body, fleshy and overfed.

The next time she texted, it was late at night, and his eyes were glazed watching television, eating huge spoonfuls of that miracle drug called Nutella. His belly swelled out of his shirt. His breasts and face were puffy. According to the numbers he punched into Google, he had long crossed the threshold of obesity.

How was the concert?

He stared at the words. This was it. Maybe his only chance. He replied: Didn’t go after all. Been feeling off lately.

To his (very manly) delight, this prompted more questions, and it became clear she wanted a real conversation. Was she thinking of him? Missing him like he missed her? He thought out every response with the careful focus of a rocket scientist. He wasn’t going to mess this up.

He didn’t seem to, and they texted into the early hours of the morning, catching up. Finally, finally she asked to meet up with him again, and - feeling more eager, a little reckless - he tapped out a disclaimer. Or to her, hopefully: motivation.

Just so you aren’t shocked when you see me, I’ve put on weight since I bought those tickets from you. I’m not sensitive about it or anything, but it’s a lot. So here’s a fair warning.

He held his breath as he waited for her reply. Held his breath. Held it…

Oh. Really?

Like before, they set a time the following week. This time, to get coffee. No big deal.

He knew he had more than fulfilled his little scheme of putting on weight to catch her attention, and he could push the breaks now, but he felt helpless against his inertia. At this point, he’d cultivated half a dozen habits that had his weight steadily rising, and he couldn’t just turn them off. If he so much as thought of eating less, his whole body seized up in fearful anticipation and unhappiness, and he found himself cramming a couple moonpies into his mouth just to calm down.

He gained another six pounds between their text conversation and their coffee date. He felt so out of control, so out of shape, so out of line with the standards of popular society that he felt oddly…free. In a way, he felt free of anxious self-consciousness as he heaved himself out of his car and waved at her through the coffee shop window. She was sitting in a corner at a table for two. Despite his warning, she looked a little shocked.

When he sat down across from her, his huge ass hanging off the ends of the seat, she appeared to inhale deeply. Her expression was inscrutable.

“You weren’t kidding,” she said.

Blushing, he supposed he deserved a bit of tactlessness, for the tactless way he broke up with her. “What? Oh. Yeah, no. I wasn’t.”

She sipped her coffee, eyes flicking between his flabby chest and his flabby face. In a low tone that no one else would hear, she said, “What happened? For you to get fat as fuck.”

He opened his mouth and closed it. This wasn’t how he was expecting this to go. “Well. I’ve been working from home, stressed out. I let myself go and…” He trailed off when he realized her eyes were cold. No - so hot they seemed cold, like his shower water when turned to the highest setting.

“Is this because of me?” she asked, cutting to the chase. She crossed her legs, now openly surveying him. “Did you decide it was okay to gain a hundred pounds because you thought I’d be into it?”

He was speechless. He swallowed.

“Well? Do you want me back that badly? Ever since I saw you last time, all chubbed out, I’ve been thinking maybe I should give you a second chance.”

“Um.”

“But I don’t know…” She shrugged, but a smirk was hiding just behind that indifferent frown, and he wanted. He wanted her forgiveness, whatever that meant. “How about you gain a hundred more and we’ll go on a real date? Sound good? You’re not the only fat guy out there.”

She was full-on grinning now, and he missed her little games like this. He could play them, too.

“Maybe, but I bet I’m the only guy who’s gotten this fat for you,” he said. She was immediately affected by this, and he licked his lips. “You really want to wait to see me a hundred pounds bigger than this, or do you want to stick around to watch?”

Even quieter, she said, “You saying you like gaining weight? How convenient.”

So she still doubted him. He put out his hands for her to see. “Just look. Look at how fat my hands are. I can’t…” And finally his composure cracked a little. “I can’t stop. I couldn’t stop if I wanted. Even if you never talk to me again, I’m gonna gain weight.”

Any playfulness was gone now from her. She looked like she wanted him, too. “Hmm. Maybe we should go before you break that poor chair, huh?”

He blushed again. God, he was getting docile. “I’m not that bad,” he muttered. But she gave him a cruel grin. She hadn’t entirely forgiven him. “You will be.”

And he knew then: he was doomed. He was already a little bit into his own heaviness, and she was going to take that feeling and amplify it tenfold. She was going to enable every bad habit he had, watch him flounder under his increasing size and become weaker under layers and layers of fat until he could barely lift a two pound dumbbell.

He knew she wanted this to happen, and maybe he’d broken up with her before because he’d been afraid.

But he wasn’t anymore.

“Let’s go then,” he said.

*

Thank you to the reader who commissioned this work!

I'd love to write more. Check me out <3 etsy.com/shop/Chubbology

[finelinevogue]

Can you do one where Harry take his children and YN to one of his concert and their just dancing around singing along on stage with Harry.

i love this concept so much!! i kinda of wanna make it sad though soooo it’s gonna be harry’s final show :/ hope you enjoy;

oli - 29, felix - 27, belle - 24

The concert had been amazing, but unfortunately it was coming to its’ end now.

The final show.

That’s what Harry had decided to call it; a clever play on words with reference to his first ever solo single. The last 50 years had been a rollercoaster for Harry, from growing up just a kid in Cheshire, to going on the X Factor and winning the hearts of millions and from being in the most successful band of the decade to going solo and still being absolutely beloved. Times had changed, though. Harry had changed. He had a beautiful family of 3 now, excluding his wonderful wife. His children were his universe, no question about it, but they were getting older now - Harry was getting older. He was 50 this year and with that in mind he’d decided to retire. Retiring had involved a long conversation with you, along with a bottle of red wine, about whether it was the right decision or not. But it was - is.

You had suggested he put on one final, massive show, to celebrate his life and his achievements along with all that the fans have too. Tickets were open internationally and it was being streamed on various TV outlets for those who couldn’t attend. The tickets sold within 47 seconds. 47 seconds. It was being held in the Olympic Stadium in London, because it was Harry’s home and it held the most number of people he could genuinely allow.

The concert had started with ‘Fine Line’ songs, which merged into HS1 songs with a few One Direction songs as well. The entire set list had been composed by the fans with various polls on social media, with the concert supposedly lasting 2 hours (although with support artists and a few extra surprises it was more likely going to be 3!)

It had been beautiful so far. Magical. Unforgettable.

Every chance he got, without making it grossly obvious, he looked at you. He'd told you to stick your thumbs up at him every time he caught your eye, so he knew that you were okay - and every time, you did.

The concert was coming to an end now, which everyone was dreading. How could +30 years feel like it'd only been thirty minutes? You were devastated, so you could only imagine what his fans were thinking.

"Hey!"

The end Kiwi, for the second time, strummed throughout the arena and you knew it was time for the final song. His final song.

"Mum, is this the end?" Belle asked you, from where she was standing next to you. You had been dancing together all night and gotten progressively more tired. Your feet hurt. Your throats burned. Yet, as always, it was so worth it.

"Yes, Belles, it is." You tell her, and she pouted sadly. "Dad won't want to see you sad love, okay? He can still sing to you before bed?" You teased her, reminding her of a time when Harry would do such a thing, not wanting her to be all sad. It was supposed to be a celebration, but even you could admit that is was pretty hard-hitting.

"Really mum?" She asked.

You booped her nose annoyingly, before answering. "Every night if you want him to."

The lights changed from their green tone, thanks to Kiwi, back to a bright, white light. It beamed on Harry, making him look even more like the angel that he is. He dragged his microphone back to the centre stage and took a deep breath for beginning a speech he'd told you he'd prepared.

"So this is it, my friends." He laughed sadly into the microphone. He brushed his hair back and took out his in-ears to hear the audience. They were all awwing and crying, but what else did you expect? Their favourite artist was retiring - who wouldn't be crying a river?

"I, um. I'd like to take a bit of time to thank certain people." He coughed, something he always did after performing Kiwi due to his asthma. You thought it was lovely that he'd planned a speech to thank his management and crew. They did so much work backstage and you definitely didn't think they got enough credit for their hard work.

"Okay. I've made a little list..." Harry pulled out a tiny bit of crumpled paper from his pocket. "Just in case I forget anyone." He joked to himself, but made everyone laugh anyways. "So I guess first off, I should start with you lovely people." He pointed around the whole stadium, showing he was talking about the fans. "What you have done for me is indescribable. I think to myself, everyday, am I worthy of even being here—"

"Yes!" An army of agreement echoed around the arena, making Harry stop, blush and smile to himself.

"Well thank you! Um. You have been the best fans ever, and I know you will continue to be. I know you don't owe me anything, but all I ask you to keep loving yourselves and treating people with kindness, because I know I can count on you lot to do that, for me." He sniffled at the end, making you bite your lip to prevent the tears from falling for you. He looked so vulnerable right now, but you knew he'd be feeling on top of the world.

"Jheez." He sniffles again. "That's one thank you down and i'm already crying." He looked to his band to share the joke with.

“Dad’s such a wuss.” Oli laughed, holding his arm around Beas waist, making the people around you chuckle in agreement.

“Shut up you - Mr-tears-in-your-eyes!” You pointed out, laughing as he flipped you the bird - which then got him a hit off his grandma Anne.

All of Harrys family and friends were here, in a special cornered off section. It was such a thoughtful thing for Harry to do. All his family, and a fair few of yours, were sat down along with Harrys closest friends. Everyone was sharing laughs and drinks, whilst using every inch of space to dance along to your husbands boastful music.

"Secondly, my touring family. From Jeff and Ben, to Sarah's Kitchen, Adam, Mitch, Sarah, Charlotte and Nyoh, not forgetting everyone backstage and behind the lights, music and cameras. You've all been the greatest. Everything you do is second to none. You're all talented, warm-hearted, people whom I will carry in my heart forever. Thank you." You noticed members of the crew and band starting to tear up now.

"Moving on to my boys. We've been through it all, lads, and I couldn't have asked for four better brothers than you all. Louis. Liam. Niall. Zayn. Thank you." Everyone cheered ten times louder, maybe because this was as close to a One Direction reunion as the fans were ever going to get, but definitely because Harry had mentioned Zayn. You saw a girl faint at the mere mention of all the boys in the same sentence. The boys lifted up their beers to Harry, stood close by to where you were standing.

"I guess I should say thank you to the women who made all this possible. Mum. Gem. Thank you for signing me up all those years ago. Thank you for believing in me. You've made me the - crap, sorry! - the man I am now and I love you both." Harry prayed to them both, whilst bowing, and swiftly wiped away the tears afterwards. Anne and Gemma, on the other hand, were proudly crying.

"Ol, Fix and Belles. You rascals make me get out of bed every morning and give me more of a purpose in life. You four give me so much joy and happiness. I love you all, even if you do drive me up the wall on an early Saturday morning! Thank you, my loves." You stood close to all your children, giving them the support they needed in this moment. Belle was crying against your chest, the ever-so-emotional woman she was. Felix was stood up, with Heather, with his drink raised to his dad. Oli was to your side, trying to remain cool and stoic, but you still caught the tears that ran down his face.

"Now." The audience calmed down again after awing over your babies. Harry cleared his throat before beginning again. "This evening keeps on reminding me of a very special person in my life. Someone who is my everything and that's my beautiful wife, Y/N." His words make your breath hitch in your throat. You never expected him to say anything about you. I mean, what had you done?

"Mum." Belle called out to you, in affirmation that this was real.

"She's more than just a wife. She's a lover. She's my muse. She's my best-fucking-friend, apologises for swearing but sue me. I was hesitant to let go of all this, at first. What would I do with myself now? You know? People tell me i'm 'happiest on stage', and for a time that was true. Until I met Y/N. She's made me realise that family makes me the happiest. She makes me the happiest." He jumped down off stage, taking the microphone with him. He ran his hands along the fans in the front row, but had no intention of stopping until he met you.

You felt Belle leaving your side, but you were too captivated by Harry to fully understand what was happening.

"So what am I going to do now, you ask? Well..." Harry cheekily smiled at you. "I'm going to make her the happiest woman alive, just as she makes me the happiest man." You began to cry again and the chorus of thousands of fans clapping and screaming surrounds you, only to all stop when his lips meet yours. He tasted like a combination of salty sweat and mint, but he was home. After a minute of crying, kissing and 'i love yous' , Harry ran back to the stage before Jeff could shoot him.

"Thank you all. All my love." He said whilst adjusting his microphone. "Please sing along if you know the words." He asked, full well knowing every single person will be screaming out the lyrics to him.

"Just stop you're crying it's the sign of the times. Welcome to the final show. Hope you're wearing your best clothes."

[prettybuckybaby]

zero to sixty, in three-point-five

read on ao3 here

18+

“Wanna…wanna f-fuck you,” Steve mumbles into Bucky’s chest one evening. They’re basking in the post-coital bliss, tucked beneath the blankets, Steve’s damp hair tickling where his head rests on Bucky’s chest, muscular but impossibly soft.

“Yeah?” Bucky chuckles, bringing his metal hand up to thread through Steve’s hair. “You gon’ tell me about it? How you’re gonna fuck me?”

“Mmh,” Steve shifts slightly, nuzzling further into the broad expanse of Bucky’s torso. “Wanna…make you feel good,”

“Yeah? You wanna make Daddy feel good? Treat Daddy right?”

“Mmh,”

“Wanna use your body to make me feel good? Yeah?” Bucky snickers as he flips them over so he’s hovering over Steve’s body, crotches lined up and grinding against each other softly as Bucky gently rocks both of their bodies. “Gonna use your little clit to make me come? Make me come so hard and then use my body to make you come inside Daddy?”

“Nuh…no,” Steve whimpers, shaking his head. “Just…make you feel good,”

“Awe,” Bucky coos, ruffling Steve’s hair. He laughs at the way Steve scrunches his nose up. “Not even bothered about coming, Stevie? Just wanna keep going until your daddy has his fill?”

“Uh huh,” Steve nods, but he squeezes his eyes shut and covers as much of his red face as he can in the crook of his elbow. “Like…like a toy to make…make Daddy feel good,”

“Hmm,” Bucky presses a grin into Steve’s cheek, rolling his hips a little faster. “And good little toys don’t need to come, do they? Good little toys don’t need to be distracted by something as silly as an orgasm, right, sweetheart?”

“D-don’t need to come, just…just Daddy. Need Daddy’s come, please,”

“Hmm,” Bucky purrs into Steve’s neck. “You’d be such a good toy for Daddy, doll face.”

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

They don’t talk about it in bed the next morning like Steve thinks they would. He wakes up to the smell of pancakes drifting through the house, the sound of Bucky humming along to the music that is playing, the music that Peter introduced them too that Steve cannot stand but Buck seems to have taken a shine to. He groans as he rolls out of his bed, picking up one of Bucky’s hoodies off the floor and pulling it over his head. He stumbles as he tries to step into a pair of boxers. He’s only slightly disgusted that he doesn’t know whose they are.

He staggers into the kitchen, stifling a yawn, and plasters himself against Bucky’s back. The other man groans playfully at the added weight but doesn’t make any move to get Steve off him.

“Mornin’, Stevie,” Bucky chuckles, deep with sleep. Steve mewls as he tries to burrow himself into Bucky’s skin.

“Mmhm ‘addy,”

“Still sleepin’, bunny?” Steve hums softly. “That’s okay. You want some coffee?”

---

They don’t talk about what Steve said when he was half awake and half floating after they’ve eaten breakfast and have both woken up more. They don’t talk about it on their run, or in the shower after their run, or even while they’re making out on the couch in the early afternoon, ignoring the film they had started watching.

They don’t talk about it the day after, or the day after that, or even the day after that. He’s not worried that Bucky has forgotten about it, Buck never forgets anything that Steve says. He doesn’t think that Bucky has forgotten, but Bucky normally brings these things up, whether it’s in casual conversation or as a negotiation, but Bucky seems content to forget all about it. Or, at least, not talk about it.

Steve cannot forget all about it.

He’s not sure why it’s bothering him so much. It’s not like he’s never topped before. Fair enough, they don’t switch positions often, and they never switch their roles, but Steve has fucked Bucky on many occasions. So it’s not like it’s something he’s nervous about, there’s no reason for him to be so worked up, but there’s…something. Some sort of energy buzzing under his skin and he can’t get the thoughts out of his head.

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

It turns out Bucky has absolutely not forgotten about it. In fact, once they get started, it’s pretty clear he’s been thinking about it a lot.

It takes a few weeks for it to come up, and at first Steve isn’t even aware it’s happening. He comes back home from a late lunch with Sam and Bucky is sat on their couch, dressed in his workout gear, loose t-shirt and baggy shorts, beer in his hand. Steve frowns slightly at the sight, confused. He knows Bucky hasn’t been to the gym today and he knows Bucky’s showered within the past hour or so, can smell the hints of coconut from the fancy shampoo Bucky insists they buy. His hair is pulled into a low bun at the back of his head, a few strands falling loose and framing his face. But Bucky never really wears his gym stuff outside of the gym, only when they…oh. Only when they’re playing.

He’s already ready to go. Zero to sixty in three-point-five.

“You’re back,” Bucky murmurs, not taking his eyes off the hockey game that is playing on the television. He doesn’t look up, but he does frown. “You’re overdressed. Fix it,” Steve swallows down a whine that threatens to burst out of his throat, closes his eyes, takes a moment and breathes deeply. It’s the first order he’s been given and it’s far too early to embarrass himself. Bucky clears his throat, and that’s when Steve realises he hasn’t made a move yet, hasn’t even started to kick his shoes off. He swallows again as he begins to strip off, making sure to do it the way Bucky likes even though the other man isn’t watching him, has turned all his attention back to the game. He takes the time to fold each piece of his clothing how he knows Bucky expects him to, placing them neatly on the table by the door. Steve’s barely put the pile down before Bucky is snapping his fingers and pointing at the floor between his spread legs. He takes one step before Bucky clicks his tongue.

“S…sorry, Daddy,”

“Hmm,” Bucky hums, unconvinced, eyes still glued to the game. “Goin’ dumb already? Forgettin’ the rules so quickly?” His voice is laced in mock disappointment, a voice that serves only one purpose: fluster Steve. Steve whines softly as his cheeks heat up, body making a quiet thud against the carpet as he falls to his knees. He crawls over to Bucky slowly.

Bucky doesn’t even look down at him when he settles between Bucky’s legs, just puts his hand not holding the beer into Steve’s hair, tugging his hair back sharply. He snorts when Steve breathes in abruptly through his teeth.

“Get me out,” Bucky sighs, moving his hand down the back of Steve’s head and tugging on the lobe of his ear. “Ten minutes of the game left. Wanna come before it’s finished,”

“Yes, Daddy,” Steve murmurs, bringing his hands up to the waistband of Bucky’s shorts. He pulls them down swiftly, lets himself nuzzle against his daddy’s cock when it’s exposed. He feels Bucky twitch against his cheek, the only suggestion that Bucky isn’t as cool and calm as he pretends to be.

“Nine minutes,” Bucky’s voice sounds further away than it did before, clouded by the fog already settling in in Steve’s head. “Better hurry up, slut. Don’t wanna disappoint me, do you?”

“No,” He doesn’t need Bucky to verbalise any sort of threat, doesn’t have to hear what Buck will do if Steve doesn’t manage to obey. He whimpers suddenly when Bucky fists his hand through Steve’s hair again and tugs backwards harshly. Bucky’s eyes are hard when they meet Steve’s. Steve tries his hardest not to let his eyes close as he sobs. “Daddy! No, Daddy! ‘M sorry,”

“Good.” Bucky lets go of his hair again, turns back to the tv without sparing Steve another glance. “Eight minutes, thirty-seven,”

Steve’s not sure he’s even been so hard so quickly. It’s a mixture of the pain and the way Bucky is ignoring him, using him to get off but not giving him any attention. He doesn’t really know, isn’t sure, how he’s meant to get through the scene without coming until he’s giving permission.

He tries to distract himself as he sucks Bucky’s cock, but with the way his mind is getting foggier the longer he’s on his knees, he’s finding it difficult to focus on anything beyond the cock in his mouth. It’s heavy and hot and fills him up so nicely. He loves the way Bucky feels inside him, anyway at all, but if someone held a gun to his head and told him to choose, he’s probably say this is his favourite way. There’s just something so… nice about being on his knees in front of the man he loves, choking and spluttering and gagging on his cock, making Bucky feel good, not having to focus on anything except for pleasing his man.

It takes him off guard when Bucky spills down his throat, whatever grunts he makes muffled by the opening of the beer bottle in his mouth. Steve sighs happily when Bucky pulls him off his cock, making small, confused, pouty noises when Bucky pushes him back down, further. Steve mouths at the underside of his daddy’s cock, unsure what he’s expecting him to do. Bucky just laughs softly, keeps pushing Steve’s head, down the length of his cock and past his balls and oh.

Bucky’s laugh is breathy when he hears Steve’s broken whimper, feels Steve’s eyes fluttering against his thigh.

“You gonna get Daddy ready?” Bucky asks. He lifts one of his legs off the floor, stepping out of his shorts and setting his foot on the table next to where he’s set down his beer. Steve whimpers as the new position gives him more access to his daddy’s hole. “Yeah, that’s it,” Bucky encourages as Steve starts to lick, his laps growing more confident with Bucky’s low moans. “Such a good little toy,”

“Mmh,”

“Good,” Bucky shuffles slightly, bringing his hips forward. Steve moves with him, easy with the change of angle. “Give Daddy a finger, come on,”

Steve is…Steve is in heaven. He’s slow as he pushes a single finger into Bucky’s tight heat, moans even louder than Bucky does at the sensation. He’s slow, treats Bucky right, crooks his finger just right to rub over the bundle that he knows will drive his daddy wild and is rewarded with the most beautiful sound he thinks he’ll ever hear; a low groan of a noise, a deep rumble, a happy daddy sound and Steve ups his effort to make Bucky make more of those sounds. He takes his time but he still goes at Buck’s speed, adding another finger when he rumbles out “Another, Steve, c’mon,”.He laps around where Bucky’s rim is stretched around three of Steve’s fingers, not stopping even when he feels his spit drooling down his chin, dropping onto his own tits.

He lets out an embarrassingly high-pitched whine when Bucky pushes him back, bare foot pushing against his shoulder, not hard but firm enough that Steve can’t really push back against it, knows it won’t be well received. His face flushes when Bucky chuckles. He glances up, and it’s not fair how unaffected Bucky looks; his pupils are blown and there’s barely any blue in his eyes, but beyond that and the slight pink blush on his cheeks, barely noticeable if you’re not Steve, Bucky looks the same as he did when Steve stepped into their house. Even as he’s still got three of Steve’s fingers buried inside of him.

“You want somethin’, sugar?” Bucky asks, voice light with laughter. Steve’s own voice is barely above a whisper.

“Please,”

“Aw,” It’s almost effortless, the way Bucky changes from carefree and laughing to downright mocking Steve, cruel grin lighting up his face. “Stevie, you gotta problem down there?” He nods down to Steve’s cock, standing proud and deep red. Steve’s cheeks heat up to match the colour, and his eyes drop, trying to hide. Bucky purses his lips, clicks his tongue, and then makes Steve sob. “You think you’re gonna be able to last long enough to fuck Daddy?”

“Daddy!”

“Uh huh,” Bucky nods, frowning somewhat. He sighs, put on, when Steve peers back up at him. “I thought this might happen,” He smiles sympathetically, carding his fingers gently through Steve’s hair. “Got you a present to help you though, Stevie. What do we say?” He sounds so genuine, is the thing, like he was actually worried about Steve not managing and he actually wanted to help. Later, Steve will curse himself for falling for the act, falling into the trap Bucky set up so perfectly. For now, though, he smiles drowsily up at Bucky.

“Thank…thank you, Daddy,” It’s this moment that Bucky’s smirk comes back, big and cruel, and Steve realises his mistake. He swallows.

“You’re very welcome, baby,” Bucky pushes Steve back further, snickering at the look of Steve’s face when his fingers slide out with a wet sound. “Come on, come to the bedroom,” He helps Steve to his feet, steadying him when he stumbles slightly. Steve lets out a soft, happy moan when Bucky pulls him forwards, velvety lips meeting his own, moving together sweetly. He blinks heavily when Bucky pulls away, eyes clearing to see the amused look on Bucky’s face. “C’mon, doll. Don’t go dumb on me just yet. You’ve got a job to do,” He grins as he takes Steve’s hand in his own, tugging him up the stairs and towards their bedroom. Steve lets out a surprised gasp when Bucky suddenly pushes him backwards, big paw of a hand right in the middle of Steve’s chest, pressing him onto the bed. Bucky laughs and Steve swallows when Bucky kisses his cheek. He knows Bucky so well, better than anyone else in the world, and he knows what that kiss means. He’s not going to like what’s coming up. He’s going to love it, sure, but he’s not going to like it. Bucky’s clever like that. “Still w’ me, Stevie?” His head nods without him having to think, his voice horse.

“Gr’n, Daddy,”

“Good,” Bucky coos, patting his cheek just a little more than gently but not enough to sting. A love tap, in Bucky’s books. “You stay here, Daddy’s gonna go and get your gift, ‘kay?”

“Mmh’kay, Daddy,”

“Good boy,” He tracks Bucky’s movements until he’s deep inside their closet, hidden by the walls. Steve lets his eyes drift shut, trying to focus on the sound of Bucky pottering around, trying to calm himself down. He tries not to think about the gift that Bucky has gotten him, sure that it’s not going to be as nice as Bucky is making it out to be. He’s fairly certain that it will be some sort of ring, something to stop him coming as soon as he’s inside Bucky, something that can help him last. He understands, it’s entirely likely that as soon as he’s settled inside Bucky he won’t be able to help himself, but Bucky knows as well as Steve does that coming won’t stop him. They can both go six, seven, even eight times in one night at a push, barely going soft in between, so it’s not like coming too soon is going to prevent him from pleasing Bucky. But the thing with the cock ring, what he’s assuming Bucky is aiming for, is that Steve gets so impossibly sensitive with the ring on, unable to come but getting desperate to. It never fails to entertain Bucky when Steve gets like that. So, he assumes that’s what Bucky’s going to do.

He’s startled when Bucky clears his throat. His eyes fly open to meet Bucky’s, apology already on the tip of his tongue, but Bucky just smiles, cuts him off.

“Hi, baby,” His voice is sweet, more so than usual when the ring makes an appearance, and makes Steve second guess his assumptions. He still moans, though.

“Daddy…” Bucky chuckles as he makes his way over to the bed, crawling up Steve’s body until they’re face to face. He’s lost the rest of his clothes while he’s been gone, body beautifully bare and right up against Steve and Steve’s fairly sure this is an attempt on his life. It’s the only explanation. That’s Bucky’s aim for today’s play, and Steve is more than okay with anything Bucky wants. If Daddy wants it, Daddy can have it.

“You wanna see what I got you?”

“Please,” Steve whines, trying to stop his hips from humping up against Bucky’s solid thigh but it’s hard. Bucky’s thigh’s right there and Steve can feel it and it takes everything in him keep his hips down. Bucky grins, holding himself up with his metal arm, body hovering effortlessly. It’s not fair.

“I know you wanna make Daddy feel good, but ‘M just a lil worried that you won’t be able to last, doll,” He frowns mockingly as his right-hand slips between their bodies and flicks the head of Steve’s cock. He grins gleefully when Steve’s cock spurts a little. “See what I mean?” He laughs cruelly when Steve’s face glows red. “And I just wanna help you do what you want to do,” Steve’s fully expecting the ring. It’s the only thing in his head that makes any sense, so he’s a bit confused when Bucky just holds a dildo up. The confusion must be clear on his face, because Bucky’s grin turns into a sly smirk. Steve whimpers when Bucky turns the toy so the hollow base is visible. It suddenly clicks in Steve’s head. That’s going on his…yeah. This is definitely an attempt on his life. Bucky’s out to kill him. “Aren’t I the best Daddy, Stevie? Helping you like this?” Bucky laughs when Steve starts crying.

“Daddy!”

“You don’t sound very grateful, doll face,” Bucky frowns mockingly, lips pouting out slightly. “If you wanna make Daddy feel good, he deserves as long as he wants, right? You don’t wanna disappoint me, do you? Don’t wanna fill me up too soon so I can’t feel you?”

“Wanna…” Steve swallows as he shakes his head quickly. “Wanna make Daddy feel good,”

“Yeah, I thought so,” Bucky nods, huffing out a laugh. “You’ll be good and let me put this on you, yeah?” He doesn’t wait for Steve to respond, just lifts his hips up high enough that he can slip the straps of the harness around Steve’s waist. He pushes Steve hips back down when the straps are flat under his body, bringing them around the front and attaching one side to the ring at the end of the dildo. Steve doesn’t know where he found the time to reach for the lube, but when Bucky’s hand wraps around the length of his cock, it’s wet and warm and Steve’s in heaven. Or hell, judging by the sob that forces its way out of his throat.

Bucky’s hand moves up and down only twice before the toy is being lowered down over his cock. He whimpers when Bucky attaches the strap to the other side of the ring and tightens it, using his finger to make sure the material isn’t digging into Steve’s hips. Steve watches this time as Bucky reaches for the lube, putting more onto his hand and bringing his hand down to Steve’s cock.

He feels…disconnected. From his own body. He’s watching as Bucky’s hand moves up and down slowly, twisting just the way that Steve loves. He’s watching it happen, but he can’t feel it. Bucky snickers cruelly before he takes his hand away. He rolls over and settles against the pillows, shuffling back until he’s comfortable. He turns to Steve and raises his eyebrow.

“Come on then, toy,” Steve whimpers at the name, fighting to keep his eyes open. “Come and make me feel good. Do your job,” Steve’s slow as he makes his way over to Bucky, climbs up his body and holds himself up with one of his hands. He uses the other to steady the toy, line it up with Bucky’s hole. He knows Bucky can take it, has had Steve’s fingers in him for the better part of an hour, but he still goes slowly, lets Bucky feel every inch of the toy, of him, entering him. He wiggles only slightly as he bottoms out, snivelling at the sound of Bucky’s low groan as he gets used to the intrusion.

“Move,” He grunts out, tangling his hands in Steve’s hair and tightening them only slightly, enough to pull Steve’s head backwards to encourage him to move. “This is just what you wanted, right?” He groans out, grinning at the broken whimper that comes out of Steve’s mouth. “Just to be a toy for your Daddy’s pleasure, not distracted by that tiny clit between your legs?” Steve’s skin burns right down his body, his chest ablaze with the feeling Bucky is creating for him. “Maybe…maybe next time you can…you can be a pretty little flesh light for me. Nice and tight and-” He gasps sharply as Steve rocks forward sharply, right into his prostate. “-and hot, bouncing up an’ down on my cock like a lil bunny, pleasing me so well. Just like now,”

“Dad-ddy,” Steve whines, tears falling down his face and falling onto Bucky beneath him. Bucky frowns at the sound, pouting and widening his eyes.

“Oh, that’s not a happy noise,” He mocks, brushing Steve’s hair out of his face. He grips Steve’s chin, forces his face up, making his eyes meet his. “Doesn’t Daddy feel good, Stevie? You don’t sound like he feels good,”

“Daddy!” Steve sobs loudly, hips stuttering and face trying to fall into Bucky’s shoulder. The other man doesn’t let him hide, keeping his grip strong in the fringe of Steve’s hair and on his chin. Bucky is cruel, Steve realises, so terribly cruel. He knows what Bucky is doing, how he’s trying to make Steve feel and it’s working so well. Bucky keeps frowning.

“You’re making Daddy feel inadequate, baby. It’s my job to make you feel good. Is Daddy doing a bad job? Does Daddy not feel good?” It’s the most delicious mindfuck Steve has ever felt. He whines as Bucky looks at him expectantly, knowing what he wants him to say.

“Feel…” Steve gulps harshly, eyes closing and breathing going deep. His voice is quiet when he continues, breaking on each word. “Feels so good,” He opens his eyes again just in time to see Bucky’s smirk slowly grow.

“Good, baby,” He coos, letting go of Steve’s chin and instead patting him mockingly on the cheek. “I’m glad you’re feelin’ good. Makes me feel like a good Daddy, knowin’ that I’m pleasin’ you.” Steve groans, his hips stuttering again and resting flush against Bucky’s. The other man pinches the skin of Steve’s hip with a tut, causing him to yelp before continuing his movements. “Don’t ruin it, toy. You’ve been fuckin’ me so good, so well, make me feel so good, you better not stop now,”

“Won’t!” Steve gasps out, lifting himself back up and continuing his thrusts, harder and deeper than before, doing his best to please Bucky.

“Fuck,” The other man groans, fingers digging into Steve’s hips unintentionally with the pleasure. “Right there, toy, fuck,” Steve moans in tandem with Bucky, hips rolling forwards and slapping against Bucky’s skin, even if he can’t feel anything. He didn’t expect this to do it for him, not so much, but seeing the pleasure he’s giving Bucky without feeling anything? He’s feeling disconnected from his body in the best way.

The first time Bucky comes, Steve isn’t expecting it. He hasn’t noticed Bucky’s hand sneaking down in between them and starting to squeeze, to pull at himself. Bucky groans through it, not stopping his hand and not telling Steve to pause in his movements, milking the come out of himself.

“Keep going,” Bucky’s breathing is a little heavier than before, eyes still closed in pleasure. Steve imagines the way that Bucky would feel around him if he didn’t have this damn toy on, the way he would be clenching around him as he comes, the tight heat, the wet slide.

Steve’s so lost in his head he doesn’t notices that Bucky’s coming again, so soon after the last one. The noise he makes is more high pitched this time, the sensation of Steve still fucking into him quickly becoming too much when paired with the two successive orgasms.

“Wait,” He gasps, hands gripping Steve’s shoulders, stilling his movements. “Stop, toy,” His eyes are still closed, breathing heavily and voice mumbled. “Finished using you, finished playing,”

Bucky takes longer than he strictly needs to catch his breath, perfectly happy to watch at Steve squirms and whines and tries to get his attention. When he’s got his breath back, he rolls out from under Steve, manhandling him until he’s lying on his back with his hands gripping the bed frame, pressing down on them so Steve knows to keep them there. He himself lays on his side, facing his baby, letting his cheek rest on the palm of his hand. He’s slow as he undoes the straps of the harness, unclipping them and unthreading them from the base of the toy, but leaving the dildo over Steve’s cock. The other man chokes on a sob when Bucky slowly jacks the toy, eyes shining.

“Since you’re just a toy, you don’t need to come, right?” Bucky practically purrs, giddy in the afterglow of his orgasms, feasting off the whines Steve is producing. “That’s what you said to me, right? ‘Don’t need to come!’” He pitches his voice high, nasally, using it to taunt and embarrass Steve, grinning when he squeezes his eyes shut, turning his face away from Bucky to hide in his arms. Bucky just reaches out and grips his chin, hard, forcing his eyes open and to look at him. “’Just need Daddy’s come!’ That’s what you told me, yeah?”

“Don’t…don’t need to come,” Steve parrots, moans, low and broken, voice heavy with tears.

“But…” Steve perks up slightly when Bucky’s fingers leave his chin and reach down from the toy, lifting it slowly, so so slowlyoff Steve’s cock and letting it fall to the floor with a quiet thud. “That looks painful, Stevie,” Bucky coos as he nods at Steve’s cock, encouraging him to look down at it. Steve whimpers when he sees it, deep red and ever so stiff and leaking so much. “And ‘M not a cruel Daddy, am I, baby?”

“No, Nuh-uh,” Steve shakes his head as he answers quickly. “The…the best Daddy-”

“Yeah, I know,” Bucky laughs, holding a finger over Steve’s lips to get him to be quiet. “I’m not cruel, not gonna make you sleep like that, all heavy and full, so I’ll give you a choice,”

“Wha…”

“Hush,” Bucky shushes him, but not harshly, a complete contrast to the next words that come out of his mouth. “A choice. I can go and get the ice, or you can have a ruin.”

“No!” Steve wails. He sobs as Bucky smirks down at him, raising an eyebrow. “Please, Daddy, I-”

“You are just a toy.” Bucky sneers, slapping his hand down harshly on the meat of Steve’s tit, scoffing at the shrieking noise that Steve fails to hold in. “You’re my toy. And I’m bein’ gracious enough to give you a choice, Steven. I’m being nice. I don’t haveta be,” He uses the same hand that he slapped Steve with to tug at his nipple instead. “You got three seconds to make a choice, or Daddy’ll make it for you. And Daddy’s startin’ to lose his patience,” Steve sobs at the sing-song tone in Bucky’s voice, the way his eyes are shining. He tries his best to think about which of the two options are the best, which one will hurt less but his mind doesn’t seem to want to work. He’s struggling to think beyond the pinch of Bucky’s metal fingers on his nipples and the ache in his cock, that’s heavy and purpling and weeping and-

“Wanna-” His voice breaks around the word, throat impossibly dry. “Wanna empty, please,”

“Good choice,” Bucky finally relents on Steve’s tits, rearranging himself so he’s on his back and leaning against the stack of pillows. He holds his right hand over Steve’s mouth. “Lick,” He tells him, voice sounding bored, while his attention focuses on turning the tv on and flicking through the channels. When he’s decided that his hand is wet enough, he clenches it into a loose fist and holds it above Steve’s cock, just high enough that Steve will have to struggle to fuck up into without the use of his hands. “Get on with it, then,” Bucky says, voice light like he’s not interested, like he’s paying attention to the dumb reality show that he’s landed on. Steve knows it’s just an act, but God is Bucky the star of the show, the best actor Steve has ever seen, playing a role that was literally written for him. It’s an act, but it works so well, spurs Steve on to do a good job, to please his daddy.

Steve whimpers almost continuously as he thrusts his hips up, having to plant his feet into the mattress to get any sort of stimulation from Bucky’s loose hand. He’s close embarrassingly quickly, despite not having had his cock touched for more than a few seconds at the start of their scene. He tries to tell Bucky this, but the words won’t come out of his mouth.

Bucky doesn’t need the words though. He never has, has always been able to read Steve like he’s his favourite book, cover well worn and pages becoming tattered with the amount of thumbing through that has happened. He doesn’t even look at Steve as he tightens his hand, starts jacking up and down quickly. Steve’s mouth drops open but no sound comes out. He tries, tries to warn Bucky, he’s right on the edge, is teetering over, is starting to-

Bucky takes his hand away.

Steve sobs, loud and uninhibited, tears pouring out of his eyes at the sudden loss of sensation. He’s vaguely aware of one of Bucky’s paws on his chest, holding him down and stopping him thrusting up in any capacity. He can’t focus on anything, there’s nothing to ground him, to take him away from this feeling of anguish he is feeling.

He stops coming at some point, can feel his dick twitch as it finishes, leaving him feeling empty but terribly unsatisfied, an achy buzz he can’t escape from.

He can’t focus on anything, mind floating somewhere a million miles from earth. He can feel the vibrations of someone, Daddy, talking, whispering into his skin as something warm glides over Steve’s body. He can’t make out the individual words his daddy is saying, but he can feel the smiles, the soft kisses being littered across his warm skin.

When he lands again, he’s not sure how much time has passed. He’s face down on the bed, still naked, but he can feel his hair is damp, can smell the coconut of the shampoo. There are fingers dancing up and down the expanse of his back. He lets out a hoarse giggle.

“You back w’ me, Stevie?” Bucky whispers, hands stilling for a moment before they continue their journey up and down Steve’s back. Steve can’t answer with more than a hum but does turn his face and blinks owlishly up at Bucky. “There he is, my gorgeous boy,”

“Daddy…”

“The most beautiful boy. The best boy, best I could ever ask for. You were so good for me, Stevie,” Bucky smiles into Steve’s hair as he presses kisses into the softness. Steve presses into the feeling, squirming and wriggling on the bed, trying to get closer to Bucky. The other man chuckles at him, using one of his legs to hook over Steve’s, pulling him until he’s lying right on top of Bucky’s body, hairs tickling Bucky’s nose.

“Mhmm,” Steve sighs, nuzzling his cheek into Bucky’s chest.

“You’re like a damn cat, Stevie.”

Steve purrs happily.

[seijorhi]

Thirty Seven Seconds

Soulmate AU commission for @pokemonfreak666, hope you like it, bby!

Bakugou Katsuki x Female Reader, Kirishima Eijiro x Female Reader

TW non-con, minor character death, nsfw

Part II

It’s funny how easily the things you think are important get pushed aside and forgotten when everything goes to shit.

For over twenty years you’ve watched the timers on your wrists slowly tick down, day by day, hour by hour, second by second. Separated only by a fraction of a second, counting down to the exact moment you’d meet your soulmates. And for as long as you can remember, those two timers have meant everything to you.

Twenty-four hours out, and you could barely focus, buzzing with nervous anticipation.

Twelve hours. Six. An hour and forty five. Down the timers tick.

Nine minutes.

Five and a half.

Two. 

It’s hard to describe the almost dizzying excitement you felt walking down the street, your arm looped with your friend’s. Giddy and grinning like a fool, it’d felt like nothing in the world could possibly touch you - you were moments away from meeting the ones - your soulmates, your happily ever after. 

And even though the timers never lied, you couldn’t help but keep your eyes peeled, desperately searching for an early glimpse of them while your friend (two months away from meeting her own) just rolled her eyes and laughed good-naturedly. 

Thirty seven seconds out, and the ground shook as an explosion ripped through the sky.

Funnily enough, you don’t remember too much after that. Just a wave of searing heat, an aftershock that knocks you clean off your feet and the sound of your best friend screaming.

There’s a hard body colliding with yours, the smell of burnt sugar and musk choking the air around you-

“Oi, shitty hair, get the other one!”

And then there’s nothing.

—

You wake up in the hospital hours later and a nurse with a sombre face tells you that your friend didn’t make it, and for the first time in years your soulmates are the furthest thing from your mind.

It was a villain attack, some no-name wannabe trying to make a reputation for himself. It doesn’t really matter, you don’t really care. 

It’s all white noise.

She tells you that you have visitors if you’re feeling up to it - the two Pro Heroes who rescued you stuck around to come see if you were okay, but you just shake your head. 

It’s not their fault, you know that, but the timers stopped ticking and your best friend died and you’re honestly not sure whether you’ll ever be able to reconcile those two things in your head. 

You spend just under a week in hospital, and every day they come to see you.

They never make it past the nurses station.

—

Two days after you’re discharged, there’s a rough pounding at your front door. 

You know, even before you glance through the peephole that it’s them. And even with your hand resting on the doorknob, your heart hammering away inside of your chest, there’s a part of you that wants to walk away, to shut them out entirely until they get the message that you’re not interested.

But it’s not their fault, you remind yourself, and you can’t be cruel.

Tentatively, you twist the knob and let the door swing open just a touch, catching on the chain deadbolt. 

The sight of the two towering Pro Heroes - Dynamight and Red Riot, unmistakable even out of their Hero costumes - standing out in the hall would be enough to set anybody on edge, but it’s the way their gazes snap towards you, red eyes zeroing in like you’ve caught them in the middle of a conversation that makes your heart squeeze uncomfortably.

They know. They have to. 

“H-hello?”

The blond’s still scowling, but the redhead (Kirishima, a voice inside your head supplies. He was your friend’s favourite, wasn’t he?) grins brightly at you.

“Hey babe! Y’know, you’re one tough chick to get ahold of,” he laughs, and your eyes flicker to Bakugou’s just in time to see the muscle in his jaw twitch. “Mind if we come in, sweetheart?”

Your stomach twists at the casual endearment, even more so when you catch sight of the pink and red flowers in his hand.

The polite thing to do would be to say yes; soulmates or not they did technically save your life and they deserve that much at least, but you just- 

You can’t. 

Not when you buried your friend yesterday. You need time. You need space. You’re just not in the right place and now… you’re not sure if you ever will be.

Swallowing tightly, you nibble on your bottom lip, “Um… look, I-I’m really sorry, but-”

“Nah, fuck this shit,” Bakugou snaps. “Move,” and you have all of a split second to process the command before his foot’s on the door and it’s splintering inwards, ripping the deadbolt clean off.

A shriek tears its way free as you flinch in on yourself, and vaguely you register Kirishima loudly chastising him, but you can’t focus on that when the blond’s hand is on your arm, fingers digging in, dragging you unceremoniously inside.

“Shut up, Kiri. ‘m not gonna let her push us away because she’s too fuckin’ stubborn for her own good.”

And then those red, glaring eyes are fixed on you, and it feels like you’re a little rabbit, caught in the maw of a hungry wolf. “What are you- stop!” you cry as he painfully yanks you forward again, this time in the direction of your open bedroom. 

But Bakugou doesn’t listen, doesn’t even pause, and despite his earlier protests, neither does Kirishima.

It’s too fast, too sudden- 

Your heart is pounding, fear gripping at your throat, squeezing. You don’t understand what’s happened, why they’ve forced their way inside your home, why they’re hurting you.

“Wait, please! I-I don’t-”

“You don't what, princess?! You’re our soulmate, aren’t you?” he snarls, and you can only sob. “Then just…” he breaks off with a frustrated huff, “just shut up and enjoy this.”

Against two Pro Heroes, you never stood a chance. 

It’s all too easy for Kiri to manhandle you back onto the bed, impossibly strong arms encircling your torso, drawing you back to prop you up against his chest while Bakugou busies himself with your lower half. Clothes are ripped off of you, greedy hands palming at exposed flesh, and you choke on another sob as heated red eyes gaze up at you from between your forcibly spread thighs.

The first lick of his tongue against your sex has you keening, writhing against the redhead’s grip. It’s useless - Kiri has no intentions of letting you go anywhere, and Bakugou only growls, fingers tightening on the meat of your thighs as he pushes his tongue further between your folds.

He eats you out like a man starved - sucking and slurping gracelessly at your cunt, messily, with no rhythm or technique, fucking his tongue into you while you shake and tearfully beg for him to stop. Yet you can’t fight the shameful warmth that burns at your cheeks, the way your toes curl and your breath stutters when he decides to add two fingers into the mix.

“Please,” you sniffle, choking back another moan as his tongue wraps around your clit and he suckles the swollen bud, but neither one of your soulmates pays the cry any heed.

You can feel Kiri’s own hardening cock nudging at your lower back as he plays with your tits, cooing at you and laughing when he rolls your nipple between his thumb and forefinger just as Bakugou’s fingers hit that sensitive bundle of nerves and you scream, shaking and trembling in his grip.

“Yeah, you like that baby? You like Bakugou eating your pussy out?” His lips trail along the curve of your neck, sucking hot, wet, open mouthed kisses against the tender flesh while he ruts his hips against you. “Don’t go all shy on us now, wanna hear how good we’re making our pretty girl feel.” 

And while his fingers relentlessly pump into your dripping cunt, Bakugou pulls back, lower jaw shining and wet with your juices, and grins, “Course she fuckin’ likes it. Little slut’s practically clamping down on my tongue with how badly she wants to cum.” His smirk deepens, something dark and feral burning in those crimson depths as his tongue darts out to lick at his lips, “But we’re just getting started, aren’t we princess? Gonna fuck you till you’re a drooling fucking mess, begging for your soulmates’ cocks, and you’re gonna love every damned second of it.”

Trapped between the two of them - your soulmates, the two people on earth who’re supposed to love you, protect you - you can only sob.

[yelena-bellova]

Safe Haven: tfatws!Bucky Barnes x fem!reader - Chapter Three

chapter two - Chapter Three: Ceasefire - chapter four

Series Masterlist

Plot: Bucky, Sam and Y/n visit Baltimore and unearth a long kept, heartbreaking secret. Bucky and Y/n’s tension comes to a head when they meet with Dr. Raynor.

Word Count: 7.3k

Warnings: spoilers for episode. 2, angst, language, racial undertones, racial profiling, PTSD, mention of torture, mention of suicide, fluffy angst, Walker is an asshole and Y/n is a bad bitch, the start of the slow burn 🔥

A/N: This shit was heavy to write because of the subject matter so hopefully the fluff towards the end makes up for all the angst I’m about to put you through lol. Honestly, it’s so hard to write this series not having the ending of the show yet 😂 Like I’m trying to build this and I know where I need it to go but it all depends on the show. This week’s episode was 👀 and I’m already drafting in my head. Anyways, enjoy!

----

Military craft bathrooms, I had found out, were not an ideal place to apply makeup.

I had woken up in the early morning hours stiff, achy and with a deep purple bruise on my cheek. I’d done my best to conceal it as to not attract attention wherever Bucky was taking us, but I wasn’t a magician.

Sam and I had yet to speak about me going home, but the tense exchange we’d shared before I passed out still hung over us. It wasn’t like we’d never fought, but the reasoning had never been over one of our lives being endangered. I didn’t want to leave him, but it was futile to argue the point.

The neighborhood that we were passing through didn’t look all that different from New Orleans. Bucky still had yet to tell us who we were here to see, only that it was important that Sam met him. I was done asking questions and trailed behind them on the sidewalk, my hands shoved in my jacket pockets and my head hung in defeat. I’d tried to do the superhero thing and failed miserably.

“Hey, it’s Black Falcon! What’s up?” “It’s just Falcon, kid,” Sam replied to the boy sat in front of a chain-linked fence with his friend.

“No, no, my daddy told me it’s Black Falcon,” the kid insisted. 

Sam stopped in front of them, “Is it because I’m black and I’m the Falcon?” “Well, technically, I mean, yes,” he shrugged. “So are you, like, Black Kid?” The kid’s friend burst into laughter and Sam did the same, “I got him, right?”

“Whatever, man…” the kid sat down, I was just about to pass him when he stopped me, “Are you a superhero too?” Sam stopped and looked back at me, his lips pressed in a thin frown. His eyes were sympathetic but I wasn’t in any mood to discuss my unsuccessful attempt to enter his world. I gave a sad smile to the kid, “No, I’m not.” I patted his shoulder and left, Sam chose to walk with me instead of ahead of me.

Bucky was already on the house’s front porch when we climbed the stairs, he banged on the door marked with a ‘No Trespassing’ sign. We waited a few seconds before it opened to reveal a boy, 16 or 17 maybe.

“We’re here to see Isaiah,” Bucky said. “Nobody named Isaiah live here,” the teen replied.

“Look, we just want to talk to him,” Bucky gently pushed.

“You must not hear what I just said, you ain’t getting in this house. Ya’ll can leave now.” Bucky dropped his head and shut his eyes, looking as if what he was about to say pained him. “Tell him the guy from the bar in Goyang is here,” his voice dropped, “He’s gonna know what that means.”

The boy’s eyes bounced between the three of us before backing away from the door, “All right, wait here.” “Nice kid,” Sam commented once he was gone, “How do you know this guy?” “I used to, we had a skirmish during the Korean War,” Bucky explained. The screened door opened once again to reveal the teen, “Today’s your lucky day. He said he wanna see for himself.”

Bucky led the way inside followed by Sam and I. Where the living room met the dining room was where a tall, grey haired black man stood. “Isaiah,” Bucky greeted him as we stepped inside. “Look at you,” Isaiah said, taking cautious steps toward Bucky. “This is, uh, Sam. Sam, this is Isaiah,” Bucky raised his hand toward the man, “He was a hero. One of the ones that HYDRA feared the most, like Steve. We met in ’51.”

“If by met, you mean I whupped your ass, then, yeah,” Isaiah interrupted to correct Bucky’s inaccurate storytelling. “We heard whispers he was on the peninsula, but everyone they sent after him, never came back. So the U.S. military dropped me behind the line to go deal with him,” he spat the last part of the sentence. “I took half that metal arm in that fight in Goyang, but I see he’s managed to grow it back. I just wanted to see if he got the arm back or if he’d come to kill me.” I watched over Sam’s shoulder as Bucky shook his head. “I’m not a killer anymore,” his voice hitched slightly.

“You think you can wake up one day and decide who you wanna be? It doesn’t work like that,” Isaiah’s voice hardened, “Well, maybe it does for folks like you.” There was a pause as Bucky collected himself before we got to the heart of the matter, “Isaiah, the reason we’re here is because there’s more of you and me out there.” 

“You and me…” Isaiah seethed, his eyes boring into Bucky.

“And we need to know how…” “I’m not gonna talk about it anymore,” Isaiah growled before picking up a metal tin and flinging it across the room. Sam threw an arm out to shield me but the tin lodged itself in the wooden paneling of the walls. With that power at his age, Isaiah was undoubtably a Super Soldier. 

He took deliberate steps toward us till he stood only a foot away from Bucky. “You know what they did to me for being a hero? They put my ass in jail,” Isaiah’s voice broke, the traumatic memories were hitting him as he spoke, “For thirty years. People running tests, taking my blood, coming into my cell. Even your people weren’t done with me.” “Isaiah…” Sam said carefully.

“Get out of my house!” Sam and I startled at the sudden noise, but I didn’t fault Isaiah for his reaction. My heart broke for him in fact. Tears had welled in my eyes as he told us fragments of his life, my hand slipped to my mouth to prevent my sobs from escaping. Bucky turned away first, leading me out as Isaiah’s presumed grandson did the same to Sam. He pushed ahead of us both, every emotion possible playing out on his face.

“Sam…” Bucky began as we descended the front steps of the house.

“Why didn’t you tell me about Isaiah? How could nobody bring him up?” Sam angrily pointed a finger towards Bucky, who remained quiet as the three of us walked down the middle of the road. “I asked you a question, Bucky.” “I know…” “Steve didn’t know about him?” Sam asked.

“He didn’t, I didn’t tell him,” Bucky answered, his eyes never leaving the ground.

“How could you not tell him?” I exclaimed, my tears still tracing abstract patterns down my cheeks, “If there were anybody to tell, it would have been him!” “So you’re telling me,” Sam stopped walking and pointed back to Isaiah’s house, “That there was a black Super Soldier decades ago and nobody knew about it?” 

Before Bucky got the chance to answer, the siren on a nearby police car sounded off. Two officers pulled up and exited the vehicle, “Hey.” “What’s up, man?” Sam said.

“Is there a problem here?” one asked, focusing on Sam.

“No, we’re just talking,” he answered, gesturing between the three of us. “We’re fine,” Bucky answered, visibly put out by the interruption.

“Really, we’re fine,” I shakily spoke up, wiping my palms under my wet eyes.

The officers didn’t accept our answers, instead coming closer towards Sam. “Can I see your ID?”

“I don’t have ID, why?”

“Okay, sir,” the officer held up his hands, “Just calm down.” “I am calm,” Sam responded, I could see the anger bubbling below his surface, “What do you want? We’re just standing here talking.” Bucky gestured towards the policemen, “Just give him your ID so we can leave.” The tears I was fighting so hard to control couldn’t be stopped as I watched the scene play out. “No,” Sam protested, “I’m not giving him shit, we’re just talking.” “Officers, there’s nothing going on,” I insisted, sniffling as I tried to speak. “Ma’am,” one of the men approached me, holding his hands out carefully as if to shield me from Sam, “If this man is making you uncomfortable in any way-“ “He’s my brother,” I sidestepped away from the cop, “You’re the only ones making us feel uncomfortable.” “He’s not bothering either of us, do you know who this is?” Bucky gestured towards Sam, I came to stand between both of them and placed a protective hand on Sam’s shoulder. If anything was going down, I was going down with him.

The cop that had briefly stepped away to his car came back and whispered something into his co-worker’s ear. His jaw dropped as he looked Sam over again, this time with a much less aggressive stare. “I am so sorry, Mr Wilson,” the bastard had the audacity to chuckle, “I didn’t recognize you without the goggles. I’m really, really sorry about this.” A second police car came down the street and stopped in front of us. The officers told us to wait as they hurried to try and clean up their mistake. It didn’t matter, the damage had already been done. Neighbors and people passing by were stood outside houses and on the sidewalk watching the scene unfold. And there stood Sam, the leading role of a story these men had written and forced him into. I’d never felt more helpless in that moment when I realized that had he not been recognized, there wouldn’t have been anything I could’ve done to save him.

“I didn’t…I didn’t tell anybody because he had already been through enough,” Bucky said quietly, reeling us back to our original point of conversation.

“Mr. Barnes,” the officer who had tried to cage me from Sam approached Bucky, “There’s a warrant out for your arrest.” “Look, the president pardoned him for all that,” Sam said. “Not for that. You missed your court-mandated therapy. It’s like missing a check-in with your PO. I’m sorry, Mr. Barnes, you’re under arrest.” Resigned was the only word I could think of to describe Bucky’s expression. He willingly followed and allowed them to handcuff him, quickly shaking his head at us as if to apologize for the ridiculousness as he got into the car. The worst part was I knew that if Sam or I were stupid enough to speak up, the consequences would be far worse than our reluctant cooperation. The car drove off, carrying Bucky and all his demons he hadn’t told his therapist about this week.

Sam and I remained frozen in the street, playing the last five minutes back in our heads. In a little house in a corner of Baltimore sat a war torn, wrongfully imprisoned, black Super Soldier who hadn’t had the suddenly privileged lifestyle Steve Rogers had. Isaiah had been beaten down, experimented on and abused for almost half of his life. The samples that had been taken from his body against his will had been used to create the Super Soldiers we’d met, ones that were out for blood. “Let’s get out of here,” Sam muttered, putting a hand on my back and pulling me into his side protectively. I snuck one last glance at Isaiah’s home, praying that whatever time he had left on earth was spent in the peace he deserved.

——

We hitched a cab ride to the downtown police station and were informed at the front desk that Bucky was being released. His therapist was flying in from New York to come and meet with him.

Sam and I sat in the uncomfortable chairs of the waiting area, him on his phone and me zoning out on the wall. The ‘what ifs’ of our confrontation with the police were still swirling around in my head, each one more brutal than the last.

“I’m not leaving,” I blurted out, “After this, I’m not leaving you guys.” Sam sighed and switched off his phone, “I’m not gonna argue this again with you. I’m keeping you safe, I don’t care whether you like it or not.” “Yeah, that’s exactly what I’m feeling,” I turned to him, my eyes watery and my fidgeting fists clenched in my lap. “I’m not going home just so I can sit from a safe distance and worry whether or not you’re gonna die at the hands of some cop who feels brave. Or a bunch of Super Soldiers with a grudge against the world,” I forced the lump building in my throat down, “I’m not going to leave and wait for your body to come back in a casket. The only way I’m going home is if you’re with me.” His lips parted like he was about to say something before deciding against it. I couldn’t tell what he was thinking, but I could see that my speech had affected him. He pulled me into him, my head laying on his shoulder and his arm around my neck. I had worried for my brother’s life when he was first in the service, even more when he first became an Avenger. But that fear couldn’t compare to the kind I felt when the cops disregard each of his truths. I sniffled as I rested against him, trying hard not to imagine a world where Sam Wilson wasn’t by my side.

“Sam,” a women approached us, “I’ve heard a lot about you. I’m Dr. Raynor, James’ therapist.” We rose and Sam shook her hand, “So nice to meet you.” “Y/n Y/l/n,” I introduced myself as she extended the same greeting, “Thank you for getting Bucky out.”

“That was not me,” she smiled politely.

“Christina!” a nearby voice shouted, “It’s great to see you again.” 

When bulls see the color red, it angers them to the point that they’ll charge toward it in a fit of rage. My reaction to seeing John Walker in the red white and blue suit was one of a similar caliber.

“You gotta be kidding me,” I grumbled, covering my face with my palm. 

“You know him?” Sam asked in disbelief. “Yeah, we did some field ops back in the day,” Dr. Raynor answered.

Walker strutted towards us, “I heard you were working with Bucky so I thought I’d step in. Bucky’s not gonna be following a strict schedule any longer.” 

“We haven’t finished our work,” she asserted, “Who authorized this?” Walker held up two hands and aimed them at his arrogant self. “He’s too valuable of an asset to have tied up. Just do whatever you got to do with him, then send him off to me. Got some unfinished business, him and I,” he pointed to me and Sam, “You guys too. I’ll be outside.”

He marched back out through the door he’d come through and if we hadn’t been in a police station, I might have reeled him back in with my energy to inform him of just how low of a chance there was that we’d ever take an order from him. But if we had to go through him to spring Bucky, I’d bite my tongue for his sake.

“James,” Dr. Raynor turned, addressing Bucky who was now leaned up against the nearby counter, “Condition of your release, session now,” she looked over her shoulder towards us, “You too, Sam, Y/n.” Sam was quick to decline for us both, “That’s okay, we’ll be out here-“ “That wasn’t a request.”

Judging by the unenthusiastic glare we were getting from Bucky, he wasn’t any more excited than we were. “The sooner we get this over with, the sooner we can leave,” I said to Sam, taking the initiative and following Dr. Raynor, once again with the men in my tow.

“What exactly is your relationship with James, Miss Y/l/n?” Dr. Raynor asked as she slowed her pace to match mine. “I don’t have a relationship with him,” I answered plainly, “I only met him yesterday. We got our asses kicked in Munich together.”

We were led into an interrogation room, just as cold and bleak as the ones I’d seen on tv. There were two chairs on each side of the table awaiting us. “Since I’m here primarily to speak with James and Sam, Y/n,” Dr. Raynor removed her coat and placed it on the back of her seat, “You can observe alongside me. You two on that end.” A simple thing as even sitting next to one another seemed like too big an ask for Sam and Bucky. The two of them looked like kids sent to the principal’s office as they begrudgingly sat down. I for one was looking forward to watching them sort out whatever beef they had that I had gotten tangled up in.

“So,” Dr. Raynor set her notebook down on the table, “Who would like to start?” “All right, look, Dr. Raynor?” Sam began, “I get it, why you want me to talk to Freaky Magoo over here. But I’m 100% fine.” Sam’s fatal mistake was darting his eyes over to me before looking back at her. I already knew he was lying, but his tell confirmed it.

“It is my job to make sure that you’re okay,” Dr. Raynor addressed Bucky, “And so, yeah, this may be slightly unprofessional but it’s the only way that I can see if you’re getting over whatever’s eating at you.” 

“This is ridiculous,” Sam rolled his eyes. “Yeah, I agree,” Bucky shook his head.

“This is the first time they’ve agreed on anything for the past twenty four hours,” I spoke up, leaning back in my seat to watch the show unfold.

“See? We’re making progress already,” Dr. Raynor said, “So, who wants to go first?”

Silence.

“No volunteers? Wow, how surprising…” she remarked, “Okay, we’re going to do an exercise. It’s something I use with couples when they are trying to figure out what kind of life they wanna build together. Are you familiar with the miracle question?”

“Absolutely not,” Bucky answered. 

“Of course not,” Sam’s voice overlapped with Bucky’s.

“Okay, it goes like this. Suppose that while you’re sleeping, a miracle occurs. When you wake up, what is something that you would like to see that would make your life better?’

Bucky suddenly became chatty, “In my miracle, um, he would…he would talk less.”

“Exactly what I was gonna say,” Sam replied, “Isn’t that ironic?”

“You guys are leaving me with no choice,” Dr. Raynor shrugged, “It’s time for the soul-gazing exercise.” “I like this better,” Bucky perkily pointed a finger towards his shrink.

Sam chuckled quietly to himself, “He’s gonna love this.” “Yeah, I’m ready.” “This is right up your alley…” Dr. Raynor motioned for them to rotate, ”Turn around, face each other.” “You should really enjoy this,” Sam said acidly. 

“I’m going to,” Bucky said with a sarcastic smile, the only one I’d seen him wear. “Let’s do it,” he said happily as Sam moved to face him, “Let’s stare. This is a good exercise, thanks Doc.” “Alright, get close,” Dr. Raynor instructed, they scooted slightly towards one another, “Come on, get closer.” With their knees touching, any further would put them much closer than either of them would ever want. “Which way do you want to go?” Bucky asked, “Right or left?” “Why are your legs open?” Sam asked impatiently, “You know what? Fine, here, you happy now?” He used Bucky’s chair to pull him forward so they legs were locked together.

“That’s a little close,” Bucky said loudly, adjusting in his seat. Sam nodded in agreement, “It’s very close, that’s what you wanted, right?” 

I couldn’t hold in my laughter anymore, causing both of them to shoot daggers at me. “Is this fun for you?” Sam snapped, gesturing towards their touching thighs. “Very,” I grinned unapologetically.

“Guys,” Dr. Raynor held up a hand to silence us all, “Now, look at each other. You need to look at each other in the eyes,” they obeyed and lifted their eyes to meet, “There, you see? That wasn’t so hard.” The stares they wore intensified, “Wait, what are you doing?” Dr. Raynor asked, “Are you having a staring contest?” Sam adjusting his eyebrows was her answer, she leaned over the table and snapped her fingers. “Just blink! All right, James, why does Sam aggravate you?” Bucky turned to his therapist with as close to a real smile as I’d seen on him when she cut him off, “And don’t say something childish.” His head lolled to the side in defeat, his pink tongue came out to wet his lips as he thought over his answer. “Why did you give up that shield?” “Why are you making such a big deal over something that has nothing to do with you?” Sam shot back.

“Steve believed in you, he trusted you. He gave you that shield for a reason,” Bucky’s emotions were starting to seep out, “That shield, that is- that is everything he stood for. That is his legacy. He gave you that shield and you threw it away like it was nothing.” “Shut up…” Sam muttered.

“So maybe he was wrong about you. And if he was wrong about you, then he was wrong about me.”

The way that Bucky’s voice had quivered at the end was telling of just how deep the wound ran. But Sam’s forgoing of the shield was backed by reasons that Bucky could never wrap his mind around.

“You finished?” Sam spoke up, when Bucky said yes, he continued, “All right, good. Maybe this is something you or Steve will never understand. But can you accept that I did what I thought was right?”

This was the issue that made the heavy silence we were sitting in all the more complicated. Both men were valid in their feelings, but there would be no resolve for either of them. Steve was gone, Walker carried the shield and Bucky and Sam were trying their best to navigate a new world.

Sam scoffed, burying the emotions that I knew he was trying to hide from. “You know what, Doc? I don’t have time for this. We have some real serious shit going on. So how about this? I will squash it right now. We go deal with that, and when we’re done, we both can go on separate long vacations and never see each other again.” My eyes widened at how quickly the conversation had escalated. “I like that,” Bucky agreed.

“Great. Well, let’s get to work,” Sam turned to Dr. Raynor, “Thanks, Doc, for making it weird. I feel much better,” he turned to Bucky, “I’ll see you outside.” With a slap to his shoulder, he rose from his seat and was out the door in seconds. There was so much left unresolved that didn’t sit well with me. As Bucky went to stand up, I did too. “Actually, Doctor,” I walked around to table to take Sam’s empty seat, “I’d like to say a few things.” Bucky annoyedly fell back down into his chair and shook his head in irritation. I didn’t particularly care that he didn’t want to speak with me, all he had to do was listen. “I know you and Steve were best friends and I know how much he means to you. But I can’t sit here and watch you berate my brother relentlessly over the fact that he didn’t take up that mantle. It’s easy for someone like Steve to be Captain America without any pushback, but Sam?” I pointed to the closed door, “It’s a whole ‘other ballgame. And while Steve would never have fully understood it, he would have made an effort to. And he wouldn’t be pressuring Sam like you are. You need to drop this and you need to drop it now.” “Let’s get one thing straight,” his razor sharp jaw ticked in anger, “You don’t get to talk about Steve like you knew him or like you understand anything about our friendship. You never met him, you don’t get to speak for him.” He could have never known what button he had just pressed, but my reaction wouldn’t have changed even if he had. I sat up straighter in my chair, my steely eyes boring into him. “I didn’t know Steve? Well, then I guess it was a different Steve Rogers that Sam introduced me to when I came to visit him in D.C. And it must have been a different Steve Rogers that I visited at the Avengers compound when I helped Sam move in,” I leaned forward, the dam in my eyes threatening to break, “It must have been a different Steve Rogers that I ran to when people all around me started turning to dust.”

————

It was pouring rain outside the Avengers compound, the piles of dust that had rested on the ground having long since been washed away. Y/n stormed across the front lawn of the compound to the entrance, she had driven straight through for 20 hours from Delacroix to upstate New York. Getting past security hadn’t been hard once she had said who she needed to speak to and who it regarded.

Her boots squeaked across the floor as she marched through the compound, she’d only been once but she still remembered her way around. She navigated through hallways until she’d found the main room, she only recognized one of the figures that stood hunched over a table in deep discussion. At the sound of her entrance, each one of them turned around. “Y/n…” Steve said in shock, a relieved sigh spilling from his lips, “You’re okay.” “He’s here, right?” she trembled, “He’s in his room or the kitchen? Steve, tell me he’s here.” When Steve didn’t answer and ducked his head, Y/n pushed harder. “Tell me he’s here, Steve.” He looked back up, finally meeting her eyes. “I can’t do that.”

Y/n let the last bit of strength she had slip through her fingers as her soaked form dropped to the floor. Steve was quick to hold her, offering what little comfort he could, knowing that he wasn’t the person she wanted to see most in the world. She sobbed in his arms, the first step in the long process of mourning her brother.

Steve made a true effort to keep in contact with Y/n over the next five years. He flew down to New Orleans to visit every couple months or he offered to fly Y/n up to New York. About two years post Blip were when financial struggles really started to hit Sarah and Y/n’s business and Y/n had to decline each kind offer to meet him on his turf. When she explained why, Steve showed up on her doorstep two days later, ready to stay for the week and help out however he could. It wasn’t hard to see why Sam had bonded so deeply with Steve, he had just as big a heart as her brother.

The day that Sarah and Y/n received the joyous call from Sam that he was back from the dead was the best day of their lives. Y/n called Steve immediately after to tell him the news and thank him for whatever part she had guessed he’d played in reuniting their family. Her calls kept going to voicemail. After Sam’s reunion with his sisters and nephews, he took Y/n aside and handed her an envelope. Inside it was a letter from Steve explaining that he wouldn’t be returning after the restoration of the population. He wished her a good life with her family and that he had valued her friendship and kindness towards him. As brokenhearted as Y/n had been over the loss of her friend, when Sam told her the true reason behind Steve’s sudden disappearance, she was overjoyed that Steve had gotten somebody he loved back too.

Steve Rogers was there for Y/n in some of her darkest hours. They had bonded deeply, their friendship a single ray of light in their then darkened world. To see his shield paraded around by someone who didn’t embody the same qualities and values that he did hurt more than she let on. The world may have accepted John Walker, but he’d never be Captain America in Y/n’s eyes.

————

I had somehow made it through my retelling of my time with Steve without completely breaking down. A river of silent tears streamed down my cheeks but my voice held firm. 

Bucky’s harsh stare had diminished significantly the longer I spoke. His plush lips were parted in surprise, words I didn’t care to hear hanging off of them.

“I don’t ever want to hear that I didn’t know Steve Rogers,” my voice threatened to break finally, “You’re not the only one who wants to protect his legacy.” Dr. Raynor had remained so silent while I talked, I’d forgotten she was there until she offered me a tissue. I hastily wiped my cheeks, ducking away from Bucky’s gaze. “Thank you, Doctor,” I said softly as I stood up, “This has been really helpful.” I wrapped my arms tight around my torso and exited the room as quick as I could, making a beeline for the lobby to find Sam. When he spotted me, he stood to attention. “What’s wrong? What happened?” “Nothing,” I shook my head, “I just want to get out of here.” He placed a protective hand on my shoulder as he watched me sniffle the last of my tears away. Bucky joined us seconds later, I couldn’t look directly at him after bearing so much of myself to him. The three of us left the police station in a now familiar silence, each deep in thought about what we’d revealed. 

“Well, I feel better,” Sam said as we stepped out into the cool evening air. “I feel awful,” Bucky grumbled.

A siren whooping caught our attention, I wished it hadn’t. There stood Lemar Hoskins and John Walker, waving at us and calling us over. The three of us reluctantly made our way towards them. “Look, if we divide ourselves, we don’t stand a chance, you guys know that.”

Sam rolled his eyes and humored him, “So what do you got?”

“Well, the leader’s name’s Karli Morgenthau,” Walker explained, “We’ve been targeting civilians who’ve been helping Karli move from place to place.” “They geotagged a location, then scrambled the signal,” Hoskins interjected, “But our satellites have found their symbol popping up in various displaced communities all across Central and Eastern Europe.” 

“We think she’s taking the medicine she just stole to one of these camps,” Walker finished.

“Well, there are hundreds of those all over the planet since The Blip,” Bucky spoke up across from me, “So I guess you’ll have to look real hard.” Walker smiled, “Good thing I have 20/20 vision, huh?” “Where is she now, Walker? Do you know?” Bucky asked. “No, we don’t know, Bucky,” his voiced raised, highlighting his frustrations, “It’s only a matter of time before we find out.” If I knew anything about Bucky by now, it was that he had no issue with provoking people. “Things are really intense for you, aren’t they, Walker?” I clapped my hands together once, “Okay, if this keeps going, someone’s probably gonna end up back in there behind bars so let’s just settle down.” “Look, Walker’s right,” Sam stepped forward, “It is imperative that we find them and stop them. But you guys have rules of engagement and all kind of authorizations you have to get. We’re free agents. We’re more flexible. So it wouldn’t make sense for us to work with you.”

We didn’t make it further than a three steps when Walker spoke up again. “Miss Y/l/n,” I stopped walking at his call, “You’re an enhanced individual, right?” “I’m what they call a mutant,” I spun on my heels to face him, “But to simplify it, sure, I’m enhanced.” Walker raised a condescending eyebrow, “Are you familiar with the Sokovian Accords?”

My spine stiffened, he was trying to blackmail me without actually saying the words. I was far too familiar with the accords and the ramifications they’d had on the Avengers. They’d sent Steve and Sam on the run for two years. “I think I’ve heard of them, yeah,” I smiled humorlessly. “It clearly states that any enhanced individuals who haven’t signed are not authorized to participate in any national or international conflicts or any missions run by private organizations such as the Avengers,” he gestured towards Sam, “You’re running with an Avenger, aren’t you?” A mirthless chuckle fell from my mouth as I watched him try and intimidate me. “Look, Craptain America,” I took slow and calculated steps towards him, “You can order your partner around or the soldiers that look up to you, but don’t think for one second that you can threaten me and try to pull the same shit the government did with Wanda Maximoff. I’m not going to be told who I can and cannot help.” Walker looked down at me menacingly, resembling a little boy who hadn’t gotten his way. “A word of advice then,” he said, eyes flicking between Sam, Bucky and I, “Stay the hell out of my way.” The juxtaposition between him and Steve had never been more apparent. Here he was daring to threaten me with incarceration followed by an ominous warning when it hadn’t worked. Bucky, Sam and I waited until him and Hoskins had left before heading our own way. “‘Craptain America?’” Sam echoed, slinging an arm around my neck, “I don’t think I’ve ever been prouder of you.” “It was a low blow,” I admitted with a contradictory smirk.

“Someone needed to say it,” Bucky chimed in, hesitantly looking over to me before quickly averting his gaze back to the sidewalk.

“Do I need to be worried that he threatened me with the accords? Are Sarah and I going to have S.H.I.E.L.D showing up on our door or something?” I asked.

“I think he’s just trying to intimidate you, but…” Sam inhaled wearily, “But I’d rather keep you here with us, just to be safe. If anybody were to come, we could protect you.” My smile grew as I looked up at Sam, the parameters of how to keep me safe had changed in my favor. I was almost grateful Walker had threatened me. “I can stay?” “Stop looking so happy about it,” Sam dropped his arm from around me, “This isn’t going to be easy,” he looked to our left to Bucky, “So what are you thinking?”

“Well, I know what we have to do,” he answered, if he had reservations about me sticking around, he was kind enough not to mention them. “When Isaiah said “my people…””

“Oh, don’t take that to heart. That’s not what he meant.”

“No, he meant HYDRA, HYDRA used to be my people.”

Sam thought the answer over for a second, decoding it. “Not a chance,” he scoffed.

“Walker doesn’t have any leads,” Bucky shrugged.

“I know where you’re going with this, no.” “He knows all of HYDRA’s secrets. Don’t you remember Siberia?” “Wait, you’re not talking about…” I sought out Bucky’s eyes that were still dodging mine. I didn’t need a history lesson on who he was referring to. “No. Not him. He’s crazy.” “We don’t exactly have a lot of other options,” Bucky said as if that was justification for what he wanted to do. “So you’re just gonna go sit in a room with this guy?” Sam asked. Bucky hesitated, searching for a more sophisticated answer. “Y-yes.” I may have been allowed to stay, but I knew that I wasn’t experienced enough yet to argue on their level. They knew when and how to make the difficult calls, they could operate in a grey area with little to no issues. All I could do was sit back, be taken along for the ride and tolerate any passengers who got in along the way.

“Okay, then,” Sam finally concurred, “We’re gonna go see Zemo.”

————

I couldn’t sleep.

We were back on the jet speeding back to Germany, this time with an even more sinister problem at hand. I had wanted to come along, I just hadn’t guessed that the reason I’d be allowed to stay would be because of a threat to my safety. All because of my powers. This was the reason why my father had been hellbent on keeping them a secret. I felt in a way that I’d failed him, that somewhere in the afterlife he was disappointed in me for telling the truth, even if I’d done it for the right reasons. Sam was conked out next to me, I envied his military training to get quick sleep wherever he could. I personally felt like I’d injected caffeine into my veins back in Maryland and hadn’t been able to come down since.

“Can’t sleep?” Bucky asked from where he laid on the floor, I thought he’d been unconscious the whole time.

“Can’t imagine why,” I dryly chuckled, “We’re only flying cross country to sit down and meet with one of the world’s most dangerous criminals. Why the floor?” “Oh,” he’d sat up and was looking back down at his lousy makeshift bed, his jacket balled up as a pillow and an itchy blanket, “It’s, uh, hard to explain.”

After a few seconds of near uncomfortable silence, he pushed himself up and made his way to where I sat. I tucked my legs under me to make room for his burly body. He was big enough that with all the space I’d tried to give him, my knees still brushed against his thick thigh. He sighed loudly, giving voice to the divide that if we’d have gone our separate ways, as planned, wouldn’t have mattered. Now that we were going to be working together, we couldn’t ignore what had been said in that interrogation room.

“Listen, about what…happened,” his face contorted in a mild cringe as he played the scene back in his head, “I’m sorry, for what I said.” “You didn’t know,” I offered, picking at a loose thread on my jacket, “I don’t talk about Steve a whole lot except with Sam.” “Still, I shouldn’t have snapped at you like that,” Bucky continued, folding his hands in his lap. “I’ve been rude since we met and that’s not okay. Especially when all you’ve done is try and help.”

“Don’t beat yourself up about it,” I leaned my head against the back of my seat, “No permanent damage done.” His thumbs danced together, his brows were knitted in concentration as he prepared to speak. “Can I, uh, ask you about your powers?”

I twisted so that I could properly face him, “Ask away.” “How did they happen?” “I was born with them, actually. I’ve got this thing called the X-gene, it’s supposed to manifest at puberty but for me it activated when I was really young,” I ran a hand through my hair, “Imagine being five years old and having blue come out of your fingers when you were reaching for a juice box.” A miracle occurred and Bucky’s lips actually quirked up in a half smile. It encouraged me to keep talking. “My mom wanted to take me to this school for kids like me but my dad forbade it. He kept saying that it was too dangerous and that somebody could find me. It was like he didn’t realize that it was a refuge for people with powers, not a hunting ground,” I paused, flashing back to arguments between my parents of which one of them actually knew what was best for me. “So instead, I just taught myself how to control them. There were a couple incidents but other than that, I’ve kept them under lock and key for a long time.”

Bucky had remained still and fascinated as I spoke, switching between watching my eyes and my lips. Suddenly it felt like nothing had ever gone on between us. We were just fellow soldiers or co-workers having a conversation outside of work.

“What do they think now? Your parents?” he asked, the ease of the moment slipping away with a simple question. He couldn’t have known the minefield he was stepping into.

“My mom doesn’t know yet that I told Sam,” I sighed deeply, inhaling strength and exhaling bad memories, “And my dad killed himself when I was a kid.” “Oh,” Bucky’s eyebrows lifted, “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have pried into-“

“No, no, it’s fine…” I waved him off, “Whether I want it to be or not, it’s a part of me. He was in the service and when he returned, he was diagnosed with severe PTSD. I was so young when he came home that I don’t really have any memories of him before it happened. He had all the classic symptoms; flashbacks, nightmares, paranoia, fits of anger, at some point he even stopped believing that he was a good father and husband,” I tear slipped down my cheek, “That was around the time it happened. We tried for so long to help him but the trauma consumed him. Every day he was just doing his best to survive himself.” I glanced up at Bucky to find that his eyes were just as watery as mine. It hadn’t dawned on me that I was telling him everything that he already knew about what happened when someone returned from war. He was living it out right now. 

“I’m not trying to strike any nerves but…in that session tonight, I saw how much you were holding in. With Sam, with me…” I started, praying I wasn’t going to end up pushing him further away, “I’ve seen what bottling things up and isolating yourself can do to a person and it’s a hell I wouldn’t wish on my worst enemy. I know you don’t trust me yet but…if you ever do need somebody to talk to…I can’t understand your experiences, but I can recognize some of it.” Bucky truly looked lost, like he’d never been in the position of receiving such an offer. His face, usually so hardened, had softened so much he was almost unrecognizable. And yet there was still some barrier, some pain weaved between the hope and vulnerability that kept him from receiving my kindness with open arms. In the session, the pain I had seen in his eyes reminded me so desperately of that in my father’s eyes. If I didn’t try to help him, that look would haunt me for a long time.

“Thank you,” he finally said, his voice raspy enough to make me shiver. We sat there in the dark, both our walls we’d built around ourselves starting to crumble as we chipped away at one another. There was some feeling I couldn’t put a name to that had settled over us. The eyes that I’d avoided all day were now all I could focus on, digging into the deep blue pools and feeling like I could lay down my sword there. If we were going to get through this mission, we needed to be friends at least and I felt confidant we were on the path.

Bucky eventually cleared his throat, shaking me from my thoughts that he was at the center of. “We’re gonna be to Berlin soon, you should get some sleep.”

Internally, I smiled at the familiarity, it was almost word for word what he’d told me the other night. Only now the hostility had been dropped.

“You need it too,” I replied as he rose and made his way across the plane, “Goodnight, Barnes.” I curled up in a ball near Sam’s feet, praying he didn’t kick me in his sleep. I had just shut my eyes to try when a voice spoke up, “Bucky.”

“Hmm?” I opened one eye to see him lay back down on the floor, attempting to get comfortable.

“Call me Bucky.”

I pursed my lips slightly to decrease the size of my smile, I wasn’t the only one laying down their weapons. “Alright. Goodnight, Bucky.”

----

A/N: There’s something so powerful about name dropping Wanda Maximoff and Y/n having been besties with Steve Rogers lol. Hope you all enjoy, let me know what you thought or if you’d like to be tagged! 

Safe Haven taglist: @tanyaherondale​ @wanniiieeee​ @asoftie4bucky​ @edencherries​ @i-reblog-fics-i-like​ @ttalisa​ @gcfty @withyoutilltheendofthismess​ @rinaispunk​ @weirdowithnobeardo​ @felicityofbakerstreet​ @godlypotterwhodiaries​ @eternalharry​ @voguesir​ @mizz-kraziii​ @okayline​ @smellmymisunderstoodfluff @wanderin-stories​ @nicklet94 @intricate-melody​ @aesthethickks​ @stumbleonmywords​ @simplybarnes​ @21bruhs​ @lostinwonderland314​ @superbookishhufflepuff​

[harrysweasleys]

show and tell // g.w

summary: the four times george shows you he loves you before he says it for the first time.

warnings: injury, blood, broken bones, sickness, mentions of nudity and food

word count: 5k

a/n: this was so much fun to write!! i hope you all enjoy :) x

———————————————————————

one

It was mid-march and the spring sunshine felt as if it were everlasting. From the moment you woke up, to the late evening, the golden rays illuminated the fields around the Burrow and brought a sense of warmth and comfort. As if you were away from the rest of the world, practically untouched by civilization.

It was the epitome of peaceful.

Even in the peak of the afternoon, while Molly and Arthur bustled about the house, and while the gaggle of Weasley children decided to take advantage of the weather and challenge one another to a playful Quidditch game.

You weren’t really sure why they chose to call it playful, per say. They were all awfully competitive. Last week, Ginny was knocked off of her broom and into the pond. Luckily, she sustained no injuries, but it was still a rather intense sight. About a month back, Bill had decided to join, and had to use his wand to repair a black eye.

Safe to say, as you sat on a small lounge chair and watched over, that you were nervous. Your eyes felt as if they were locked on George’s every move. That if you looked away, he’d end up toppling to the ground in a mess of long limbs and ginger hair.

“You sure you don’t want to join?” Ginny called down to you, hovering a few feet away on her rather mangled broom that she most likely used in childhood before she got her much nicer one for the Gryffindor team.

You shook your head, squinting as you looked up, “I’ll pass. I’m much better as a spectator.”

She shrugged, her braid flipping over her shoulder as she took off back towards the make-shift pitch.

The game went as it always did — the same teams, the same keepers, the same chasers and beaters, and of course, Harry and Ginny as rival seekers. Nothing was really new there.

George looked rather at ease on his broom. It was a sight you loved to see. You knew that work stressed him out, that he was always trying to improve every aspect of his business and it was one of the things that swirled in his mind constantly. But seeing him here, in what appeared to be his element, brought a smile to your face.

Unfortunately, that smile was wiped off rather quickly when he collided with Ginny not even five minutes into the match. She ended up collecting her wits and balance, staying up in the air. George, however, did not.

Luckily for him, he was only a few feet off the ground. But the sickening crunch that he made when he landed flat on his face was the furthest thing from “lucky” that you could think of.

You shot up off of your chair in a panicked heartbeat, rushing over to where his body lay limp on the ground. You could feel your body grow warm in worry.

“George!” you crouched next to him and placed one of your hands on his forearm, “Georgie, are you okay?”

He let out a groan, rolling over onto his back. A stream of blood rushed down from his nose, which already looked off coloured and crooked. Broken, no doubt.

“Is it bad?” he asked, his eyes squinted shut.

You winced, trying to avoid looking at the damage on his face, “I’m really not the person to ask.”

He began to sit up, groaning a bit as he did so, and slowly opened his eyes. He brought one of his hands — one that was already covered in a mixture of dirt and sweat — and brought it to his face, wiping it across his mouth and chin.

As he pulled it away and spotted the crimson liquid on his fingertips, he let out a mutter of a curse.

“I’m bowing out of the match,” he called up to his siblings, all hovering nearby to see if he was alright, before pointing at his face, “I’m gonna go clean this up.”

His hair was matted down to his head from sweat, as well as his clothes practically clinging to his body, but you wasted no time in grabbing on to him to hoist him up. You weren’t overly familiar with injuries, since you were in no means a Healer, but you’d be damned if you didn’t try to help.

“Let’s get you to the washroom,” you held his arm, leading him into the house and guiding him since his head was tilted back, pinching his nose to prevent any more bleeding.

On the way into the tiny washroom, you grabbed your wand that was sitting on the dining room table. Hermione had taught you the spell for repairing a broken nose, and though you’ve never performed it before, you had to give it a shot.

“I should be alright,” he muttered with his hand still pinched on his nose, his other free hand rummaging across the cluttered countertop to try and find the tissues.

You gently whacked his hand away, “Stop. Let me help.”

You began guiding him over to the edge of the countertop, bringing him closer until yourself pinned right between his body and the sink. So, you gave him a little shove, hopped up onto the cold tile, and brought him close. His body stood between your legs, your feet immediately wrapping around his torso so that he could stand still and close, enough so that you could try your best to fix the damage from his fall.

“If I wasn’t bleeding, I’d rather enjoy this position,” you could hear the handsome smirk in his voice, even as you grabbed a handful of tissues and placed them under the running water of the sink.

“Oh, shove it,” you chuckled, taking one of the wet tissues and turning to face him. He was still pinching his nose, but he was now facing you.

You began to dab at his chin, glad that the blood hadn’t had time to dry so it was rather easy to wipe off. He didn’t wince, but then again, you imagined a majority of the pain was probably in his nose. George had a high tolerance for pain, which was something that was probably built up after years of testing products on himself. Especially those damn nosebleed nougats.

“Oh, wait, I’m an idiot,” you scoffed, pressing the tissue to his face with one hand as you reached for your wand with the other, “Let me fix your nose first.”

His eyes widened at the sight of the wand in your hand, and he shuffled back a few inches, “Merlin, are you sure? You’ve never fixed a nose before.”

You tossed the used tissue into the bin before grabbing another one, this time holding it right against his nostrils, “Just let me do this. It’s one spell, how hard can it be?”

The hesitation flashed through his eyes before he slowly nodded his head, “Fine, fine, I trust you.”

Through the nervous beating of your heart, you managed to smile. Those three words caused all of your unease to drift away, your focus landing solely on the one word you had to mutter.

He took a step back, this time in confidence.

Instead of making the poor man wait in pain while you went over the consequences in your head, you lifted your wand and spoke, “Episkey.”

The crunch was quiet, but George’s eyes shot open and he bit down on his lower lip, a muffled shout of pain getting stuck in his throat as one of his hands grabbed your thigh, giving it a squeeze that was bound to leave a bruise.

“Oh, Merlin, are you okay?” you asked, tossing your wand aside and placing your hands on either side of his face. His cheeks were awfully warm despite how pale they had just become, and you felt the tenseness of his muscles as he stepped back between your open legs. His grip on your thigh didn’t lighten up, and you felt a surge of guilt bubble up into your belly.

“Georgie?” you asked more softly this time, one of your hands running through his sticky hair, “Did I make it worse?”

He shook his head, not exactly speaking, but giving you the answer you needed, “‘s fine.”

You gave a small pout, taking your hands away from him to avoid causing overstimulation. Though, as soon as your hands left his skin, he put his own hands on yours and guided them back up into his hair.

You gave him a puzzled look as you began to run your fingers along his scalp again, but he quickly answered your silent question, “Feels nice.”

His smirk returned to his lips and you rolled your eyes, immediately realizing you fell into his trap, “Oh, you little git. You’re fine, aren’t you?”

His laughter echoed in the small bathroom and managed to ease all of the worry and panic that was swarming through your mind, “No, it does hurt, but it’s not that bad. I do really like you playing nurse though, love. I should fall off my broom more often, yeah?”

You tossed a tissue at him, your own laughter bubbling in your chest, “Don’t you dare think about it, Weasley.”

“C’mon, love,” he grinned, bringing his face closer to yours, only to have you push him away.

“We are cleaning up the mess that is your face before you kiss me,” you smirked, holding up another tissue. He rolled his eyes and let out a groan, but he let you continue dabbing at his skin until he was all cleaned up. His nose was left with some light bruising, but you barely even focused on that after his little painful performance he decided to put on.

It really was never a dull moment.

———————————————————————

two

George’s birthday came around way too quickly for your liking. You remembered New Years Eve as clearly as if it were yesterday, and now here you were, on April the first, knocking loudly at his door at nearly eight thirty in the morning.

It was still early in the day — you guys would be headed to the burrow for dinner with his family in the late afternoon — but you decided to pay him a little surprise and pop by his flat with a few gifts and sweets in the morning before being whisked away. You always enjoyed the private moments between the two of you, and this was no different.

His face appeared in the doorway mere seconds later, his hair sticking up in countless spots, and his baggy jammies hanging loosely around his body. His cheeks were flushed pink at the sight of you standing there; a bag of gifts in one hand and a plate with a tiny cupcake in the other, one little candle on the top with a flame that you had enchanted not to burn out until he made his wish.

“Happy birthday!” you grinned, flashing him your best smile despite the urge to laugh at his disheveled appearance. He seemed to have just gotten out of bed. You had spent the night with George before, usually if he had the next day off and the two of you could laze around in the morning, and there was one conclusion you could make from it.

George was not a morning person.

However, through his sleepy state, he shot you a bright smile, “Look at you, coming by to be my gift.”

You rolled your eyes as he moved aside, letting you walk into his flat, “I’m not the gift. But I do come bearing some.” You placed the bag on the floor and stuck out the plate, handing him the cupcake. His smile never faded as he took it from you, holding it in one hand and the other went to his chin, pretending to ponder.

“What are you doing?” you asked, eyes scanning over his furrowed eyebrows and pursed lips. He looked deep in thought.

“Gotta make a wish, right?” he replied, “Though, you’re all I could ever wish for and you’re right here.”

You felt an eruption of fluttering in your chest at his sweet words — he really was quite the flirt — but you brushed it aside and removed your coat, placing it on the hook behind you before turning back to him, “Make your wish, you idiot.”

He smirked, shooting you a cheeky wink before he closed his eyes and blew on the candle, the little flame dying down quickly.

“See?” you chuckled, now removing your shoes so you could properly enter the flat, “Was that so hard?”

He stuck out his tongue, one of his fingers dipping into the icing of the cupcake. You were too busy focusing on carrying the bag of gifts, however, that you hadn’t noticed his icing covered finger reaching in your direction. So, as you turned back to face him, it smeared across your cheek.

“That’s what you get for being mean on my birthday,” he raised an eyebrow, proceeding to walk over to the couch in the living room, your own footsteps following closely behind him. The icing was sticky against your skin, but you were too busy trying to get even to even bother wiping it off.

You finally caught up to him, grabbing the cupcake out of his grasp and holding it away from him, scooping up some of the icing and smearing it across his lips. 

He looked quite amused, nodding his head slowly as he started licking his lips, “Nice try, love.”

“Oi, just shut up and sit down,” you scoffed, grabbing a tissue from the end table and wiping the icing off of your face, tossing the tissue in the bin before reaching over and grabbing a box out of the bag, “Now. Let me spoil you, yeah?”

You sat next to him on the couch and placed the box in his lap.

He leaned over and pressed his lips against your cheek, placing a delicate kiss before pulling away, “You already spoil me enough just being with me.”

You shook your head and let out a laugh, motioning your head in the direction of the box once again, before he finally proceeded to open it.

It didn’t take long for him to go through his gifts. Five boxes later, and he now had a few new things for around the house. Not that he needed appliances, really. He was a wizard. But he had mentioned to you a few times that he was starting to attempt doing a few things the “muggle way.”

“This is all brilliant,” he grinned, one of his arms wrapping around your waist to pull you into his side, “Thank you, love.”

You leaned up and pressed a light kiss on his jawline, not missing the way his body shivered at your touch. It brought you a sense of pride, honestly, the fact that you were able to have this affect on him.

“However, there is one more gift to open,” he said, sitting up from his spot on the couch so quickly it nearly knocked you backwards.

“There is?” you asked, peering around the flat to see if there was another parcel. Maybe Fred had stopped by to give his twin a gift before the party at the Burrow.

“Sit right here,” he held up one finger before bolting into the bedroom, disappearing from view for a few moments. Maybe his parents had dropped something off?

He came back into the living room, a box in his hands with big letters on the side that read Y/N. You furrowed your eyebrows as he placed it in your lap, a pleased grin on his face.

“What the bloody hell is this?” you asked, not even masking your confusion, “It’s your birthday, in case you’ve forgotten.”

He nodded, the smirk still on his lips, “Why, yes, I haven’t forgotten. But I figured for my birthday, what I want to do is spoil my girl.”

You shook your head, letting your head fall back onto the couch cushion — the couch that had once belonged to his brother Bill before he moved in with Fleur — and let out a laugh, “You’re full of surprises, aren’t you?”

“Just open it,” he placed a kiss on your temple, your heart in your chest feeling like it was about to burst.

You let out a breathy laugh and began to unwrap the box, opening it up to reveal a lumpy knitted sweater, the first letter of your name written out in the centre of it. It was perfect. Homely, and clearly made with love. You knew Molly knitted these for her children every year, but you didn’t expect to get one so soon, let alone ever.

“Oh, George. Your mum made me one?” you asked, voice filled with awe as you picked up the jumper, holding it against your chest as if you were hugging it. This honestly meant more to you than you could express.

“No,” he grinned, one of his hands rubbing the back of his neck, “I actually made that. Mum taught me a few years back and I never thought it would come in handy, but here we are.”

Your eyes widened at his words, heart so full that you could barely find the words to reply. If you weren’t so shocked, you might find yourself word-vomiting a bunch of lovey dovey nonsense. But you couldn’t. You honestly couldn’t speak.

“You’re part of the family now,” he broke the silence, one of his hands finding its way into your hair and giving a small twirl, “I want you to know that.”

You felt an itchiness in the back of your throat and you knew your emotions would get the best of you, so instead of speaking up, you decided to toss your arms around his neck and hold him as close as possible, the new jumper squeezed between the two of you as if it were holding you together. Which, in a way, it was.

George really was amazing, and there was no doubt that you were starting to fall for him. But this gesture, this gift, was beyond that.

It showed you that maybe, possibly, he was the one.

———————————————————————

three

Two days after George’s birthday, which had been a long and tiring evening at the Burrow celebrating another year of Fred and George, you found yourself feeling a little under the weather.

It was most likely not from Molly’s meal assortment, but possibly from standing outside in the chilly weather to watch the fun little firework display the twins had decided to put on for themselves. Plus, you were pretty sure Charlie had shown up with a cold as well.

You had woken up with a sore throat and a stuffy nose, your head unfortunately feeling quite congested as well. As if a throbbing migraine was bubbling just below the surface.

To simply put it, you were most likely coming down with said cold.

You had woken up in a rush, immediately reaching for the tissue box to clear your sinuses, but in the process of doing so, happened to wake up the ever-so-sleepy George next to you.

His arm retracted from around your waist and he rubbed his eyes with his hand, squinting to look over at you, “Are you okay?”

His voice was heavily laced with sleep and you felt bad for waking him up, but the gross feeling of sickness was a little too overbearing for you to really worry about disrupting his sleep schedule.

“Sorry, Georgie,” you replied, holding a tissue to your nose, “I think I stood a little too close to Charlie and he passed his germs onto me.”

George’s head fell back onto his pillow, “Git.” You let out a small laugh as he shoved the blanket off of his body and onto yours, all the warmth that his body produced now gone as he got out of bed. A whine left your throat and you reached out, trying to grab his hand and pull him back down.

He tossed on a shirt and turned to face you, “Be back in a second, love. Just gotta do something.”

A pout made its way onto your lips as he left the room, his disheveled morning hair disappearing through the bedroom door. You didn’t necessarily want to pass your possible sickness onto him — you’d only end up feeling guilty and responsible — but you already missed the comfort that he brought when he laid next to you. Even though he had been gone for a total of ten seconds.

You could hear noises as he rummaged through the kitchen, but you didn’t bring yourself to get out of bed. The throbbing in your head would make it hard for you to even have proper balance. You didn’t want to make it worse.

It didn’t take long for George to return, a small tray in his hands and a smile on his lips. You sat up properly, trying to get a peek as to what he had with him.

“For you, my princess,” he gave you a quick wink, placing the tray next to you on the bed.

Your heart swelled. He had brought you breakfast. A plate filled with fruits and a cup of tea sat nearly on the tray, smelling and looking more delicious than ever. Maybe it was because of the thought and love he put into it, but you honestly couldn’t wait to dive in.

“You made me breakfast?” you asked softly, looking up at him as you moved the tray onto your lap.

“I did,” he slid back under the blankets next to you, one of his hands finding yours and giving it a light squeeze, “The tea will help soothe your throat and the vitamins in the fruits will help you feel better.”

The smile on your face was so wide, you swore it reaches your ears, “Georgie, this is so sweet.”

“Well, what can I say? I’m the best.”

You gave him a poke in the shoulder, laughing at his cockiness, “That you are. That you are.”

———————————————————————

four

Unfortunately, George had caught your cold. And he loved to complain about it. Every second he could possibly find to bring it up, he would. Not to blame you, of course, but to milk it as much as possible so that you could take care of him. 

Not that you could do much, really, since you were still nursing your own annoying sickness. But you did try to help as much as you could. You’d made a soup, he’d make the tea. It was a compromise that helped the both of you.

However, one afternoon, when the two of you started to feel better, George had decided to take matters into his own hands and bring a little life back to the flat. 

“Dance with me,” he spoke out of the blue, coming up to you on the couch where you were currently quite content reading away.

“What?” you placed your bookmark in your page, placing the book onto the cushion next to you, “Now?”

He nodded, picking his wand up off of the end table and pointing it in the direction of the little radio by the window. An old tune — one that sounded a lot like the song that played at the Yule Ball, funnily enough — started playing throughout the room.

You shook your head, a small laugh leaving your lips as you placed your hand in his, “Since when are you a dancer, George Weasley?”

“For you, always,” he smirked, leading you to the open area of the room, one of his hands immediately finding your lower back. You felt your chest grow fluttery at his touch, every previous thought leaving your body as you melted into him.

Your hand linked in his, the other one resting against his shoulder. His eyes found yours and he gave you a genuine smile. Nothing cocky or teasing. Just a real, fond smile. 

“What’s this for, then?” you found your voice, the two of you moving in slow circles around the small space.

It wasn’t much, and neither of you were good at it, but it was romantic. You hadn’t even noticed that George had used his wand to light a few candles, the light of the flames dancing against the walls. 

“What?” he asked with a slight upturn of his chin, “Can’t a bloke just dance with his girl?”

You ignored the feeling of your heart swelling and gave him a grin, “Yes, actually. I think he can.”

The music was soft, but it was enough to really set the mood. As if you were a princess dancing with her prince, the world disappearing around the both of you and leaving you alone to dance under the moonlight. Or, really, the two of you alone in a small London flat. But a girl can dream, right?

George’s chest was warm as you pressed your forehead against it, revelling in this feeling of privacy and intimacy. You felt untouchable. 

“You’re really special, you know that?” his voice was soft, mouth close to your ear as he mumbled the words. 

You pulled away just enough to look up at him. There was something in his eyes — love, pride, admiration, or something similar — and you really did feel like you were all he could see. Like he had eyes only for you. 

“Could say the same about you,” your voice matched his in softness, eyes darting back and forth between his eyes and his lips. 

He beat you to the action, though, as he tilted his head down and closed the space between the two of you, warm lips pressed softly against yours. A million different feelings bubbled in the pit of your belly and you swore you would crack under the heavy blissful peace that soared through you. 

You loved him. 

There was no way you could deny it. 

Especially as the two of you stood there; lips moulded together as if they were meant to be, your bodies pressed against one another, and an unspoken mutual feeling of adoration passing between you two. 

You really did love him. And you hoped he loved you back. 

———————————————————————

one

The water of the bath was awfully warm. Perfect to contrast the gloomy grey skies and heavy raindrops that came down loudly against the window. For nearly mid-April, the weather was still awfully dreary. 

George’s fingers traced up and down your arms, causing goosebumps to rise in their wake despite the warmth of the bath water. It was warm enough to cause light steam to build on the mirror, and for the two glasses on the edge of the tub to build condensation, but not warm enough to deter your body’s natural reaction to George. 

Your head was resting against his chest, one of his hands against your skin and the other in your wet hair — which much to your dismay, was let down from the ponytail in which it was previously in. George’s orders, of course. 

“You smell nice,” he mumbled, his head leaned back against the tub, his own hair sticking up in spikes after he dipped his head under water, “So do I, actually.”

“It’s the soap, you goon,” you giggled, “That’s what soap does.”

“Goon?” he lifted his head, causing you to turn around and face him, your own body still resting against his, the feeling of his bare skin against yours causing a warmth to spread in your chest. 

“You’re a cute goon, though,” you winked, lifting one of your hands to flatten down his hair, “So it’s fine.”

He nodded, “Right. You’re lucky I love you.”

Not only did it feel like time stood still, but it felt like the both of you did too. The water went silent at the lack of movement, and the eye contact between the both of you felt so prolonged that neither of you could blink. 

Did he just say what you thought he said?

You knew, undoubtedly, that you had fallen head over feels for the ginger boy in front of you. He was the perfect partner in every sense of the word, really. He was caring, he was gentle, he was exciting, and he loved you. 

“You love me?” your voice felt as if it were bound to crack. You didn’t want to move or sit up, too afraid to disturb the moment. To break the connection that had been built with those three words. 

It was as if he himself wasn’t sure he had said them, but by the light smile that graced his gorgeous freckled face, you could tell he meant it. 

“Yeah, I do,” he nodded, “I dunno why it took me so bloody long to say it. But yes, I love you.”

A weight felt like it had been lifted off of your shoulders at the confession, a wave of powerful emotions threatening to smother you in replacement. 

“I love you too,” you didn’t even hesitate to say the words as you were so utterly sure of them. 

The tips of his ears turned a light shade of pink as his smile grew, lopsided and genuine, “That’s good, then.”

It was nearly impossible to hide your pure thrill, arms finding their way around his neck in an instant. He didn’t hesitate to wrap his right back around you, holding your body against his as if he were too bloody pleased to let go. 

“I love you,” he said again, so softly you barely even registered. If you were an inch further away, you might not have even heard it. 

You placed a light kiss on the underside of his jaw, once again relishing in the pride that blossomed at his involuntary shiver, “I love you too, Georgie.”

And Godric, did you ever. 

———

[yikesharringrove]

Egg the Cat

Chapter 2

Read on Ao3

-

Nancy flinched as an engine revved, a sleek blue muscle car pulling into the lot. 

Steve let himself focus on it. It was better than dwelling on his fucking essay, his impending shitty night spent with Barb’s parents, like he didn’t feel horrible enough about that whole situation. 

He watched the car pull into a space at the front of the lot. 

California plates.

“Who’s that?” Steve could picture Nancy wrinkling her nose as she said it, too focused on Billy getting out of his car to turn and see it for real. 

He narrowed his eyes at a young redhead getting out of the passenger side. 

Billy hadn’t said anything about a sibling. 

“That’s Billy. I met him last night.” He finally looked back at Nancy as Billy set off towards the school. “He found Egg downtown.” 

Nancy’s eyebrows flew nearly to her hairline. 

“Steve, I’m sorry, I forgot. Is she okay?”

“Yeah, Billy got her safe and sound. Still don’t know how she got out, though. Let alone made it all the way downtown.” He locked his car as they headed towards the high school, the warning bell sounding through the parking lot.

He reached for Nancy’s hand, his heart soaring when she let him take it. 

Sometimes she said his hands were too clammy. 

He walked her to her first class, kissing her softly by the door. 

Billy glared at the tiny brunette sitting in front of him. 

Steve hadn’t said anything about having a fucking girlfriend last night. 

And really, Billy should’ve known. He’s a hot guy, living in a town of not a lot of hot guys. It makes sense some girl would snap him up. 

It just felt like a slap in the face. 

It’s not like Billy thought he actually had a chance with Steve, but now all of his daydreams, any of his dirty thoughts featuring one Steve Harrington were gonna be tainted, by this prissy fucking bitch. 

Billy just spent all of his AP biology lecture boring holes into the back of her head. 

He didn’t really give a fuck if people noticed, thought it was weird. He was too busy channeling all of his anger, all of his hatred onto this skinny little priss. 

He hoped she could feel it, like maybe his anger gaze gave off palpable heat or something. 

Based on how many times she stuck her hand up to answer every question posed by the teacher, no, she couldn’t feel the heat of Billy’s rage. 

He couldn’t get out of there fast enough, only to find they shared all three of their morning classes. 

Because fuck Billy. 

And then he had to watch, had to stand there like a stupid gay fucking idiot as Steve lifted nancy off her feet, and made out with her against her locker. 

He stomped past, hoping to go unnoticed by-

“Billy!”

Fuck. 

He stopped dead in his tracks, taking a few deep breaths before turning, plastering his best I am so charming and I don’t hate your girlfriend for no reason smile on his face. 

Steve was all sunshiney again today. Billy mentally kicked the little voice in his head saying that sunshine is for you. 

“Hey, man! How’s your first day going?” Steve had his girl tucked under his arm. She looked like a frail little bird. Billy hoped Steve’s cat ate her for breakfast one day soon.

“Well, you got mad at me last night when I called this place a shithole, so I’m just going to heavily imply it.” Steve laughed, his head tipping back a little, eyes crinkling at the corners. 

Billy tried to think about his dad, tied to think about the shelf bruises on his back. 

And then Steve was pressing a sheet of paper into his hand, and their fingers fucking brushed and Billy tried, tried to think of a broken arm and cops at his house, and not holding fucking hands with Steve Harrington. 

He studied the paper, just to look somewhere that wasn’t Steve’s eyes. A lighter shade of brown in the fluorescent lights, a shade bordering on green. 

Come and get sheetfaced. 

“Hawkins parties will probably be lame compared to what you’re familiar with, but I mean, it should be fun.” Billy just nodded, eyes trained on the little ghost. “We’ll be there. Nancy and I.” Nancy. That’s a stupid fucking name. “Y’know, if you aren’t too cool for us by then.”

Steve was smirking at him a little when Billy finally looked up. 

“I’m already cooler than you, Harrington.” Fuck. It sounded way meaner than Billy had wanted, sounded actually rude, not like a little ribbing. Not like a little tongue-in-cheek reference to last night. Cold shit. 

But then Steve tossed his head back, and he laughed, a full belly laugh, and he clapped Billy on the shoulder, and Billy has never felt gayer in his entire life. 

“Harsh, man. Real harsh. Wait ‘til I tell Egg you said that, she’ll never want to see you again .” And Steve was still smiling at him, and he had maybe, alluded to Billy seeing his cat again, which meant seeing Steve outside of school, and Nancy was looking down the hall, like this conversation was below her pay grade, and Billy wanted. 

“See, that’s why I’m cooler than you. I don’t go telling my cat all my lame drama.”

“That’s because you don’t have a cat,” Steve said playfully, his face falling a bit. “Wait, you don’t have a cat, do you?” Billy shrugged.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” And Steve smiled at him, and the bell rang, and Nancy rolled her eyes before pressing herself out from underneath Steve’s arm, and Steve’s big sweet eyes snapped onto her. 

“I’ve got to get to Calculus.” Billy’s heart sank. They shared four classes so far. 

Steve just leaned down to kiss her, one hand cradling the side of her face. Billy looked away.

“I love you.” He had to suppress a snort as Nancy said it back, her voice all pitchy and off. 

But Steve reached out to clap Billy on the shoulder again. 

“I better see you tonight!” And he was off down the hall, and Billy, once again, made a point not to look at his ass. 

-

“You gotta be home by nine-thirty, okay, Shitbird?” Max rolled her eyes again. 

“Billy, I know what time I need to be home by.”

“Just making sure, because you know if you don’t make curfew, I’m somehow gonna be blamed for it.” Billy had only gotten out of playing babysitter this evening when Max had nearly thrown a full tantrum at the idea of trick-or-treating with adult supervision while she’s trying to make friends. 

She just looked at him sharply, her lips pursing a bit. 

“I’ll be home.” Her voice had an edge to it. Billy didn’t really know how to take it.

“Be safe.” She didn’t acknowledge him, just got out of the car, a little Michael Myers heading into the swarm of children. 

He pulled down the road, the party address only a few blocks from where Max was meeting her friends. 

He slammed a beer the minute he entered the party, didn’t want to be sober for a second of this shitfest. 

Steve had been right. This party didn’t hold a fuckin’ candle to what he frequented down in Cali. 

He tried to make the best of it, beat the keg stand record, found some stupid jocks that were more than happy to parade around him all night. 

He just had to get to that sweet spot, drunk enough he would actually get hard with a girl, but not too drunk he’d get whiskey dick. He didn’t need that to be his reputation in this shitty town. 

He was being pulled through the crowd by some freckly fucker dressed as the guy from Karate Kid. Max had made him take her to that movie six times in the theaters. Billy had slept through it every time. 

He was feeling pretty okay, the beer settling into his system, giving him a warm buzz as he studied the party. Maybe he could find some punk kids, score some weed or-

Steve Harrington.  

The karate guy had shoved him in front of Steve, had said, guess who’s the new Keg King, Harrington?

Steve was glaring at the guy, drawn up to his full height, shoulders squared, all of that melting as he turned to Billy, smiling warmly at him. 

Fucking sunshine. 

“Nice job, Dude!” And Steve took Billy’s hand, and he pulled him into a one-armed fucking hug. 

Billy was absolutely stunned. Maybe a little bit hard as he pat his hand against Steve’s back. Felt his muscles moving under his jacket. 

But then Steve pulled back, his eyes trailing after his fucking girlfriend, and he was gone, followed her into the kitchen. 

Billy wanted to tear out his fucking hair. 

He went the opposite way as Steve, pushing through the sweaty crowd. 

He really didn’t need to see Steve coddling his girl. 

He shoved his way into the backyard, vaulting the low fence on the porch, making his way out of the yellowed light spilling out of the house. 

He pulled out a cigarette, lighting it quickly. 

Fucking idiot. You knew you couldn’t have any fucking boy in this goddamn town.

But Billy had come into this town really not expecting any boy to actually catch his eye. 

Not like Steve has. 

Steve with his stupid big eyes, and his stupid big hair, and his stupid cat named fucking Egg. Who names a cat Egg? That’s a dumb fucking name. 

Billy lit his next cigarette with the dying remains of the last one. 

He thought about calling it quits, heading home early. 

But it wasn’t even ten yet, and really, he needed to fool around with a chick tonight. He needed to establish himself as a lady killer. 

Sleep with one girl, and the rumors would build enough that he probably wouldn’t have to fuck any others, just not deny it when any girl claims they had a wild night of passion. 

It was safer that way. Gave him some cushion. 

Then, if any of the lies began to unravel, he’ll just fuck another one, and let the rumor mill do its trick. 

Besides, he can find a brunette, make her take it from behind. If he’s lucky, the party’ll be loud enough he can tune out her moans, picture someone else, picture him -

The backdoor slammed against the wall as someone stomped outside. 

Billy just took another deep drag, hoped he wouldn’t be noticed. 

But, of course-

Steve didn’t even ask, just took the cigarette out of Billy’s mouth, taking a long fucking drag. 

He rolled his shoulders, let his head fall back, blowing the smoke out towards the sky. 

“Y’know, I fucking quit smoking because of her. Not like I did it a lot, but still .” Billy just stayed quiet. He really didn’t want to talk about Steve’s fucking girlfriend. “Because I actually cared .” Oh, now wait a minute.

“What happened?” 

Steve shot him a dark look.

“You weren’t inside?” 

Billy just gestured to the cigarette Steve was now sucking on once again. Billy kept his focus on Steve’s left earlobe. Didn’t care to get a semi just from looking at his lips. 

“Lovers’ quarrel?”

“Does repeatedly being called bullshit and having her tell you she doesn’t love you count as a lovers’ quarrel?”

“Ouch.”

“Yeah.” Steve tossed the cigarette to the ground, stomping it out. Billy didn’t know what to say. 

What he wanted to say was you ever sucked dick? And then maybe take Steve’s mind off of everything by fucking his face, but that felt a little forward, felt a little gay. 

“ Fuck .”

Oh, shit. 

Steve was fucking, Steve was gonna cry. Standing outside with Billy, barely lit by the light filtering through the small frosted bathroom window. 

“ Next week .” Steve’s voice cracked. “We would’ve been together one year next week. And she was pretending .” Steve slumped back against the wall, his face buried in both his hands. “I, I changed everything for her. I stopped seeing my friends because she didn’t like them, I stopped smoking because she said it was gross, I changed who I am as a fucking person. And you know, granted, I am a better person. But I’m different, because of her, and she just, she threw all of it away.”

He sniffed loudly, his shoulders stuttering. 

Billy felt like his guts were on fucking fire. 

“Fuck her. Fuck her. You are a good guy. And if she’s too much of a bitch to see that, she doesn’t deserve you.” Steve didn’t acknowledge him for a while. Billy just let it be, lit another cigarette. 

“I think I’m gonna go home. I wanna see my cat.” Steve sounded like a little kid. Like a heartbroken little kid. 

“You good to drive?” And Steve finally pulled his head out of his hands. 

His big eyes were shining, his cheeks wet, glistening in the low light. 

“I don’t drink anymore. Because she said I’m an asshole when I’m drunk.”

Billy weighed his words carefully. 

“I’ve got a bottle of tequila in my car if you wanna stick it to her.” Steve gave him a watery smile. 

“You wanna follow me to my place?”

[feifiefofum]

violet evergarden the movie: review reaction thing because feelings were felt

look man, here there will be spoilers, so read at your own peril i guess.

they start this off with ann’s descendant so right off the bat, you were in for emotions. like, we was primed to feel shit, and i was crying like a little bitch because i get emotional easily and the cold hard shock of basically having the movie grab me by the throat to choke slam me back to that episode of the anime was fucking dirty kyoani.

i applaud you. well done. i’m ready to watch this movie through my own tears so well played.

this movie is a roller coaster of emotions. i recently re-watched the whole series, the anime and the previous movie so i was well and truly refreshed with the feels of everything that whole series brought about. and then the movie hit me in the gonads with violet leaving leiden after she was 18 and i was like, no. uh-uh, you’re not-

to quote a vulcan, i was emotionally compromised.

wth happened, did she die?? i can’t stand that thought. i had an inkling that major gilber bouganvillea was alive, so does she die on a rescue mission? what the hell movie, you can’t set this shit up like this and expect me to be composed.

but i trusted the movie and just kept watching, but my mind was going to some dark places and the series deftly played my emotions like a fiddle. i will admit, i’m pretty prone to emotional manipulation by media of all stripes, so the complexity of playing my emotions was less fiddle and more kazoo, but the music would be breathtaking all the same.

there’s a bit of setup to the movie to work our emotions even harder, and violet’s as well. because where once she was an unfeeling vulcan, she’s now a very, very depressed traumatized 18 year old.

we often forget how young violet is, because she’s a bad bitch that could kill a man six feet away as soon as look at them. which the movie reminds us of when she nearly kills dietfried, gil’s brother, when he comes to the postal office to return her hair ribbon.

she may be cute, she may be muted in her emotional expression, and she may have difficulty with social cues, but she ptsded all up in that cute blond head of hers and it is complicated up there to say the least.

now i know a lot of people view violet and gilbert’s relationship in a romantic light. as in love and marriage and all of that. i do not. for one, this is a grown man, a major in the army, and a whole adult in his late twenties, early thirties at least. violet was a teen at best, i’d say 15 to 17 at latest. say the war was a year long, she comes out of it at 16 and you’re all gonna say a traumatized teen and a nearly thirty year old man who is her commanding officer should be romantically involved? i’m not even going to go in about fraternizing among those in the same chain of command is very bad, with a power difference that’s heavily in the majors favor and she saw herself as his tool because he was the first one to be kind to her.

this is not a good romantic base for anyone, even if we take the whole war thing out. this is at best an okay base for a paternal child relationship though. and that’s being extremely generous.

major gilbert is a good man placed in a bad situation and terribly traumatized by it. he saw a child prodigy of war and instead of seeing a weapon like his brother, he saw a child that needed protecting and he tried his best to protect her. he knew that he had to use her or she would be assigned to someone else who would use her witout hesitation and he can not trust others to have her best interests at heart. so he used her reluctantly to best effect and tried to build a foundation for her future. another commanding officer would have sent her to take down enemy encampments but would not have taken the time to give her a name, teach her how to read of write, include her in his will or even look out for her in case of his death by trying to place her with the evergarden family. or have lieutenant colonel hodgins look after her.

in her life, violet has had three father figures. dietfried bouganvillea was mildly traumatized by violet on their first meeting. violet probably stowed away on his boat for food and shelter, was found and proceeded to kill a lot of people to get away and was caught. his rough treatment of her was understandable. despicable, but understandable. gilbert tried to raise her as more than a weapon, would’ve preferred not to use her at all, but circumstances dictated that if he didn’t make use of her, someone else will. and so he made the best of a bad situation, tried to teach her how to be a proper human being, placed the building blocks for compassion and love inside of her. to put it simply, violet was like a feral animal child. if she were to be compared to a robot, she installed ‘survival’ and ‘combat prowess’ software to survive her harsh living conditions. gilbert was told to aim said combat droid at the enemy and if he wouldn’t do it, she’d be given to someone else. so he did, but in his off time he worked on loading her with human social cues into her software. which is like trying to load mac software into an android or something meaning it’s a foreign language that she’s barely grasping. it’s like first contact. but gilbert made and built enough of a foundation for hodgins, who circumstances permitted to be an actual good father figure to violet. he completed the install of human emotions and relationships into violet using his company and employees and did his dadest impression to a tee.

i’m not trying to say gilbert was a bad man, definitely not. but his circumstances did not permit him to be a good man. i’d think hodgins would’ve done something similar, tried to educate and care for violet as best he could, but circumstances would’ve been the same.

both of these men would have been sending a child soldier into a war zone. that’s a morally indefensible thing. it could be understood by the circumstances, but still, indefensible.

but what choice would anyone else have had? if gilbert didn’t do it, a less morally upright person would’ve. dietfried did, and he was gilbert’s brother. you could refuse those orders, not send her into combat, but she throws herself in to be useful to him because that’s her understanding of the world and that’s what she knows how to do, and if you protest she gets passed on to the next officer who would and what good would that do her? at least you’re going to try to treat her right, the next guy might not. and in the company of so much men at war with not another female in sight, well, on the front-line, these guys might be a little backed up. and that’s another traumatizing horror to shield her from.

but the problem with having a conscience is that you don’t get out of sending a child into a war zone without some scars. a lot of people wonder at batman’s no killing rule and go wtf, but killing another person scars the soul. doing bad things when you have a conscience should be traumatizing, you feel guilty about it, no matter how it could be justified. they’re emotions, they don’t always make sense.

and gilbert, who loves violet as a father would his child can not, could not reconcile with the fact that he did such a horrible thing to this precious girl and could not see the good that he did for her. you can point out all the reading rainbow stuff that he did for her, but how can that negate the horrifying reality of him knowingly sending a child out into an active war zone to close with and kill other human beings? how does reading rainbow and buying a brooch for her make up for dying her hands in blood? for getting her arms shot off?

basically, you don’t get to be a good man when you’ve sent a child into a war zone despite your best efforts to the contrary and frankly i can’t disagree. it was a complex situation, but he could’ve run away with her, did many things differently, been a better man, but that would mean abandoning his command, and his command’s men. he had those responsibilities to contend with as well.

basically a hot mess.

major gilbert bouganvillea did his best and the trauma that he was scarred with is every bit as valid as violet’s own. i do believe i estimated violet’s age at the higher end here, and i have no idea how long the war lasted. it could’ve been a year, a couple of months, or even more. ww1 was 4 years long. ww2 was 6 years long. violet came up to the bottom of gilbert’s chest when they first met and can now comfortably tuck her head under his chin while standing. not sure how tall the average young lady of 18 compares to a fully grown man in leiden is, but uh, that’s young and she tiny, probably from malnutrition, lean diets, and feral foraging.

the main thrust of what i’m trying to get at here is that violet was a child that came into gilbert’s care and he loved that child and tried to raise her as best he could in the shittiest of shitty situations. that violet came out of it ptsded as she is, is a testament to gilbert’s effort to treating her with as much dignity and kindness as he could dispense given his circumstances. hodgins finishes the job, becomes the most overprotective nervous bestest dad that doesn’t even have biological children ever, and risks brig time by laying hands on an admiral. i love hodgins, but he would not have gotten very far in raising violet as he did without the foundation that gilbert laid down in the shitstorm of a war.

the movie explored the complexity of a child parent relationship three times in the movie. i’m pretty sure that gilbert/violet is less man and woman, and more father and daughter. there’s the complication of ann’s granddaughter feeling like her own mother was absent in her life because mom had a lot of responsibilities as a doctor. there’s a dying child feeling that his parents were devoting more attention to his younger brother than to him, the older brother. there’s violet and all her father figures from dietfried to gilbert and finally to hodgins.

violet’s feelings towards gilbert are portrayed in a romantic light but not in the sense that they should get married, but in the sense that it’s kinda idealized. a good man that did his best to do right by a child that he doesn’t have any real responsibility for other than his brother gave her to him. he could’ve passed the buck, said no and gotten her taken from him, shirked his duties and betrayed his men and country- there were options and he tried to thread the needle of morality navigating the terrain of good and evil as best he could for an indefinite amount of time, day in and day out. that he came out of that hell this mentally sound is a testament indeed.

but honestly, this is a father/daughter relationship here. no judgement if you, y’know, ship it ship it. but there’s a reason why usagi drop only got animated as far as it did. violet/gilbert is definitely a solid father/daughter relationship in my eyes.

but yes, this was a very good movie that explored some very emotionally charged themes of trauma and parent/child relationships. 24 teardrops outta 10, would recommend for an emotionally charged experience.