#what’s most jarring is when fics i don’t consider to be successes do well

[paimonial-rage]

🎉for the ask game :) hehe — @milkstore

🎉 What leads you to consider a fic a success?

This may be a bit weird to say, but personal satisfaction. While I do write with others in mind, I write purely for myself. With things I put a lot of effort into, I usually have a point with writing the fic. On top of that, I have very high standards. When I am able to write a fic that properly fills the purpose I write it for on top of matching my standards, I consider the fic to be a success. Like I’ll be completely honest. The fic I consider to be the most successful on this blog has barely any notes in comparison to my other fics, including my short fics.

[onceuponastory]

letting you down - rockstar!bucky x reader

Don't you get sick of only hearing your own voice? Talk like you're so damn tough, but you're just a little boy You like to think you've broke the mould, but now I'm sure, You'll crack just like the rest when I break your fucking jaw! - the best thing (that never happened) by we are the in crowd

Edit: Although the girl I used in the original moodboard was meant to be Natasha, I want my fics to be inclusive for all, so have updated the moodboard to reflect this. Plot: Tour romances mean nothing serious...right?

Or, fresh out of a breakup and deciding to focus on her music, Y/N jumps at the chance to go on tour with one of her favourite bands to take her mind off of things. Especially romance. Unfortunately for her, their drummer just can't keep his eyes off of her. Pairing: Rockstar!Bucky Barnes x Female!Reader Warnings: Emotional abuse and manipulation (not from Bucky), reader’s ex being a dick, self doubt, a tiny mention of violence and anxiety. As always, if I miss any triggers, please let me know. Notes: Another rockstar Bucky fic, because I do love him so. Also, this was inspired by song above, so I recommend you listen to it (also because it’s a great song). Again, thanks to @staticscreenwriting / @astartothemoon for my dividers. Not beta’d, so any mistakes are my own.

Taking a seat on the cold wooden chair in her agent’s office, Y/N anxiously nibbles on the skin of her lip, almost tearing it off with how nervous she is. Only an hour ago, she was told to come to the office urgently because her agent had news for her, too important to share over the phone. The whole time, she’s been wracking her brain to figure out what she could want to tell her. And each time, her mind has come up with the worst potential outcomes. And after just being dumped, that’s the last thing she needs right now. “So, we have some news.” Helen, her agent, announces, peering at her over the frame of her glasses. Y/N gulps. It’s the sort of look a mother gives her child when they’re caught sneaking cookies out of the jar, or when she knows that they’re the one who broke her vase. Either way, it’s not a good sign. She’s definitely about to be dropped. Maybe Dylan's right. Maybe she’s not cut out for this. Her stomach churns, and she warily eyes the exit, just in case.

“Good news, I hope…?” She chuckles awkwardly, starting to hope the ground will swallow her whole.

“It depends on whether you have any plans in September.” Frowning, Y/N raises a brow. However, before she can even ask why, Helen continues. “Because The End of The Line wants you to open for them on their US Tour that month.” She states casually. Y/N’s mouth drops open.

“WHAT?!” she squeals. “Are you serious?!” The End of The Line is a band she knows very well. Okay, she knows their music. Yet, considering how they’ve got multiple number ones and album nominations under their belts, practically everyone knows who they are. They’re one of the most successful bands going in the scene right now. But she had no idea they knew who she was. What feels like only a few months ago, Y/N was posting her own original songs on her YouTube and performing in her local bar…and now, she’s going on tour with one of her favourite bands. Not even that. Imagine the exposure this could bring. All the new fans and support. She doesn’t even realise how much her heart is beating or how close she is to hyperventilating until Helen passes over a glass of water.

“Don���t be so modest.” She tuts. “The first single you released has been in the Top 10 for weeks, and your album is selling incredibly well. You’re in high demand, and people know it.” Y/N gulps down the water almost in one go, still shaking. “Are you okay? I don’t want you passing out on my floor.”

“No, no. I’m okay! I’m good.” Y/N lies. Helen raises a brow.

“Okay, well I need to confirm your attendance with their team so they can schedule a meeting with them and the band to go over venues. And then there’s merchandising, transport arrangements….” Helen’s voice fades into static as Y/N grapples with the situation. She’s going on tour with one of her favourite bands. They know who she is, and they like her. She pinches her skin a few times, wondering if she’s still dreaming. That she’ll open her eyes and she’ll be a nobody again, her perfect Cinderella story over. 

However, the repeated pinching doesn’t work, meaning that this is real. That revelation somehow both makes her relieved and absolutely terrified. Sure, she’s going on her first tour…but that means there’s more people to disappoint. The band, for a start. But then again, going on tour means meeting one of her favourite bands ever. Not to mention that by getting herself out there, more and more people can discover her music, and she can hopefully do what she loves for a living, rather than waiting tables for the rest of her life. Which means potentially more tours and new albums. And she won’t have to spend as much time in her practically empty apartment now that Dylan’s left. “So? What should I say?” Helen asks, peering over the rim of her glasses again.

Taking a breath, Y/N answers: “Tell them I’d love to tour with them.”

A few weeks later, Y/N and Helen enter the building where she’s about to meet The End of the Line and their agent. Glancing around the vast building, Y/N’s heart rate picks up. A year ago, she could only dream of going to a place like this for a visit, let alone to meet one of the biggest bands in the scene to plan a tour with them. As they enter the elevator, Y/N fiddles with the waistband of her trousers, suddenly feeling more and more constricted. 

“Maybe this was the wrong outfit choice. Maybe I should’ve been more casual?” She wonders. “Actually, maybe I should just go. I definitely do not fit in here. Sure, I’ll be getting out of the house, but is it really worth all this?” Y/N bounces anxiously on her heels, waiting for the elevator to reach the floor they need so she can make a break for it. 

“Y/N, please calm down before you stress me out. That’s the last thing either of us needs.” Helen sighs.

“Sorry. I’m just nervous.” Yet she can tell Helen’s words are not malicious. Helen really does care for her. She just has a funny way of showing it sometimes.

“I know. Trust me, though, they don’t bite. And I made Tony promise that he’d play nice, too.” She chuckles. Y/N doesn’t laugh. The elevator dings, and Helen announces that they’ve made it. Y/N’s heart drops. Although she considered running, she now can’t move. “Come on.” Helen orders, beckoning her to follow. Y/N does as she asks, as if on autopilot.

“That woman must have magic powers.” She thinks to herself.

When they reach the meeting room, to Y/N’s surprise, Helen simply walks in without knocking, giving her no time to prepare. 

“Well, look who finally arrived! It’s wonderful to see you again, Helen.” A man grins, shaking Helen’s hand. He’s dressed in a crisp black suit, one that Y/N recognises absolutely costs more than her rent for a year. Presumably that’s Tony. Y/N steps forward, ready to introduce herself. Until-

“Hey! You must be Y/N!” Before she can even react, Natasha Romanoff is standing in front of her. Y/N gulps. 

“Yeah, that’s me. It’s nice to meet you!” She holds out a hand for her to shake, but Natasha pulls her into a hug instead. 

“There’s one thing you gotta know about Nat. She’s a hugger.” She recognises Steve’s voice, but suddenly realising Natasha Romanoff is a real person to then being hugged by her in such a short space of time is a lot for Y/N to cope with.

“You’re gorgeous! I can’t wait to go on tour with you!” Nat squeals, and Y/N mutters something in reply, still in shock. 

“Nat, let the poor girl breathe and let the rest of us say hi!” a voice speaks, and Y/N is soon released from Nat’s grasp. Then, she meets the rest of the band, starting with Steve and Sam. “And over there is…” 

But the man on the couch needs no introduction. Bucky Barnes leans against the back of the couch, twirling a drumstick between his tattooed fingers. In fact, tattoos cover both of his arms and most of his hands, little of his actual skin showing. He cocks his head, looking over her body with a smile. This man just oozes confidence…and he’s fucking gorgeous.

“Bucky.” She whispers, although not quietly enough, as Bucky laughs.

“Yup, that’s me.” Y/N blushes. Bucky gets up and shakes her hand. Her fingers brush over the calluses dotted around his fingers, and a shiver reverberates through her body. “Nice to meet you.” He smiles, and Y/N gulps. Fuck, this man is attractive, and he knows it. And he probably knows that she knows it too, given how he’s looking at her. Nothing can come of this, though. She’s here to do a job and for her music, not to fall in love. Especially after everything that’s happened in her love life, and especially not with a band guy like Bucky Barnes. 

“Come on, let’s start planning.” Tony orders. As the group takes their seats, Bucky sits right across from her, still smiling. Still staring at her. Y/N’s breath hitches in her throat.

She can already tell…he’s got trouble written all over him.

The next few months of interviews, photoshoots and practice sessions whizz by in a blur. In seemingly no time at all, it’s time for Y/N to go on tour. She looks up at the tour buses, her stomach churning with both excitement and her nerves. 

Is it too early to go home?

“Hey! You made it!” a voice calls. And there go her escape plans.

“Hey Eddie. Do you know where I’m supposed to be staying? Am I with you guys on your bus?" she asks. Eddie is one of the band’s merch guys, and since meeting, the pair gelled right away, something which Y/N is immensely grateful for. Of course, she’s glad she and the band are getting on so well, but it’s nice to have a friend who isn’t in a band, someone she can just talk to about anything. In all honesty, Y/N’s still nervous around the band. They’re lovely, but she’s star-struck and hopelessly awkward whenever she’s with them, which isn’t a good thing when you’re trying to make friends. 

To her confusion, though, Eddie chuckles. “Sorry Y/N, but you’re not with us.” He gestures his head to the other bus. “The musicians are all in there.” Y/N gulps. This isn’t what she expected. She feels like a fish out of water, even now. Like she doesn’t belong. She’s just an opener, a nobody.

“But-” 

“Yes, that means you too.” Eddie cuts her off. “And we’re full.” He continues before she can say anything more. “On you go.” When she doesn’t move, he gently nudges her forward, towards the door of the bus. “You better be fast and get a good bunk!” He calls after her as she nervously steps on board. 

As she makes her way to the bunk area, clutching her bag close to her chest, Y/N looks around the bus, her home for the next few weeks. Its kitchenette is even bigger than her kitchen at home. Actually, this whole bus is bigger than her apartment. Earlier this year, she could only dream of standing on a bus like this, yet alone living here. This is definitely going to take some getting used to. 

“Hey guys.” She smiles when she reaches the bunks. They all smile when they see her, each welcoming her to her new home, which makes her feel a little less nervous. “So, which bunk is mine?” 

“You’re up here, above me.” Bucky answers. Y/N’s eyes widen, and immediately, her nervousness is back. Bucky? She’s sleeping in close proximity to Bucky? The same drummer who’s been on her mind ever since she met him, despite her attempts to block him out? How can this possibly go wrong? “I hope that’s okay. If you’d rather have the bottom one, just say.” He reassures her. Despite her nerves, Bucky’s commitment to making sure she’s okay and comfortable makes her smile. 

“No, the top one is totally fine. Thanks Bucky.” She nods, trying to throw her bag onto the bed, but unable to reach.

“Let me help you with that.” Bucky chuckles. 

“Are you sure? I’m okay Bucky, it’s-” But the bag falls to the floor before she can finish her sentence. Bucky laughs again. Yet it’s not a mocking laugh. It’s a friendly laugh, actually. “Okay, maybe I do need help.” Bucky picks up her bag, lifting it over her head and onto the bunk with ease. As he does, she immediately notices his proximity to her. He’s so close that he’s almost trapping her between the bunks. So close she could reach out and run her finger along every single outline of each of Bucky’s tattoos, touch every freckle and birthmark dotting his skin. Y/N gasps. She never realised how muscular he was at first. “Thanks.” She smiles.

“You’re welcome.” He nods. For a moment, it’s as if it’s just them two on the bus, in their own little universe, each staring into the other’s eyes. But then, a little voice sounds in Y/N’s head.

“Don’t get with band dudes. They’re no good. And they’re the last thing you need, especially now.” And so, she pulls away. As she does, she registers Bucky’s smile faltering slightly. “So, what are the beds like? Are they comfy?” She asks, climbing up to her bunk, hoping to change the subject. 

“Yeah, they’re alright.” Bucky replies, his voice mumbled slightly. As she lays down, Bucky’s smile fading and his slight disappointment replays in her mind. His disappointment confuses her.

This is for her own good.

For both of their own good.

So why does she feel so bad about it?

Early the next morning, Y/N sits alone at the small table in the bus’ kitchenette, staring out at the window and watching the world go by. A steaming mug of coffee sits opposite her. Unsurprisingly, her nerves meant she didn’t sleep well the night before. Especially since tomorrow marks the first night of the tour, and her first time performing for people who aren’t the regulars at her local bar.

“Hey.” A familiar voice speaks, pulling her out of her thoughts as Bucky sits opposite her. Y/N rubs her eyes, mumbling a good morning. “You good? Wasn’t expecting anyone else to be up so early.” He remarks. She waits, a part of her expecting a cheeky or sarcastic comment to follow. However, there’s no malice in Bucky’s comment. In fact, it’s far from cruel. It’s from a place of concern, making sure she’s alright after having her world changed practically overnight. And Y/N appreciates it more than he’ll ever know.

“Yeah, I’m okay.” Y/N murmurs, wiping at her eyes. “Just homesick, that’s all. I’m not used to being away from home on tour yet. I mostly just stick to playing local bars.” It’s not exactly a lie. Sure, it’s not the main reason she’s sitting here teary eyed at not even 8.30am, but it’s still part of it. Bucky’s brow furrows. A part of her expects him to judge her, or to laugh at her for being so inexperienced. Like she’s used to people doing. Well…like she’s used to Dylan doing. Or worse, he’ll start prying. Something she absolutely isn’t ready for. However, Bucky simply nods. 

“Yeah, I get that. It took us all a while to get used to it, too. But don’t worry, you’re doing great, and you’re definitely good enough to be on tour.” And for the first time that morning, Y/N finds herself smiling. 

“So, now we’ve established why I’m here so early in the morning, can I ask why you are?” 

“Well, I’ve always been a bit of an early bird, and when you share a bus with three other people, some of whom snore….” He trails off, and he and Y/N laugh. “I usually take this time to write some music, but it’s nice to have some new company for once.”

“Have you been working on anything special?” Bucky shrugs.

“Just some things here and there. Maybe we could plan a writing session.” 

“Just us?” Y/N regrets the question almost immediately. Because who does that? Who asks a cute guy who talks about hanging out with you if his friends will tag along too?

“If you want.” Bucky smiles, and something in Y/N’s stomach flutters. “Okay, I’m gonna get some breakfast.” Bucky announces, getting up. “Do you want some?”

“Sure, what have you got?”

“We have…cereal or cereal.” He offers, holding up two boxes. Y/N laughs.

“Wow, what varied choices. I think I’ll have cereal, please.” Y/N points out the box she wants, and Bucky nods.

“A wise choice.” Y/N giggles again, and he grins. He passes over a bowl and sits back down. The pair chat as they eat their breakfast, laughing at each other’s jokes. Y/N can feel her heart beating like crazy. She never imagined she would be here, doing simple things like eating breakfast with a rockstar, or that they’d get along so well. Especially so soon after having her heart broken. It’s an unfamiliar experience…but it’s a nice, comfortable one all the same. 

As the morning goes on, the rest of the band slowly make their way towards them, and the bus fills with laughter and chatter. Bucky drums a rhythm on the table, and once again Y/N finds herself smiling as she watches him play, and as the others all sing along. Yet, despite how much fun she’s having at that moment, all she can think about is when this tour will be over, and how, when it ends, she’s going to be heartbroken and alone all over again. And she can’t handle that pain. Not again.

She has to limit the risk of heartbreak, wherever possible. 

The next night, Y/N paces around the green room, nervously murmuring to herself. “I can’t do this. I can’t do this. Oh god, they’re gonna hate me.” She wrings her hands together. “Is it too late to go home?”

“Hey, it’s alright Y/N. Calm down. Take deep breaths.” Sam encourages. 

“Yeah, you’ll be fine! You’ve practised more than enough for this. We were nervous our first time too.” Natasha continues, and the others nod. Yet, Y/N shakes her head.

“No. I won’t. It’s a huge crowd, and I’m not good enough.” A figure stands in front of her, gently taking her arms.

“Y/N.” Bucky. “I promise you, you are good enough for this. After all, that’s why we brought you on tour with us, right, guys?” A chorus of agreement fills the room, alleviating her worry slightly. 

“What if they hate me, though?”

“Nobody’s going to hate you. Did you see the reaction we got when we announced you? Everyone is so excited, and you’re going to go out there and kill it, just like you did in rehearsal.” Seeing that she’s still nervous, Bucky leans in slightly closer. “When you’re out there, imagine you’re performing just for us, like before. Think you can do that?” He asks.

“I guess….” She murmurs, and Bucky smiles. 

“Good girl. Want us to walk down to the stage with you?” He asks, and she nods. When the time comes, the band does exactly that, reassuring her the whole way there. As she waits for the song before she goes out to finish, Y/N takes deep breaths. She registers someone squeezing her hand, and Bucky whispers in her ear. “Don’t worry. Just like you practised. We’ll be right here, watching.” Y/N nods.

And then, it’s time, and Y/N steps onto the stage. Immediately, she launches into her first song. To her surprise, most of the crowd seems to know it, and she can see the people in the first few rows singing along and dancing. Even those who don’t know her look like they’re having a good time. And the same things happen with the second song. And the next song. The crowd seems to love her. 

After a few songs, Y/N takes a minute to have a drink.

“Hey guys! I’m Y/N.” The crowd cheers, and she can’t help but smile. “Some of you may know this, but this is my first actual show on an actual tour, and what a fucking amazing crowd and band to start my tour life with!” More cheers. “So thank you all, but especially thank you to The End of the Line!” She glances to the side of the stage, catching the eyes of the band. All four grin, giving her a thumbs up. Y/N smiles proudly. “This next song is called Crimson. Sing along if you know it.”

Y/N’s set goes by both quicker and better than she expected. As she gets closer to the end of her set, the band leaves to finish getting ready for their own set. However, Y/N doesn’t mind. She already feels more confident than she did at the beginning. As she finishes up her last song, she calls out: “Thank you all so fucking much! I’m gonna be hanging out at the merch table over there for a bit if you wanna come say hi or tell me I was shit. Fuck it, you guys bought the tickets.” She giggles. “Goodnight!”

When she makes it to the merch stand, Eddie hands her a beer, which she almost downs. “Damn girl.” Eddie praises. “That was fucking awesome!”

“You think?”

“Uh, yeah! The crowd loved you. We’ve sold a bunch of your merch already.” She gasps.

“You’re kidding.” He shakes his head, gesturing to something behind her. Y/N turns around to see some girls standing there, staring at her all wide eyed. “Oh sorry. Am I in your way for merch? Just tell me to move. It’s okay.”

“You were amazing! I love your music so much.” One of them grins, holding out her ticket and a sharpie. “Can you sign my ticket, please?” Y/N’s mouth drops open. She wasn’t actually expecting people to want to meet her.

“And mine!” The others chorus.

“T-Thanks!” Still slightly in shock, Y/N nods, signing each ticket and taking pictures with each of them. Soon, a few more fans come to see her, and still amazed, Y/N repeats the cycle. This is her first ever meet and greet, the first time people actually like her.

“Have a good night!” She calls as they go back towards the crowd. “Did that just happen, or am I fucking dreaming?!” she asks Eddie, who laughs.

“I told you. They love you.”

During The End Of The Line’s set, Y/N stands side stage watching them, smiling and singing along to every song as the crowd laps it up, screaming every word back to them. They’re such incredible performers. Maybe one day, that’ll be her, selling out venues across the country. She glances out on the stage, watching as the band plays. Natasha jumps around, her red hair swinging around wildly. Sam and Steve lean against each other as they play their guitars, smiling and joking with each other. And then, she sees Bucky, drumming furiously, his arms moving rapidly. He throws his hands up into the air, twirling his drumsticks between his fingers. Once the song ends, he runs his hand through his hair, strands sticking to his sweaty forehead. Breathlessly, he smiles, mouthing a thank you to the crowd. Y/N feels her breath hitching in her throat. He looks so gorgeous, a true rockstar. 

In an ideal world, one where she and her love life aren’t so broken, they’d probably be together. But there’s no way that can happen. She can see how the girls in the crowd look at him and the others. If he has the pick of any girl he wants, why would he ever go for her?

After all, she’s just an opener. Feeling her heart sinking, Y/N sighs sadly. With one last look at Bucky, she turns and walks back to the green room.

After their set, the band comes back to the green room. To her surprise, though, they’re not talking about their set…they’re talking about hers. “I knew it! You were perfect!” Natasha squeals. “We’re so proud of you!”

“And Eddie told us about your meet and greet. The fans love you.” Sam praises. Before Y/N can say anything, the band envelopes her in a group hug. The overwhelming love and support shown to her throughout the night suddenly reaches a head. Immediately, tears come to her eyes, and soon, Y/N begins crying.

“Oh god, sorry was it too much? We can be a lot, so if you’re uncomfortable, just tell us, sweetheart.”

“No! I’m just…not used to all this, to being shown so much support all at once.” She murmurs, and a chorus of “awww!” fills the room.

“Trust us.” Natasha smiles. “You deserve it.”

“Welcome to touring life Y/N! As a celebration, I say we go get food. My treat.” Steve grins.

“Wow, you’re paying? That’s new. You should savour this experience Y/N.” Sam teases, and the group dissolves into laughter. As she looks around at the band, her new friends who changed her life, Y/N smiles, already feeling her anxieties beginning to melt away slightly.

“Come on then. Let’s go.”

“That was so good. And it tasted even better since I didn’t pay.” Sam grins, and Y/N laughs. 

“Shove off. It’s your turn next time.” Steve replies. As Sam, Steve and Natasha walk on ahead, Bucky falls into step beside her. Right away, she can feel her heart rate beginning to increase.

“I’ve eaten so much, I’m surprised I’m still able to walk.” She murmurs, and Bucky laughs. 

“Yeah, I feel that. We go there every time we’re here, and every time I eat too much too. Join the club.” Y/N looks up, glancing at the stars. She used to wish on them every night, hoping someone would discover her, and that she might actually have a shot at making music, the thing she loves, her job. And now, here she is. Maybe dreams come true after all. “So.” Bucky begins, drawing her focus back to him. “Is there anywhere on this tour you’re most excited to go to?” 

“I don’t really know. In all honesty, this whole thing and getting to tour the country is still mind blowing to me. I’m happy to go anywhere.” Smiling, Bucky nods. 

“Yeah, I was the same when we first started out. You’ll still pinch yourself, even when you get as famous as us. And I have every faith you’ll get there.” Y/N gasps. It’s strange, how he’s so much more famous than her, and yet he still talks to her and treats her like he’s his equal. He really is one of the kindest people she knows. Her stomach twists in knots. And that’s going to make leaving him even more difficult. “I’m most excited to be back in New York, though. Even though I moved away, hometown shows are always the best.”

“You’re from New York too? Same!” Bucky smiles. Her eyes trace along Bucky’s jawline, illuminated by the streetlights. He looks so beautiful. She feels Bucky’s hand brushing against hers, and her heart rate increases.

If dreams do come true...she has an idea for a new one.

“Really? That’s awesome. You know, there’s a really great Italian restaurant I go to all the time whenever I’m there. Maybe we could go.” Y/N suppresses a laugh. She’d love that more than anything, but deep down, she knows he doesn’t really mean it. It’s just him trying to be nice. He’ll forget about her when all of this is over. They all will. And she can’t even blame them for it. Sighing, she nods.

“Yeah. That’d be nice.” 

As the tour continues, Y/N’s confidence continues to grow. Each night, she becomes more and more excited to go on stage. And in turn, she becomes more confident around the band, and spends more time with them, whether it’s writing songs together, shopping with Natasha, or hanging out with Sam and Steve. Basically, her touring life is perfect…aside from one little thorn in her side.

Bucky Barnes.

It’s not that Bucky has been horrible to her, not at all. In fact, he’s been the same kind and welcoming person he’s always been. That’s the problem. He’s so kind that it’s hard to not get close to him, or to want to spend time with him. Especially since she can already feel herself falling deeper in love with him with every passing day. Each time she has to pull away, Y/N feels terrible. 

“So.” Natasha smirks one day whilst they’re out shopping. “When are you gonna put that poor boy out of his misery?” When Y/N raises a brow, Natasha rolls her eyes. “Don’t pretend like you don’t know what I mean! Bucky is so clearly whipped for you, and you’re obviously into him. I can see it all over you.” She grins. Y/N gulps. Despite how happy she is to know that Bucky might feel the same way about her, this is the last thing she wanted to happen. 

“Nothing is going to happen Nat. And you don’t even know if that’s true.” She points out. Natasha says something in reply, but Y/N doesn’t hear it. All she can think about is how big of a problem this is, and how she’s going to have to break Bucky’s heart even more. Of course, the idea of just telling him the truth and admitting her feelings has crossed her mind a few times. Yet, despite how much she wants to do that, and to stop letting her fear and Dylan ruin her new chance at happiness…she’s too afraid to admit the truth, and to drag Bucky into her mess. Or to lose him, and be heartbroken all over again. And this time, it’ll hurt even more than it did with Dylan.

As soon as they get back, Y/N enters the bus, shutting the door behind them. She climbs into her bunk. Angrily throwing the pillow across her bunk, Y/N grabs her phone. Hopefully, scrolling through social media will make her feel better. And at first, it works as posts from her fans fill her feed. She likes and comments on a few, continuing to scroll. As Y/N reads their words, a smile grows on her face. She’s so lucky to have her fans and their support. But then, another post appears. One of her ex and her ex-best friend. Immediately, her heart sinks. They’re still together, smiling like nothing happened, acting like they haven’t left a trail of destruction in their wake and ruined her life. She’s sitting here, terrified of getting too close to Bucky and the others in case she gets hurt like that again. And the people who did it to her in the first place don't even care. They never did.

Angrily, Y/N grips her blanket, grabbing her songwriting notebook and opening it.

It’s about time she lets out her emotions.

“Is Y/N okay?” Sam asks the next morning, after they arrive in New York. “I didn’t see much of her last night, and she shut herself away as soon as we got to the venue.” Bucky furrows his brow, concern flooding his features. Y/N barely spoke to anyone, only a few words here and there. Natasha shrugs.

“She said she’s busy writing, and she doesn’t want to be disturbed. I guess we’ll find out when her new song comes out.” That makes Bucky even more concerned. He knows all about being in a deeply focused, creative headspace, and how you don’t want to speak to anyone until it’s done. But he also knows how bad it can be when you shut yourself away for so long, especially when she already looks so upset. He’ll have to check on her when he gets the chance.

Yet, the next time he sees Y/N is when she’s getting ready to go on and is in a rush. 

“Are you sure you’re alright? We were worried about you.” He asks, watching as she runs around the room, spraying hairspray and perfume everywhere. 

“Yeah, I’m good. Much better.” She insists, reapplying her lipstick in the mirror and giving herself one last check over. “Right, I gotta go. Talk soon, yeah?”

“But-” Bucky begins, cut off by Y/N placing her hand on his arm.

“Bucky, trust me. I’m okay. Bye!” And then she’s gone, leaving the scent of perfume in her wake. Despite his concern, Bucky chuckles. She sure is something. Tonight, she looks like an angel, glitter covering her lids and outfit. She looks beautiful. But she always does. This entire tour, he’s been trying to find the guts to tell her the truth about how he feels, with no luck. And the way she always turns him down or pulls away at the last second makes him think she doesn’t feel the same. Turning, Bucky follows her down towards the stage. 

Although, if she doesn’t feel the same way, he’d understand. When he gets to the side stage, Y/N is already on, in the middle of her first song. Bucky watches her as she works through her first few songs, smiling. The way she controls and interacts with the crowd is incredible, much better than he could ever do.

“Well, hello New York!” Y/N shouts into the mic, the ending of her sentence being drowned out by screams and cheers. “You guys are fucking awesome. Thank you so much!” Another round of cheering sounds, and Y/N grins, the lighting illuminating her teeth and the glitter she’s wearing. Bucky watches, smiling. “Are you guys excited for The End of The Line?” The crowd goes wild again, and Y/N laughs. “That was probably a stupid question.”

“I wanna try something new with you guys, if that’s okay.” She continues, and Bucky raises a brow. “But it means I have to tell you a story too…. Oh, I can see complete excitement on your faces, so I won’t talk too long then.” She jokes, laughing. And then, Bucky realises he’s laughing too. “So a few months ago, just before The End of The Line invited me on their tour, my boyfriend dumped me over text.” The crowd immediately starts booing, whilst Bucky raises an eyebrow. She never mentioned this. “I know! But unfortunately, it’s not just that, New York. He told me he was dumping me for one of my best friends. The same friend he was cheating on me with for the last few months of our relationship. Apparently, me playing shows was too much for him to handle, and I’d never be famous, so he had to think of his future with a girl who ‘knows what she’s doing, instead of just a bar singer’ like me.” The boos intensify, and Y/N nods, clutching a hand to her chest. “I know! At first, I let his words get to me. Look at me now, though!” The crowd cheers, and Y/N grins. “So, I put all my pain and anger into a song, and I’d like to perform it for the first time for you guys. Is that cool with you?!” The crowd goes wild, and Y/N grins, tuning her guitar. “Okay, okay! I hear you loud and clear. If you’ve ever had to deal with a shitty person in your life, I hope this song speaks to you as much as it does to me…and that you tell them to go fuck themselves.” She smirks, and Bucky laughs. “This song is called Letting You Down.” 

As the song plays, Y/N sings with more passion and fury than Bucky has ever seen. She controls the crowd masterfully, having them hanging onto every word she sings. For only just starting out, she really is a natural. Yet, her admission replays through his mind. Hearing how poorly she was treated infuriates him. Y/N’s such a talented and good-hearted person, and she doesn’t deserve that. Her ex obviously has no idea what he’s talking about. Although going through all that may explain why she’s been pulling away from him so much, and so nervous about being on tour. Y/N needs to know how talented and loved she is. And if she doesn’t, he’ll tell her every day.  

After Y/N’s set, Bucky waits in the green room for her. When she walks in and sees Bucky sitting there, her eyes widen. “Aren’t you meant to be on stage in like five minutes?” She frowns. Bucky shakes his head.

“That’s not important right now. I need to talk to you.” Her face falls.

“You heard, didn’t you?” He hates how small and ashamed her voice sounds, like he’d be mad at her for admitting the truth. Bucky nods, stepping closer.

“I did, listen Y/N, I-”

“Buck, come on, we have to go!” Steve calls, poking his head through the door. Bucky doesn’t even care. He just wants to be with Y/N. “Buck!” Steve repeats.

“You need to go!” Y/N insists.

“But-”

“Bucky. Go. I’ll talk to you later, okay?” She promises, gently pushing him towards the door.

Throughout the entirety of their set, all Bucky can do is think of Y/N, and the things he needs to say to her. Things he’s wanted to say to her from the beginning. The second their set is finished, Bucky runs backstage. Y/N sits in the green room, anxiously fiddling with her thumbs. 

“Y/N.” He smiles, breathless. She looks up at him, her face falling. Bucky’s heart sinks. He hates seeing her so upset. “Can I sit?” She nods. “Y/N, I-”

“Look Bucky.” She sighs, finally cutting him off. “You’re incredibly sweet and all, but I just can’t commit to a relationship right now.” She sighs. “You heard the story about my heartbreak, right?” He nods. “Well, I can’t put myself through that pain again. I can’t give my all to somebody and receive nothing in return, I’m sorry.”

“Y/N, he sounds like a dick. And I promise you, not everyone is like that.” 

“It’s not just that.” She murmurs, staring down at the ground. “I know you’re a good person, Bucky. Fuck, I see it in you every day. You’re one of the sweetest guys I know, and I don’t want to think you’d ever hurt me like that. That’s why I’ve been pulling away from you, so neither of us get hurt. Yet, I hurt us both. Honestly, I think I’ve been in love with you ever since we met, and I do want to be with you. But what happens when this tour is over? When the fairytale is over, and we go back to our normal lives, whatever they are now? Sure, we’re musicians, but we come from two totally different worlds. And I don’t fit into your world.” She sighs. Bucky raises a brow, shuffling closer towards her. “Maybe Dylan’s right. Maybe I am just a bar singer.” Bucky gets up from his seat, kneeling in front of her. He takes her hands in his, rubbing his thumbs along her knuckles.

“Y/N. You are one of the most beautiful and talented people I’ve ever met. We could only dream of being able to control and entertain a crowd like you can. Especially tonight!” He insists. “And besides, there’s nothing wrong with being a bar singer, especially when they’re as good as you. Your ex has no idea what the fuck he’s talking about.” As she gazes into Bucky’s eyes, Y/N feels tears building in her own. 

“I want to be with you more than anything. I just can’t. I can’t risk being hurt again.” She whispers. Bucky feels his heart breaking, but he knows he can’t force her to do anything. And so, he nods.

Suddenly, the door opens, and Natasha pops her head in. At first, Bucky expects her to say something about how they’re going out for dinner or something. Yet, as soon as she sees the serious look on Natasha’s face, Y/N frowns. “Nat? What’s going on?”

“Y/N, there’s someone here to see you. He insists he knows you, and even tried to bribe our door staff to let him into the venue. Says he won’t go until you hear him out.” Immediately, Bucky tenses from beside her, and Y/N’s stomach drops. 

“Did he leave a name?” But she knows who it is before Natasha even confirms it.

“It’s Dylan.” Her entire body goes stiff. It feels like someone dumped a whole bucket of ice cold water all over her, plunging her into a horrible nightmare. 

“Wait, Dylan as in ‘Letting You Down’ Dylan? Your ex who treated you like shit?” Bucky asks, and Y/N nods, still numb. “Where is he?”

“He’s in the dressing room. The guys just shoved him in there.” 

“Oh, fuck.” Y/N hisses, already beginning to feel herself hyperventilate. 

“Y/N, we can tell him to go.” Bucky offers. To his surprise, Y/N shakes her head.

“No. I need to do this. I need to tell him myself.” She gulps. Bucky can tell she’s absolutely terrified. “I might need some moral support, though.” She admits, her eyes glancing down at the floor. Bucky finds her hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze.

“Of course.” He whispers.

When Y/N and the rest of the band enter the room, Dylan turns around. As soon as he sees Y/N, he grins. Immediately, Bucky hates him. His grin looks smug, and the way he looks at Y/N makes him feel sick. If he could, he’d punch that asshole right in his smug fucking face.

“What the hell are you doing here?” She gasps.

“Wow, I just didn’t realise you were serious about this whole thing!” Dylan muses, looking around the room. “When I saw you online and on TV, I knew I had to come see you…and talk about what happened. Tell you what, why don’t we go get some drinks or some dinner, and we can just…talk it out?” Dylan whispers, reaching out to stroke her arm. The same way he used to when he was trying to get back on her good side, hoping she’d ignore all the cruel things he’d say about her and her career. Reflexively, Y/N steps back, away from him.

“Oh, so you only care about her once she’s getting more attention?” Bucky demands, earning a sharp jab in the ribs from Natasha.

“Bucky.” she hisses.

“What? He doesn’t give a shit about her or her career at first, but when he sees how popular she is and how he’s probably being blasted all over social media for rightfully being called out, he suddenly cares?” Dylan scoffs, rolling his eyes. 

“Buddy, this doesn’t concern you.” Y/N’s heart sinks. Bucky’s right. Dylan doesn’t care about her at all. He’s only here to save his ass.

“Actually, it concerns all of us, buddy. We’re her friends, and we actually give a shit about her, unlike you.” Bucky snaps back.

“Can we have some alone time now?” Dylan asks, his eyes narrowing as he looks at Bucky. For a moment, Y/N almost says yes, wanting to just get rid of him as soon as possible with no further trouble. That is, however, until she glances back, ready to tell the band to do as he asks. The entire band looks pissed off, but Bucky is seething. He stands with his arms folded as he glares at Dylan. They’re the ones who care about her and her career. Not Dylan. And then, Y/N realises what she has to do. 

“No. They stay.” She states. Dylan’s brows furrow. 

“But Y/N, sweetie-”

“Don’t call me that. You lost the right to call me that a long time ago. And you have no right to come here unannounced and start making demands, especially after what you did. I want them here, so they’re staying.” She folds her arms. “Now. What do you want?” When he sees he isn’t getting his way, Dylan splutters.

“I just don’t see why you had to make such a big deal out of it, that’s all! And besides, I was just thinking about calling you before I heard the song, anyway. It would be nice to talk again.”

“Oh, you were, were you? Well, you sure have impeccable timing, don’t you? And besides, I know that’s a lie because as far as I know, you were with your girlfriend last night. Have you told her you want to start talking to me again?” 

“Y/N, come on, don’t be like that. I’m trying to apologise. You always were so dramatic. It’s obvious I didn’t mean everything I said.”

“And yet ‘sorry’ isn’t the first word that came out of your mouth.” She hears sniggering in the background, which only spurs her on further. “And it’s not being dramatic. It’s called standing up for yourself and realising that you’ve treated me like shit for as long as I can remember, and I’m tired of it. If you think I’m coming back to you so you can do it again, you’re dumber than I thought you were. So, you can take your apology and shove it up your ass.” Dylan’s eyes widen, and he splutters again. In a way, it’s funny seeing the man who treated her like shit be unable to handle her sticking up for herself. “Now, go.”

“I’d advise you listen to her and fuck off before we call security. Trust us, you don’t want that.” Sam warns. Dylan tries to argue back, but when he sees he isn’t getting anywhere, he groans, beginning to leave.

“Bitch.” He murmurs as he walks by. Bucky, Sam and Steve follow him out, making sure he leaves while Natasha stays with Y/N. 

“That was incredible! You really gave that asshole what he deserved.” She grins. Y/N doesn’t feel incredible though. In fact, she feels like shit. After being on such a high from the concert and finally letting her emotions out in song, suddenly being confronted with Dylan and being reminded of just how little he cares about her is breaking her all over again. Her bottom lip trembles and her vision blurs. Shit.

“I’m sorry Nat, I-I have to go. I’ll be on the bus if you need me. I just. I need to be alone.” She stammers, her words coming out in a rush. She doesn’t even give Natasha time to reply before she hurriedly leaves the venue and climbs back onto the bus, crawling into her bunk and huddling into the corner. As soon as she knows it’s safe, her tears are unleashed, and she shakes as tears stream down her cheeks. She wraps her blanket around her, hoping it hides her from the world.

Y/N lays there for what feels like hours until the door to the bus opens again. “Who is it?” She calls, her voice croaky. 

“It’s just me.” Bucky replies. As soon as she hears his voice, it feels like a weight has been lifted off of Y/N’s shoulders, and she lets out a breath of relief. “I know you said you want to be alone, but we just want to make sure that you’re okay.” She turns around, looking into the pair of blue eyes she knows so well. The pair belonging to the man she loves. When he sees her tear-stained face, Bucky sighs. “Oh, Y/N.” She holds out her arms, and without another word, Bucky climbs in beside her, wrapping his tattooed arms around her still shaking form. 

He lets her cry into his chest for as long as she needs, rubbing her back and whispering comforting words into her ear. “It’s okay. He’s gone. We got rid of him.”

“I’m sorry.” She hiccups. Bucky looks down at her, frowning.

“Y/N, you have nothing to be sorry for.” Yet, she sniffles, nodding.

“I do. I care about you so much. You’re so kind to me, and I’d love to be with you. In all honesty, it’s all I’ve ever wanted. But I ruined everything between us because of him.”

“You haven’t ruined anything, sweetheart.” Bucky soothes. “You’ve been through a lot, and nobody would judge you for being wary about dating again.” He kisses her head, his stubble lightly grazing her skin. Y/N feels that same flutter in her stomach again, this time amplified. He finds her hand again, intertwining his calloused fingers with hers once more. He brings her hand to his lips, kissing it softly. “It’s going to be big and scary, but we can take things as slow as you want. All I want is for you to be happy and comfortable.” And as she looks back up at him, Y/N realises that he’s right. Maybe she shouldn’t be scared, and actually let herself be happy again, with someone like Bucky.

“Okay.” She nods. Bucky smiles, softly kissing her on the lips. 

“How about I take you out tomorrow? Properly.”

“Where do you wanna go?” Bucky smiles, chuckling slightly.

“Well, we’re in New York, aren’t we? Like I said…I know a restaurant.”

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[juniorgman187]

Malchance (Reid Fic) - Part 2

Summary: The only thing reader can count on is her bad luck and what it’ll get her into. In this case, it’s the lioness’ den - the lioness being Cat Adams.

Category: Angst, Fluffy Ending Pairing: Fem!Reader x Spencer Reid Content Warning: Canon-consistent trauma, brief mention of daddy issues, blood, manipulation, yelling, deceit (Let me know if I missed anything) Playlist: Call Out My Name by The Weeknd Word Count: 5k

READ PART 1 HERE!

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　

“There’s going to be a key to cracking Cat,” Ms. Prentiss explained to me. 

“A key?” 

“You’ll know it when you find it.” 

That was probably the most ambiguous advice I could’ve gotten, but it’s the one she sent me into the field with and the one that loomed in the back of my head as everything unfolded.

The plan the team and I agreed upon, which ironically Dr. Reid knew no part of, was that after Cat and him went to the rink, they’d come back to his apartment, where I would be waiting. Posing as his concerned girlfriend, the unexpected presence of competition would enrage Cat. With the wrath of a woman scorned, she’ll be furious enough to slip up and make a mistake. 

I’ve heard that she’s done her best, or arguably her worst, when she’s prepared, so this curveball might just put an end to the reign of Queen Cat. 

As far as the outlined plan of events went, sure, it was simple. As for me? 

No shot in hell that I’d be able to pull this off.

There was seemingly no feasible reality where I could outsmart her until she made a mistake or keep on the facade long enough to deceive her. The entire success of the plan hinged on my abilities or her lack of propriety. Not exactly betting odds, if you ask me. 

And yet, against everything, I was still walking into the lion’s den on my own volition, making myself right at home, acting like this was exactly where I belonged. When in reality, this was the last place I should’ve been.

“You got this, okay?” Someone in my earpiece chirped. Just out of paranoia, I pressed the device further in, un-tucking the strands of hair behind my ear to better conceal it. Even that wasn’t enough to lower the specter of my doubt. I prayed that she was lax in her vetting tonight.

“Spencie!” A giggly shriek from outside the door sent one large shock wave through my entire body. It was so sharp like they were right there. The sound of heavy footsteps followed, and my stomach churned in anticipation. I already hated this.

How did I even get here? 

Oh, right - malchance. 

I contemplated cracking my knuckles to self-soothe, but then I remembered what Ms. Prentiss told me about ‘tells.’

“Bodily tells are how people can read the emotions you’re not directly expressing. A majority of what profilers use to study behavior is your body language. Unfortunately, some of the best profilers are the unsubs themselves. She’ll know what you’re feeling if you show her. So stay strong.”

Stay strong. 

Try as I might, I couldn’t keep the fear from washing over me when the pair of muffled voices outside became clearer as they entered the apartment. 

I must’ve caught them in the middle of something, but I couldn’t exactly deduce what, seeing as they stopped when they saw me, which was before I turned around.

Dr. Reid was floored by my being there, but at least, he had a look of recognition. It wasn’t enough that he merely distinguished me to settle the worry I had about the fact that the BAU hadn’t told him I would be here. If I could, I would have, but they each advised against it. They needed his raw reaction just as much as they needed her’s. 

One ghastly look up and down and I could tell she came to the exact conclusion the team anticipated she would - that I’m her new competition. 

“Spencie - who is this?” 

Her dehumanization of me made Dr. Reid viscerally guilty for having extended an opportunity to let yet another person suffer the corollaries of her cruelty. He shook his head softly at me as though to say, ‘I’m sorry.’ An interesting choice - that that was what he chose to nonverbally say to me first. He didn’t even ask me with his eyes why I was here or what I was doing - he just apologized. 

What has this poor man been through?

“I’m his girlfriend,” I answered for him before the silence could get suspiciously long. By inserting myself in the conversation, I was following what the BAU suggested I should do earlier. Stand your ground. You can’t be afraid to speak up to her. “I’m (y/n). You are?”

I held out my hand for a handshake that was never returned. Instead, all I got back was an ice cold stare. 

She’s reading your body language, an inner voice I didn’t even recognize called from within me. Soon after I realized it wasn’t my conscience speaking - it was Ms. Prentiss. I’d forgotten I had an earpiece, much less that there were micro cameras littered all over the apartment so they could have a firsthand view of this train wreck. How could anyone voluntarily watch this mess unravel? 

“And when did this happen?” Her voice went up an octave as she tilted her head with morbid curiosity, then let it roll back in Dr. Reid’s direction. “Spencer?”

“Five months ago,” he replied without missing a beat, keeping his eyes steady on mine. If I hadn’t known any better, I would’ve believed him, but that stare he was giving me said something more. What’s going on? He wondered.

Oh, Dr. Reid, if only I could tell you.

“Why didn’t you tell me you had a girlfriend?” She asked through gritted teeth and a clenched jaw. Suddenly, the surface of her expressions liquified then melted away until I could see well beneath the anger, revealing the bodily tells of humiliation. 

I was profiling her, and I didn’t even know that I could. 

“You made me promise not to talk about anyone else except you tonight, remember?” He remarked with an uncharacteristic amount of edge behind his words. 

His outer mask was liquefying and transforming in its own right, too. As Cat became easier to read, the Doctor was slowly morphing into the man I first met - the man who was furious enough to throw an entire set of books off a table. The man who’s darkness made him impossible to read - made it impossible to think he’d ever been seen or touched by the light. 

She huffed and spun her head around so fast, it made her hair whip up and over her shoulder. The stern look upon her face fell for the briefest moment, and if it hadn’t been for everything I knew about her, I would’ve thought she looked pretty. She was pretty. But her soul, her sensibilities, they just ruined her. It was a shame really. 

She was tainted by wickedness in a way that I never would be, and for that, she had already come to the decisive determination that she hated me. 

“So how old are you, (y/n)?” Like a hawk hovering over its prey, she began to walk around me in a tight circle so she could scrutinize my every angle, discover every flaw, and poke at every button she could find. Precisely why she asked that question, too. She wanted to know where the similarities started and ended between us. She wanted to compare herself to me. Size me up, tear me down - lioness v. lioness. If she was gonna play dirty, then so be it. Two can play that game. 

“I’m 28.” A flat out lie. I’m 26. 

“Wow, I didn’t realize you had a type, Spencer,” She ruefully chuckled.

“And what’s that, Cat?” I couldn’t see him, but he sounded so unamused. 

“Jailbait.” 

There wasn’t much I could do besides move on from the subject. “Cat? Is it?” Considering she hadn’t told me her name before, I think Dr. Reid purposefully included it in his response so that I’d have a reason to know what it was. 

Smart move, Doctor. 

I wanted to smile from the way he was helping me out and working together with me, but my poker face stayed on.

“Catherine Adams,” She drew out the name to assert herself. I didn’t get to call her Cat like Dr. Reid did. That was his name for her and his name only. She made that point crystal clear. When I finally shrugged, she pounced once more.

“You really have no idea who I am? I’m hurt.” She fake pouted and put a hand to her heart to feign offense. “Spencer’s never mentioned me? Not once in your five months of dating?” Her emphasis on the timing of our ‘relationship’ showed her knowledge of the deceit, but she needed to do more than just put stress on one word. I wouldn’t back down that easily. 

“Why would he? You mean nothing to us.” Nastier words have never left my lips, and yet, I still made sure they were coated in the harshest tone I could muster up the courage to use. 

She scoffed and stopped walking around me to pull on Dr. Reid’s arm and force her mouth to make contact with his ear. Despite the closeness, he still refused to meet her eyes. He kept them locked on mine. 

“I mean nothing to you? Is that so?” Her breath was a jarring enough sensation on his neck to make his eyes shut. He was beyond uncomfortable. “Why don’t you go ahead and tell her what you told me at the rink?”

“What did you tell her, Spencer?” I was forcing him to speak, not because of the case, but because I wanted to know. Was that wrong?

“I …” The words got caught in his throat. “I told her that there’s some part of my brain, some part that she somehow inhabits.” 

A pang in my chest told me there was still more. That pang would be correct.

“No, go ahead, Spencie. Tell her the rest. Don’t be shy now.” 

He forced himself to look away from me as he said, “And no woman, no matter how good, no matter how kind, no matter how …”

“Say it,” She demanded, firmly tugging on his arm harder. 

“No matter how sexy she is, can ever get her out.” He looked repulsed by his own admission, and if I was being honest, so was I. 

“Are you in love with her?” Although I was venturing far off script, it felt like an appropriate response as his ‘girlfriend.’ It was my response. 

“No. I’ve never loved anyone the way I loved you.” 

He’s such a pretty liar. 

Cat must’ve been annoyed by her lack of involvement in the conversation as she felt compelled to step in. “Prove it. Kiss her like you kissed me out there and I might believe you.”

Pretending to be hurt wasn’t hard. Not when I didn’t have to pretend. 

“You kissed her, too?” I had to ask.

Imagine if I were actually this poor guy’s girlfriend. Forget me - God help that girl. Even if this was all for the sake of the job, that wouldn’t have made it any better hearing what he’d confessed to her or what they did. 

Dr. Reid looked incredibly apologetic for someone that had nothing to apologize for. Sure, I was playing his girlfriend, but I wasn’t actually anyone of value in his life. So why did he look like he felt so goddamn guilty? 

“Ugh hurry up and kiss already!” Cat stomped her foot impatiently. 

As she released Dr. Reid, she gave him a strong shove in my direction, causing him to stumble right into me. He’d caught himself by grabbing onto my hips, while I stabilized him by clutching onto his forearms. 

His eyes were piercing through mine. I won’t kiss you unless I have your permission. His eyes read. 

Fighting against every reflex in my body that was resisting, I leaned closer. Then, right as I closed my eyes, I felt it. 

Not his lips. 

Blood.

My blood.

The coin-like taste shocked my eyes wide open so fast you would think I never even closed them in the first place. Abandoning my grip on his arm, I used my hand to block the sight of my bloody nose. 

(Y/n), what’s going on? Ms. Prentiss asked in my earpiece. 

“My nose is bleeding,” was my answer for everyone listening - Dr. Reid, Cat, and the BAU alike. 

“Are you alright?” He unhesitatingly shifted out of the role he seemed to be playing. His guard fell down to the point where it felt like nothing else mattered but to know that I was okay. It wasn’t Spencer and his fake girlfriend talking anymore, it was Dr. Reid and me again. 

“HELLO?! What’s going on?” The minute Cat’s shrilly voice hit the air, Dr. Reid shut it down with a steadfast hand. 

“Not now, Cat! Time out.” He motioned a T before he let an invisible magnetic force freely connect his hands onto my hips again. It seemed like he didn’t even touch me on his own accord but instead, it was the mere gravitational pull that brought his body back to mine. “This isn’t a game anymore.” His tone was unwavering as he walked me away from Cat and into the bathroom. 

“Are you sure you’re okay?” He whispered in a familiar tone after shutting the bathroom door behind himself. “You can leave now. You don’t have to keep doing this.” As though I were his grandmother’s delicate china, he hoisted me in the air momentarily to help me onto the sink with an almost unnecessarily large amount of caution. 

“I’m fine.” While I attempted to wave off his concern nonchalantly, traitorous butterflies swarmed my stomach at the feeling of his touch. 

“Don’t tell me you’re fine!” He scolded through an outpouring of laughter. “I can see the blood!” He underlined his words by pressing the toilet paper he retrieved on the spot under my nose where the blood was centralized. 

“Then don’t ask!” I just as playfully responded. 

“Alright, fine, fine,” He jokingly put his hands up in surrender. “What should I ask you then?”

I wish I was more uncomfortable than I truly was. Maybe then it would’ve been easier to lie to him. But there was something about how close he was to me or how unrelenting his stare was that made sincerity spill out from my every seam. 

“‘Why are you even here if you’re just ruining things?’” 

He looked so hurt despite the fact that the depreciation was directed at me. “Why would I ask you that?” 

“Because it’s true, isn’t it?” My eyes flashed to the door to ensure it was closed, but without the ability to guarantee that Cat wasn’t right outside listening in, I lowered my voice. “I’m way in over my head here. I have no idea what I’m doing and I feel like I’m just making things worse.” 

“None of that is true,” It sounded like a reprimand, the way he was defending me to me. “The team wouldn’t have asked you to be here if they didn’t think you could do it … and anyway, it’s kind of nice having a partner in crime.” 

He needed to watch his step before he began charting dangerous waters from which he could never escape. I was already playing with fire by allowing any real genuine emotion seep out around Cat. Except now that he’d thrown me a lifeline with his insinuation of liking my company, I knew, at least to some degree, that the feeling was mutual. I briefly calculated the risk until I ultimately decided to let my boldness rear its ugly head.

With the speed of light, I clicked off my earpiece with one hand and turned off Spencer’s with the other. He caught my wrist only after I’d successfully disabled the devices from allowing the team to hear us and us to hear them. 

“What are you doing?” “Why didn’t you kiss me?” 

Our questions came at the exact same time, and yet I didn’t repeat myself. 

I knew he heard me.

It was out of turn for me, given that I’d only briefly calculated the risk of asking this before doing it. It came out suddenly and then I couldn’t take it back. But I blame his gaze for my oversharing. It brought me so much comfort that I failed to recognize the discomfort my question had posed. 

He sort of laughed, saying, “Your nose was bleeding.” 

Under any other circumstance, I would have believed him. Unfortunately, he was exceptionally unconvincing, precisely because he didn’t look very sure of that explanation himself. 

While I’m sure my nose bleeding was a reason not to kiss me, it was most definitely not the reason. My honesty itself felt something like a nose bleed. For one thing, it annoyed me and was beyond my control. But for another, I wished I could find the source and pinch it off to make it stop. Stop it before I spilled out the words, “Oh, I get it ... you just didn’t want to kiss me.” 

“That was definitely not the problem,” He said a little too quickly and a little too adamantly that it made my head spin. In that response - he sounded very sure of himself, a complete contrast to his previous demeanor. 

“So why didn’t you?” I wish I could tell you why I was pressing the subject so hard. I’d like to think that if you were in my position, you’d want to know the answer as badly as I do now, which is the best rationale I could possibly come up with to justify what I said next.

“If you weren’t scared and if you didn’t not want to, then why didn’t you?” 

“(Y/n),” He averted my eyes by turning his head to the side, revealing a side smirk of contempt. I should’ve been mad that he was visibly frustrated because if anything - he was the one being frustrating. Instead, all I could think about was how I wanted to kiss that smirky mouth. Maybe to make the smirky-ness disappear. Or to control it.

Make it mine. 

“You’re running out of excuses, Dr. Reid. You’re going to have to kiss me eventually, so let’s just get this over with already.” Did I really just say that? 

“I’m not gonna do that.” 

“Kiss me!” Yes, I really did. 

“I’m not going to kiss you.” 

“Just kiss me!” 

“(Y/n), stop.” 

“God, Spencer, just kiss me already!”

“No!” His eyes found me again; This time they were wider. “Not like this!” 

Silence. 

Then he cleared his throat as if they’d somehow cover the confession that had already been said. 

“Not - I didn't mean - I just. We can't like that because that's not … do you know? Like it's very ... that's not what-" He continued to stammer until he mouthed one last “What?” to himself in complete disbelief of the words that had left his lips and the words that were still struggling to. 

Our brains must’ve been working at the exact same speed because while he couldn’t find the right words to say, I was still trying to process everything he already had. 

Without waiting for my response, he fled from the bathroom. When the door slammed shut, I whipped my body around to face the mirror, my fist tingling with the urge to punch the stupid girl staring back at me in the reflection. 

I knew I couldn’t take refuge in here for much longer unless I really wanted to piss Cat off. Which I totally did, but not if I couldn’t guarantee that Spencer wouldn’t be caught in the crossfire. As confused and pissed off as he made me, I never wanted to hurt him.  

Once this realization dawned on me, another one had followed.

This was the key to cracking Cat. I’d found it. 

Like an overexcited bull bursting through the gates, I pushed my way out of the bathroom door seeing red. I saw Spencer first, standing in the corner of the room to monitor Cat from a distance. The aforementioned lioness herself was perched in an armchair, slouching in it comfortably as though she’d sat in that very seat a hundred times before. Not a single display of care in her conduct for the people whose lives she was actively trying to ruin. 

“So you finally ready to kiss your boyfriend yet?” If sarcasm were a liquid, it’d be dripping from her lips. She was so casually destructive when she spoke, like a loose-lipped bomb capable of going off at any minute but deliberately delaying the blow until it was guaranteed to wreak the most havoc on the most number of people. Seeing her in that light only made things easier.

“Forget the kiss, Cat. In fact, forget Spencer all together,” I waved my hand in his general direction behind me. Like him, I was standing, giving me all the power I needed to assert myself effectively. “It’s just you and me now. Exactly what you’ve wanted since the minute you stepped in here.”

She laughed ruefully, if only to make me insecure. “What are you talking about?” 

“Don’t think I haven’t noticed the way you scoped me out. You were doing that to figure out how alike we are, right?” 

She straightened a little more to sit up in her chair. She was hooked. “Why would I want to do that?” 

With my right foot, I swiped the foot rest out from underneath her legs, making her feet fall flat against the floor. Caught off guard by my swift movement, her upper body hurled forward while I took my seat on the foot rest, placing me directly across from her.

It wasn’t for a lack of dominance that I sat down. No, it was that I knew I had power over her, and I didn’t need to stand up anymore to prove it. 

“Feel free to stop me when I’m wrong,” I told her emphatically, knowing that would never happen. 

“You have always wanted Spencer. That’s just a fact. But deep down, you know he’s never truly wanted you. Sure, maybe he likes, even loves, the allure of your forbidden connection, but he doesn’t like or love you. And now that I’m here, the person he claims he loves in a way he’s never loved anyone before, you want to know just how similar we are. Because the more similarities you find between us, the more it kills you inside to wonder why he would love me over you if we’re practically the same. But you’ve only judged me from the outside, and we both know looks only go so far. So I’ll make it easier for you, Cat. I’ll tell you anything you want to know that way you can come up with an answer to the question you’ve been asking yourself the entire night: ‘Why her and not me?’”

She couldn’t pretend to be unfazed anymore. I had moved her beyond that. She was finally starting to react. 

“You would only be this confident if you already knew the answer to that question.” She concluded through gritted teeth. Her body was shaking all over, like the rage inside of her was boiling and her body was the feverish, bubbling water. “Do you know the answer?” 

I had nothing to hide. “Yes, I do.” 

“Tell me!” She threw down an iron fist against the top of her thigh. “Tell me what the answer is.” 

“You have more confidence in my answer than you’re ability to figure it out yourself? Come on, Cat. You couldn’t have gotten this far without your intelligence.”

“I don’t want to figure it out. I want you to tell me.” Her fist clamped around itself harder. 

“You don’t trust yourself to ask the right questions?”

“Just. Tell. Me.” Jaw clench.

“Alright, I’ll give you one similarity to start. We both have daddy issues-”

“I don’t care! Just give me the answer.” Foot tapping. 

“My grandma used to call my dad a ‘Bastard’ in French actually -” 

“Tell me!” Bodily tell after bodily tell, and I knew, I had done it. 

I beat the betting odds. 

“Fine, Cat. I’ll tell you what it is,” I had her undivided attention, and if I had eyes at the back of my head, I’d see I had Spencer’s, too. 

“The fundamental difference between you and me is that no matter what - I would never, ever, do anything to hurt Spencer. I have no compulsion to hurt him as a way to assert power over him or to make him fall at my feet. I can do that without ever having to go to the lengths that you’ve gone to. The power you wield over him is borne from a long-standing vendetta, whereas the power I wield, I resist using against him for revenge because that is what a morally sane person does. While I use my influence to help Spencer believe that he is a good person worthy of good treatment, you are constantly trying to prove that he is a bad person deserving of bad treatment. That he is anything like you.”

Her eyes just barely starting to water marked the last semblance of emotion I’d seen from Cat before the team swarmed the apartment and whisked her away. Then, the proverbial veneer of her mask had glazed back over her face, never to come off again. 

As Luke escorted her out in handcuffs, she gave me one last look over her shoulder. 

“How did you know about my dad?” 

You might think I slipped up when I told Cat that we were similar because of our daddy issues, therefore accidentally revealing that I knew more about Cat’s backstory than I led on, but that was purely by design. I had done that with the specific intention of setting this exact moment in motion. 

This moment where she would recognize that she’d overlooked my ‘mistake’ because of her lack of propriety. This moment where she would have to face the fact that she’d been deceived and outsmarted by me. 

This moment that she would think about until the day that needle went into her arm - the moment she realized - she let me win. 

_ _ _ 

As twisted as it may seem, the end to the reign of Queen Cat called for celebration. Penelope - she told me to call her that and not Ms. Garcia - had prepared cocktails galore in the round table room, which I’d actually been invited to enter this time. 

“You exceeded any expectations we had. The best we could’ve hoped for was no casualties, so I’m thrilled with the way things turned out tonight, and we couldn’t have done it without you,” Ms. Prentiss pulled me aside to say. “If you want it, there’s a spot waiting for you here on the team, and I really think you should consider taking it.”

To her proposal, I said I’d have to think about it, given that I’d hate to bestow my bad luck upon the team, but after tonight, I was about ready to declare my malchance a thing of the past. 

At this rate, I couldn’t distinguish whether I was dizzy from the alcohol coursing through my bloodstream or the job promotion from Secretary to Supervisory Special Agent. In any event, I knew I needed air. I slipped out of the conference room, past the glass doors of the bullpen, and waited patiently for the elevator. 

I must’ve caught Spencer after coming back from his ride with Cat to the prison because when the elevator doors opened, he was standing just on the other side of them, looking lost in thought. 

“Oh, hi!” I chirped, realizing then that he and I hadn’t said a word to each other since the “Kiss Me Bathroom Incident.” 

“Hey,” he called back, his voice already sounding unfamiliar after its lack of use towards me.

“Long time no see,” I joked to first lighten the air that seemed heavy between us. “I was just going to go down to get some fresh air.” 

“I’ll join you.” 

Because I hadn’t expected him to say that, I fumbled awkwardly into the tiny space that seemingly got smaller by the second, especially now that he was filling the space with me. 

The silence was a little too suffocating for my taste, and I couldn’t afford to have my breath be any more restricted by that than it already was being in this slender cage next to Spencer. Just to occupy the absence, I started rambling. “You know I was thinking -” 

No sooner did I start speaking than my words were cut off by the sweet, sweet shut of my mouth because of Spencer’s. His lips wholly encompassed mine just as his hands did to my face. I was surrounded by him and for that my breath had truly been taken away this time, but in the absolute best ways possible. 

There was simply no air. 

His ivy-like enclosure around me somehow made the claustrophobic elevator expand. Or maybe it felt like it had fallen away entirely. Nothing else around. Just us. 

His hands moved wherever they pleased and I followed suit, letting my hands go where they wished, never staying stationary in one place for too long. 

I had to feel him everywhere. Filling everything. 

He’d pulled away first, biting my bottom lip with blunt teeth to take me with him, and then he forced my lip in its place by kissing it back, pushing his lips impossibly closer like he wasn’t close enough. He wasn’t just trying to restore my bottom lip, but rather fuse ours together forever.

He pulled away for real this time but not far. His face and mine were centimeters apart, our breathes mixing in the microscopic air betwixt us. 

Still breathless, he rasped, “I meant something like that.” 

Now, I can say with absolute certainty that my malchance was a thing of the past. 

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　

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[glimmerglanger]

out of his system - jangobi fic

ALRIGHT SO, the prompt for subobi week today is one of my squicks. BUT, I still want to post something and also I have too many ideas. This particular idea is a bit of an au I’ve been plotting for a while (thanks @mocha-bear). I don’t actually have any of the rest of it written! This is set pretty early on in it, though….

Anyway, this is Jangobi (is my first written piece of Jangobi stuff that’s more than a snippet going to be pure spice? Yes, it is.) AU where things went significantly worse for Obi-Wan during/after Bandomeer and he never got back to the Jedi. Technically an AU where things went slightly BETTER for Jango and he ends up free to do what he wants earlier than in canon after Galidraan. So, he’s working as a bounty hunter and has been for a bit. He’s….around 29 in this. 

Technically, if this had a prompt to fill, it would probably be sex work? So, warnings for Obi-Wan being in a brothel (not capable of giving full consent to anything). Not safe for wizards. BJs. Spicy. This is the F+J of subobi week, in that it is eventually going to be a 60k fic, whoops.

~~~~~~~~

Jango knew well enough he had no reason to go back to Trolk VI. As far as shitty planets on the Outer Rim went, it wasn’t particularly impressive. Most of the economy seemed generated by the fighting pits or the pleasure houses surrounding them.

Jango had little interest in either of those pursuits. 

Most of the time.

He’d visited pleasure houses before, though mostly because the places seemed to draw his bounties in the same way that a wailing, dying thing drew the attentions of a starving predator. He’d bagged more than one bounty while they were in the middle of….their business. 

His visit to a pleasure house on Trolk VI had not been such a success story. He’d ducked into the building in a rush to avoid the group that had already shot him twice - someday, he’d learn to stop walking into ambushes - and he’d barged into one of the rooms for the same reason.

His plan had been to hide somewhere, or go out the window again. But his pursuers had been close and there’d been someone on the bed already, stirring around in a loose, gossamer gown, and he’d thought, ragged-edged, that the people after him had no idea what he looked like, out of his armor.

His pursuers had apologized, moments later, when they opened the door to find him on the bed, stretched - miming the act of a good, hard fuck - over it’s first occupant, one of his hands over the kid’s mouth, just in case he got any bright ideas about screaming, even as dark spots had swam all across Jango’s vision.

He’d managed to avoid passing out until after the door shut again. 

It had been a shock when he woke up again. Even more of a shock to realize that the whore had bandaged his wounds, neatly, and even applied bacta. He’d been a pretty thing, Jango had registered, but most whores were, and Jango hadn’t had the time to consider it. He’d left, dropping some extra credits on the bed, and never planned to think about Trolk VI again.

And he didn’t, really.

But he did find himself thinking about the whore, his copper-red hair and wide, surprised eyes, and the unusually thick and battered collar around his neck. His thoughts kept spiralling around to the boy - over and over - and distraction wasn’t something he could afford. Not in his line of work. Not in his life.

Obviously, he’d needed to get his fixation out of his system. And so he ended up back on Trolk VI, in the pleasure district. He walked into the house through the front door, sneering at the proprietor behind his mask, half-sure that the woman wouldn’t know who he was talking about - he hadn’t gotten the whore’s name, after all.

But they must not have had many other male humanoids with reddish hair to choose from. She tittered happily enough, told him he’d made a good choice by selecting Ben - evidently the boy’s name - and waved a hand to have him led up the stairs.

The house was well-off. HIgh-end. It didn’t stink of sweat or sex; instead some care seeemd to have been taken to ensure it was all pleasant scents, soft music, dim lights. Jango ignored the droid’s request for a tip when he was delivered to a door he remembered.

He stepped into the room quietly. Nothing had really changed, he noted. A bed predominated the room, covered in soft fabrics. There was a bench along one wall, a chair. Hooks, here and there, on the walls and ceiling. He could imagine a use for each.

And each use was connected to the only other figure in the room - the boy, Ben - sitting on the side of the bed, a container of bacta open by his hip, a gossamer robe slid off of one shoulder, revealing an array of fading marks, skin shiny from the bacta application. 

He blinked over at Jango right away, eyes stunningly blue, his hair a tangle around his jaw - like someone had been playing with it - and his mouth reddened. His drooping robe did almost nothing to hide his shoulders and chest - there were marks there, too - or the traces of a flush over his throat.

Jango looked at him and felt a kick in his gut, almost shocking.

He couldn’t recall, really, the last time he’d felt directed desire.

He’d begun to think he just wouldn’t, ever again.

Ben recovered first, which was a lurching shock, and tilted his head to the side, eyes narrowing just a little. He asked, his voice all wrong for a brothel in the Outer Rim - Jango heard that accent on his clients from the Core, and nowhere else, “Should I expect armed men to burst in after you, again?”

There was something satisfying to being recognized so quickly, but, then, he was sure he’d made an impression, last time. Jango shook himself, snorting, and said, “Not this time. Disappointed?”

Ben’s mouth quirked, just a little. He wasn’t….acting in quite the way Jango expected from a whore. Certainly there was no fawning about as he dipped his fingers once more into the bacta, spread a line of it across his shoulder, and asked, “Only a little. And you recovered?”

Jango remembered, clearly, blinking his way to consciousness with his head in Ben’s lap, the boy trailing gentle fingers over his brow, murmuring some strange lullaby that had seemed familiar from somewhere and--

He shook the thoughts away, taking a step forward as the boy closed the bacta jar and stood, carrying it across the room. “I’m well enough,” he said, looking at the fading marks across the boy’s back.

There were reddened marks, fading, long and straight. He recognized lashes, when he saw them. There were other imprints, on his shoulders and arms, fingerprints, perhaps, and the shape of a mouth, here and there.

And below those marks there was scar tissue, old and ragged. Uglier than he’d have expected on a pleasure slave. Especially one so lovely as this boy, who had to be worth more undamaged. Taken with the heavy, ugly collar around his neck - something Jango hadn’t seen on any of the brothel’s other….employees - it was leaving him with multiple questions.

He crossed the room while Ben arranged the bacta, apparently unconcerned, even when Jango touched one of the marks, with just one finger. “Better than you,” he added, and the boy looked over his shoulder, robe sliding a little further down his back.

“Apologies,” he said, “sometimes the bacta takes a while to work.”

Jango frowned, shaking himself again. He hadn’t come here to chit-chat with a whore. He’d come here to - to burn away his fascination with this boy, before it distracted him any further. Considering the sight of his glove on Ben’s skin wasn’t helping with that. It didn’t matter that, for whatever reason, he didn’t like the marks.

It had been a long time since he fucked anyone at all. That was all. Years, he thought.

His body had, obviously, had enough of waiting, and his head had fixated on Ben, because he’d been warm and pliant, when Jango stretched over him, because he had a red mouth and clear eyes, and legs a parsec long. He’d fuck the boy, get it out of his system, and move on.

Decided, he took a step back, and snapped, lifting his helmet off, “Do you waste so much time with all your clients?”

“No,” Ben said, agreeably, meeting his gaze evenly. “I’m very adaptable.”

Jango wondered, sudden and dark, just how adaptable he was. He said, voice getting thicker, “Help me with this.”

“Of course.” Ben had long, clever fingers, Jango noted, removing his armor quickly and steadily, setting each piece aside carefully. He was tall, too, all stunningly long legs and with a hint of coltishness still about him, not fully grown into his shoulders. 

It felt...strange, to be out of his armor in front of someone else. But Ben had seen it all, already. He’d seen Jango bleeding out, and had decided, for whatever reason, to patch him up instead of leaving him to die and stealing the armor and the rest of Jango’s credits.

The beskar alone would have been enough to buy out whatever price the boy’s owners wanted for him, unless the boy was something really special. 

It made no kriffing sense that Ben had kept him alive. People didn’t do that, didn’t just - help, for no reason at all. Especially not when it would serve them better to do otherwise. Jango caught Ben’s wrists, when he reached for the closures at Jango’s belt, and said, roughly, “You could have killed me, before.”

Ben looked over at him, down, just a bit. He didn’t slouch, made no effort to make himself look smaller, which--Jango realized he quite liked. “Kill you?” Ben asked, tilting his head to the side. “Why would I kill you? I don’t even know your name.”

“Is that a prerequisite?” Jango asked, and realized, with another hot lurch in his gut, that he wanted to hear the boy say his name. Maybe scream it, a few times.

Ben shrugged. He said, dry, “It seems a bare minimum to know, before killing someone. Don’t you think?” 

“You’ve got a mouth on you,” Jango said, and heard the appreciation in his own voice, unplanned, just...blossoming there. Alarming. He was supposed to be here to fuck this boy, to get rid of the thoughts that had plagued him. It was past time he made some progress in that direction. He released Ben’s wrists, handled his belt on his own, and said, “Maybe you should make better use of it.”

“As you wish,” Ben said. He raised an eyebrow at Jango and kept eye contact as he sank down to his knees, lovely and with that wisp of a robe still around him, half-obscuring his body before he hesitated and….shrugged it off, letting it pool around his legs.

He was lovely as Jango remembered; lovelier, perhaps, without Jango’s blood smeared across his skin. Jango bit his tongue, reached out, and fisted a hand in the boy’s hair, Ben still looking up at him, and said, “I expect to be impressed.”

Ben’s mouth curved, sharp, just for a moment as Jango jerked his slacks open with his free hand, just enough to pull his cock out and he didn’t know exactly when he’d gotten so hard. Maybe as soon as he’d stepped into the room.

“I aim to please,” Ben said, and before Jango could make a reply, the boy pulled forward just a bit against the hold in his hair, and licked across the head of Jango’s cock, and--

And it had been a long time since anything touched him but his own hand. He hadn’t even wanted to fuck his fist, for an age. He’d been….not content, really, but willing to just ignore erections until they went away.

He swore, tightening his grip and rocking his hips, sliding his cock into the hot, wet perfection of Ben’s mouth. The boy kept his eyes upturned, staring while Jango watched his cock slide past reddened lips, draw back again all wet and slick. And it was -- perfect.

Jango’s jaw clenched shut, hard, and he slid his other hand into Ben’s hair, too, the waves of it catching at his gloves - he hadn’t gotten as far as removing them - as he held the boy’s head just so, fucking into his mouth.

He could feel Ben’s tongue, rolling against the bottom of his cock, and the boy sucked, noisily, in time with each shallow thrust, loud, his mouth and cheeks getting wet, even before Jango swore and anchored him in place, pushing further.

Ben’s eyes fluttered, when Jango properly fucked into his mouth, into his throat. He felt the boy restrain a choke, watched his eyes get shiny and wet, cheeks getting blotchy with red, the color spreading each time Jango shoved forward, his breath hitching and wet, and still, he kept his eyes open, staring up and--

Jango blinked and jerked his head to the side, swearing viciously when he came, knowing, with a strange, twisting feeling, that he was never going to forget those blue eyes just watching him, the entire time. 

He ground his hips forward and then pulled on Ben’s hair, dragging him back and off.

The boy gasped for breath, audibly gulping at the air, and Jango dared a look back at him, kneeling there on the floor, mouth and jaw wet with spit, mouth brilliant red, breathing so hard his whole body shook with it, one of his hands braced on the ground, apparently for balance, even as he glanced up and asked, his voice wrecked and hoarse, “Impressed?”

“I’m getting there,” Jango rasped back, taking his fingers out of the boy’s hair. He had - at least - another hour of time. He found he very much wanted to use it. Perhaps even extend the arrangement. He’d had a few very good jobs. He could afford an entire night, easily. He exhaled, want curling down his spine, and ordered, “Go on, onto the bed. I want between your legs again. Properly, this time.”

[pedanticat]

Strawberry Lemonade Stand

A fashionably late late submission fic for @rosegardenweek​ based on the  Strawberry/Lemon prompt. Enjoy!’

Oscar sighed and drummed his finger across the table in boredom before glancing at the coin jar that was currently halfway full. His aunt had helped set up this little strawberry lemonade stand of his upon his request since he wanted to make some money in order to buy a book. Business started off as a success given the fact that due to the weather being so nice, people who were going out on walks or driving by would see his lemonade stand and purchase a cup for a dollar. Yet it been almost an hour since anybody have come by. He was starting to wonder if anyone would come by only to be perked by the sound of bicycle bells and voice.

“Come on Ruby! I know you can pedal faster than that!”

“’Give me a break Yang! You know I’m still getting the hang of riding a bike.”

As he looked down the street, he could see two girls riding towards his direction with him being able to make them out. The girl in the front seemed a few years older than him with her having blonde pigtails and wore matching yellow shirt and shoes along with brown shorts. Meanwhile the girl riding behind her looked younger and closer to his age with her having chopy black hair with red tinges with her wearing a red shirt with matching black skirt and sneakers. As the girl in the pigtails turned her direction back to the front, she noticed Oscar stand and grinned.

“Okay sis let’s take a quick break. Look like this kid is selling lemonade."

The older girl pulled to a stop in front of the stand while the younger one followed behind her with both getting off their bikes.

“Hey there kid, my name is Yang” the pigtail girl said before then ruffling the other girl hair. “And the little one here is my baby sister Ruby.”

Ruby let out a humph. “Do you always have to introduce me as your baby sister? Can’t you just say younger sister?”

Yang smirked. “I could, but you’re still a baby to me.”

As Ruby stuck her tongue out at Yang in annoyance, Oscar began to but chuckle over the sister’s interactions. He had a feeling these two tended to have these kind of bickering a lot with each other. He also couldn’t help but find Ruby pouting to be cute. “Hi, my name is Oscar.”

Turning her attention from her sister Ruby turned to Oscar and smiled at him. “Nice to mee you Oscar,” Ruby replied. “So, what are you selling lemonade for?”

“I’m to make some money so I can buy myself the new book from the Huntress and Huntsman series.” Oscar explained.

Ruby suddenly let out an excited squeal as she leaned very close to Oscar face, much to his embarrassment. “OMG! You read the books to? I LOVE the books! Who’s your favorite character? What’s your favorite book in the series? How did you react to the cliffhanger of book 3?”

Between Ruby being close to her face and bombarding her with questions, Oscar could do nothing more then stutter over not knowing how to reply. Though while he struggled for a reply, he couldn’t help but notice how pretty her silver eyes were. Yet her face suddenly moved away due to Yang proceeding to pull her away by ear much to Ruby displeasure.

“Ow!” Ruby cried. “Yang, do you have to pull on my ear so hard?”

“I wouldn’t have to if you remembered to give people their personal space whenever you got excited,” Yang scolded before offering an apologetic look at Oscar. “Sorry about that, my sister is a big fan of those books.”

Oscar shook his head. “It’s okay, I’m actually happy to meet someone who love the books as well. I gush about them all the time to my aunt but I’m pretty sure she doesn’t understand half the things I tell her about the series. She just kind of nods her head and says that it sounds good.

Ruby squinted suspiciously at Yang. “Hey, don’t you do the same thing when I ramble about those books to you?”

Yang coughed into her fist as she avoided eye contact from Ruby. “So uh, Oscar, how much for lemonade? And what kind is it?”

“A dollar per cup and strawberry lemonade”

“Great, I’ll take two.”

After receiving the two dollars, Oscar poured a cup of lemonade for both. After drinking some, both sisters let out a satisfying sigh.

“Man,” Yang remarked. “This is some good lemonade.”

“This may honestly be the most delicious lemonade I have tasted in my entire life,” Ruby added on.

The compliment made Oscar look down embarrassment as he felt the heat rise in his cheeks. While getting compliments from all the other characters made him blush, something about Ruby complimenting him seemed to be even more embarrassing. “I’m not sure if I say its that good.”

“Nonsense!” Ruby replied. “In fact, I’d like to purchase another one?”

Ruby reach into her pocket only to remember that she was wearing a skirt. She sheepishly looked at Yang. “Um, can I borrow a dollar?”

Yang rolled her eyes but smile as she reaches for another dollar only for Oscar to interrupt. “Actually, you can have this one on the house,”

Ruby looked at Oscar in surprise. “Are you sure about that? I don’t mind Yang paying for it.”

While Yang side eyed Ruby at the latter half of that sentence Oscar shrugged as he gave another cup to Ruby. “Consider it as a treat for a fellow H&H fan.”

Ruby smiled as she took the cup with Yang then whispering something in Ruby ear. Whatever she said must have upset her since her face turned scarlet red. “Yang! Why on earth would you say that! I’d never do such a thing!”

As Yang continued to laugh, Oscar only cocked his head in confusion. What thing would Ruby never do? Suddenly the beeping of a watch was heard with Yang looking down at her digital clock and eyes widening. “Shoot! We need to get going Ruby. We don’t want to forget to get Zwei special treats.”

“Oh no! I almost forgot!”

As the two girls got back on their bike, Ruby turned to face him. “It was nice meeting you Oscar. We should totally hang out sometime, especially when you get the third H&H book. We live in the house with the treehouse.”

“You’d probably get along with our friend Blake as well,” Yang added. “She loves books almost as Ruby,”

Oscar nodded. “I’d like that.”

For the rest of the day, Oscar continued to smile. Not from the additional cups of lemonade he sold or even the dinner his aunt prepared for him, but of the thoughts of Ruby in his head.

[nxrthmizu]

citrine for luck.

MIYA ATSUMU is the devil dressed in an angel’s garments, the pearl-white fabric gushing over his smooth skin like a waterfall, worshipping him as if he were an honourable deity (spoiler alert: he’s not). The muses swoon in harmony when he walks into the room; the sun adjusts so it hits him like a golden spotlight; doves take to air, chirping musically while they form a circle above his head, a white halo that serves to deceive. 

Like every other human being that has ever met Miya Atsumu, I didn’t see his horns until his fangs were a millimetre away from my neck, his forked tail waving from side-to-side in delight, like a dog that just discovered a bone in his front yard. The sparkling smile, charming confidence, attractive aura— All part of his grand scheme, an act, a trap. 

Not many get to dance into his extended claws and walk away unscathed. 

In fact, no one has ever walked away unscathed— No one but one.

Me. 

And as the case seems to be, Miya Atsumu doesn’t like survivors. He doesn’t like exemptions, and as far as he’s concerned, I’m the stray sheep that survived by wandering away from the flock. The big bad wolf emerges from the endless depths of the forest, lingering right at the treeline, which acts as the line of salt that keeps him back. 

Because the big bad wolf is, indeed, scared of a line of salt. 

“There was a warehouse sale for sea salt last week,” I provide helpfully, swaddled in a blanket, snug in my circle of salt, my circle of protection, my circle of no-Atsumu. “Who knew it’d come in so useful?” 

He fumes angrily, growling in detestation, mere seconds from burning my apartment down— But when it comes down to it, if everything else burns— My circle of salt with be completely free of combustion, a heavenly space that hellfire shrinks away from. “I should’ve killed you when I had the chance.” 

“Oh?” I hum interestingly, fixing my attention on the swirling wine glass in my hands. The vermillion liquid resembles a cup of blood; glinting under the light with a strangely menacing viscosity. “I suppose you let the chance slip away, then.” 

“You can’t stay in there forever.” Atsumu says, convincing himself that eventually, the mouse would have to leave its’ hole for cheese. “I’ll wait.” That’s the moment where he grins, revealing every flaw of his Prince Charming facade. What’s the flaw, you ask? Well, it’s the fact that Miya Atsumu isn’t a Prince Charming at all— He’s the shrivelled warlock disguised as a golden child, one that will toss you into a cage the moment he sweeps you off your feet, riding into the sunset with you, never to be seen again until he picks out his next target. 

“Can I?” 

The unsure flicker in his eyes tells me everything I need to know. Miya Atsumu is, for the second time in his life, doubting himself. He turns away hastily, jerking back from a glitch in his confidence, choosing to rake his hands through the loom I had set up in the living room, tearing the hand-woven material with a single flick of his wrist, toppling over a basket of feathers on a nearby table. 

“It doesn’t matter,” Atsumu reasons, snickering cruelly in my direction as he inspects the herb collection I’ve stuffed into the small opening of the window, the sun bathing my children in all her bright glory. “Whether I take it from you or the underworld, your soul is mine.” 

Silence reigns over the land of my living room, Atsumu choosing to read the lack of reply as defeat on my side. His eyes flick over a few of my belongings in his boredom— Jars of dry clover, a few sprigs laid out in a circle; three crystals sitting in succession on the table; an orderly arranged line of candles—  

He freezes. 

I take an appreciative sip of my wine, basking in the satisfaction of his realisation. “Have you considered for a moment, Atsumu, that perhaps I don’t have a soul?” 

“You... You can’t be...” He turns, horror slowly seeping into his eyes like water taking to a napkin. The revelation seeps into the fire in his eyes, strangling and suffocating the flames until the embers struggle to hold on, and then all light is gone. “There’s no way...” 

“Do you know what crystals those are?” I ask with an amused smile, the red liquid briefly kissing my lips. 

It’s as if he believes the objects will disappear if he just looks for one more time. “Amethyst, selenite, citrine...” 

“Insight, purification, and most importantly, luck.” I indulge him, smiling. “No ordinary person would buy this much salt, Atsumu, even if there was a warehouse sale.” 

“There’s... There’s no way...” He’s shaking, and I can’t tell if it’s out of shock or anger. 

I smile, tracing the rim of the wine glass with my finger. Nothing tastes quite as rich as satisfaction. “I’m a witch, Atsumu. You can’t touch me. Not in the past, not now, and certainly not in the future.” 

──────── ⋆⋅❉⋅⋆ ────────

I have no idea where this went. I really liked the first few paragraphs, though. I was supposed to only write a short drabble for a break but once I started I couldn’t stop. The ‘devil’ line was supposed to be a metaphor but it just kind of grew on its own and I went with it! 

@haru-senji dedicating my first Atsumu fic to you~

──────── ⋆⋅❉⋅⋆ ────────

[rounove]

Shyan Fan fic Recommendation

Anon I want to kiss you right now. I have been waiting for this question for years

Batch 1

*All | orphan_account

Ryan's got an itch only Shane can scratch.

*"Come over here and make me." | aldhafera 

“Shane, stop that this instant!” “Come over here and make me.” In which Ryan fears something followed them home and Shane just wants to give the (definitely non-existent) ghosts a show. 

Por Favor, Sweetheart |  carrieonfighting

Two dorks raise a baby and don't even realise they're doing it together until it's too late Alternatively, Ryan Bergara is Trying His Best Thanks

(This one’s so domestic I think I melted)

the choices we make |  exul

Shane and Ryan find themselves in a world where much is the same, yet everything is different. An apartment that's theirs, but not theirs. Photos of them that were never taken. And most importantly a child, who's somehow theirs, yet they've never seen her before. or Shane and Ryan wake up in a world where they're married and have a baby. 

and then there were two (idiots) |  sessrumnir

Shane kisses Ryan by accident one day. A week later they are still trying to process what happened. 

*Body Farming |  shiphitsthefan

Failed suppressants and a surprise heat: the worst of cliches, and here Ryan stands, living the trope on location with the alpha he’s hopelessly in love with. Even worse, they’re spending the night in the famous Bell Witch Cave, completely alone and with no way to contact the outside world.

Ryan knows he can survive and keep his preheat a secret, as long as Shane will stop being so protective and concerned. After all, it’s not like Shane wants to bond with him.

Right?

*breathe out so i can breathe you in |  trxshmxuth

They've been tiptoeing around each other for months now, walking on ice so thin that Ryan can practically see the sexual tension swirling and raging underneath. Ryan's almost afraid that when the ice finally cracks, he's not going to be able to resurface again.On their next Unsolved investigation, the ice breaks.

eventually, the darkness stares back |  EAST (WESTAGE)

Shane realizes he likes Ryan exactly the way he is: alive. 

Four Down, One to Go |  sunshinewinchesters

Ryan is sick and Shane is having a really shitty week. 

*Hold Your Breath, It Gets Better |  beethechange

Ryan stops short in the doorway of his bedroom, banging his shoulder against the doorframe in his haste, because he’s too late. Shane’s kneeling in front of the bottom drawer of his bedside table, peering down at the contents, hand frozen in a hover like he’d been about to reach in. His face is a blank mask.

“Ah. I keep the batteries in the top drawer. Not. Not the bottom one.”

“Yes,” Shane says, cocking his head to the left in puzzlement, and then he pauses for a fraction of a second too long as he considers his words. “I can see that the batteries are not in the bottom drawer.”

*How Deep (Is Your Love) |  touchinghearts

The last thing Shane expects when he exits the bathroom is for his boyfriend to appear out of fucking nowhere, pin him against the wall, and swallow his cock down in the open hallway of a hotel. 

It's a love/hate kind of thing. |  heyghouls

Shane is an executive producer at BuzzFeed and Ryan is his intern. It's not love at first sight for the boys, but will they finally see eye to eye when they realize they have more in common than they thought? Shane is an introvert who finds it hard to let people in, and Ryan is a cute loving boy who just wants to figure the guy out. 

Just Out of Reach |  formosus_iniquis  

A variation on the "I asked for your help getting a book off the top shelf and and you laughed at my taste and called me a nerd so I shoved you into a table of nonfiction best-sellers and that’s how we both got banned from the quirky community bookstore" prompt 

keep you like an oath |  spoopyy

"I'm in love with you," Ryan says, desperate."No, you're in love with the views."

kiss me like you mean it |  rocketshiptospace

“Hi,” Tall man says, taking in the sight in front of him. “I’m sorry, I heard banging and yelling and I just, are you okay?”

“No. Yes. Maybe,” Ryan says, slowly standing back up on two legs again. “My door won’t open.” He eventually ads, when him and Tall man have just stared at each other for a few seconds.

“That’s unfortunate,” Tall man says, smiling at him. He has a really nice smile. “But it happens. It’s an old building, you know. Doors get stuck sometime. Here, let me try,” He steps past Ryan, and places his hand on the door handle. The door swings open like it’s nothing.

or, Ryan's apartment building plays matchmaker.

*Muscles Better and Nerves More |  beethechange

A certain meddling Voodoo Queen of New Orleans thinks Ryan and Shane need some new perspective on life. After an inadvisable ritual deposits Ryan in Shane’s body, and Shane in Ryan’s, the ghoulboys pursue some soul-searching and self-discovery to put things right. Sometimes in a sexy way. 

the calm before crescendo |  abovetheruins

Alternate title: 5 times Shane Madej was flustered by Ryan Bergara, and 1 time he finally did something about it. 

*The Desk Fic |  SincerelyLeah

Shane was having a shitty Monday morning and it was all because of one person, Ryan Bergara. But, by now he should know that endless teasing gets Shane more than riled up. 

Things That Go Bump in the Night (and 7 till 12 at weekends) |   HoopyFrood

Shane works at a Haunted House. Ryan is Ryan. Things go about as well as you'd imagine. 

Tranquility Base |  sessrumnir

After their successful Sims series, Kelsey has a different video proposal for the boys. This time, they're testing how fast gossip travels in the office. But Ryan doesn't expect their relationship to change so fast because of it. 

*wasted on you |  cursingcursive (queenradi)

there's a reason shane loves when ryan wears his clothes. 

Weird |  Helsabot

One night, the stack of pillows between them becomes one stack too many. “Let me— let me hit you with a thought. A theory.” “A postulation?” “Sure. Let me postulate at you.” “Postulate away, baby.”

You Make Me Glow |  sohapppily

Whenever they were on their ghoul excursions, Shane always had a snarky comment on the tip of his tongue and a twisted smirk to shoot at Ryan’s terror. He was mostly the same way in their unrecorded life, but they played up the banter for the sake of The Boys. Although it was a welcome respite for Ryan, seeing Shane in these settings with nothing but sleep on his features never failed to be a bit jarring.

Ryan couldn’t look away.

lightning in a bottle |  LexTheMoose

Love is slow-dancing on the balcony of a house party at 11 PM. 

meet me halfway |  poetdameron

In a world where everything changed over the night, Ryan and Shane's minds connect miles away, making Shane the man of Ryan's dreams. Literally. 

Batch 2

*And they were roommates (oh my god they were roommates) |  Squeakyshroom

All my notes said on this one was “this is pure sex jesus”

2:10 to Wellton |  quackers

and i'm puffing my chest, getting red in the face |  pissedofsandwich

Bed-warm Hands and the Ghost of Elvis |   MiraclesofPaul

*BFFS Get Married For A Week - Ryan and Shane |  aspookycryptidsock

distorted truths |  hwsinbs

*Everything's Weird and We're Always in Danger |   beethechange

hammer me to the cross of my despair |   heartchains

I Think the Ghost Likes You |   cactsu

*I’ve Kissed You Before, but I Didn’t Do It Right (Can I Try Again) |   beethechange

if i should fall |  abovetheruins

*Just The Facts |   millyvanilly (miloisnothere)

*Out of Control with Ryan |  beethechange

*Pushing All Your Buttons |  beethechange

satisfaction brought it back |  ElasticElla

Short Stack |  Anonymous

*Thank you, Satan |  Squeakyshroom

The Chain |  Lafayette1777

Rough water |  heyghouls

Batch 3

The Thrilling Gardner Museum Heist |  orphan_account

One in Five Billion |  punk_rock_yuppie

a short history of almost something |  cooliohoolio

*A Suspicion of Feelings |  beethechange

I Will Be the Sun, I Will Wake You Up |  sohapppily

*ready if it happens with you |  sarcasticfishes

*The Denial Twist |  beethechange

The Bizarre Road Trip Of A Missing Family |  icantwritegood

Beautiful Crime |  orphan_account

The Odd Death of Michelle Von Emster |  icantwritegood

won't you ride on my fast machine? |  ElasticElla 

Batch 4

*Breathe |  quackers

*The Hunger |  poetdameron

Black Sun |  quackers

contrapposto |  spoopyy

(Let me tell you that I never liked major character death but I accidentally read this one without reading the warning and YOO I am a fan of major character death now. This was beautifully written!)

darling it's a faded notion |  varnes

(This was the very first shyan fic I’ve read and still one of the best one’s)

*Full-Court Press |  beethechange

(I remember this one oh my god this has jersey kink in it and I didn’t even know what it means until I read this and it awaken something in me. This writer I swear to god. They could write Ryan and Shane fucking in a hot dog costume on top of the mountains and I’d still be into it.)

*Ryan Number One |  quackers

(THIS has everything I want and didn’t know I needed. This is hot this is sexy. Five star porn right here.)

theft by finding |  varnes 

*Wicked Game |  quackers

(This is my favorite. This ruined me in so many ways and I got so affected and shaken up that I can’t draw anything for months. I have been to so many fandoms and read hundreds of fics but nothing has fucked me up like this. I have to switch to a different fandom because I am having the longest art block ever because I keep thinking about this fic. I am not exaggerating I swear if you see my previous posts there’s quite a gap in my shyan art. And I am saying this in the highest of compliment, this fic changed my life.)

*Translucent |  poetdameron 

*Begin the Begin, Over and Over |  beethechange 

*Let the Sunshine Burn Your Eyes |  YogurtTime 

*Look How Long They Are |  drunkkenobi

*The Disturbing Mystery of the Jamison Family |  icantwritegood

(This one’s fun! I fucking love this one! Lot’s of angry sex. The banter! The banter holy shit hmm!! I don’t want to spoil anymore. It’s dark but it’s funny it’s also hot and sad. This writer loooves angst.)

*Collide |  needywitch 

* - has porn

This got way longer than I thought and I couldn’t even put the summary in some of them but all of these are worth the read. This fandom has so much talented writers that my small monkey brain went fucking bananas on the list. 

[ddaenghoney]

chapter fourteen

masterlist link in blog description.

As a successful songwriter, you want nothing more than the acknowledgment that the chart-topping musical pieces are your own creations. But contracts, relationships, and the difficulty of facing the stakes involved head on, keep your mouth shut until pressure builds too much.

Pairing(s): Park Jimin x Y/N, Min Yoongi x Y/N

disclaimer: any characters depicted do not represent the actual personality of the respected idol in real life.

Series warning(s)/genre(s): Chapter-based written fic, Slow-burn relationship(s), Fake-dating, Unrequited love, Songwriter/producer!oc, idol!Jimin, idol/songwriter/producer!Yoongi, friends with benefits, drama, romance, smut, angst, fluff (updated as needed)

Chapter warning(s): none.

Word count: 5053

if you enjoy please, please let me know!

“The cover art is really simple.” Your eyes scan over the imagery of a black background with three muted color swatches arranged in rectangles meant to represent the ambiance of each track respectfully. Squeezing your hands that settled long ago on Yoongi’s right shoulder and upper arm, you bite your lip watching him type in an equally succinct description.

“Want to wait until we can design something?” He shifts his head with a shake so that his bangs cease obscuring his view as he glances up at you. A tiny shake of your head is your reply along with silence, appearing contemplative. “We can if you want.”

“If I don’t let you do it now, I think I’ll be putting it off forever.” You admit sheepishly. Your nervous eyes look towards Yoongi’s warm stare and a little smile breaks onto your face to try and hide the spilling nerves. “Really, Yoon, I like how it looks I’m not worried about the art to be honest with you.”

He nods gently, then pushes his chair a couple inches aside causing your hand on his arm to fall away while the other remains with a firm squeeze that Yoongi pays no mind to. “You want to be the one to click publish?”

“Me?” You startle, looking back towards the screen. The little red button in the corner reading ‘submit’ appears utterly normal and unassuming, yet the implications of what it will do are vastly opposite. You never thought about how jarring just releasing tracks could feel; while there is excited anticipation brewing in your chest, you can’t stop the conflicting nerves of wonder about the reception to find their way into each heartbeat as well. “I’m probably acting dramatic, aren’t I?”

“Not really.” Yoongi repels your self-consciousness, reaching his hand to cover over the top of yours on his shoulder, “It’s scary putting something you worked so hard on out there; I get it, sweetie.”

You nod, lips tightening from his voice’s comfort, and the pieces of worry that evaporate just because of his hand finding yours. Taking away the smallness of being alone, Yoongi assures you that he’s as much a part of this as you are. The name of his account, and your own next to the abbreviated producer title of the first track and written in the credential section of all three repeat the conjoinment of both of your responsibility for anything that can come from release.

With an exhale, you reach for the mouse, hovering the cursor over that red button that felt as much of a warning as it did a start. When you consider your beginnings of production five years earlier, you can almost believe this little action is entirely overdue. If you hadn’t given up so much of your voice for the job, maybe this would be a common occurrence by now, but then maybe as well you wouldn’t have the luxury of reaching this place alongside Yoongi.

Your index finger presses onto the mouse, allowing the millisecond clicking sound to practically blast through the room.

The screen takes barely anytime to refresh and reappear with a speeding loading meter. You watch it climb like the acceleration of your heartbeat, not for a moment taking consideration of the cancel button that lingers in the bottom corner. Yoongi’s hand grows tighter over top of yours, silently watching as well. Another page refreshes, announcing success and highlighting a link to share with anyone, as a short description tells that the public can now access on the music streaming service.

“Oh my god,” You dribble out exclamatory ramblings, then turn to look at Yoongi who looks up at you after a second longer of reading the information on the screen. Despite the shock excluding your expression, Yoongi smiles up at you, grinning teeth peeking through as you remain motionless.

“Congratulations, angel.” He says, rubbing your hand while allowing the moment to catch up with you. It does so in a slow eruption of a smile on your face, one that leaves you a little bouncy in enthusiasm,

“Yoongi,” You pull your hand away covering your mouth with both of them though it doesn’t hide the evident happiness taking over your expression. Yoongi’s empathetic glow of thrill for you remains as he stands from his seat, mixing a laugh into a gasp when you hop against him into a full hug. Nearly tripping backwards, his arms cross around you as his foot plants firmly to keep himself upright. “Thank you so much, Yoon. Really, really thank you.”

“You don’t need to thank me, angel, but you’re welcome.” He mumbles quickly, not wanting to take any of the moment’s attention from you. Instead his ands rub your back soothingly, elated from how happy you cling onto him with your face buried into the crook of his neck. “You want to go do something to celebrate?”

“Yes,” You nod, as you look upwards at him, ignoring the close proximity of your faces while you pay more attention to your toes remaining balance on the ground. “Please. Let’s get out of here-- we’ll probably get hunted down if we hang around.”

Within a few short minutes, the two of you stroll quickly down the hall, arriving at the elevator as you situate your bag’s strap over your shoulder. Yoongi adjusts a mask along his chin, keeping it off his mouth and nose until exiting the building. Your mind trails over a million ideas of comments that will find their way onto the internet in response, creating a reason for you to avoid looking at any social media for as long as possible.

You send a text to a groupchat with Namjoon and Seokjin instead, vague about details, but factually accurate with the most important news about Yoongi and you dropping the three tracks into the world without any warning. Expecting a reply from either as soon as one reads the shocking text, you keep your phone in your grasp, but bite your lip at the troublesome nag that Yerin could just as easily try and get in contact with you any moment as well.

“You okay?” Yoongi ducks his head, eyes studying any emotion on your face, as you sigh to ward thoughts away. Dropping your phone into the confines of your bag to leave the world at bay, you nod at him. “Without thinking about the bad things, the music itself is really good, angel. Try to just focus on that. Everyone is bound to like your work.” He continues to alleviate, stretching an arm in your direction which your hand happily takes to grab hold of his waiting appendage again. Entwining the fingers, he gives you a protective squeeze, listening to the elevator stop and announce the ground level, “Let’s just celebrate tonight. This is a happy occasion.”

“You’re right, yeah. I was just trying to let Joon and Jin know about it, but then I started thinking about everything too much.” You explain as you both step from the elevator into the staff lobby, where Yoongi can receive his car from the valet service. “What do you think we should go eat?”

Yoongi hums in thought, contemplating locations as he waves to one of the employees who knows him by face and starts off down to the garage level immediately. “I guess something to go with drinks. Barbeque usually says celebration, right?” He turns to you, as you lean against the counter fiddling with his fingers between both of your hands.

“You just love meat.” You smile up at him, straying one of your hands to pat against his chest as he pouts his lips above his mask and shrugs nonchalantly in response.

“Well, maybe-- but it is celebratory food, isn’t it?”

“Hmm...” You giggle as he gently jiggles your linked hands to further enhance a sales pitch,

“Why don’t you invite Namjoon and Jin? I bet they’d want to come.”

You roll your eyes at his attempt to push the desire for barbeque, though you’re inclined to agree because of the warm weather of summer evenings making the meal idea enticing. Ready to give in to stop Yoongi’s growing pout that seems more begging now than casually pitching the meal, your words never come out as the elevator’s sound again registers in your sense and you watch Jimin exit out.

The sparse amount of people in the lobby cause him to notice you and Yoongi in little time. Where you anticipated a small nod and walk away, you find his eyes linger instead, full of invisibly flurry despite the solemn expression encompassing his body language. You don’t turn away, instincts causing prickles of wonder in your chest, that grow into worry when you catch him smother a frown away.

Your suddenly tight squeeze on Yoongi’s hands, prompt him to turn his head back to check what you see. Watching Jimin step towards the little group of you two, Yoongi lifts himself from leaning on the counter, shifting so that he can face the casually dressed brunette.

“Hey,” Jimin greets the words towards you, and gives a nod of his head to Yoongi amicably. The tone of his voice is polite, but not like usual. Your eyebrows furrow in response to the fact, but you can’t dwell as Jimin goes on, “Hopefully you’re okay after what that guy said earlier?”

“Oh, yeah,” You nod, having practically forgotten about the producer for the past couple of hours. “He’s always been rude, so I don’t really care.” You explain, catching Yoongi’s pensive expression in the corner of your eye. Likely gauging the situation of your comfort. “Thanks again for saying something, Jimin.”

“It wasn’t really anything,” He shrugs off your words, glancing towards the exit doors as a driver parks a car in the small archway. “Definitely not something that deserves thanks.”

The absentmindedness of his eyes are a familiar sight, not a common occurrence, but you’ve seen it before. Appearing cluttered amidst thoughts, Jimin acts abnormal, but not in the way as a reaction to the strained memories between you too. Something other than that bothers him, you realize and can’t stop the quiet questioning, “Are you okay?”

Yoongi glances towards you as you ask, finding a genuine focus for the man in front of you in your eyes. When he looks towards Jimin whose appearance seems hesitant at your line of questioning, Yoongi for a moment wonders if there’s still entanglement between you both. You haven’t brought up Jimin in weeks now, but certainly the thought of him crosses your mind, Yoongi realizes this, but watching forms a knot in his throat. Small, yet distinctly there as he stands separate from you both, despite his hands holding yours.

The moment of understanding startles him internally and his hand breaks from your own, as he comes back into reality hearing the employee from before calling his name. He turns back towards the counter, to retrieve his keys, listening on as the thread in his throat continues crossing in and out of itself, building up and for what reason.

“Yeah,” Wearily spoken, Jimin watches your short glance at Yoongi as his hand released yours. When your eyes quickly come back to his own, Jimin just shrugs a shoulder, forcing a half-hearted smile, “Long day… That’s all.”

Undeniably, there exists the beginnings of a line, that you have no reason to speak beyond what Jimin explains to you without substance of whatever is obviously wrong. Given all of the distance grown, and separation that has caused the awkwardness of strangers with history to fester between you both, you have no reason to go beyond the casual conversation, but you can’t erase his expression. You’re certain those around you would assume his response to be literal, but there’s more underneath it, you can see it.

You could see there was more beneath his response of surprise when you kissed him for the first time years ago, and you can just as easily decipher that there is something Jimin didn’t disclose that makes his person appear so recluse and uncertain. Worry doesn’t contain itself in your mind, instead flooding out from your heart practically shoving it, “Do you want to talk?”

It doesn’t feel wrong to ask him, but watching Jimin’s eyebrows twitch a bit wider you know the question is unexpected. Your lips tighten, trying to ignore the idea that you’ve made a mistake in offering. You turn towards Yoongi to alleviate the tension in your throat, to make the question lighter as you go on, “Right, we have time until the evening; I can talk to him and meet you afterwards?”

The second the sentence concludes you feel as though you’ve done even more wrong. Yoongi’s glance towards Jimin isn’t casual, closer to an examination, then he returns his eyes to you. It’s a small moment, but how Yoongi looks at you isn’t warm, but perhaps hurt. Disappointed in your decision, you think. Then it’s squashed away as he nods his head,

“Yeah, that’s fine.”

Blinking in confusion of his reaction, you stay stunned silent and only watch as Yoongi nods his head towards Jimin and walks around the two of you towards his car outside. Frowning now, you consider if you’ve said anything for him to get so visibly upset about. Even if he’s disappointed that you want to lend Jimin an ear, Yoongi’s completely altered mannerisms seem off.

“Y/N,” You look towards Jimin as he calls out to you and smiles gently, tiredly as he continues, “You don’t have to let me rant to you. I’m sure you don’t really want to.”

“I do though.” You reiterate, mentally frustrated by why Yoongi walked away. “You seem sad about something,” Explaining your perspective, your hands squeeze together, trying to settle in belief that what you’ve done isn’t wrong-- you don’t have to act like Jimin was the worst memory of your life, despite the changes since you’ve spoken to him, he was still important to you. He’s still human and capable of feeling sad, needing someone to listen; if you’re the one worried why wouldn’t you let him. You still care about his well being, it’s that simple, “Is it wrong of me to talk to you?”

“Well, no,” He says simply, biting his lip, and you wonder if his hesitation is due to Yoongi’s reaction as well or because of the strain between you two. “Then let’s go so you won’t be too late to meet him later on.”

---

“I’m actually kind of surprised you picked a cafe.” You admit quietly, looking down at your pretty, light lavender tea drink. Lifting your eyes up to Jimin you find him adjusting a stray lock under the confines of his cap where the rest of his hair has been hidden away. As though that is the bulk of his identity, and not the designer graphic shirt and expensive Doc Martins wouldn’t bring any attention, he sits back into his chair,

“Well, it’s not busy right now,” He says, which is fair considering only another single person typing away on their laptop sits on the opposite side of the establishment. “Besides if anyone says anything it’s easier to deny anything wrong with your fake relationship.”

“Yeah,” You murmur, forgetting about that public aspect between you and Yoongi often times lately. “I guess that’s true.” You stir your drink with the straw, less interested in drinking it. “So what happened that made you look so sad?” “Ah,” Jimin rubs his jaw, remembering the conversation with Yerin. He looks at your person, finding little details that have changed and others that haven’t, but most notably acknowledges your leave and its freeing effect on your expression. It almost feels not fair to complain to you when you’re taking everything SoundWave and himself to an extent have held away from you.

He’s caught in your gaze when you finally turn towards him expectant of an answer, but he really doesn’t feel like he should tell you. Why did he agree to speak with you in the first place. The largest part of Jimin’s heart simply wanted to see you again, but what is there to say. You shouldn’t have to listen to his tales of stagnation any longer. He doesn’t want to dwell on that, so his lips keep the meeting a secret as he changes the direction,

“I’m really sorry that I never told you how I felt about your contract earlier.” Knowing this isn’t what you expected him to say, Jimin isn’t surprised as he watches your eyes drift into shock and your mouth to part slightly. “I know I should’ve.” He smiles bitterly, glancing towards the drinks on the small table. “I love you. I didn’t want to ruin us, but that wasn’t fair of me.”

“Is,” Your slowly spoken speech causes you to ball your hands onto your lap, “Is that why you looked upset?” Regret continuing to jumble his days, like how you would recall the months of silence when you kept the questions you had to yourself.

“Maybe in some ways,” He ponders, still avoiding eye contact as he instead taps his index finger once on the laminated wood. “Yerin’s always told me that I can’t do for myself what you do for everyone in the company.” You narrow your eyes, about to cut in and ask what he means but Jimin goes on. “When I was going to debut they had it set that I wouldn’t produce any of the music, but I thought that would be short-term while I learned how in the meantime.” You watch his lips contort into a dissatisfied frown, “But when it stayed like that and I asked to try making my own music she’d always say that route is worthless for the company.”

“You tried to make your own music?” The statement falls out of your lips like a question in disbelief. Always believing he had no interest from the fact he never showed you even a line of his work.

“Of course,” He chuckles, rubbing his face as the memories wash over hours of work to create samples that were passed on each and every time. “I want to be a performer and make as much of my own stuff that I can, but,” The two of you know what he means when he stops speaking. There was never an opportunity for Jimin to even try. “According to Yerin, if you and other producers didn’t make everything themselves, I’d be out of a job as an idol.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

Jimin turns towards your risen voice, finding your forehead creased in frustration, lips frowning like you hadn’t been trusted. He swallows air, not sure if you’d find his reasoning acceptable, because even Jimin thinks it’s just a testament to how cowardly he acted.

“I never mentioned the song rejections because I was embarrassed,” He pauses noticing your expression become more hurt, but he doesn’t stop. “You’re a genius at making songs, and I thought I was so bad at it that I couldn’t even be successful on my own without the company making everything that I am.” Jimin watches you continue to bite your lip, perhaps holding back words until he’s finished.

“But by the time you started talking about wanting to receive credit for your songs, I got scared that everything would fall apart for my own career.” He groans, rubbing his face with both hands as he shakes his head, “I know it was fucking greedy-- I really do know that, when I think about it now I get so upset. You’re getting what you deserve now though; you’ll be able to do what you want as a songwriter and producer and I’m glad. It took me losing you to get over being selfish and that’s always going to be something I have to live with, but if anything good came out of this I’m glad it’s you moving on. I’m happy for you,” When he smiles, Jimin wonders why you no longer look willing to speak. “Even if I’m not in your life anymore, I’ll still support whatever you do. I promise that.”

---

Namjoon, 6:14pm: You and Yoongi did WHAT?

Seokjin, 6:16pm: Tell me why the first song of the three is so good. How did you both make it so good?

Namjoon, 6:26pm: Y/N respond, you can’t just send a vague fucking text like that and not say anything else, where are you at and what is going on?

You stare at the four hour old text messages from just moments after your initial message in the groupchat. The words bump around as the taxi goes over rough asphalt rounding a corner, but you don’t think of a reply. Too focused on the conversation between you and Jimin that concluded just as the sun was halfway away for the night. You put your phone away in your bag, feeling the car drift to a stop as the reasons for Jimin’s silence repeat in your mind over and over.

So absentmindedly you saunter into the apartment complex, filing into the elevator and clicking the floor number while you try and think of why he would have never told you about his own problems with Yerin. No matter how the sentences repeat, it sounds like he was manipulated into submission as well as you were, yet to the extent of being your enemy in a way. Though you doubted he was actively conscious of the fact for so long, and even so Jimin’s already apologized to you. He’s settled the confusion, so why are you dwelling?

It takes a moment to realize where you are, and with a shake of your head you press your finger into the doorbell, then use the same hand to rub your temples. There’s a piece you can’t connect within yourself, that makes the conversation had so unnatural from how you would assume you’d react. You just sigh, trying to settle down your head before startling at the front door opening.

Yoongi reveals behind the door, simply looking at you for a moment. He steps back to open it wider, “You look like you’re drained.”

“Thanks.” You huff, stepping into his apartment,while frowning at the idea that everyone who has seen you probably thought the same way. You dismiss the thoughts, turning back towards Yoongi, but having to shimmy around once more as he walks off towards his couch. “Yoon-” You start a question out of confusion, but pause as you recall his dismissive exit earlier from the company.

Slowly you step towards the couch after him, watching as he slumps into the corner. You stop short of his lounging legs, head tilting as you watch him rub his face and stifle a groan, “Does your head hurt?” “No,” He laughs at your observation, in a way non judgemental, but genuinely humored by its simplicity. Then Yoongi lets his arms fall to either side of him, while he looks up toward the ceiling, “No. I acted dumb earlier. I’m sorry about it.”

“Well, I messed up our plans for dinner to talk to Jimin. I get why you would be disappointed in me. I’m sure it seemed really weird for me to do.”

“I wasn’t disappointed.” Yoongi speaks flatly, hand toying with the hair most atop his head while continuing to look up towards the ceiling. “When I was talking to Hoseok about it he said I acted like I was jealous.”

You giggle a little, thinking of the implication of the emotion and finding it a bit out of place for Yoongi’s character. From what you’ve learned about him he seems entirely trusting, though not always calm, still understanding enough to know there wasn’t a need when Jimin and you have only a completely collapsed relationship between you both.

Then you wonder about the idea of why you find the need for Yoongi to be jealous to be silly. Why would he find himself jealous about Jimin, and why do you automatically think it’s baseless.

“Did the talk go well?”

“What?” You blurt, looking up from the floor to Yoongi. His head straightens properly to look at you, finding your question strange. His lips frown towards you and then you realize what you’ve said and shake your head, “Oh, yeah.” You shrug, as Yoongi sits up, feet lying flat on the floor.

“What happened?” He asks with narrowing eyes, voice softly concerned that something went wrong because of your scattered disposition. “Did he say something, angel?”

Before his questions register you consider his nickname for you, wondering when he began using it but finding no point of time in particular. “He apologized to me.”

Yoongi notices his heart beat louder than usual, but does his best to ignore the unneeded anxiousness. “For what?”

“He was telling me that he should’ve never been selfish about wanting me to keep being uncredited. Yerin made him think he can’t succeed without all of the construction behind the scenes,” You bite your lip, thinking about the amount of worry he most likely had along with its confliction because you’re sure he truly didn’t want to hurt you through any of the internal issues. “He said he regrets losing him and I because of his fear.”

“Then what’s stopping you both from getting back together again?” Yoongi speaks without filter, but wants to retract every word instantly. The knot in his throat returns, and he wants to stop from hearing whatever you could say. He recalls the concern laced in your eyes upon seeing Jimin earlier and thinks that he doesn’t want the idea of returning to be considered.

But as you look up at him with widening eyes, Yoongi realizes he doesn’t want to get hurt by potentiality. His voice takes over again, “If he had told you then, you’d still be together with him, wouldn’t you?”

“But he didn’t tell me then!” You retort instantly, volume picking up from the insinuation of his words to push you back towards Jimin.

Yoongi stays quiet, watching you with a forming frown as you appear to grow frustrated. He should leave it at this, he should’ve divulge further, but it bothers him still-- that nagging memory of you being unaware that he took his hand from yours earlier, and all of the other instances he’s watched you be heartbroken because of Jimin-- because, “You still love him though.”

Your shoulders visibly lose tension, Yoongi swallows hard at the sight of it. Inhaling a deep breath, you consider his assumption. Consider that you haven’t brought up Jimin in so long only to go out of your way to privately speak with him right in front of Yoongi’s eyes. Consider that you never thought about the direction of your feelings for Jimin after more than a month.

When the memories play over in your head once more, you can say that they still fill you with a bittersweet joy. Thinking of all of the times you spent with Jimin while the two of you were so new to the idol industry, it’s natural to be fond.You were friends with Jimin long before there became the physical relationship, and you’ve cared for him in growing ways ever since you met him.

Jimin isn’t a bad person. And from where you left off with him today, you’re positive towards the idea that he’s changed from the fear in his yelling months earlier at the party. You still believe he’s capable of more than that and seeing whatever comes for him is a warm thought. You still care about him. There has never been a question of your changing care towards Jimin when he played such a large role in your life for so many years, you want what would be best for him.

But as you look on at Yoongi, you can’t find the perspective that he seems to believe about you. The thought never occurred to you, and certainly you can’t pinpoint a day of change, but when you try and consider fixing what has broken between you and Jimin you’re unable to process a way. And when you find Yoongi’s eyes staring straight into yours, you find that you haven’t thought about Jimin through a rose colored lense in awhile.

“No, I don’t.”

Yoongi stays silent, replaying your response in his head quite a few times. His eyebrows narrow, muted disbelief surfacing on his face as he stands from the couch. Your eyes follow his, Yoongi catches the fact as well as your lips tightening into a line, maybe out of surprise for your own words. But before he’s able to think further your head shakes,

“I haven’t for weeks now.” You take a breath, shocking yourself by how you’re able to go on about this despite realizing it only as the words escape, “I did, but I really don’t anymore.” Your hair shakes as you twist your head back and forth, wondering if there was ever a precise moment where your feelings no longer extended towards Jimin.

“I never even thought about the idea that I had stopped,” You laugh at the nonsense of the fact, watching Yoongi’s feet pad forward, eyes evidently concerned to some extent about your ramblings. “It’s so weird-- you’d think I would’ve figured it out sooner, right?” You ignore Yoongi shaking his head to your words. “I don’t know when I stopped, or,” 

You let him take your hand into his for comfort, not-believing it would remain for long. But you selfishlessly let the touch linger onwards. Undoubtedly the shock of your conclusions will make Yoongi pull away. There’s time to stop, you think that there’s no reason to shovel out so many of your emotional words at once. It’s impulsive, without calculation for any of the words you’ve said, but you think about the meaning of your last ones. Knowing there should be more tact and grace, or build up that isn’t after the rantings of your ending feelings in your past relationship, but through all of this, the words themselves no longer wish to be kept hidden in the background of your mind, so they flutter out in an exasperated whisper,

“Or when I started having feelings for you.”

if you enjoy please, please let me know via ask, comment, rb with tags– however ! i’d just really appreciate feedback 🥺 i hope you enjoy the series, i’m working really hard on it! : )

tag list (send an ask to be added): @jaiuneamesolitaiire @tsvkino-usagi​@xionysus​ @baebyjoonie​ @honeyoongles​ @betysotelo18​

[mynightingalecomplex]

Don’t Get Too Comfortable

Ok, so here’s a (not so little) fic I’ve been toying with. It’s long, so I’m going to break it into parts. I default to Pre-Disney+ Mandalorians, so the helmets are not an issue.

Synopsis: Just off a successful hunt, Jesse Libarra finds herself traveling in company with another Mandalorian, Aden Nasreyc. The two Mandalorians are looking forward to a few days of rest on a backwater planet but, unknown to them, the Black Sun have followed Aden and are intent on exacting their revenge on the man who killed their leader.

Tags: previous injury, broken ribs, exhaustion, field medicine

Link to glossary

Link to illustrations:

Part One

Part Two

Aden floated up from dreamless sleep into a fuzzy, pink semi-wakefulness. Dreams still niggled about the edges of his mind and his eyelids were stuck shut, but he could feel the pillow under his head and the blankets twisted through naked legs. It had been so long since he had awakened in a bed --an actual bed!-- that he allowed himself to simply lie there without wondering where he was, how he’d gotten there, or who was trying to kill him. He couldn’t remember any reason to get up, so maybe he’d just lay there for five more minutes….

He surfaced again some time later. Judging by the light, it had been more than five minutes. Again he lay still, luxuriating in the feel of sheets and a foam pillow against a cheek that had slept for three months on the inside of a helmet. Golden light played through his eyelids. The enviro-unit grumbled and whined, insulating the room in a cocoon of noise. He drew up his knee and burrowed into his pillow, searching for the fragments of his dream, but it was fruitless. He was awake now and would find no more sleep for a time. 

Aden opened his eyes. Light like liquid gold streamed through the curtains as they danced in the enviro-unit’s breeze. Dust motes floated in a ballet up and down the shafts of sunlight. Somewhere outside he heard a door slam, a voice, but then all was silence. He squinted at the chrono on the table. Fifteen hundred. He yawned. He knew he shouldn’t have slept so long. It was wasteful. It was foolish. It was dangerous. But it had been necessary. 

The hunt on Vurus had been long and dangerous. Three months without a single full night’s sleep, of constant watchfulness and wakefulness, living always with the shadow of death, had left him at the edge of his very considerable limits. He had taken privation, discomfort, and mental and physical punishment, and if he hoped to take it again he had to have rest. It had been a risk to spend so long asleep, particularly after the mess at the space port, but in a blaster-proof room with another Mando’ad on his six the risk had been worth taking. 

Memory jarred him further into alertness. He rolled up on his elbow to look around the room. There on a pallet between the bed and the window, slept the girl from his half-remembered dream. Feet bare, dressed only in red fatigues, long brown hair pooling loose about her face and shoulders, she lay in the sunlight like a porcelain doll except for the blaster clutched in her tapered fingers.  

          Suddenly conscious that he was dressed only in his boxers, he sat up to pull the sheets over his naked legs. The pain that had long been his companion, dulled just enough by sleep and medication to pass out of his mind, flashed through his body and left him gasping. Modesty forgotten, he hugged his legs to his chest and buried his face in his knees, all his efforts concentrated on silencing the string of curses that had lined up on his tongue. 

           When the spots finally cleared from his vision, he found Jesse at his knee, regarding him from the floor with grave green eyes. “Hiya.” She said, her voice low and rusty with sleep. “Do I need to ask you how you're feeling?” 

          He tried to smile. “Bout as bad as I look.” 

          “Sheesh. You belong in a hospital, then.” 

          “You up for breakfast?” His stomach had woken up and was reminding him that the last thing he had eaten was a protein cube on the train to the Vurus spaceport. 

          She turned to look at the chrono. The golden light caught in her loose chestnut hair, glistening like syrup in a crystal decanter. A rogue corner of his mind ran an imaginary hand through that long brown mane before he could stop it. He shoved the thought back into the depths of his subconscious and pulled the sheets up over his legs, trying to ignore the blush that was creeping up his neck. 

          “We might could find breakfast around here.” Jesse said. “I know a little place that caters to late risers.” 

         “Sounds good to me.” 

         She tossed his flightsuit at him and headed for the fresher. Gingerly, Aden eased himself into his clothes. Socks, suit, gloves, tak-vest and ammo belt went on with his usual care. Pushing himself to his feet, he stomped into his flat-soled boots and opened the curtains. He stood at the edge of the window -- no point making himself a target-- and looked out, enjoying the peaceful removal from the afternoon bustle and the warmth of the sun on his face. 

          His stomach growled. He couldn't remember his last meal. There had been a cup of burnt caf at the Vurus police station and a ration cube on the train to the spaceport, but after all the trouble had started an empty stomach had been the least of his problems. He rubbed his ribs absently and winced. Jesse was right; he was slow and getting slower. 

          “Fresher's open.” Jesse padded out in sock feet, tying off the end of her long brown braid. 

          “Vore.” He stepped away from the window. He looked reluctantly at his armor stacked neatly on the chest-of-drawers. “What do you think? Is this a blaster and beskar kind of place, or maybe a little more casual?”

        Jesse shrugged. “Depends on how threatening you find greasy eggs and soggy waffles.”

         Aden considered this. Battle-ready was all well and good, but three months in full kit left a man feeling more like a sardine than a member of society. It was just a diner, after all, not a drug den. Not even a cantina. And they hadn't been on Dantooine long enough to make any enemies. He bounced once or twice on the balls of his feet, enjoying the unaccustomed lightness. “Maybe just the body plates.” He said. “Just so they know we're Mandos.”

          The diner was everything Jesse had promised. Basically a long chrome tube with big glass windows, the diner was alive with beings crowded into red vinyl booths. Waiters, humans and Twi'leks instead of the droids popular on city worlds, bustled about with pots of steaming caf and plates of greasy food, laughing, shouting, and bantering with the customers. Aden felt himself relaxing. This was a small town on a peaceful world, and the sense of community amongst the patrons was almost palpable. It felt like home. 

         They were seated in a booth along the big front window, working through their second pot of caf. The waitress had looked askance at them at first, but in only chest and knee plates, helmets off and sleeves rolled up, they looked less than threatening. Even in Verad, mercenaries were not unheard of and their money was as good as anyone else's, so here they were in a sticky vinyl booth waiting for their pancakes without drawing any more than an occasional curious glance. 

        Aden sipped his caf and looked out the window at the dusty street. “Nice place.” He commented. “Better than Vurus, but I'm a country boy at heart.” 

          Jesse nodded. “Beats durasteel streets and monorails, that's for sure. I grew up in the vhetin'e. Long rolling hills and grass as far as you can see so this always feels like home.” 

Aden watched her as she looked out the window. He knew he shouldn’t ask. It was rude and it wasn’t remotely his business, but her sharp, sad, porcelain face and those deft fingers belonged to something more than an itinerant bounty-hunter on a third-class world. “What are you doing trapped out here, Jesse?” Even he could hear the despair in his voice. ”Don’t you have family waiting for you?”

“No.” She answered first, then looked away from the window. “No family.” He didn’t think she was going to elaborate. There was no reason she should and he was kicking himself for being a di’kut when she went on. “I was with the GAR before the… before the Empire took over. When Kal Skirata and his boys bugged out they went with hundreds, thousands of others, commandos and regular troopers too. The Empire lost almost a third of their fighting force, but they kept it quiet. Whole regiments disappeared at a time, and most of them headed for Mandalore. It was chaos.” She looked down at the cup in her hands but he knew she wasn't seeing it. “One of my boys got out. One didn't. Two didn't even try.”

          Aden tried to think of a way to ask the obvious question without further insult, gave up, and asked anyway. “What about you? You bugged out with the rest?” 

She shook her head. “Not a chance. I’d have stayed. I wasn’t there to serve the Republic. I was there cause my boys were there and it was a steady paycheck. What did I care what symbol the boys had painted on their armor?

“No, when the dust settled, the Imps repainted the troops that were left, brought in the last battalions of Kamino-trained soldiers, and all us irregular non-coms showed up the next morning to find our clearance revoked, our quarters occupied, our possessions confiscated, and our boys renumbered and reassigned.”

They sat in silence for a long moment, Jesse lost in thought, Aden shocked at this first-hand account of what had been only rumors through the Mando’a community. Finally Jesse shook herself and the gloom that clouded her face vanished as if it had never been. “So, here I am, foot-loose and fancy-free, back doing what’s best for the one who's most important.” She tapped her chest plates. “Me.”

Aden didn’t know what to say, but he was rescued from shoving his foot further into his mouth by the arrival of the waitress with their order. After months of hard work on nothing but field rations and will power, Aden felt he could eat an entire nerf by himself, horns, hooves and all, but he had settled on ordering basically the entire menu, because his momma had raised him with some manners. Werris eggs, fried nerf bacon, sausage, crispy potato patties, and stacks of waffles with cream and slices of shefna fruit on top all appeared from the kitchen together, still sizzling in pools of grease or dripping with sticky Alderaanian molasses. It took two waitresses to bring it all to the table. 

          After that, there was no more conversation for a while. Talking was a waste of time with food going cold on the table. Jesse was polishing off the leftover half of his third waffle - - he considered it more a gift to a good friend than an admission of defeat-- when she spoke suddenly, pointing an accusatory fork at him. “All right, pretty boy. Now it's your turn. What's a handsome fellow like you doing on Dantooine without enough money to buy a bed for the night?”

         He winced, but it was only fair. “Oh, you know how far money goes in this economy. Gotta work where you can.” He tried a nonchalant shrug, knowing it wouldn't work. 

         “Vurus to Dantooine's a long jump with no money in your pocket.” She rejoined. ”And this isn't the place to come to turn a quick credit.”

         No, he thought, but it might be a good place to stage a tactical withdrawal. But of course he wasn't going to tell Jesse that. No sense in getting her mixed up in whatever trouble he'd gotten himself into. “It's as close as I could get to Qilura on a passenger ship.” That at least was true. 

           “Family out there?” 

          “A sister. Brother's wife.” He answered immediately, glad to have something he could talk openly about. “She's not Mando, but she did right by him and she's trying to do right by his boy, so I do what I can.” ‘What he could’ meant going hungry and traveling forth-class on passenger ships so Miran and her son could live a step above the poverty line, but he could see Jesse understood that and wasn't going to ask him to elaborate. “It's not the kind of help I'd like to give her, but it's help she needs and it's the least I can do.”

          Jesse nodded and scraped the last of the whipped cream off his plate with her fork. “Good for you. It's hard when they're not Mando'ade. How do you get from here to Qilura? That's another two jumps from here.”

          He shrugged. “There's usually some freighter or other going that way. I'm not above hauling cargo and swabbing decks if it means a free hyperspace jump.”

          “Makes sense.” Jesse said. “Tell you what. I've got a little extra on me this time, so how about I stake you a day's rations and a hyperspace jump and drinks'll be on you next time we run into each other.”

          “Jesse, I…” Aden was at a loss. What could he say? How could he accept? But, on the other hand, how could he refuse? “That would be… “ 

          Then the world exploded.

[jphbk1982]

Another fic of mine. This written in 2017, after the PR film came out, and set 3 years into the future making it a present day fic now. Wild to consider that much time has passed since the movie. Anyway hope you enjoy it if you take the time to read.

Jason and Kim are tired from the constant battles, but they have each other.

Worn

Jason Scott shut the door to his apartment behind him. Letting it slam a little harder than he intended. He let out a loud sigh and the flipped his keys over on the counter to his left. He took a few purposeful steps past the living room and kitchen and into the hallway on the backside of them. He stopped as a wave of pain crashed over his midsection.

Jason quickly peeled off his red t-shirt and discarded it on a table at the hallway entrance. He took a few more steps to his left and reached into a room and flipped a light on before fully stepping inside. His hands instinctively found the sink in front of him and he slumped his body forward, supporting his weight fully on the sink.

Jason stared at the drain of the sink for several moments, both as a tool to collect his thoughts but also out of dread at looking up into the mirror above him. Slowly he brought his gaze up and found he barely recognized the face looking back at him. It was as if a stranger had invaded his own home and was there taunting him from the reflection on the other side. Jason resisted the urge to slam his hand down on the sink in front of him, not wanting to shatter it.  

"Ouch.." Jason audibly voiced as his eyes lowered to his multicolored sternum and abdomen. Dark blues, reds, and purples ran across nearly the entirety of what skin Jason could see in the mirror. He ran a hand tentatively down his chest and muffled curses under his breath as he came across the most tender spots. He stopped at the waistline of his jeans and then reached up to run some water from the sink. After a couple of seconds, he leaned forward and splashed it on his face.

Jason heard the door knob on the front door turn and the door slowly release and push open. Jason reached over and flicked the light off to the bathroom and stepped out into the hallway. He focused his eyes as the evening sun back-lit the front door from his spot down the darkened hallway, slightly blinding him. He caught a glimpse of her face after she finally fastened the door. He moved to retrieve the t-shirt on the table in front of him.

"Don't... let me see." Kimberly's voice came closer to him as she made her way down the hall to meet him. Jason lowered his hands and waited for her to flip the light on. Immediately her eyes were roaming all over his bare midsection. After she had seen it she raised her gaze to meet his.

"Don't worry.." Jason began.

"I've never seen it this bad.." Kim responded, reaching a hand tentatively out to touch his stomach. She slowly recoiled it before it could graze the skin.

"We are all beat up," He countered as his eyes watched the movement of her hand.

"He targets you," She stated.

"I guess," He agreed as they both took a step closer to each other.

"You take hits you don't have to," She continued.

"No," He protested. Immediately her face hardened and she prepared a counter-argument. He put his hands up in surrender. "Maybe sometimes."

"You don't need to do that," She stated.

"If Tommy were still here..." He began.

"He isn't... and that's not your fault," Kim quickly responded. 

"I could have saved his powers," He said. 

"And the rest of us would have been dead," She countered. He sighed and slumped his shoulders. After a moment she reached down and took him by the hand. He raised his eyes to meet hers. "Come on."

She led them back into the bathroom he had just exited from and flipped the light on. She opened the medicine cabinet with one hand and scanned its contents, her other hand with a firm grip still on his. After locating what she was looking for she broke her grip to reach up and unscrew the cap of the jar in her hand. She nodded towards the edge of the bathtub.

"Sit," She said as she ran a hand through the cream inside of the jar. She glanced up to see him following her suggestion.

"You don't have to... it'll heal eventually," He protested.

"Not fast enough... not like it used to," She countered.

"His magic... it's more powerful... and he never stops," He stated. She nodded and then gestured for him to raise his arms. She then reached down and smeared some of the cream across his chest. He recoiled.

"I'm sorry... I'll be gentle," She apologized. He shook his head.

"It's just cold," He countered with his first grin of the evening. She couldn't help but reciprocate with one of her own before she began to work her hands in circles to rub the cream in. She dipped her hand back inside for more and then this time applied it much lower, attempted to soothe a particularly rough patch just beneath his belly button. He jumped once more as the more sensitive skin was reached. She stifled an audible laugh and glanced up to see him watching her intently.

"You okay?" She asked.

"Yup," He answered with a certain sparkle in his eye and sheepish grin she had grown terribly fond of over the last few years. She resisted the urge to kiss him and instead glanced down at her work once more satisfied that she had gotten most of the medicine rubbed in as well as she could. She straightened up and walked over to the sink to wash her hands.

"I'll smell like this stuff the rest of the night now," She stated as she vigorously scrubbed her hands.

"I could have done it..." He replied.

"You wouldn't have," She countered. 

She glanced over to see him shrug in agreement and stand up. Satisfied with the cleanliness of her hands she reached over to shut the faucet and off and then dry her hands on a towel. She felt him standing close to her now and turned to him. She took in his face, scanning it. She reached up and gently ran a hand through his beard. "You look tired."

"I need to shave," He responded as he glanced over in the mirror to see what several days of neglecting his face had accomplished.

"Right now?" She asked.

"Sure," He answered as he reached over and retrieved his razor from the sink top. He wet it as she moved to his other side to allow him room. She watched as he applied some shaving lather on his face, turning to her when he had a face full of it applied. He winked at her, and she smiled. She was mesmerized as he went about taking smooth strides across his face with the razor.

"You're kind of hot you know," She commented right as he was focusing intently on a spot on above his lip. He stopped long enough to grin before he continued the task at hand without a verbal response. She continued watching him until he finally reached for a towel to dry his face with. After a few pats, he turned to her.

"Better?" He asked. She nodded. "Still hot?"

"Yes," She answered. He grinned, satisfied.

"Hungry?" He asked with a gesture towards the hallway.

"I need a shower first," She replied as she gestured behind her.

"Okay," He replied watching as she reached down and lifted her shirt over her head. He took in the bare skin around her bra and his eyes fell on some bruises of her own. He reached over to retrieve the bottle of cream she had used earlier.

"I would just shower it off," She stated, knowing he was offering to return her gesture.

"Sure?" He asked.

"Uh-huh," She answered. They locked eyes. He smiled. She smiled.

"I'm gonna go find food," He said as he backed towards the doorway.

"Okay," She responded as she continued undressing. He exited and she turned to the shower to turn it on and get the water just right. After it reached the right temperature she felt his presence in the room once more and straightened up to lean back into him. She let herself be taken into his arms and smiled as her head found the crook in his neck and his lips found her temple. Their hands found their way to be intertwined once more. She felt his finger tracing the ring on hers.

"I love you," His words were soft. She closed her eyes.

"I love you too," She replied.

(Days and several battles later...)

Kimberly plopped down onto the bed. Despite her slight frame, she felt the bed creak underneath her. She raised her arms above her head and stretched out her tired muscles. She closed her eyes and took a big breath, slowly exhaling it. She reached next to her to fumble for the phone she had had in her hand before lying down.

After a few empty attempts, she was finally successful in grasping her cell phone and bringing it up to hold it over her face. She swiped the screen and saw the messages. Trini, Billy, Zack, her mother.

Kim laid the phone back down and began to rub her exposed stomach. She winced slightly when her fingers ran over a bruised portion around her belly button. She brought her hands up to rest them on her forehead as she felt sleepiness begin to overtake her and she closed her eyes.

Kim wasn't sure how long she had been asleep when her eyes fluttered open. She stole a glance over at her bedroom window to see the sun was down. She mumbled a little under her breath as she started to sit up and felt a catch in her back. She stiffened back out momentarily before making another attempt. This one was successful to get her up on her elbows. It was then she saw him in the doorway.

"Hey," Jason's voice was low as he locked eyes with her. He held her gaze for a moment before they moved down to her exposed stomach. She saw his eyes flicker with recognition upon seeing her bruises.

"Hey... I think I dozed off," Kim said as she sat up fully upon the edge of the bed. Jason moved across the room and stood in front of her. She looked up at him.

"You okay?" His tone was gentle.

"I'm fine..." She replied in kind. "The usual stuff."

"Let me see?" Jason asked as he knelt down in front of her. She reached down and raised her shirt. She watched his eyes move all over her bare skin. He let out a small breath of air before his eyes moved up to her.

"It's not that bad," Kim stated.

"Sure," Jason replied, thinking upon his own battle scars. Kim nodded. He reached out and lightly touched her toned stomach. His eyes moving from her skin back to her eyes. "What was it you told me?"

"I've told you lots of stuff," Kim replied, her comment garnering a smirk from him.

"You have to stop taking all the hits for the team," Jason said, echoing sentiments he had heard from her many times.

"I just wanted to give you a break," Kim replied as she reached up and ran a hand through his blonde hair. He closed his eyes as the sensation felt nice.

"We've got Zedd on the ropes," Jason stated confidently as he opened his eyes. Kim nodded in agreement. "Now that Tommy is back, things will get easier."

"I know," Kim agreed. Jason got on his knees in front of her and moved closer. He reached over to the nearby nightstand and opened it. Kim watched as he fidgeted around until he came out with a fresh bandage. She furrowed her brow.

"You didn't know you were bleeding did you?" Jason questioned as he saw the confusion on her face.

"Where?" Kim replied as she glanced down. His hand moved to the line where her bra ran across her chest. He pointed. She saw it. "Oh."

"Guess it irritated it," Kim stated. Her voice a whisper. "I knew it felt tender."

"I'm sure," Jason replied as he went to work opening the bandage. His eyes met hers and she raised her shirt completely off and unclasped her bra. His eyes met the wound that had been hidden by the lacy fabric. It was a particularly nasty gash. He was pretty sure he could remember the exact moment in the last battle that it most likely happened.

"It's not too bad, She downplayed it as she glanced down from her perspective.

"You keep telling yourself that," Jason responded with a grin. "I know how tough you are, you don't have to fib."

Kim smiled as she watched him go to work dressing her wound. His touch was gentle and she barely felt anything resembling pain. Granted she was way more tolerant than most, but still not even a sting. His eyes would move from his task to meet hers and back again. Each time it prompted a familiar flutter in her stomach, one he had been consistently giving her for years now.

"I really miss when our armor actually prevented this stuff," Jason finally broke the silence as he smoothed out the bandage and let the adhesive do its work.

"Yeah... well, that was before Zedd," Kim responded. Jason nodded and Kim caught an expletive from him said under his breath. She reached out and placed her hand on his cheek. He looked up from the bandage to her. She smiled at him in an attempt to calm him. It worked as he gave her the smile she found herself craving daily. "Thanks, Doc."

"Ha... well... I don't know about that," Jason started as he stood up in front of her. "But you are welcome."

Without another word he moved over to a nearby closet and pulled a shirt off a hanger. He came back with it outstretched to Kim. She smiled, it was the exact one she wanted to wear right now. Loose-fitting, comfortable and allowed her tired body to breath.

"Thanks," Kim said as she took the shirt from his hands she laid it in her lap and looked up as he removed the nice shirt he had on to retrieve a tank top from the back of a nearby chair. "I was gonna make dinner... but I kind of fell asleep."

"I got it," Jason replied as he turned to her with the shirt in his hands. "Anything, in particular, you are in the mood for?" 

Kim's mouth curved into a smile. His eyebrows raised. She nodded. He closed the gap between them, picking up on her cues and bent down to her. She met him with a kiss. He deepened it. She reciprocated.

Kim found herself lying back on the bed once more, but this time Jason was hovering over her. She couldn't take her eyes off him. She reached up to brush away some of the unruly hair that was in his eyes. His eyes moved all along her face and neck, planting kisses on each new place his eyes settled on.

"Maybe we can... uh..." Jason began, collecting his breath and thoughts. "Maybe we can order in later... if that's okay?"

"It's perfect," Kim responded before finding his lips once more. His smile under her lips made the pain and the tiredness all fade away.

[kinosternon]

CSCG behind-the-scenes 2

I...didn’t actually think I’d be writing another one of these so soon, but the theme this time is writing Ikuya’s POV as a huge Hiyori fan. (It also ends up including some Hiyori analysis, because...well, like I said, Hiyori fan.)

First of all...I want to say that this is a ship fic, with HiyoIku as (very eventual) endgame. That means that I want Ikuya to be a sympathetic character, but I also need both Ikuya and Hiyori to come to terms with the messed-up parts of their relationship so they can improve it together.

I try to write Ikuya as sympathetically as I can, but a lot of ugly emotions come up for him in the latest chapters, and he doesn’t react very well to what he finds. This isn’t meant to be a condemnation of him, though—he’s got a lot of challenges to overcome, on top of dealing with Hiyori making things much harder than they need to be (for reasons I’ll get into below).

First of all, I do genuinely think that realizing that your childhood friend is an heretofore-unexpected level of ridiculous dumbass would necessarily take a certain amount of time. Admittedly, I also think that part's actually a little funny—and someone needs to call Hiyori out on his bullshit already, seriously—but seeing more of the world and then looking back on your childhood relationships and experiences with new eyes is an absolutely vital part of growing up in general. It's often a jarring experience.

Second, Ikuya has a ton of learned helplessness when it comes to people walking out on him. His backstory explains this really well—the most important people in his life have repeatedly demonstrated to him that there's nothing he can do to keep them with him. This isn't an inaccurate understanding of the world, exactly—you can't make people stay in your life when they don't want to, or at the very least you shouldn't. But since his efforts have consistently failed, he has no incentive to even try. This is also helps to explain his desire for independence in canon—better to stand on his own as best he can than to be at the mercy of people who'll just leave him. 

Finally, and I think most importantly, Ikuya's never examined his own opinions about how hard people are supposed to work. He's looked up to people who were performing better than him his whole life (Natsuya and then Haruka), and his reasoning seems to be that if he hasn't achieved their level of success yet, it's a sign that he's not trying hard enough. Maybe there's a trick he's missing, or a way to optimize what his efforts, but he's not going to count on that. He just has to work harder; that's all that matters. 

This is a remarkably unkind mindset. It's dangerous to him, and it's potentially dangerous to others, too. Ikuya's attitude would cause some really big moral problems if he were, say, a parent or a mentor to someone else: it's incredibly easy for this kind of thinking to lead to harmful ableism at best, or outright abuse at worst. It causes pretty significant problems as a friend, too, but because friends are supposed to be on an even footing with each other, those problems are relatively easy to fix if both parties are willing to communicate and grow. 

But ironically, Ikuya's self-centeredness (which is where his desire for self-reliance/”heroism” has led him) is what saves him from doing much damage with this attitude. Until now, Ikuya has had no reason to accept responsibility for the impact of his unfairly high standards, because he usually only applies those standards to himself. He genuinely doesn't care what anybody but him and his role models are doing. He doesn't go around judging others, at least not outwardly, and up until this moment, he hasn't spent enough time caring enough about others to apply his own standards to them. 

(Do I think that both Kirishimas have similar tendencies towards eschewing responsibility, only Natsuya's situation makes it a lot more of a problem in his case? You bet I do!) 

Ikuya's had very little incentive to consider his responsibility to Hiyori as a friend, either, until very recently. The only reason Ikuya and Hiyori are close is because Hiyori pushed, which means Hiyori holds most of the responsibility for their relationship. (I actually think that if Hiyori hadn't pushed so much, Ikuya would have reciprocated more often, which would have increased his investment in Hiyori's friendship...but given Ikuya's mindset when he was younger, I can see why Hiyori didn't want to risk it.) 

Unfortunately, Hiyori has spent years both a) accepting responsibility for most of his and Ikuya's friendship, and b) internalizing Ikuya's unhealthily high standards. (That second one is tricky—on some level, he knows that Ikuya's expectations of himself are dangerous, but at the same time, he's spent long enough humoring them for Ikuya's sake that it's hard for him to believe that they're wrong. Besides, responsibility to Ikuya means having compassion when Ikuya falls short of his goals; as the responsible one, Hiyori's failures don't merit the same consideration.)  

That means Hiyori tries hold himself to Ikuya's standards, or at least tries to hide it when he can't. He doesn't see much point to making excuses or sharing his struggles, either. From Hiyori's perspective, if he falls far enough behind Ikuya's standards, regardless of the reason, he doesn't actually deserve his friendship. 

From Ikuya's perspective, Hiyori's shutting him randomly out of his life and refusing to communicate. From Hiyori's, he's obviously failed and is a waste of Ikuya's time. It's not Ikuya's fault that Hiyori is keeping so much of this locked up in his head, but it's also not like Hiyori has reason to expect Ikuya to accept his shortcomings. They both have a lot of relearning to do. 

[rmg91]

Meant To Be (In Any Form)-4

So how about that 'Trolls Just Wanna Have Fun' clip huh?!?!?! God I died and went to feels heaven, lol! It made me want to do something so bad! So here's a new chapter for you all! It's even sort of Valentine's Day themed! Because that's what the muses wanted, lol! Also a (hopefully) fluffy sick fic between out favorite couple.

Chapter Summary: Poppy's sick on Valentine's Day, luckily she's got a loving husband to take care of her. (Human AU)

Previous Chapter/Next Chapter; AO3/FF.net

@writerofberk-I’ll probably still tag you cause I’m used to it even if tumblr’s stupid lo! Enjoy the fluff!

~*~*~*~*~*~

Valentine's Day, a day for everyone to express their love and affection for the people closest to them. It was a day for couples to spoil each other, for kids to give homemade cards to their parents, for teens to gather their courage to admit their crushes and for friends to exchange gifts for the fun of it. It was a day of bouquets, large and small, to be given and of copious amounts of chocolate to be consumed. It was a fun and love filled day that always, always excited Poppy Hawthorn when it was approaching, as she spent weeks planning and making cards and treats for her beloved friends. It was the day she looked forward to every February since she was small and understood the most basic concept of it. It could possibly be her favorite holiday, next to...well all the other holidays really. And it was on this particular Valentine's Day, one she'd been extra excited for as it was going to be her first Valentine's as a married woman, that she was sick in bed with a terrible cold.

Poppy sneezed hard as she laid tucked in bed before groaning as the jarring movement caused her whole self to hurt. Reaching for the tissues beside her on the bedside table, she blew her nose before attempting to find that right comfy position where she could rest her head and not get suffocated by the junk clogging her sinuses. This was not the sort of fun she had been wishing for on this special day, honestly it wasn't fun at all, and the pinkette couldn't help but sulk. She had plans for today! Not only her usual of delivering all the handmade treats and cards she did for her friends every year but also she had been going to romance the heck out of her husband. She even had some new sexy lingerie she had been eagerly waiting to show him! But now she was sick and couldn't do any of that! Whimpering, Poppy felt tears prickling in her eyes before a coughing fit started. Once it calmed down, she once again slumped back against her pillows with a groan.

Sighing and wishing she felt better, Poppy heard the bedroom door open and watched as her blue haired hottie of a husband came in. His hands were full of a tray that had a steaming bowl of what was most likely soup and one of her mugs, alongside a small vase with five roses in full bloom. She couldn't help but pout at the reminded that today was the most romantic of the year and instead of making the romantic dinner he had been hinting at all week, Branch was stuck taking care of her. Poppy had been looking so forward to whatever it was her poet had been planning for them.

Branch smiled softly at her when he noticed her watching him as he brought the tray over to their bed. Sitting it carefully on beside the bed, he sat next to his sick wife and gently brushed a strand of pink hair out of her face, “Hey, Sunshine. How you feeling?” Congested and achy was the most probable of answers considering how ill she looked and by the heat coming off her skin, she was still running that fever too. He had warned her not to go out without a sweater of some sort last week but Poppy had insisted it would be fine as it hadn't been that cold despite it still being early February. Now his poor girl was paying the price and on the holiday she'd been so looking forward to.

“Awful.” She croaked before another coughing fit hit her. Whining pitifully, she slumped backwards and pouted at Branch, “Make it go away.”

Shaking his head at her request, he was far too use to her asking for the impossible while she was sick, Branch carefully reached over and brushed her hair back again, “I wish I could but you just have to rest and take medicine.” Poppy wrinkled her nose up at the mention of medicine and Branch couldn't help quietly chuckling at the reaction, she always got this way whenever she was sick. Gesturing toward the tray, he asked, “You want to try to eat something?”

Poppy scrunched her face up again and shook her head, the thought of eating something made her stomach feel queasy, “Not really...”

“Not even a few spoonfuls of broth?” He doubted her answer would be different but he hoped maybe she'd be willing to sip a little bit of the warm liquid. When she shook head again, Branch sighed before standing up, “Alright...” Carefully grabbing the tray, he took the mug, vase and a plate of toast off and placed them beside the tissues, “That's some peppermint tea with a bit of honey, please drink a little while it's still warm. I'll be right back, okay?”

“Okay,” She said softly before attempting to snuggle into her blankets again.

Poppy watched him leave sadly and sighed, she was so disappointed this was how their day was going. She wanted to be out spending it with her friends and Branch, singing love songs and eating all the chocolate she could before dragging her husband back home for a romantic evening. Instead she was stuck in bed coughing and sneezing with a fever and unable to do anything but lay here, aching all over. Poppy crossed her arms before a violent sneeze tore through her and she had to blow her nose again. Slumping down she groaned as tears leaked from her eyes, this day officially stunk.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Branch came back after storing away the uneaten soup with a cold cloth in hand to find Poppy laying with her eyes closed. Assuming she had managed to fall asleep, he approached quietly and draped the wet cloth over her forehead, hoping it would help cool her fever down. He was only mildly surprised when she cracked her eyes open to look at him as he pulled away. Staring into her amber eyes, which were usually so bright but today were dull and red, he felt sorry for her. Poppy never liked being sick, especially when it was a holiday. Smiling softly, he gently brushed his thumb over her pink cheek, “Hey, did I wake you up?” He hoped not, she needed all the rest she could get.

Poppy shook her head carefully, not wanting to make her headache worse, before coughing again. Wincing at the painful scratchy feeling in her throat, coughing that hard hurt, she reached out for Branch's hand. She really had the best husband ever, he always took such great care of her whenever she did get sick. “Will you stay? Keep me company?” She asked quietly, not wanting to just sit here alone with nothing to do but cough and sneeze.

Branch chuckled softly, “Was already planning on it, Precious.” He'd already done a few chores before bringing up her food and he'd wait until she managed to fall asleep to finish the laundry. Hopefully she'd feel well enough to get up later so he could change the sheets so she wasn't laying in her own germs all night.

Gently letting go of Poppy's hand, Branch went to sit on his side of the bed before grabbing the book from his nightstand. Sitting up against the headboard, he let Poppy shuffle over and drape an arm over his lap before carding his fingers through her hair as she buried her face by his hip and sighed. Branch frowned when another cough racked her poor body before humming a soothing melody, hoping to lull his poor wife into some semblance of sleep for a little while. There had to be something he could do to help cheer her up, even for a moment, but his attempts so far hadn't been too successful. Turning to his book, the blue haired poet hoped an idea would come to him soon.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Poppy shuffled down the stairs of their cozy house sometime in the early evening after a fitful nap. She felt only marginally better at the moment but was still feeling overall crummy and gross and was wondering where her attentive husband had gone. Wandering into the kitchen, she found their table holding a large vase full of roses and carnations alongside a small pile of gifts. Blinking, she was fairly sure those hadn't been around before, she went to investigate before hearing Branch come in from their garage. Poppy turned and watched him enter the kitchen and notice her.

“Hey,” He said softly, smiling as he set the basket of laundry he held down, “You're up.” He held his arms open for her to shuffle into and hugged her back as she wrapped her arms around his torso. “How are you feeling?”

Poppy's answer was going to be actual words before a cough came out her throat. She groaned slightly and buried her face in Branch's shoulder, “...I was gonna say a little better but...” She felt him chuckled slightly before kissing the top of her head.

Branch rubbed her back as he gently rocked them side to side. He was glad to see her up but knew he would need to get back into bed soon as she still wasn't feeling one hundred percent. Nuzzling his nose against her head, he spoke gently, “You feel like eating anything?” He hoped so, a little bit of food might help perk her up enough to stay awake while he changed the sheets and fluffed up her pillows.

Poppy thought for a moment before nodding, head still tucked under his chin, “Yeah...I think I do. Just some broth.”

Branch smiled down at her, happy to hear she at least wanted something, “That's fine, I don't want you to push yourself.” He carefully maneuvered her over to sit in a chair before grabbing the soup he'd made out of the fridge. “By the way, the Pack and your dad popped by while you were asleep.” He nodded toward the table, “That's all for you. They also said to get better soon.”

“Oh...” Poppy wanted to feel excited and happy that her friends and dad had shown up but instead she just felt bad that she'd missed them. Sighing before sneezing into her robe's sleeve, she took out a tissue to blow her nose, “I think I'll wait till I feel better. Did you give them their stuff from me?”

“You sure?” He asked, placing a bowl of now warm soup in front of her. It was highly unusual for his pinkette to pass on opening any sort of gift given by one her friends. Branch then smiled carefully at her before answering her question, “And no. I tried but they said they wanted to wait till you felt better. They know how much you love giving gifts.”

Poppy nodded, frowning before sniffing and hugging Branch around the waist as she started to cry softly. Why did she have to be sick today?! She just wanted to be able to enjoy it and not feel as bad as she did! “I hate being sick!” She sniffled into Branch's shirt.

Branch gently patted her head and brushed through her hair, “I know, Sunshine, I know.” Carefully leaning down, he held Poppy's face as he brushed away her tears, “But it'll be alright. Everyone said they were fine waiting and you know I don't need a day into order to show you I love you. We'll just have our own special Valentine's celebration when you're better.”

Poppy sniffed before blowing her nose and nodding. She knew Branch was right, he'd gotten amazingly good at being more positive since they had gotten together and she knew he'd do whatever he could to help cheer her up. She really did appreciate his attempts too, the young woman just wished she felt well enough so she could kiss him without him putting up a fuss about getting sick himself. Not that she wanted that in the first place, Poppy just like being able to kiss her husband whenever she could and being ill really put a damper on that.

Sighing forlornly, the pinkette turned to sip at her soup slowly as Branch stood up to get himself some. Poppy didn't say much as they ate, her throat still scratchy and achy but the warm salty broth did help to sooth that. She'd hum or shake her head to answer Branch when he did say something but otherwise it was an unusually silent dinner for the couple. Once Poppy had decided she'd had enough, not wanting to overwhelm her stomach, she pushed her bowl away. After Branch took it away to the sink, he came back and carefully pulled her into his arms where she laid her head on his shoulder and enjoyed being hugged.

“So...I had an idea that might help perk you up for a moment,” He said, rubbing her back as they rocked side to side, “If you're up for it.”

“Hmm?” Sick she may be but she was still curious as there wasn't a lot she had much energy to do.

Branch smiled, happy to hear she at least wanted to hear his idea, “ Well, I was thinking, and I know it won't really be the same cause you're sick but, I was thinking if you felt like it we could try for a bubble bath. Or a nice cool shower? It might help break your fever a little and help you feel freshened up.”

“You'd risk getting sick just to take a bubble bath with me?”

He'd do anything just to see some form of her usually bright and lovely smile, “Yeah, I know, I'm crazy but if it helps you feel better... We can even light a few candles to make it...romantic~”

Poppy giggled as Branch stressed the word romantic, she had such a wonderful dork of a husband. If only she felt well enough to properly seduce him. Sighing quietly, she looked up at him with a soft look, “Maybe a shower would be better. As much as I love bubble baths, I donno if I could stay awake through one.”

“You sure?” When she nodded against his chest, Branch kissed her softly on her forehead, “Alright. You can even wear one of your ridiculous shower caps if you don't want to get your hair wet.” As she giggled again, the action weaker than usual, he carefully nuzzled against her hair, “Just let me change the bed real quick so you'll have a nice fresh bed to rest in, okay?”

“M'kay.”

~*~*~*~*~*~

Poppy sighed contently as she snuggled into bed, Branch wrapped around her despite her ill state. He had been right that a shower had been just what she'd needed to feel slightly more human than she had since yesterday. He had held her to him as he had gently helped wash the sweat off her body. Then at her insistence, they had just stood under the warm spray as Poppy had enjoyed being able to breath out of her nose for a short while. Disappointed as she was when Branch suggested they get out, Poppy did thank him for the help as he helped her get ready for bed. After that, Poppy had felt up to watching a movie before the medicine she took started to knock her out. Now, she was fairly comfortable despite the coughs that still came and went.

She felt Branch nuzzle the back of her head and had to smile, “I'm surprised you're still willing to snuggle even though I'm sick.” She then sniffed as she felt a clog returning to her nose, so much for the vapor rub lasting a little longer.

Branch chuckled and rubbed soothing circles on her belly where his hand rested, “Hey, it's a worthy risk when you've been so miserable all day. The last think I want to do is make you upset while you're still sick.”

“Mmm...Thank you.” She said softly, “I do feel a little better. Though I'm still disappointed you had to spend Valentine's taking care of me.”

Branch shifted so he could rise up and look at her over her shoulder, “Hey, there's no other place I'd rather be. So what that I spent another Valentine's not doing anything? It's not like I really care,” He smirked down at her, “ And like I said I don't need a special day to show you how much I love you.” He placed a careful and gentle kiss on the side of her head, “I just want you to feel better.”

Poppy smiled up at him and would have leaned up for an ill advised kiss before she had to quickly turn away and sneeze. Wiggling out of Branch's arms, she reached up for a tissue and blew her nose before he helped tuck her in again, “I just want to feel better too....” She turned her head to look at him and smiled, “And thank you. I love you~”

Branch smiled and kissed her forehead sweetly, “I love you too. Now get some sleep please.”

“Okay,” Poppy hummed before snuggling back into his arms. While this day hadn't gone the way she had been hoping, she had at least still been able to spend it with the person she loved the most and she supposed as she drifted off to sleep, that's what the holiday was all about.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Ending things can be so hard somedays so I hope it's not too awkward. Anyway, there you have it! Some more Married!Broppy fluff instead of once again one the many different AU's I want to write lol. Hope you enjoyed and stay tuned for next time!

[theresnosafeharbor4myships]

Tattoos - Chapter 2: The Weight of the Past (also on 9L) Chapter 1 can be found here. 

A/N: This will be a multi-chapter Caryl fic in which Carol is curious about Daryl’s tattoos and he discusses their origins with her. :)

The storm caught them off-guard, and within a few minutes they were soaked straight through.

Clouds had dotted the sky when they’d left that morning and had continue darkening all day, but with more people joining their community, they needed more food, and he’d elected to go hunting. Carol had asked to join him, and he’d been grateful for the company and the help.

The storm had found them in the middle of a field, setting traps to catch a herd of deer that’d left footprints behind. By the time they’d secured it and made it to the outcropping of rocks nearby, the downpour had eased to a steady rain.

Daryl stood next to her in the shadow of a small overhang, rivulets of water dripping down his face from his soaked hair. He slid the pack off his back and dropped it next to her feet, then peered out up into the sky.

“Looks like it might rain for a while…don’t see any breaks in the clouds. I’m gonna go look for a place to hole up for a while.”

“‘Kay,” she agreed, shivering inside her drenched jacket.

“Be back soon,” he murmured before jogging out from the small curve of protection offered by the rocks above.

Carol scanned the space behind her before removing her own pack, plopping down, and leaning back against a smoother section of the granite to watch the rain fall.

It’d been a long day of traipsing through woods and vale and setting traps for animals they hoped would bite but not get bitten. They’d come across a few of the dead but luckily no hordes and no living. Overall, she’d considered it a successful day. Until now. They’d only intended to venture out one day’s distance, but if the rain lasted too long, they’d have to wait until it stopped for the animals to become active again.

She crossed her arms, trying to garner warmth, but the chill in the rain had invaded her already. Times like this she missed having a weatherman half-correctly predicting the weather. They had a former newspaper editor, used car salesmen, gardener, even a garbage truck driver—but no meteorologist. Carol sighed, trying to curl up tighter against the cold.

She enjoyed the walls and the people in Alexandria when there but, cold or not, the prospect of spending uninterrupted time alone with Daryl didn’t seem like such a bad deal. Over the past year, they’d grown closer in a way she’d never have expected: living under the same roof, taking care of Lydia, helping her heal in a way only the two of them could, trying to keep tensions low and spirits high. The three of them had nearly become a family unit. And though it pierced her heart to think of the way that Lydia had come to join them, she couldn’t begrudge the girl a better life than the one she’d had. It hadn’t surprised her how well Daryl seemed to handle parenting, but it did open up a whole new side of him, and she couldn’t help finding it wildly attractive.

“Hey,” she heard Daryl’s voice through the rain and curbed her wayward thoughts. He suddenly appeared through the rain, and she stood as he tucked himself inside their little hovel.

“Found a place,” he told her, throwing his backpack on as she did the same. “You ready?”

“Lead the way.” Hopefully somewhere with a fireplace, she couldn’t help thinking.

But instead of heading out from the mountain, Daryl turned toward it and onto a small, stone-scattered path that zigzagged relatively easily up the side of it. They took care not to slip on the rocks as rainwater sluiced downward, and after a few minutes they arrived at an outthrust with a flat, dry space beneath it large enough for a few small tents.

Too bad we don’t have one.

“Looks safe enough here,” Daryl explained, setting his stuff down again and shaking rainwater from his clothes as best he could. “Don’t think walkers could get up here, and once it stops raining we’ll be able to see where we are.”

She nodded, laying her own belongings down against the back wall and dropping to rifle through her bag.

“Anything dry?” he wondered.

She pulled out her extra bottle of water, a sweater with an extra pair of socks wrapped inside, a cloth full of bread and one full of jerky meat, a small jar of peaches, and the few medical supplies she always carried. She unrolled the sweater to find most of it and the socks dry. “Clothes are mainly dry. Everything else is alright. You?”

He held up a soaked shirt from his backpack. “Not as lucky as you.”

She watched as he got ready to toss the shirt to the side, then thought better of it as he hung it from a tree branch growing out of the side of the rock wall.

Peeling her jacket off, she hung it on one of the branches near her. “I’m going to change.”

“Alright.”

He turned his back to her, still rifling through his bag, and she pulled the water-heavy shirt over her head, instantly missing its weight as the cold air hit her colder skin. She unhooked her bra and tossed it over the branch, sliding the sweater on, grateful for its bulk. “D’you bring anything else?”

“Got this.” He held up a small, rolled-up blanket covered with a tarp he used for dragging back larger game when it weighed too much to carry. “Ain’t much,” he reckoned, as he laid the tarp out between them.

Carol hung her shirt next to her bra and jacket, which had already created lines of water spots on the ground beneath them, and moved towards Daryl. “Think it’s safe to build a fire in here?”

He turned to see her shivering in a faded pastel pink sweater and her wet, now-skin-tight jeans. She looked so soft, with most of her hair pushed back from her face, the sweater highlighting her cheeks, already pink and glowing from the cold, her eyes a stark, captivating contrast to the sweater that hugged her perfectly.

Daryl forced himself to turn back to his pack. Reprimanding himself for thinking about how good she looked while she stood freezing, he checked the smaller pouches, looking for the matches he’d brought, and quietly cleared this throat. “Think so. If we can get some of these leaves to light.”

Though he faced the other way, Carol nodded, wondering at the sudden strain in his voice. She crouched near the back of their outcropping and gathered the leaves, pine needles, small branches, and other natural detritus.

Matches in hand, Daryl turned toward her and saw her clothes, her bra, hanging on a branch. “Shit,” he mumbled under his breath, hanging his head for a moment to gather himself.

“What?”

He shook then lifted his head, avoiding looking at her clothes. “Let’s start a fire.”

Yeah, don’t you wish, some sarcastic part of him thought.

“Thought that’s what we’re doing?” She gave him a curious look, but he cleared his throat again, ignoring it.

“Right here, I mean,” he recovered, pointing to a spot closer to where the water fell over the lip of the outthrust. “Won’t get smoky in here that way.”

Carol dumped the items she’d found into a small pile, and he set to work arranging them before striking a match.

“Ain’t got much to feed it, so it won’t burn long,” he told her. “Let’s get warm while we can.”

While Carol sat next to the fire, floating her hands over the small flame, he shrugged out of his vest and hung it next to his jacket. His shirt wasn’t doing him any favors, but he didn’t have anything dry. He debated the merits of going shirtless—if he’d been alone, he wouldn’t have given it a moment’s thought—but decided against it. Especially with the knowledge that she’d already shed important parts of her own clothing.

He sat a few feet from her, near enough to the fire to warm his hands but not much else, though he doubted sitting closer would help anyway—the fire was small and he was drenched.

They sat in silence for a while, listening to the pouring rain as the sun, somewhere beyond the dark heavy clouds, slid beneath the horizon.

“You got a flashlight? Fire aint’ gonna last much longer,” Daryl anticipated as the flames ebbed into embers.

“Mmm,” she hummed in response, hopping up to fetch the flashlight from a small pouch on the side of her backpack.

She turned back towards Daryl, only now, looking at him in the barest of firelight, noticing he still sat in all of his wet clothes. “You should take that shirt off,” she suggested, snagging the bread and jerky she had.

“I’m alright.”

She heard a strange kind of defiance in his voice and wondered at it but continued anyway as she sat near the dying embers. “You’ve got the blanket. Wrap yourself in that. It’s better than staying in that wet shirt.”

“There won’t be anything for you to sleep in if I do that.”

“I’m not taking your blanket. I at least have a dry shirt.”

She turned the flashlight on and set it between them, then unwrapped the food, pulled a section of the bread off, and handed it to him.

He took it gratefully and stayed silent, but she knew she hadn’t won. They’d had this type of argument before—you couldn’t spend months at a time out on the road and not try to take care of each other. Still, he knew she was right. And she knew he knew she was right.

She handed him a few pieces of the jerky and took a few for herself before tying the food back up. They ate quietly, the soundtrack of rain filling the empty spaces between them. How she wished they didn’t exist…

She turned to look at his profile for a moment, seeing consternation and something else she couldn’t name written on his face. She longed to reach out and brush her fingers over his skin, to push the lines of worry from his forehead, run her fingers along his jaw, her thumb over the lips she’d thought of kissing all too often lately.

And what would he do if she did? If she just laid one on him out of the blue? Would he freeze up? Push her away in disgust? Somehow she didn’t think so…

Still, something held her back, at least for now. It needed to be right…in a way she’d never worried about before with Tobin or Ezekiel. With Daryl it wasn’t about simply needing comfort, throwing caution to the wind, or trying to create a safe space for a child.

With Daryl it was about them. About the trust, friendship, patience, and love they’d built over the years. About wanting to give the best of everything to each other, to protect and take care of one another. About something deeper than companionship and a warm bed. It was an abiding affection and burning passion and selflessness that they deserved after everything they’d survived to find each other.

Yet here they sat, close enough to touch but each in a world of their own.

Too overcome with emotion, Carol stood up and grabbed the flashlight and food, stalking back to her pack and tucking the leftovers away.

Daryl watched her surreptitiously in the bouncing flashlight beam. What the hell were they doing? Why hadn’t he thought to ask someone else to join them?

More and more now, he realized he needed a buffer between them to keep his desire for her at bay. Lydia often filled that role, unbeknownst to her and Carol. He liked having the girl around. Liked, too, the few quiet moments he got to spend alone with Carol when opportunities presented themselves, but more often than not they had people around them.

And he hadn’t realized how much he needed that until this moment, sitting in the dark, listening to the rain, with Carol half-naked and looking beautiful in what little light they had, while something other than sleep beckoned him.

What was he going to do? The rain hadn’t let up, so escaping their dry haven was out. There was no need to keep watch, not so far up the mountain and with the deluge. Sleep seemed the best option, but he feared what the arrangement would be. He knew how best to conserve body heat—and they both needed the warmth—but hell if he could quietly lay next to her under one blanket and sleep.

He watched as Carol kicked off her shoes and hung her wet socks next to her clothes. She put her dry socks on, then padded closer to him, dropping her bag to the ground next to his at the edge of the tarp. Unbuckling her knife from her belt, she sat down and laid it next to her bag. She turned to hand him the flashlight and caught him staring at her.

“What?”

He shook his head. “Nuthin’,” he mumbled, turning to peer at the sheet of rain falling several feet in front of them.

Carol lay down on her back, her feet near the dying fire, using her bag as a pillow. “I love the sound of rain,” she murmured after a few moments, her eyes closed. “Been a while since I’ve been outside to listen to it.”

“Wish it was warmer though,” he thought out loud.

She opened one eye to look at him, still wearing his wet clothes. “Could be if you’d use your blanket.”

“Mmm,” he hummed noncommittally. He grabbed the blanket from the edge of the tarp, unrolled it, and floated it over her.

“Daryl,” she reprimanded, leaning up on her elbows. “You know you need this more than I do.”

“I’ll be fine. Lived out in the woods for years, remember?”

She sighed and laid back down. “I remember. At least take your shirt off and hang it up to dry. You’ll be warmer without it.”

“In a while.” He just needed her focus elsewhere. Not on him. Not on the removal of his shirt. Not on how cold he was—and the fire had done nothing to ease the chill he felt. Not on how he had to sleep right next to her.

“Stubborn.”

She said it in a deprecating, teasing way, and he huffed in response. “Look who’s talking.”

“At least I’m trying to stay warm. Haven’t you heard the phrase ‘he doesn’t know when to come in out of the rain’?”

When he didn’t respond, she gave him a glare. “If you decide you need the blanket, you can take it. Or we can share.” She turned on her side facing away from him. “Goodnight, Daryl.”  

“‘Night,” he responded quietly, duly reprimanded.

He was being ridiculous, and he knew it. Without dry wood or tinder, they had no source of warmth except for clothes and body heat. Just like he’d told her, he’d lived in the woods for years. He knew what he needed to do.

But Lord how he wished he had another option.

He stood and peeled his shirt over his head, the cold air sending ripples of gooseflesh across his skin. He hung the shirt next to his clothes, then did the same with his socks, and turned back to their makeshift bed.

Swallowing hard, he sat at the edge of the tarp and arranged his bag for a pillow, situated his bow within arm’s length, laid down on his back, and flicked the flashlight off.

Darkness engulfed their little enclave, but he knew sleep would elude him, his thoughts flowing as fast as the rain that pounded down mere feet from them. How he’d wanted this for so long…to have her next to him. But more than that, to wake up next to her. Not as they’d done over the years, with other people nearby, but like this, in the quiet, just the two of them. Together.

But not together, he reminded himself.

He turned onto his side facing Carol, her silhouette barely visible in the dark night, and sighed.

He wanted to apologize for his stubbornness, for being awkward and ignorant when it came to being close to her. For not being the right kind of man. But even that would reveal far more than he could handle at the moment.

Suddenly Carol turned over and faced him, though they couldn’t see each other well in the dark. His breathe caught in his throat at how close she was, less than a foot from him.

“You okay?” she asked quietly.

“Mmhmm,” was all he could manage.

“Here,” she offered, holding the edge of the blanket out towards him. “I warmed it up for you.”

He nearly groaned. “Carol…”

“It’s okay, we can both keep warm.”

He let her drape half of the blanket over him, his mind screaming a warning, his heart pounding a rhythm he only recognized when he was near her.

“G’night,” she whispered.

“‘Night,” he answered.

It was a long time before he slept.

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

Carol awoke to the sound of rain still falling. She rubbed her eyes open to find Daryl’s back filling her vision, and tears instantly welled up.

She’d seen his physique in the past; there was no way to avoid it after all the close-quarter living they’d done through the years. But this up-close, in-your-face vision of scars caused a hot, searing pain to blossom in her chest.

A handful of scars marked him, from the X on his left shoulder and the long diagonal line marring the center of his back to the parallel scars that faded down towards the small of his back. Other, smaller scars held their places too, all reminiscent of a lifetime of heavy, cruel hands accompanied by words that scarred even deeper than what she could see.

How a father could act so brutally and viciously to his child… But then, she’d married someone like that too.

She swallowed down the memories, and though they sat sourly in her stomach, she focused on the man in front of her.

Daryl had had two demons inked onto the largest expanse of unscarred skin, filling the right side of his back. The top one, shaped more like a square, kept its large wings coiled near itself. The one that sat lower, with wings half unfurled, barely touched its twin with the tip of a wing. The tattoo lines looked thicker than most, as though the intent had been to obscure the figures more than define them, and she wondered when he’d gotten them, what had compelled him to mark himself this way.

She allowed her eyes to roam his musculature, noting the depression of his spine down the center of his back, the widening of his shoulders from his hips and waist, the leanness of the muscles lying just beneath his skin.

He probably hated his back in the same way she hated the places someone had scarred her, but he didn’t see himself the way she did, wouldn’t appreciate the way these scars indicated a man who could survive anything thrown his way—and had—couldn’t understand how attractive she found him. She wanted to reach out and touch him, feel the muscles that moved beneath his skin, soothe the hurts of the past with gentleness, kiss the pain away, if only for a moment.

Instead, she did none of those things, merely laid there staring at the beautifully wounded man in front of her.

Sometime in the night he’d turned away from her, pulling most of the blanket with him, and though the cold still nipped at her, she was content to stay where she lay, not disturbing him.

She let herself in enjoy this small pocket of perfection: lying next to Daryl, watching his body move as he peacefully breathed in and out, listening to the rain in the early morning hours, the two of them safe and dry for the time being with no one around to interrupt.

If she could envision heaven…

A while passed before his breathing changed, and she realized he’d woken up.

He lay very still, taking in the sounds of the drizzly dawn and Carol’s breathing—she was awake—before it hit him that his back lay exposed to her view. He knew they’d all see the scars; they’d been impossible to hide after a while. But he’d never gone shirtless because of the shame that washed over him when people saw his family history displayed on his skin.

He closed his eyes again, steeling himself. It’s Carol. If anyone understands, it’s her.

Still, he hated it. Hated that he’d given in and removed his shirt last night. He’d take a night of freezing over the humiliation of his exposed back any time.

“Why demons?”

Her voice, slightly rough from a night of disuse, came softly, quietly, and completely undid the tendrils of shame that’d wrapped themselves around his heart, and he remembered a few months ago when she’d asked about his tattoos. He knew the topic would come up again, but he didn’t know it’d be like this.

“I wanted to mark my back in a way I chose,” he answered monotonously.

A few beats passed, then, “And why demons?”

The question was the same, but different, and if anyone else had asked, he’d have told them to go to hell, stop being nosy, and stalked off to fume alone.

He stayed frozen in place, wanting to purge the demons that both graced his back and ate him up inside.

“Top one’s my dad…other one’s Merle.” He swallowed hard and forced himself to speak. “The bottom one’s spreading its wings but still touching the other one. Learning its ways. Takin’ on its shape and power. They look alike…because they are alike.”

She could hear the blame and shame in his voice, and her heart ached as he continued, tears pricking her eyes.

“They used it like a canvas, leaving marks in the way that they chose. So I marked it with images of how I saw them. Demons I could never shake from off my back.” He huffed derisively, though she could see his body coiled with tension. “Guess that’s why I wear the angel wing vest. To try to cover up the evil with somethin’ better.”

He thought he heard an “Oh, Daryl” from her, but he couldn’t be sure, and he closed his eyes in shame. His heart beat hard against all the words he’d never said, the scars he’d kept a secret, like a hidden map of horrors on his back.

“May I?” she whispered.

Fear seized him as he realized what she was asking. No one had ever gotten so close—had ever wanted to, really. And he’d never wanted them to.

Until now.

He nodded, unable to form words, and he felt her fingertips against the bare skin of his back, skin that hadn’t been touched since the scars had been dealt. Shivers ran down his spine and across his arms, and he closed his eyes against the coolness of her touch.

Carol traced the demons inked on his back, wanting to purge them and their vile hold on him from him forever. Instead, she soothed his skin with a light touch, around the edges of the tattoos, then gently, slowly over each and every scar that crossed his back.

Daryl didn’t move, probably couldn’t if he’d tried. No one—not even his grandmother who’d nursed his wounds after his father had dealt them out—had ever touched him so reverently. Tears stung his eyes as Carol’s fingertips moved over the hurts of all the years before, eradicating the sensations of guilt and shame, if only for a moment.

Gently, she placed her hand on his back and slid it over the scars, over the memory of his tormentors, to his bicep. She gripped his arm lightly, and then he felt her lips kiss the center of his back and he nearly came undone.

She was unraveling him, moving aside the armor he’d used his entire life and leaving him exposed before her tenderness. He swallowed hard, wanting to tell her to stop, wanting to beg her to continue forever, to never stop making him feel this way. He was a tangled mess, and she was to blame.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

But he knew he should be thanking her, cherishing her for all the ways she’d saved him through the years, all culminating in this precious moment he wanted never to end.

Instead, he let emotions he didn’t know what to call fill his throat and rend him silent as they both listened to the falling rain, her hand still washing its healing across his scarred and fragile back.

[kar3npage]

Edens Twilight

New chapter of Sewing Scissors and Throwing Knives is up! Read the rest of the fic here on ao3 Last chapter: Neil gets measured a meets Abby, he shocks everyone by convincing Andrew to do his job.

Friday comes faster than Neil was ready for.

After the initial outrage (from Kevin) and shock (from everyone else) when they found out that Neil had somehow managed to talk Andrew into cooperating with the team, they had showered Neil with warnings and tips to avoid the Friday outing.

Dan had alluded to something bad happening when Matt went with Andrew and his crew to Edens, and Jeremy’s smile had dimmed somewhat when he heard about the trip. No matter how hard everyone tried to fight against Neil going, he knew that he would never back out. He was curious about where the concern came from and vowed to one day hear the stories, but for now he had made a deal. Neil wasn’t one to just back out of deals.

By the time 9pm rolled around (the time that Andrew had made him promise that he would be ready), he had completely forgotten about the entire trip.

Preparing for a fashion show was a great deal more complicated than Neil had realized. Sure, he knew about the complications that could arise and the amount of work that was required to prep for such a large show, but he had never seen the work that went on up in the designers chair. So far he had been dealing with the venue for Kevin, had chats with various staff (Seth) who didn’t want to have their toils ready for fittings, and all sorts of other strange tasks that he never would have thought to worry about.

Sometimes Neil was so busy and focused on his work that he forgot that he was being hunted.

The knock on his hotel room door had Neil moving fast, reaching for a gun that he no longer had with him. It took a breathless moment for him to remember that he was going out for the night.

However, the paranoia was difficult to get rid of, so Neil opened the door carefully and slowly. Nicky stood there was a huge grin and a bag. He only waited for the door to open a smidge before shoving the bag into Neils hands.

“Get changed and then we can get going,” Nicky says cheerfully. 

“Why do I have to change?” Nicky looks him up and down and makes a face. “Neil, your gorgeous and all that, but there’s only so much that a pretty face a good body can do. You need better clothes.”

Neil considers arguing, then decides that it would be easier just to change. To spite Nicky, he makes him wait in the hotel hallway. Neil is pretty sure that Kevin forgot to find him an apartment, since he hasn’t mentioned Neil leaving the hotel yet.

It’s a usual sight to see the maserati parked comfortably in front of the hotel at night. What isn’t so usual is the appearance of not only Nicky, but a second Andrew. Neil knew about Aaron Minyard, he had read the newspaper articles about the attack that let Andrew off of his meds during fashion school, but he never actually expected to meet him. He had lost interest in Aaron when he started studying medicine.

It’s jarring to see someone with Andrews face who emotes so much. Or maybe he doesn’t, but it just looks extreme compared to Andrews blank mask. Neil thinks that he prefers the lack of emotion to the sneer of distaste that he’s getting as he gets shoved in between Nicky and Aaron in the back seat of the car.

The music is loud enough that no one can really speak, though Nicky and Kevin do try. They’re arguing about something, but Neil has a sneaking suspicion that they’re arguing about two completely separate topics. If anyone else notices, they don’t say anything.

The diner that they stop at before Eden’s is unexpected to Neil. Enough so that he immediately looks around in suspicion, waiting for someone to pop out from a dark corner. He doesn’t notice Andrew watching his vaguely panicked reaction until they’re almost inside. Andrew raises one eyebrow when Neil makes eye contact with him; Neil avoids his eyes for as long as he can after that.

It’s tough work not looking at Andrew when Neil is so used to tracking his every move, but it does make it easier for him to notice the cracker packets. Drugs.

Neil has heard about the crazy lives that successful designers and models live, of course. He never thought that he would run into it, not with Kevin and his health craze and work ethic. He has a brief taste of disappointment in Kevin.

After the uncomfortable silence of Sweeties that was only broken by Nickys increasingly desperate attempts for conversation, it’s actually a comfort to get to Edens. 

Edens Twilight is the sort of club that Neil has been in before but never had wanted to go to again. It was loud, bright, and filled with people wearing various sorts of corsets and leather and straps. It was too much, yet Andrew and the rest seemed at home here among the insanity. 

They get in without any trouble--in fact the bouncers nod at them and give Nicky some sort of complicated handshake as they walk in. 

Most of the group splits off to find an empty table, but Andrew snags Neils sleeve and pulls him toward the bar.

There’s barely any space and people keep bumping into Neil until he’s much closer to Andrew than he’s ever been to anyone in his life, other than maybe his mother. He does his best to keep an inch of space between the two of them, but the club is filled to the brim.

He’s already hot and sweaty and he’s only been here for a few moments. 

“Andrew, we’ve been missing you! Well, I have at least,” a tall, muscular bartender winks at Neil as he sidles up to them. He’s already working on drinks, though Andrew hasn’t ordered anything yet.

“And who's this?” He says to Andrew. The blond fits him with a bored stare that’s getting close to hostile. The bartender gets back to work but is otherwise unbothered by Andrew.

“Just the normal, Roland.”

“And for your new member?”

Andrew turns to look at Neil. 

“I don’t drink,” Neil shouts over the music. Roland and Andrew have some sort of silent conversation and Roland shrugs and pours a soda into a glass for Neil, then shoves the overfilled tray towards them. 

Andrew lifts the tray with precision and comfort, and he has no trouble getting through the crowd without spilling. That would probably explain their easy access to the club, Neil decides.

The other three men attack the tray the minute it hits the table with the desperation of those suffering from dehydration. Aaron somehow manages to continue glaring at Neil throughout it. Neil pretends that he didn’t notice the three of them pour packets of powder into their drinks before they downed them.

“We’re going to go dance, coming with?” Nicky leans over to shout in Neils ear. He can feel the music pumping through his body. Or maybe that’s his anxiety, it’s tough to tell. He doesn’t respond to Nicky, just shakes his head. Nicky drags a still glaring Aaron and already spaced out Kevin to the dance floor behind him. 

Neil is ready to book it by the time Andrew finally speaks up. 

“What are you running from?” he says calmly, still working on his scotch.

The muscles in Neils body freezes. He swings around to face Andrew, looks him in the eye for the first time since Sweeties, and gets ready to leave. Italy would be a nice change.

He has to take a breathe before answering, deciding to play it safe.

“What are you talking about? I’m not running from anything.”

Andrew snorts and gives Neil a dirty look. “You are the first person to ever take more than five minutes to consider working with Kevin, you nearly had a panic attack when you realized that we were on the top floor of the building and you couldn’t escape easily, your find the exits in every room before you look at anything else, do you need me to continue?”

When Neil doesn’t answer right away Andrew leans forward until their noses are nearly touching.

“The thing is, this is the easy way. I have other methods of finding out the truth from you, and I wouldn’t hesitate to use them.”

“Why?” Neil’s heart beating so hard that it hurts his ribs.

“Because Kevin and I have a deal. And if you’re running from who I think you’re running from, you could be making me break that deal.” Andrew blinks slowly. Neil can see flecks of gold in his eyes, they’re so close. “I never break deals.”

“Who do you think I’m running from?”

“The Moriyama’s.”

Neil knew he was going to say this. He knew exactly what was going to happen here, but the world still stops for a jarring second.

There are a few ways that Neil could deal with this. Option one: admit that he’s running from the Moriyamas and let Andrew kick him out. He would be safer far away from here anyway. Option two: play stupid and make up a new sob story to explain his fidgety tendencies, and hope that Andrew doesn’t see through the lie. Or, he could use a bit of both. Use just enough of the truth to make Andrew believe him, just enough of a lie to keep him here at Alli Rey.

Neil needs to decide. He can’t decide.

“What makes you think you have any power over me?” he says instead.

“Kevin listens to everything I say, whether he wants to or not. I can make him fire you.”

“Why do you think that I would tell you the truth to avoid that?”

A muscle in Andrews jaw twitches. “You look at the office like it’s the most magical thing you’ve ever seen. You’re as much of a junkie as Kevin is, and that’s saying something.”

Neil really, really wants to stay.

“What do I get in return for telling you the truth?” he relents.

“You get to stay.”

Neil is almost getting cross eyed looking at Andrew from so close. It’s like a game of chicken, and so far neither of them have moved away. When Neil fails to look impressed with that offer, Andrew sighs.

“We’ll play a game. Truth for a truth. I start. Who are you running from?”

Neil chickens out and moves back. “My father,” he chokes a bit on the word. He hopes it adds to the realism of the story. “My father worked for the Moriyamas. He was low on the ladder, no one cared much about him. Until he stole money from them and ran. They found my parents and… and killed them. I have what’s left of the money, and I’ve been on the move ever since.”

He sneaks a glance up at Andrew then turns to stare at his untouched glass of soda. 

“I’ll make a deal with you.”

That is the last thing that Neil expected to hear. He forces himself not to react, to wait for Andrew to explain himself.

“I watch your back, and you make sure that Kevin doesn’t go running back.”

“Kevin would go back?” Neil can feel his nose wrinkle up in disgust. He only spent a few weeks with Riko all those years ago, and there is nothing in the world that would make him go back.

“Yes. Do we have a deal?”

Andrew offers a hand to Neil, who stares at it until he realizes what it’s there for. He nods and gives Andrew a firm handshake. 

He tries his best to sit still and act like their conversation didn’t shake him to the core, but Neil has an urge deep in his bones to move. He excuses himself to the bathroom to Andrew and starts to fight his way through the crowd.

“Neil!” he hears someone shout. “Neil, hey!” 

He stiffens and turns, ready to fight. Nicky stumbles over his feet as he makes him way over to Neil. He throws his arms around him and Neils entire frame tenses. He can’t help himself but throw up his arms to shove Nicky away.

Nicky clings to his shoulders and kisses him. 

The shock almost makes Neil not notice the overly sweet taste to the kiss, and as Nicky lets himself be pushed away, the salty aftertaste. 

It’s too much.

Neil was already shaky and spent from talking to Andrew, and now his body is already failing to follow his instructions.

“No,” he mumbles or shouts.

Was green the colour for exit? Or was that red? Was this the way to the bathrooms? Neils feet are doing their best to walk somewhere, but with all of the jostling and people they aren’t managing their job.

That’s about the time that Neil’s memory starts to get patchy.

[tippitv]

Supernatural recap: 15.04 “Atomic Monsters”

Howdy, recap readers! It's going to be a short one this week as I'm currently battling a cold that's evolved into an ear infection that is currently making me about as well-balanced as a baby giraffe on ice skates. I considered skipping this episode entirely but there were things I really wanted to cover about it.

Namely, there's this opening scene in the bunker. Everything is lit red like a security system has been breached. Indeed, the place is swarming with monsters of some kind. Demons? Yes. Demons. Dean is coolly going about killing them in ballet-like slow motion that speeds back up for the fatal blows.

You can tell at once from the directorial choices that things aren't quite right. The aforementioned lighting is one sign. The influx of demons is another. Then there's Dean's very full beard and imperfect hair. I mean, his hair IS perfect because there's nothing he could do to make it ugly. But it's not its usual texture-puttied self. It's messy and dry, down on his forehead. Dean has obviously not had time to devote to it. All he's got is genetics. The infinity scarf he's sporting is also some kind of indicator of some kind of thing. Maybe it's a sign that he's now some kind of sexy post-apocalyptic lumberjack assassin.

Anyway, what I'm saying is that Ackles, who directed this episode, injected more creativity than regular directors tend to. Which, you know, I get it. Not every episode is going to be innovative. They have a limited schedule and budget. But it does get to a point where many scenes in many episodes feel as if they don't need directors at all. Just have everyone sit down and talk or walk from point A to point B and talk. It gets to be a bit paint-by-numbers so it's nice to have an injection of someone's energy and point of view who's not one of the four or five main directors.

Ah, here's the part where I momentarily lost my shit.

Dean offs a bunch of demons and then pauses when he finds BENNY THE MUTHAFUCKIN FRIENDLY VAMPIRE critically wounded. I've made no secret of the fact that Benny's one of my favorite short-term characters. He had a fantastic intro and a tragic send-off that came too soon.

He dies again (NOOOO) after telling Dean once more, "See you on the other side, brother."

Dean resumes stalking around the bunker in search of the mysterious enemy who turns out to be Sam. Sam's hair is especially bouffant now, which I think is one of the usual indicators of his state of evilness.

And indeed he has returned to imbibing demon blood for reasons we're not yet privy to. We know from their chat that he killed Bobby and Jody (NOOOO) because they got in the way of his doing something. Dean tries to talk some sense into him but Sam's eyes go black and he telekinetically breaks his bro's neck.

In the present day, a non-demonic Sam wakes up with a start. He doesn't tell Dean which means at some point we're going to get an angry confrontation about why Sam didn't mention sooner that something was wrong.

Also, I don't know if Sam is supposed to be a full vegetarian these days but at the least he doesn't eat meat-based bacon anymore, so Dean lying about the kind of bacon he's been buying is a dick move. Also, we're super late in the timeline for Dean's masculinity to still be so fragile. Stop acting like a bite of soybean is going to make your testicles detach from your body and Plinko their way down your pants legs.

Okay so the A-plot is this: Sam and Dean investigate a high school cheerleader's death. It's immediately apparent that the parents of some lacrosse boy are involved because they have that standard "we're vaguely familiar Canadian actors whose characters get more attention than non-villains would warrant" introduction. Now, in a logical world, Sam and Dean would immediately peg them for murderers or at least accomplices, because they've seen this pattern play out many times, but then the A-plot would be over. Long story short: Their son got turned into a vampire but they want him to have a normal life where they live vicariously through his lacrosse successes at Yale. The kid's less of a monster than his parents, and volunteers himself for a beheading. It's a little bit sad but we spent more time on misdirection than getting to know him. It was too late to cure him but Dean could've mentioned his pal Benny who gave up killing. Then Sam could've made an uncomfortable face that communicated "THIS IS RELEVANT TO MY VISION BUT I CAN'T SAY ANYTHING."

Noteworthy is the use of Jensen Ackles's own song "Sounds of Someday" over the ending of this plot. He has a lovely singing voice and it's different enough from his Dean speaking voice (no gargling with gravel here) that I'm not sure I'd notice if I were just a casual viewer.

Now for the B-plot which is actually the more important plot to the season: the return of Supernatural fangirl Becky.

As with probably many of you, my first reaction was to shudder because eight years wasn't enough for me to forgive and forget the utter grossness of "Time for a Wedding!" That one's right up there with the manwitch dog episode for grossness with me. But Becky's gotten herself sorted out and is disgusted by her own actions towards Sam back then, so I'm kind of glad she showed up.

Who else shows up? Chuck Almighty. In need of an ego boost, he intrudes upon Becky's life. She's got herself a handsome husband and cute kids now, and her own Etsy store selling handcrafted Supernatural merch, but she feels a grain of pity for her old boyfriend. Thinking he's an abandoned prophet, she encourages him to get back to writing, but has a little bit of concrit for his new Sam and Dean fluff fic.

Y'all ever had a fic writer who said they wanted a beta reader but then got super mad at even the most helpful advice? Yeah, that's Chuck.

So he starts writing another story. This one is tortured and dark and painful. I think it's basically supposed to be Sam's dream from the opening. But I think the show fundamentally misunderstands something about fans and writing here. Becky says she hates the story because it's dark and hopeless. That's not necessarily why fans hate certain endings. A dark seemingly hopeless ending can feed a fandom for decades and spawn a million fics. But one that isn't earned? One that doesn't feel like a natural outcome of what came before? That's the stuff of shit heaps. That's the stuff people hate.

In writing, a gut punch is good. A sucker punch is bad.

Chuck finally reveals to Becky that he's God by disappearing her husband, her kids, and eventually her, too. Now he's just gonna squat in her house and use her computer. Ex-boyfriends are the worst, amirite?

So that's it for this week. Please reblog if you enjoyed this recap and visit my virtual tip jar if you can: https://ko-fi.com/A4017DA

I'm consistently broke and could use a supply of Nyquil and/or ice skates.

[tonystarktogo]

“This one’s on me.”

James Barnes was a hard man to surprise. This was, at least in part, a necessary requirement for the job, as he generally had to be able to adapt to unforeseen circumstances at the drop of a hat -- meaning he had to foresee as many ways a plan could go sideways as possible, always. Usually, that was not a problem.

Nevertheless, every half-way decent tactician knew that, no matter how perfect the plan, there were always the little things you couldn’t control, the things you couldn’t foresee, no matter how good you were.

It was always the people, in the end, and this particular incident was no exception.

The job itself had been fairly unremarkable. James had been contacted by an old acquaintance for a favor. His price and other demands were met without complaint or pointless attempts at hackling, which James appreciated. Not that he would have tolerated anything less, but, well. 

One would think at a certain point in one’s criminal career people would take you serious without having to blow out their kneecaps first. Sadly, James had not reached a stage were idiots stopped testing his word yet. And considering he was one of HYDRA’s most successful operatives, he suspected it wasn’t a lack of reputation that was the problem.

His current client had treated him with the professional respect [read: barely hidden terror] James expected, and that was really all that mattered. That and the sum of money he had received this morning far outweighed the worth of the target’s continued life as far as James was concerned. The payment was even high enough that James had returned to New York -- a city he had taken great pains to avoid since the Stane Incident, for many reasons -- to get it done within the demanded time frame.

He was a professional, after all. It helped that he didn’t plan on staying beyond the necessary forty-eight hours he needed to finish this.

“Huh,” a voice spoke up from right behind him.

James had a handgun aimed at the soon-to-be-dead witness before he’d fully turned around -- though he realized that the voice was, in fact, familiar before he reflexively pulled the trigger.

Not that the realization necessarily made him want to pull it any less.

“Y’know, I’d thought it was you. Didn’t really believe it though.” The utter menace that was a fifteen year old Tony Stark chirped.

He was grinning.

James still hadn’t lowered his gun.

“The temptation to shoot you is real,” he informed the boy with a blank face.

If possible, Tony’s grin widened. This wasn’t entirely unexpected -- they had come a long way from where they’d started, with Tony swearing to kill him and James very pointedly not shooting him -- but that didn’t mean it made James any less suspicious.

To call whatever they had a friendship would be a great stretch. The closest term might be mutual agreement, and even that didn’t really seem to cover ‘going through ridiculously elaborate plans to get the kid killed that give him just enough time to pull some impossible stunt and save himself at the last possible moment’. James couldn’t remember when the kid had stopped spitting his name like a curse -- actually, that was a lie. It had been Siberia. 

Many things had changed in Siberia.

Not the most important ones though. James was still one of the best assassins of an internationally operating terrorist organization and Tony was still SHIELD’s youngest spy -- which couldn’t be legal, the kid was fifteen, but it wasn’t James’ job to protect the innocent so what did he care. It sure wasn’t like anyone else made a fuss.

In other words, with Tony prancing in here like he owned the damn place -- which was entirely possible -- James should probably book it. The client wouldn’t be happy, but James preferred to avoid SHIELD’s containment cells whenever possible. The view alone was atrocious.

“I didn’t call anyone if that’s what you’re worried about,” Tony said.

Yeah, the kid’s sense of self-preservation was exactly as awful as James remembered it. He considered the possibility of the little Stark lying, checked his watch and decided he would take the risk. Finishing a job was always preferable.

His equipment was ready, but James went through another check anyways. It payed to be thorough.

“Watcha doin?” Tony asked in an obnoxious voice that made James want to shoot him a little. Or a lot. Hard to tell with the kid sometimes.

“Bird watching.”

“Har, har. You know, you should leave the sarcasm to me, we both know it’s my strong point.” 

Tony, in an effort to prove once and for all that curiosity would indeed get him killed, leaned over James’ shoulder to peer through the window and down the street. 

Absently, James wondered whether the boy knew that he’d killed for lesser offenses. Irritating was Tony Stark’s natural state of being, it was difficult to tell sometimes if he was doing it on purpose or not. He pushed the thought aside, tensing when he realized that his target was approaching, walking down the street at a brisk pace. Just on time too. 

If it wasn’t for Tony’s presence, everything really would go smoothly. Fucking people.

Resolving to handle Tony after he’d finished his job, James focused on the matter at hand. Meaning that about 80 percent of his attention was on adjusting the sniper riffle, whilst 20 percent were observing Tony out of the corner of his eye, waiting for the kid to make a move. For all the easy banter between them, Tony didn’t make a habit out of watching James commit murder.

It was because he was keeping an eye on the kid that James noticed the exact moment Tony figured out who his target.

Usually, you couldn’t get the kid to shut up even if you tied him up on a chair and threw him in a swimming pool -- don’t ask -- which was why it was such a jarring experience when Tony suddenly froze by his side. James could have sworn he wasn’t even breathing, but he had other things to worry about. His window of opportunity was limited.

“Is that-”

“Yes.”

It didn’t surprise James that Tony had recognized the target. He certainly had a habit of knowing people he definitely should not know.

Slowly, Tony blew out a breath in a unnerving, hissing sound.

“Do it.” There was something cold in that voice that James hadn’t heard in over a year. Something ageless and brutal and unforgiving.

James fired.

Tony didn’t look away.

The target stumbled, fell. James rose from his crouch and began to pack up his equipment in a flurry of practiced motions. He didn’t have to wait for the ambulance, he already knew he hadn’t missed.

Tony still hadn’t moved from his spot at the window, staring down at the chaos on the street three floors down.

James paused in the doorway, even though he knew he shouldn’t. His training told him to get away now, but the kid still hadn’t moved.

“Tony,” he calls out, then trails off. What is he going to say? I was gonna kill him anyways, your order didn’t do shit? That’s the truth, but it’s also not the point and they both know it.

Tony turns around before James comes to a decision one way or another. He’s pale, but his eyes are dry and he looks-- calm. 

“This one’s on me,” he says, a shadow of his usual sarcastic smile on his lips.

And James could say many things -- I told you to get out. This isn’t a world for children, you don’t belong here. Stop taking credit for my hit. -- but there’s nothing he can say that will undo what Tony didn’t do and they both know it.

Sirens are approaching. 

James’ eyes narrow. That’s not the ambulance and it’s definitely not ordinary police. That’s--

I didn’t call anyone if that’s what you’re worried about.

James’ glare could have frozen the sun. Tony smiles winningly, lifts both of his hands to stress his current, unarmed state. What kind of agent follows a suspected assassin unarmed into an unknown building without back-up anyways?

“Oops?”

“Fucking brat!” James growls and runs. 

It’s always the people.

...well this got a lot longer than expected lol. Oh yeah, first person to guess what kind of AU this fic is gets a drabble to a chosen prompt! :)