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yandere-sins · 4 years ago

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Yandere Kageyama please! Maybe he is the leader of the Mafia or a Gang leader?

Now this is very farfetched, but yandere!yakuza!Kageyama? Hot. Didn’t make him the leader in case I want to write more for that AU. It wouldn’t make sense if he was a leader yet in the long run.

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Dealing with other people had never been your strong point.

It wasn’t like you lacked social skills, and you had a few friends to prove that. However, you just weren’t good at negotiations or lying. Being in a tense conversation always made you nervous, as did having to stand your ground and not be a push-over. Then again, you probably would have made it through your life just fine if not for that one mistake.

You cursed your ‘best friend’ quietly under your breath as you walked the long hallways. Feet on wood made those full, echoing sound of steps, letting you know that this was real wooden flooring, only the best of the best and expensive as hell. Things that could be bought when one lends out money and then asked for more and more back.

At the same time, you had to curse yourself too. How stupid had you been to co-sign a contract you hadn’t even read?! Who did this in this day and age, just blindly believing that you weren’t just selling off your soul to someone else’s cause? Of course, no one expected your friend to bail the moment his brilliant idea of a business got ruined, leaving him deep in debt. Still, now it was your responsibility to pay back the money you never even possessed in your whole life.

Anyone would have been nervous, wringing their hands as they got escorted through the traditional mansion. From afar, you heard calm, serene deer scares clicking and water flowing into a pond. Everything seemed so perfect.

Perfect enough to hide a lot of secrets.

Only the person who had greeted you, a tiny, young man with very noticeable orange hair, seemed as if he had no care in the world. He hummed happily, occasionally throwing a glance over his shoulder to make sure you were still following, before moving forward in what could be best described as carefree jumps.

“It’ll be alright,” he hummed, after watching your wringing hands. You managed a faint smile, wanting to believe him but finding it hard to after having done your research. This wasn’t just a loan shark facility. The Karasuno clan wasn’t just men in suits with more papers than words. They were the kind of people you didn’t want to pick a fight with, the ones you’d avoid at night. The ones really desperate people would go to for help when the government refused them. The ones your best friend thought he could trust after every bank denied him a loan.

And now it was all on you to meet these people, anxiety or not.

You were led into a nice tatami room, with only one table and two seating pillows filling it. A waste of living space, but it sure left an impression. To be able to afford a mansion so big to have an almost empty conference room in it surely was something to look in awe upon.

“Kageyama will be with you in a bit. Make yourself at home!” your guide chimed, grinning widely before he shut the door behind you. Now, you were all on your own, and you shifted your weight on your feet for a while before deciding to sit down. Just standing around would be very rude, too, right? The last thing you wanted to make was a bad impression, even though that meant you had nothing to get your mind off until it was time to meet that Kageyama-guy.

Meaning, the moment the sliding door flew open, you jumped hard, having been in your thoughts for just a minute too long. “[Name]?” the person who entered asked, and you stuttered a quick, “Y-Yeah?” back. He nodded approvingly before walking over, taking the seat across from you, and you began to wonder if you were sitting on the right side of the table or if there were any rules for that.

“I’m Tobio Kageyama, thank you for coming,” he introduced himself, reaching inside the jacket of his black suit - matching the dark tuft of hair he had perfectly. For a second, you thought those were the last words you’d hear before he pulled a gun on you, but instead, he made a letter appear, as well as an expensive-looking pen.

“This is your signature, correct?” He unfolded the paper for you to see, pointing at the bottom where he had it black ink on white paper, your very own signature. “Yes...” you mumbled, slowly curling into yourself. “Alright, did you have any contact with the person who took out the loan lately? We’ve been trying to find them, but if we can’t, that would mean that you need to pay--”

“I don’t have the money.”

Whatever had ridden you to interrupt him like this vanished with the little bit of confidence you had left. You felt sweat collect on your forehead, and you were too afraid to look up at him, while Kageyama’s mouth hung open, in the middle of saying something. Closing it, he looked at the table, followed by some taps on the wooden surface.

“Do we... do we know each other?” he asked suddenly, catching you off-guard. But he managed to draw your attention again, eyes flitting up to look at his face. “I- I’m not sure, do we?”

“Second year of high school, I think I sat a few rows behind you.”

Blinking, you could barely believe what you were hearing. “Huh, you were? I’m sorry... I must have forgotten... Or wait, you were really into volleyball back then, right?”

A smile crossed his face, nothing you would have described as sincere, but it seemed like a well-meant try. Still, you felt a bit of relief ease the tension in your shoulders, despite not exactly being safe even now. “I’m glad you remembered. I just noticed.”

Clearing his throat, he looked back down at the paper again, pointing his pen towards a large number with a lot of zeroes, making you shift your attention. “See, the problem is that this was my first deal with someone from outside the organization, and I’d absolutely hate to sit on this kind of money. You understand that, right? I eventually have to give it back to my bosses, and for that, it would be really bad for me to not have it, right?”

“I understand...” you mumbled, gulping at the big sum he was talking about. “But I really don’t have it! If I could, I would give it to you right away, but there’s no way for me to pay it back anytime soon.”

Kageyama watched you intently, time passed painfully slow. Something about his unblinking stare was unsettling, but you figured he might just be thinking right now, and instead removed your eyes from him shamefully. It was your fault, and you’d do the right thing if you could to make up for it, but as you were, there was no way to do so.

“I believe you,” he eventually agreed, pulling the paper off the table and back into the pocket inside of his jacket. “So here’s what we will do instead.”

Reaching into the opposite side from where he had just put the document into - and you were almost a hundred percent sure that this was your death sentence now and he’d pull a gun - he produced a silken, deep black, and long piece of fabric. “For as long as the debt isn’t paid, you’ll work for me. There is a lot to do, and you’ll not complain nor search for outside help while you work here. I hope you understand that if you can’t pay back what you owe, we will have to find other people in your surroundings to help you; your family, for example.”

Holding out the piece of fabric towards you, Kageyama leaned forward over the table. “I only do that because we have past together, [Name]. I’d hate if there was something happening to someone I know just because one more asshole runs away from their responsibilities. I can help you, and this is a good option, believe me. No harm will come to you or anyone else this way.”

The offer sounded reasonable enough, despite you not missing the bad notions in it that he so carefully threaded into his words. In the end, even if you knew each other, he too was a yakuza, serving his own and his clan’s purpose more than anyone’s. This was a merciful suggestion compared to the alternatives, and you could not imagine how your parents would take it if they were to be bothered by people like him.

Agreeing despite your better judgment, you took the thing from him, stretching it in your hand. It was soft, and honestly, you could imagine yourself wearing a pajama in it; it was that comfortable. “Uhm...” you mumbled, realizing you didn’t know what to do with that. “Please put it on,” he instructed, standing up. Only now did you realize it was perfectly made to be used as a blindfold.

Despite your hands shaking, you hesitantly covered your eyes with it, thanking God that if this was your end, you’d at least not have to see it coming. You flinched when you felt two other hands coming down onto the back of your head, helping you to secure the fabric tightly before you were asked for your hand to help you up. Up till now, you weren’t dead yet, so that was an achievement. “It’s just for security reasons, don’t worry. I’ll bring you somewhere safe, so just follow my lead.”

His fingers linked with yours - weird considering you two weren’t so close to justify such an affectionate hold on you - and you felt his tug, urging you forward. “Where... Where will we be going?” you asked, hearing the sliding door open, followed by a small chuckle of a third voice, before familiar-sounding footsteps took off before you two. Kageyama clicked his tongue, and you already felt like you had made a mistake, unable to see that his reaction had been for someone else entirely.

“Don’t worry, [Name],” he assured you, but his lack of answering your question barely helped you.

Still, all you could do was trust him, now that you were in his care.

Trusting was something you were very good at after all, Kageyama was aware. You’d trust a friend you’d only known for a few months and co-sign his contract with the yakuza. You’d trust said yakuza when he told you he had work for you to fulfill the deed. And you trusted Kageyama to be sincere, when really, he had set you up to come to him and agree to his conditions without complaining, letting yourself be taken to his room easily.

A room in which really no one could hear you when you screamed as the Karasuno clan’s prodigy would do all the things to you he had been dreaming about for years now.

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blackstarising · 4 years ago

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precipice, a buckysarah fic | also on ao3

bucky and sarah spend saturday mornings together on the wilson's back porch. neither remembers when this became a habit.

She’s awake for a few moments before she hears it, the creaking, through the open window. It’s not loud, of course, it’s never loud, Daddy had dutifully oiled the swing’s joints to make sure that wouldn’t happen, but age had touched it just enough that, nowadays, you’d know if someone was sitting there.

Sarah sits up, and rubs the sleep from her eyes. The thick, summer air fills her lungs, the same that coats her forehead in a sheen of sweat. Lingering tension from melts from her shoulders. Unconsciously, she brushes the dog tags nestled inside of her shirt.

He’s okay. Thank God.

A familiar electric buzz runs up the back of her spine as she pads past the boys’ rooms and tiptoes down the stairs. Months ago, that buzz would have prompted her toss her bonnet onto her bed, to swiftly change into jeans and a somewhat presentable T-shirt, even though Saturday mornings before 8 were, by law, designated as Sarah Time.

And then, three weeks ago, the last time she’d seen him in person, she’d raced down the stairs to get AJ’s stuffed toy (some Minecraft thing? Sarah could never keep track) that he’d accidentally left outside before he woke up, cheesy printed pajamas and all. He hadn’t flinched.

He could fit into Sarah Time, she’d decided, right then and there. Lizzo’s “Cuz I Love You” was left on repeat on her phone for her the rest of the day.

So she slips downstairs, ‘Bad Mama Jama’ shirt and all. Coffee steeps. Two mugs are produced, lactose-free milk dumped into each, and a sizable glop of honey into hers.

After all this time, his breath still catches a little when he sees her come out the back door. The humidity that sticks to Bucky’s skin like a stifling coat makes her skin shimmer in the faint sunlight. She yawns, her nose wrinkling just enough that it’s painfully cute, and then she relaxes, still sleepy but serene as she presses the hot mug into his right hand.

“Hey.” He greets her.

“Hey.” Her smile grows. “You’re back.”

“I am. With cinnamon rolls.” Sure enough, a paper bag rests next to the swing. He pats his left side, and she obliges. Their thighs touch plainly this time.

She takes a slow sip of her coffee. “Hope you haven’t been sitting here all night. Where’s Sam?”

“About an hour, and still in DC. Captain America business, and all that.”

“And what? No Winter Soldier business?”

Bucky shrugs. “I like the quiet.” Her quiet. Or maybe just her and the boys, though the boys weren’t that quiet. And ‘like’ was too weak a word at this point, probably.

She takes another sip of coffee, strangely proud. He does too, if only to silence the annoyingly insistent voice in the back of his head nagging him to just put his arm around her shoulder already.

“Still not sure about this fancy milk, though.”

“You mean milk that me and the kids can actually digest?” Sarah knows damn well he can’t taste the difference. “Well, I have bad news for you about oat milk. And soy milk." She grins wickedly. "And don't forget rice milk-”

“None of which belong in coffee.” After nearly a century of identities and missions she’s not sure if she ever wants to hear about, his Brooklyn accent is faint, but he still stretches out the caw in ‘coffee’. How mortifying it is, the way she perks up when that grit bleeds out.

He brushes the bright blue hem of her bonnet. “Is this new?”

She shakes her head and pulls it off. Dark braids tumble down her shoulders. These ones are new, he notices - they’re tighter at the root, and shimmer with oil that smells of roses. “Found out AJ stuffed it in the couch cushions a month ago. I just happened to stick my hand down there yesterday. I do not know what it is about him and that damn couch.” She snickers. “Maybe I’ll get lucky and find a signed check for a million dollars down there one day.”

He chuckles, and gives the ground a little kick the start the swing going again. “Did he get his new glasses yet? Last time I was here, he was saying that he didn’t want to see the optometrist again.”

“Yeah, he doesn’t like the...” Sarah makes a motion with a finger, like she’s pressing a button. “There’s a little gun they use. They blow a puff of air onto your eyeball.”

Bucky recoils a little. “They what?”

“It’s supposed to measure it for the prescription. They tried to do it on me before they did his. I thought it was supposed to be just like a little breeze, but it bounces off your eye.” She pauses and scratches her head. “I may have hollered-”

“Ha! I bet he took that well.”

“I had to get him on my lap to calm down.” She sighs and pouts, just a little. “At least he still wants to be held. Cass makes me drop him off a block away from school now.”

Cass is indeed growing. Overnight, he’s shot up like a reed so that he’s just as high as Bucky’s shoulders. His normally smooth skin is interrupted by a few bumps, and his voice bounces around in pitch like an untuned clarinet. Something in his chest twinges when he considers it, how time marches forward. How, very soon, the collective wide-eyed innocence of the boys will harden into adulthood.

Her gaze falls to his left hand. The fingers curl and flex. She still remembers the first time she’d looked at his arm, really looked at it, the dark plates molding and shifting. It’d been the second time they’d shared this same porch, waiting for Sam to bring back the boys from fishing.

I don’t want you to get the wrong idea, Sarah, he’d said suddenly, catching her gaze. His voice had been heavy, but clear. Dark blue eyes filled with regret. I’ve hurt people. Killed people. I didn’t have a choice, but, with you and- here, she’d held her breath as his Adam’s apple bobbed, how quickly he’d blinked - and the boys, I...I don’t want- I need you to know all of me. Who I’ve been. Who I am. And then you can decide. But you can’t do that if I’m not honest.

She doesn’t remember what she’d said after. She does remember watching him get into the truck so Sam could take him to the airport. How he’d paused when he’d opened the door, and turned towards her, eyes wide. Vulnerable. How she’d smiled at him, and waved, maybe a bit too cheesily, like it’d been the easiest thing in the world, because despite it all, oddly, she hadn’t been afraid. How the widest grin had broken out on his face and something deep inside her chest that had been closed had burst open for the first time since she’d lost Andrew. And she remembers watching the truck pull out of the drive as her heart filled to such a capacity that her chest hurt, and the second they’d disappeared over the hill she’d promptly burst into tears, well, really, half laughing and half sobbing, because how the hell was she supposed to know she could find that feeling again?

It’s only when she sees his jaw clench that she finally notices the cut, long and fading pink against his chiseled cheekbones. Maybe she’s getting too used to them - he’s always injured in some way when he gets back.

He can see that familiar softening in her eyes as she catches sight of the gash. Well, it had been a gash just an hour before, the result of catching a thrown knife on his cheek before he’d caught the hilt. But what’s about to happen next will play like clockwork.

First, she’s going to try to get a closer look. Her index and pointer finger come up just under his chin, tilting his head to the side. His skin tingles, the electricity of her concern rushing through him.

Then, she’ll hum. She’s never chastised him, though he wouldn’t know what there’d be to say if she tried. But that hum says more than enough.

“Hmm.”

In the moment, she doesn’t feel herself cupping his face with both hands, it just sort of happens. Her throat dries instantly as the stubble brushes in her palms.

He can’t breathe, but every single muscle in his body relaxes. He sinks into her touch.

“Y- you should see the other guy,” he manages to get out. There’s a faint memory that breaks to the surface, the docks in New York, 1940-something, 1943? A date whose name has been lost to time, the last date he’d ever go on. Soft hands cupping his face, just like this, and warm, pleading ruby-red lips crashing dully into his, a whisper to not forget her.

Sarah’s tongue darts between her lips. Both thumbs rub small circles into his cheeks. It wasn’t a question of if he wanted to kiss her, no. When has a day gone by that he hasn’t thought of kissing her? How is it that it’s never happened, but he can see it, clear as crystal, and hold it in his mind’s eye. How can he already feel her warm and flush and present and breathless and real against him?

Very slowly, she comes back to herself, and her face immediately flushes with a sharper heat. Her hands awkwardly drop from his face. She tries to think of something, anything, to interrupt the silence (to explain herself?), but every word that comes to mind sticks helplessly in her throat and she just can’t stand it because she’s the same, she’s exactly the same as she’d been at 17, leg jiggling and sweating and staring a hole right through the back of Andrew’s head in AP Calculus.

(She’d never wanted to punch Sam so bad back then when he’d had the audacity to say well, just tell him, already. The audacity of him, to think things were so simple.)

She leans back, scooting just a hair away this time. The crest of the sun beams through the trees, painfully bright. Her pulse is louder now. She’s looking at the small grove so intently she doesn’t even register the weight gently settle on her left shoulder at first. It only clicks when she feels the cool metal of his thumb brush up and down her bicep. Their eyes lock, brown against against blue.

He’s still smiling, and she, she realizes, is too.

So she melts into him. She melts into him, her ear landing over his chest, her arm wrapping around the small of his back. She sighs into the muted whoosh whoosh whoosh of his heartbeat, the cotton of his shirt, and the faint smell of spearmint on his breath. Another kick of her foot and they’re swinging yet again, back and forth, back and forth. The sun pulls itself up ever higher and higher.

The light starts to burn his cheek. “The boys’ll be up soon,” he murmurs into her hair.

She snuggles deeper into him. “Mmm.”

They’re on the precipice of something, this, they both know. They're inching closer and closer, and one day they’ll step off, and she’ll kiss him full on the mouth and whenever he’ll come back to the house he’ll be coming back home and whenever they go anywhere they’ll stick each others hand in their back pockets in that particular way that teenagers do that let everyone know that they’re each others and there’s nothing they can do about it.

One day. But for now, this is more than enough.

They like the quiet.

#tfatws #tfatws spoilers #bucky barnes #sarah wilson #buckysarah #bucky x sarah #sarahbucky #sarah x bucky #otp: buckysarah

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glassworkspiderlilies · 4 years ago

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lily blooded

Piofiore no Banshou | Dante/Liliana, Nicola | AO3 Summary: There is worry that goes around, when Liliana Adornato, raised a church girl all her life, becomes Liliana Falzone, thereby officially moving into the Falzone manor and taking up the position of a mafia wife. She settles in just fine. Notes: spent five hours typing 4k words in one sitting and had an enormous amount of fun...love the falzone boys. :’)

There is worry that goes around, when Liliana Adornato becomes romantically involved with the young Falzone Boss. After all, she was raised a church girl through and through, pious and idealistic, seemingly untouched by such violence that the mafia is so often exposed to or the cause of. Even those who do know her history of run-ins with the mafia worry at least a little, because it’s one thing to be caught up in their problems or under their protection, and another to be the lover of one of the most prominent Family’s Boss.

Liliana can be described in many ways, but they all boil down to the same thing—polite, well-mannered, pious, gentle…if one must offer up a flaw, then it is probably that she can work herself too hard for those she cares for, and that she can be kind to a fault. All in all, she is not the sort of girl that one imagines entangled with the mafia. Though the rest of the Falzone family are used to her presence—and enjoy it—even they will consider her something of the Family princess, a delicate girl to be protected, even more so because she is their Boss’ precious lady.

It is something of a surprise when Dante Falzone and Liliana Adornato are married in springtime, and she becomes Liliana Falzone. Oh, there was never any doubt of their deep affection for each other, but marriage is simply more binding, especially when one marries into the mafia.

Nevertheless, the wedding is celebrated with joy, and Liliana officially moves into the Falzone manor and takes on the position of a mafia wife—the lady of the Falzone Family, a woman with even more status and position than before—

And she settles in just fine.

The Falzone soldati are surprised when they walk into the training rooms one day to see their Boss and his Lady in front of the targets. There is a gun in Lili’s hands, and Dante is standing behind her, helping position her arms and correcting her posture. It would be something out of a romance novel considering how he is practically cradling her to teach her, but the soldati see the absolute seriousness in both of their eyes, and they understand that this is not some mere whim of either of theirs.

It makes sense, for a mafia wife to learn to shoot a gun. But even so, it is a shock seeing the weapon in Lili’s hands, when they are so used to her cheerfully passing out plates of dolce or taking flowers from the Boss with a radiant smile.

But she does not cut much of an intimidating figure, even with the sheer focus on her face, and she yelps when she fires the gun, stepping backwards into Dante’s chest. It’s something of a relief that this incongruent thing does not seem to change her at all.

Dante chuckles a little, but repositions her.

“You’ll get used to the recoil,” he says, and Lili laughs a little, looking at her shaking hand.

“I’m used to the sound, after everything that’s happened,” she says ruefully, “But shooting one yourself is very different, isn’t it?”

Dante looks troubled.

“I still hope that you’ll never have to use one. But you’ve had to take my gun on at least two occasions and shoot on one, so…while I’d much rather protect you personally, or have Nicola or Leo do so, I will concede to the fact that it is much better for you to know how to shoot than not.”

“Thank you for agreeing to teach me, Dante,” Lili says warmly.

He sighs and gives her a wry smile.

“I didn’t expect you to ask for this,” he admits, “But you never fail to surprise me.”

Lili giggles, holding up the gun again and narrowing her eyes at the target.

“I love you, Dante,” she says simply, “So I’m prepared to stand by you, and that means the Family too. I don’t want to be a burden.”

“You are never a burden,” Dante says emphatically, a little pink from her declaration, and Lili smiles.

“Well, I’d like to be able to protect you, and the Family, at least a little bit,” she amends, “Just as you all protect me.” She tilts up to press a brief kiss to the corner of his mouth before she faces forward once more. “Can you show me again, please?”

Dante clears his throat, a little off balance from the kiss, then wraps his hands around hers again to assist her.

The soldati make their presence known after she fires the next shot, and the Boss and his wife greet them but continue with their own practice as the men begin their own. After an hour passes, Dante and Lili finish up and end their session for the day. She is only to shoot when either he, Nicola, or Leo are present until she becomes more proficient, and she waves cheerfully as she departs the room.

The soldati don’t think overmuch about this new development other than the fact that it does seem like a good idea if she can train herself to be a half decent shot. In their minds, Liliana is still that sweet church girl, even if she is now the donna of the Falzone Family. So long as she can hold a gun without shaking, that’s enough in their minds. When she’s hardly seen in the training rooms again, no one thinks less of her for it.

But something that they come to learn more fully in due time is that Liliana Falzone nee Adornato does not do things by halves.

Some months down the line, she and the Boss walk into a fairly populated practice room. They are greeted respectfully and space is made for them at one of the targets.

“I’m sorry I haven’t been able to practice with you much,” Dante apologizes to her, as they take up their positions.

“Don’t worry, you’ve been so busy,” Lili replies soothingly as she loads the gun with ease. Dante watches her and raises an eyebrow, but Lili merely smiles. “Nicola taught me a lot, and you know I’m cleared to practice by myself now.”

Dante hums, but she smiles at him, innocent and serene.

“I think I’ve improved a lot!” she chirps, facing the target, “I don’t think you’ll be disappointed. Look!”

Without hesitating, she fires off three shots in rapid succession, and the soldati are taken aback by both her accuracy and fluidity of movement. One hits the bullseye, the others hit fairly close. The room is silent, and Dante claps slowly, at which Lili smiles bashfully at.

“I practiced more at night, when the room was empty…it’s a little embarrassing to be watched when I’m doing poorly. The thing is, I’m actually aiming for the outer ring,” she confesses, “If I aim for the center, it has the opposite effect. I don’t think I can say I’m a good shot given that, really, but…I do okay, right?”

Dante blinks, then barks out a laugh.

“So this is what Nicola meant,” he says, “When he said you’re maybe the best-worst shot he’s ever seen.”

Lili turns pink, then even pinker when she realizes all the soldati have stopped to stare.

One by one, they incline their heads in respect.

“Donna,” they chorus, and though she continues to blush furiously, their Boss looks pleased.

Dante is very young, for a mafia Boss, and so he’d had to fight harder than others to cement his position. He’s treated with respect now, but his youth is always apparent when he attends meetings with other clans or business associates. He knows that he is still often being watched for weaknesses, and questioned silently as to whether he is truly good enough to lead the Falzone Family.

Dante is used to all that by now; in childhood, it’d been a burden. Now, he has the support of many, and leads with confidence and determination.

But he worries for Lili, now that they are married. Wives are expected to attend certain functions; as his lover, she’d been exempt from such things, but now that is no longer true. A dinner meeting with some longtime associates has been called, and it will be the first time Lili is attending something like this as his wife.

“I’m nervous,” Lili admits to him the night before. “But I’m ready, too.”

Dante kisses her forehead, and shows his appreciation slowly and sweetly. They rise late the next morning, but the dinner meeting is the only important thing on the agenda today, so they take their time getting ready.

Lili is stunning in her navy and silver gown, matching with Dante’s suit. Crystals wink at her ears and neck, and a bit of lipstick reddens her lips. Nicola smiles widely when he sees them, and Leo gasps in appreciation.

“Furrow your eyebrows a little,” Nicola suggests, poking the space between his own to demonstrate. “It’ll make you look more intimidating. Your natural face is a little too innocent.”

“I can’t help it,” Lili protests, the consequent scrunching of her eyebrows merely making her look cute, “It’s my face!”

“Yes, I suppose you don’t have Dante’s natural scary disposition at all,” Nicola sighs, “We’ll have to develop your expressions next time or they’ll eat you up.”

“Nicola,” Dante admonishes. “She’s fine as is. Stop making her more nervous.”

Nicola winks.

“Fine, fine. Then knock them dead some other way.”

“I thought the point was to establish better relations,” Lili blinks, and Nicola laughs.

“In the mafia, sometimes it’s one and the same,” he says cheerfully. “In any case, have fun!”

Lili gives him a confused look, but Dante tells her not to pay attention to him and they depart.

Nicola needn’t have worried, in the end.

True, the meeting starts off a little rocky—all of the associates return to their roots, consciously or not, and eye Dante and Lili for their youth. Dante has been tried true over the years, but Lili is fresh blood, and Nicola was right—she looks innocent, despite the darker style she is dressed in. Though she bears the stares of four middle-aged men and their regal wives admirably, they are like sharks in water, ready for the first hint of weakness.

All the women are mostly quiet throughout the dinner itself, but everyone loosens up afterwards, when they enjoy dessert and drinks and cigars. One of the wives offers to pour drinks, and while some of the men decline in favor of cigars and all the other women do, Lili is not given the opportunity to do so.

“Drink up, Signora Falzone,” the instigator says, “I chose the whiskey myself—it is not often we get the opportunity to drink such quality liquor in such good company.”

“Thank you, Signora Rossi,” Lili says smoothly, putting the glass to her lips as everyone watches, discreetly or not.

She drinks, her expression unchanged as the liquor hits her tongue, though her eyes widen a little as she swallows.

“Oh! It’s wonderful,” Lili says, smiling, “I’ve never had whiskey like this before. May I ask the brand?”

Madam Rossi looks a little mollified and shows her the bottle, though she pours more into Lili’s glass with a subtly mischievous look. The madam drinks as well, though less, and the other wives sip digestivos or wine as they begin to chat about various things, and Rossi continues to refill Lili’s glass throughout the conversation.

Dante does not fail to notice, but Lili puts a hand on his knee to let him know she is okay, and so he does nothing. The other men watch out of the corner of their eyes with interest, but say nothing either.

By the end of the night, half the associates and their wives are drunk, including Madam Rossi. Though Lili has had the most alcohol of all of them, she is practically still sober, if a little sleepy.

Signor Vallone, one who had simply smoked cigars and not drunk at all, laughs heartily in the lobby as their cars are prepared.

“Looks can be deceiving, indeed!” he says, shaking Lili’s hand merrily, “I’ve never seen anyone drink Signor Di Lucca or Signora Rossi under the table like that. That was fine entertainment in of itself.”

Lili demurs, and one of the other wives—Signora Albanesi, who had simply enjoyed one glass of wine—steps forward to say her goodbyes as well.

“It was a pleasure meeting you, my dear,” she says warmly, “Perhaps next time, you will recommend us your favorite drink instead, yes?”

“Of course, Signora,” Lili says, smiling back.

Everyone splits with good-natured farewells, almost as though they were simply friends parting for the night and not partners linked by criminal activities. The atmosphere is markedly different than it had been at the beginning of the night—true approval is not so easy to earn, but Lili has certainly garnered the fondness of the group in the course of a few hours.

She snuggles against Dante in the car, and he presses a kiss to the top of her head. She tilts her face up for a proper kiss, and Dante chuckles before he obliges.

“You taste like whiskey,” he says, amused, “And I’m impressed, myself. I know you can outdrink me, but it’s something to be able to drink more than Signor Di Lucci and Signora Rossi.”

“I did enjoy the whiskey,” Lili admits, “And she just…kept pouring. I thought it would be rude to refuse. But I still like the white wine we drink together best.”

Dante smiles.

“Shall we open a bottle when we get home?” he teases, and Lili giggles.

“If you’d like. I think I can handle one more,” she says, meaning the bottle, and Dante laughs.

“I know you hate these kinds of functions, Dante,” Nicola says amiably one afternoon in Dante’s office, “But it’s important to keep up appearances sometimes, too.”

Dante sighs, thanking Lili as she sets down two slices of strawberry crostata and a cappuccino for him, as well as a single slice and an espresso for Nicola, who thanks her as well.

“I have far better things to do than to sit down and play card games for hours on end,” Dante grumbles, sipping at his coffee. The frustrated lines around his eyes soften for a moment as he drinks, but then he frowns again. “These guys are getting quite friendly.”

“They’re doing it for appearances too, of course,” Nicola replies reasonably, sipping his own espresso. “They’re politicians. But you’re right—they’re getting quite persistent, aren’t they? You do business with newbies once and they start getting too comfortable.” He pauses to take a bite of crostata. “They’re probably asking so often because they’re aware you hate gambling, too. They want to feel superior in some way or another, since you have the upper hand in all the other ways that matter.”

Dante sighs as he leans back in his seat.

“When?” he asks.

“Next Friday.”

Dante’s frown deepens.

“No. I have a meeting with lobbyists that day, and that takes priority over some politicians who want to play cards to boost their ego. Nicola, you go. You’ll have more fun, anyway.”

“Yes, Boss. But I will say—if you don’t show your face at least once, then they’ll only grow more persistent. It’s not me they want to see, even if I am your Underboss.”

Dante sighs deeply and says nothing else, choosing to focus on his dessert instead.

“Um…” Lili pipes up, having taken an armchair in the corner of the room with her own plate of crostata and a caffe latte. “Why don’t I go, then? With Nicola, that is.”

Dante and Nicola turn to look at her, blinking in surprise.

“It’s actually card games, right?” Lili asks, looking between them a little nervously, “That’s not code for anything?”

“It’s just card games,” Nicola confirms, “Though they might talk business, of course, and money will change hands one way or another.”

“I can play cards,” Lili continues, emboldened by the fact that neither have said no outright, “I could go with Nicola as a…I don’t know, additional representative. I know mafia wives don’t usually participate in such things, but…well, would it help?”

Nicola’s eyes are bright, having played cards with Lili before and knowing her skill firsthand. His lips curve into a wolfish grin, and he looks at Dante eagerly, who glances back at him with a raised brow.

“I don’t like it,” Dante says bluntly, but Lili simply waits, knowing that it comes from a place of concern.

It is also still not a refusal.

“I don’t know that it would help,” Nicola admits, “But it doesn’t mean nothing, either, that the Boss’ wife attends in his place. It would certainly be interesting—there’s no way they would complain at such a development because of that. And I think Lili could do very well.”

Lili smiles, and Nicola smiles back.

“I’d like to assist in any way I can,” Lili states resolutely, “After all, I’m part of the Family, too.”

Both Nicola and Lili look at Dante, just a little pleading, and eventually he sighs and relents.

“I don’t like it,” he repeats, looking at Lili, “But if you want to go, you can go. Nicola—”

“I’ll protect her with my life, Dante,” Nicola says, a hand over his heart, “I swear it.”

Dante sighs again, and finishes his crostata in resignation.

He’s not home when Nicola and Lili leave for the meeting, but he’s just arrived back for a few minutes when they return, merely a few feet away from the door when it opens again.

Nicola is laughing, and Lili looks a little embarrassed as she tells him he’s overreacting, but both light up when they see Dante walking back over to them.

“Dante!” Lili exclaims, hugging him in greeting. “Welcome back.”

“Hello,” he says, kissing her cheek, “I should be saying that to you. You’re both back earlier than I expected, though.”

He looks between Lili and Nicola, the latter whom is brushing a tear out of the corner of his eye from laughing so hard. Dante raises a brow, and Nicola grins, gesturing to the salon.

“Alright, what happened?” Dante asks, as Giulia goes to prepare refreshments.

“Go on,” Nicola says encouragingly to Lili, and she hesitates before she opens her pocketbook and drops a few hefty rolls of cash onto Dante’s lap.

His eyes widen.

“Dante, it was incredible,” Nicola practically crows, accepting a cup of coffee from Giulia, “I haven’t seen anyone hustled that much in a while. Those arrogant politicians…seeing their faces fall…it was magnificent. I don’t think they’ll be pestering the Falzones to attend their card table again so soon.”

Dante raises a brow, and Giulia stays to listen to Nicola retell the entire story in detail. Lili had simply played well—far better than anyone had truly expected. The young woman sips her coffee demurely throughout the tale, embarrassed still at Nicola’s praise and gleeful amusement.

“I wasn’t trying to…to hustle them!” she eventually protests, blushing.

“That’s what makes it even better,” Nicola says. “I know you said you’ve never lost at cards, but it is simply delightful to see someone else suffer the consequences.”

Lili sniffs, ducking her head, and Dante gives her an amused look.

“Anyway, that’s our politician problem solved for now,” Nicola hums, “After how much they lost, I think they’ll think twice about trying to get a leg up on the mafia.”

Dante folds his hands, thinking.

“On the contrary,” he says slowly, and Nicola’s eyes brighten as he immediately catches onto his thinking, “The next time they have a card game, I think we should all go. I’d like to see Lili play myself, and it never hurts to remind politicians just who they’re dealing with.”

Nicola starts laughing again, and Lili stares at Dante with her mouth slightly open.

“Good work today,” he says, smiling, and respectfully drops the money back into Lili’s lap.

To the victor, the spoils, after all.

If there is one thing that Lili truly hates still, it is the torture. But she is a mafia wife now and will not interrupt, though nor will she watch the proceedings. Sometimes she is left ignorant that it is happening at all, out of respect.

Yet in this too does she have her role.

Sometimes, for the ones that don’t crack even after hours in the cells but hold information important enough to keep trying, it’s Lili who goes to visit the prisoner afterwards. She goes alone, with medical supplies and water, tears spilling from her eyes. The better prisoners tend to think she is some angel. After some time, they confide in her, confessing their sins and regrets, and in time, the information they no longer consider worth their life.

Sometimes, they are even let go, after their threat is weighed and considered. The prisoners gape when they find out their angel is actually the Falzone Boss’ wife, and more often than not they will pledge their devotion to her—and thus the Falzones, for kindness is near nonexistent in the mafia. It is a double edged sword, in the criminal world, but it has its uses.

But sometimes, the prisoners truly have rot in their hearts. Those types see Lili as some stupid maid who doesn’t know better and isn’t worth anything. They attempt to take advantage of her kindness and body, lunging for her like the snakes they are as they spit the truth of what they’d done viciously, wanting to hurt her.

She’s quicker than she looks, flinging herself back with a little scream, and Dante and Nicola file in, always having waited outside.

Lili runs to her husband, burying her face in his chest as he holds her.

The prisoners are always surprised, but the terrible ones don’t always understand who she is quickly enough. They snarl and spit dirty words, but she is still the one who tended to them—they are speared by her gaze when she half turns and looks at them with her teary eyes, disappointed and damning.

“How could you?” she whispers after learning the depths of their sins, and that’s when they truly feel like scum.

Lili does not watch when the worst ones are executed, though she hears the screams anyway.

At night, despite knowing what occurred earlier, she wants Dante to touch her. He does, lips and fingers cool then hot on her body, reminding her what else he is capable of. He is good with his hands, and he is still the man she loves. Dante just a little apologetic that he cannot keep her away from all brutality, but he cannot be apologetic about the decisions he must make. Lili was never under any illusions when she married him—she just cannot help this sympathetic part of herself, even as she understands. Dante knows that, and loves her for it, too. There is a certain sense of gratitude he feels, when she asks to make love even after these situations, that she doesn’t feel disgust or shy away from him instead.

Dante, she whispers against his lips, Dante, I love you.

She is unbearably precious in his hands, flushed and adoring, just as he must look to her.

Lili, he murmurs back, Liliana, as I love you.

She sleeps peacefully in his arms after, nothing but affection between them, their limbs tangled with each other’s.

Dante counts his blessings, and presses her close.

A few years go by, and though everyone knows that Dante Falzone is married, not everyone has met the rumored Liliana Falzone. Though she does attend various functions and oversee some things in Dante’s stead, as a whole she is kept out of the spotlight, for both of their comforts.

Sometimes, however, people get to meet her in unexpected ways.

The new associate from outside the city Dante is meeting today is shocked when Lili arrives with him, looking angelic on his arm. She has an interest in the business he is offering, Dante says, with an indulgent smile at her, and the associate thinks that she looks like an easy target. Both the Falzone boss and his wife still look very young, and he must be an idiot to bring his wife to such a meeting.

And even more of an idiot to leave to take a call, not matter how supposedly urgent it is.

Signora Liliana smiles pleasantly and makes small talk, while the associate answers in a bored, dismissive manner. But after a while he realizes with a start that her questions are growing more pointed, and that she is probing into his boss, and his relation to a string of issues in Burlone that have resulted in the deaths of a handful of Falzone men.

The associate starts sweating, then rises from his seat, intending to bolt—

Only to freeze at the sound of a gun being cocked.

“Please, sit down,” Liliana says, still entirely amiable, “I’m not a very good shot, actually. I’ll mean for the wall and hit right between your eyes if I’m not careful, and I do so hate unnecessary bloodshed.”

The man slowly sits back down, trembling a little. Signora Falzone is not particularly intimidating in the traditional way, but it is that beautiful, gentle smile at odds with the weapon in her hand that is frightening in its own right. It is evident she is not bluffing, and that she knows perfectly well what she is doing.

Dante returns shortly, raising an eyebrow at the scenario before him.

“Is everything alright?” he asks lightly, though his eyes are entirely knowing as Lili puts her gun away.

She smiles beatifically at him.

“Yes, of course,” she says smoothly, gesturing for him to continue the meeting, “Everything is under control.”

Lili sets the bouquet down on the grave, then leans into Dante’s side. He puts an arm around her waist, tugging her a little closer for his own comfort. They stare at the names etched onto the stone for a while.

“Thank you,” Dante says, “For coming with me, every Wednesday.”

Lili puts a hand on his chest and leans up to press a brief kiss to his lips.

“I like to,” she protests, leaning her head against him. “I…would have liked to meet them, your parents.”

“They would have liked you,” Dante assures her, and Lili smiles again. “My mother in particular would have been delighted.”

“Oh?”

“How could she not be?” Dante chuckles, and Lili blushes a little. “And even though my father was not predisposed to show his feelings…he would have been very proud of you, Liliana.”

“Just as he would have been proud of you, Dante,” Lili replies.

They smile at each other, and share a brief kiss before they depart.

They opt for a walk through Falce before they return to the mansion, spending the last hours of the early morning in leisure. Around them, the district is starting to wake up; shopkeepers are coming out to flip their signs or set out their wares, men and women on their way to work or beginning their errands.

“Buongiorno!” they call, as Dante and Lili walk by arm-in-arm.

“Buongiono!” Lili greets back, as Dante nods in acknowledgement.

More and more people greet them as they continue down the streets, some of them making quick conversation with Lili. They do not linger due to Dante’s presence, and it is not that they ignore him either, but it is evident that Liliana is the one who has truly made their acquaintance, and whom they feel at ease with. She does not roam about as often anymore, so while she is not necessarily a rare sight, she is always a welcome one.

As the sun rises higher in the sky, shopkeepers call out to market their wares.

“Signora Falzone! I have freshly baked bread, come have a taste!”

“No, no, come look at my fresh fruits, Signora Falzone!”

“Signora Falzone, how about some flowers for the home?”

Lili demurs all of them with firm but good-natured ease, and Dante watches with amusement.

“Next time, perhaps. We really must get going,” she tells them all laughingly, and Dante inclines his head in polite farewell.

They go on their way, though the friendly calls and greetings continue; Signora Falzone permeates the air like a prayer.

Liliana walks on with her husband, as the streets of Falce hail the name she wears with ease.

#piofiore #piofiore no banshou #piofiore fated memories #dante falzone #liliana adornato #nicola francesca #fanfiction #i expect like two people at most to read this but i had such fun writing this!!!!!#nicola is my top fave but dante is a close second hehe

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phantaloon-books · 3 years ago

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All We Are is Bullets

AFTG songfic, Andreil centric, Andrew POV, inspired by Demolition Lovers by My Chemical Romance

Trigger warnings: violence, graphic descriptions of violence, death, major character death, gunshots, guns, gunshot wounds, injury, angst, hurt no comfort, sad ending, blood, car crash, life on the run. This one’s on the heavy side sorry.

Relationships: Neil Josten/Andrew Minyard

I would drive on to the end with you, a liquor store or two keeps the gas tank full

It had been over 7 months since they last had an encounter with anyone from the Moriyamas or the remaining of the Butcher’s people.

They had grown too comfortable, too soft. Andrew wasn’t even sure how that happened, considering both his and Neil’s upbringing, but it happened anyway. They were reckless and careless, jumping from town to town along the United States, jump starting cars and making gas station stops and robbing liquor stores, and they’d grown to feel safe.

What a ridiculous thing it is, safety. Neither Andrew nor Neil should be able to afford to feel safe.

But they did.

And these are the consequences.

Andrew shakes his head, pressing harder on the gas, willing the stolen sports car to just go faster. One hand on the wheel, the other hand hovering over Neil’s pressed against the bleeding wound on his stomach.

Neil’s breaths are getting rougher, and Andrew tightens his hand on the wheel. Of course Neil notices, and icy blue eyes look up towards haunted hazel.

“It’s fine, it’s fine, don’t worry, I’ve dealt with worse, it’s gonna be fine,” Neil’s words are supposed to be soothing, but his voice is too hoarse for them to work. Andrew snarls.

“Shut the fuck up, Josten, just stay awake, I’ll get us out of here, and we’ll stop soon to patch you up.”

“They’re gonna be on our tails soon, Drew, I don’t-”

He breaks off in a coughing fit, his lungs rattle, and when he pulls his hand away from his mouth, Andrew sees the red that paints his hand. Andrew swears his soul leaves his body.

“I’ll pull over on the next stop-”

“Andrew, we don’t have time to stop right now, you know we don’t, it’s fine, I’ll be fine, if we stop we’re dead.”

Andrew knows that’s true, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t hate it. Instead he holds on to Neil’s hand tighter, and Neil’s expression softens.

“Until the end, forever, remember?”

I will drive until the end with you. I mean this forever.

This isn’t supposed to be their lives. They were supposed to be done after the shitshow that was Neil’s freshman year. The Moriyamas were supposed to leave Neil alone. The FBI was supposed to deal with what was left of the Wesninski circle. They never should have trusted the feds to do their fucking job. Instead what was left of the Wesninski claimed war on the Moriyamas and Hatfords. Ichirou was beyond furious, with both Wesninskis and Hatfords out for blood and revenge. And he blamed it all on Neil.

Andrew would never understand the Moriyama lord’s logic. To blame a mob war on a 19 year old kid, whose only crime was being born to two mob families, one of which was tied to the yakuza.

But they were out for Neil’s blood then. Had nearly killed him outside the Court the first time, he would have been shot in the head if it wasn’t for his incredibly quick instincts. The shot hit his shoulder instead. They didn’t wait for a second time, Andrew just shoved their stuff in a bag, took Neil’s remaining money and together they ran. He only left a letter for Aaron, and he didn’t regret leaving their family behind.

Neil had been upset with Andrew at first.

“You have no idea what you just did, Andrew! You have no idea what it’s like to run for your life every single day, not knowing if you’re gonna live long enough to see the next, you have no idea what you just did!”

“I don’t care about that, Neil.”

“You should! This isn’t a little adventure, this isn’t a road trip, this is fighting to stay alive, and bullets and knives and hiding and lying forever!” his voice broke, and dropped to a whisper, “I never wanted to put you through this.”

“You’re not understanding me here, I’m trying to show you but you don’t understand. You mean too much to me to care about all the things you’re saying, I’d end my days in a hail of bullets to keep you safe, I would drive on to the end with you, I’ll keep running with you to prove to you how much you mean to me.”

Leaving bought them 4 more years.

Until today.

Until the end of everything.

The sun is going down on the highway as Andrew floors it, going too high above the speed limit running from Neil’s demons. But he’d signed up for this, as Neil had so kindly put it. Neil’s hand trembles, growing cold. His blood is slowly pooling on the car seat below him. He fights to hide his grimace, but his face is pulled tightly in pain anyway.

“I’m going to fucking stop, Neil.”

“Goddammit, Andrew! No, we can’t afford to stop, right now!”

I’m trying to let you know how much you mean.

“Andrew, we’re not stopping, I can hang on however long we need to get somewhere safe.”

“Nowhere is safe, Neil, we’ll never stop,” Andrew can’t help the snarl, anger is curling inside his chest and it’s too much, “You’re bleeding out, don’t you understand? We need to stop now.”

“I know this is frustrating for you, Drew, I get it, but we have to wait until we reach somewhere safer-”

“Goddammit, Neil-”

The car is thrown forward at once, and Andrew has to take both of his hands to the wheel to stop the car from veering sideways and crashing. With a curse, he takes a look through the rearview mirror, and he curses once more.

Fuck.

They’d been too busy arguing to notice the black SUVs and trucks on their tails. There’s a lot of them, nondescript, but obviously Moriyama. Andrew’s heart starts to race, as he wills the car to go faster, beyond its own limits. But there’s too many of them. There’s no way they’ll make it out this time.

He glances at Neil, blank mask long forgotten, worry and dread and terror seeping out of him like it never has before. Because Neil is crying softly, despite the serenity of his entire posture. Tears are streaming down his face, eyes closed but body and face relaxed.

The car is nearing 200 mph when Neil opens his eyes, tears flowing freely. The black SUVs are getting impossibly closer, caging them on the sides.

“I’m so sorry, Drew,” Neil’s voice is a shattered whisper, and it breaks Andrew’s already shattering heart, “I never wanted to get you involved in all of this, I never wanted this life for you, I’m so so sorry, I ruined your life.”

“Shut the fuck up, Neil, I chose this, I chose to run with you, I wanted-” the words are stuck in his throat and he can’t get them out. I wanted to spend however much time was left with you. That’s how much you mean to me. That’s how much this means to me. “I meant it then, and I mean it now, Neil Josten, until the end.”

Neil’s eyes are pained, something like grief and sorrow shining through the icy blue. But he still forces himself to smile, as if he can read what Andrew thought, and Andrew knows full well he does.

“We’ll show them all how much we mean.”

The first shot comes from Andrew’s side and he barely manages to dodge the bullet that cuts through the glass like it’s nothing, shattering the window at once. Neil crouches with a cry, and Andrew shoots a glance his way as much as he can as he attempts to keep the car under control. Neil’s right shoulder is bleeding, the window on his side just as shattered as his own. Andrew didn’t even notice the car getting close enough to Neil’s side, or the shot aimed his way. Neil feels his stare, the overwhelming alarm and horror that drowns Andrew from the inside, and turns pained yet calm eyes his way.

“It’s okay, it’s gonna be okay.”

Understanding.

Neil knows he’s not going to make it, they are not going to make it. This is going to be their last run. With a deep breath, Andrew buries all the fear and worry deep down, and stares at Neil with nothing but determination.

“I’m about to get us killed, but when it stops, we run in the other direction and into the city, we hide as best as we can.” The or die trying goes unsaid, but Andrew knows Neil understands, he always does.

“I love you, until the end of everything.”

Andrew stares at Neil, and he wants to say I love you too, you mean everything to me, but instead what comes out is “Hang on, tight,” and he hits the brakes at once.

Despite Andrew’s eidetic memory should make sure that he remembers what happens next, but it’s all a blur, and when he can get to consciousness and focus his eyes, it’s to Neil half carrying him as he limps his way down the highway, looking frantically behind him. A quick glance behind them and Andrew sees the wreck he left behind; cars pile one on top of the other, some are on fire, including the one they were driving, and they set each other aflame, like pouring fuel on scarecrows. Moriyama men are dragging themselves out of the cars, and trying to find a way out of the wreck. Andrew can’t help the smile. He didn’t think they’d make it after braking a car going 200 mph, but he somehow manages to make his legs listen to him, as his ears echo.

Neil notices when he feels Andrew take back some of his own weight, turns a bloodied and dirty face at him, and smiles back brightly. Neither of them have much hope of making it to the other side of the road and finding a place to hide, but in that one second, they begin to run hand in hand, and things are okay, despite Neil’s bleeding wounds, and Andrew’s aching head.

They both know it won’t last long, so Andrew pulls Neil for a kiss, as long as he dares to, it’s merely a brush of their lips, but it’s everything that matters.

They’re about to reach the other lane when the first shot rings through the air, but Neil’s always bright instincts pull them both out of the way. They would be helpful if there were two or three men, but Andrew risks a glance back. There are dozens of men regaining their composure, readying their weapons, and before he knows what’s happening, both Neil and him are hitting the ground hard.

Neil just pushed him.

And then the bullets come, lead rain passing through phantoms.

He’s too disoriented at first, but then burning pain lights his body, like nothing he has ever felt before. He gasps, but he pushes through the pain, and forces himself to look around. He doesn’t have to look far, he finds what he needs next to him.

“Neil! Neil!” His voice seems far, far away, but Neil is looking up at the blue, blue sky, breath coming in insignificant little huffs, more like sighs than breaths. Blood is pooling underneath them. “Neil, look at me, stay with me.”

Moving hurts, burns, but he makes himself push through it harder, until he’s somehow leaning on his side, with a clear view of Neil. Neil who’s bleeding too much. Neil who has too many bullet holes on his body. Neil who just pushed him to the side to protect him. Neil who is bleeding out. Neil who despite everything turns his head so he’s facing Andrew, even if his eyes are still looking up.

Andrew’s own eyes are blurring with unshed tears, and he blindly reaches forward to grab Neil’s hand lying limply by his side.

He feels like he’s falling.

Neil’s lips are turning red, and he’s coughing, choking, trying to force out words that can’t come out. He gasps and moans in agony, and Andrew’s own chest hurts, not just from the bullets he couldn’t escape. This is it, a pool of blood, falling and touching hands.

“Neil, look at me, look at me, it’s gonna be alright, we’re gonna be alright.”

Andrew’s own voice is cracking. He doesn’t understand how Neil remains awake, but his stubborn idiot rabbit is still breathing. With another strained whine and a choked sob, their eyes meet at last. Icy blue and deep hazel, one last time.

And Andrew is falling, falling, falling.

He squeezes Neil’s hand as tightly as he can, and chokes out a whisper despite the metallic taste flooding his mouth, “It’s okay, we’ll be okay, just let go, it’s okay.”

He feels the thuds of footsteps approaching, but black is already creeping at the edges of his vision, his eyelids are growing heavy, and Neil’s own breaths are coming slower.

Neil closes his eyes, and Andrew closes his as Neil’s shredded chest stops moving.

I’ll meet your eyes, I mean this, forever.

lol sorry

read on ao3

#all for the game #aftg fanfic #aftg #andreil #andrew minyard #neil josten #tfc fanfic #tfc #tkm #trk #the foxhole court #the raven king #the kings men #this was dark lmao #ngl i made myself cry for a bit there #demolition lovers

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thedetectivessay · 3 years ago

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"Case 002: Family Affairs"

A Busted fanfic

010.

Undisclosed Alley

Gangnam, South Korea

It’s a miracle to Kwang-soo that he and Jong-min are still alive. Both of them seem to have stopped breathing nearly an hour ago after the goons in suits appeared up the street. Jae-wook has told them that their very lives now depended on them being very quiet and very unseen, and terrified out of their wits (and the very, veryreal guns sticking out of the men’s holsters) they have withheld even a necessary thing such as air from themselves.

“Hyung,” Jong-min says so quietly as he continues to sink into the front passenger seat. “Are – are you sure they can’t see us?”

“Windows are heavily tinted, and we’re nearly fourand a half blocks away from them,” Jae-wook says coolly, eyes straight ahead to their marks. Though discreet, Kwang-soo thinks he’s still a little too loud. He won’t be the one to say that to him, though. “As long as we stay put and not draw attention, I doubt they’d know about us.”

Jong-min only swallows – a reaction Kwang-soo fully understands.

“Hyung, how long do you think it’ll take Poet to get here?” Kwang-soo asks.

That begets a cutting glare from the former police officer. “How many times will you ask me?” Jae-wook says. “I told you both earlier that this will be a stakeout. That means we could be here the whole night. Instead of asking me questions, why don’t you look at the street behind us to see if there are any cars approaching?”

Jong-min gives him a sympathetic glance once Jae-wook peers into a binocular. The two of them got stuck with this assignment because Jae-wook decided earlier that they were going to come with him. They’ve been dreading it since – and so far it looks like they were correct to feel that way towards it.

Once Jong-min turns back around, Kwang-soo does as he’s told. He looks through the streets behind them for any signs of life. Quickly, he concludes that it’s a drearier, less exciting version of their view blocks ahead. The street lights cast a melancholic glow on a forgotten piece of Gangnam. The backdrop of a dark and nearly starless sky depreciates the already dismal scenery even more.

Eventually, he tires of the chore and pulls out his phone. He’s tempted to text Min-young, to tell her how everything is driving him crazy. However, he realizes that it won’t be fair to involve her in this. She already did her share of the dangerous and the tedious that morning. No need to drag her back in.

“He’s here.”

It’s nearly half an hour later when Jae-wook says that. Sitting up, Kwang-soo sees that as their group stirs to life, Poet’s friends are also awakened. He leans forward, careful not to bump into the touchy former agent.

It’s then he notices Jong-min asleep.

As a token of appreciation for his sympathy, he taps him awake before Jae-wook can notice.

“Poet’s got a couple of his men with him, but they’re outnumbered by whoever he’s meeting with,” Jae-wook reports as he tunes in with his binoculars. He smirks. “Whoever they are, they’re not happy that it took him a long time to get here.”

“Do you know what they’re saying, hyung?” Jong-min asks.

“How could I know? It’s not like we bugged the alley.”

“Bug?”

Jae-wook says nothing.

“A listening device, hyung,” Kwang-soo tells Jong-min. “Like the one that cops use.”

“Ah,” Jong-min nods. “But, Detective Ahn, if we can’t get near them, how is this going to help our search of Lee Soon-jae?”

“Because he might appear in one of the places Poet goes,” Jae-wook answers. “If he knows where he might be, he will eventually lead us to him.”

“But he told us he doesn’t know who he is.”

That time, Jong-min gets the glare. “He’s a criminal. You believe him?” Kwang-soo looks at Jong-min sympathetically. It’s been nearly three days since the six of them reunited. Yet, even with that much time, none of them really know what had made Jae-wook so sour and bossy. The latter, they guess he has the right over since he’s the oldest, but why did he always have to be so mean?

“Some of the guys in suits had just been sent out to check cars. Poet must have told them he’s been arrested last night,” Jae-wook informs the two. “We’re far away enough that they probably won’t even get here. But in case they did, get ready to cover up.”

True to his words, they watch as two pairs are directed – one towards the left and one towards their direction. A couple of others spread out in alleys to search just in case.

Like they did in the beginning, Kwang-soo holds his breath. He had only seen guns up close twice in his life (at least to memory): one with Yeon-seok and the other with their military client. He knows what usually happens when they appear. If he has to suffocate just to avoid the same outcome that M and the music producer had, he will endure it.

“The leader of the gang’s nagging at Poet,” Jae-wook reports. “Drug dealers usually get paranoid when one of their distributors gets caught. There’s always a good chance they got flipped into an informant.”

“They’re not going to kill him, right?” Jong-min asks.

Jae-wook shakes his head. “I don’t know. Probably not. A hoobae told me that Poet’s one of the top dealers out there. They’ve been trying to catch him for nearly two years now. The tip that they received last night was the break the drug task force needed to finally arrest him.”

Kwang-soo knows Jong-min is also thinking about their theory regarding Jae-wook. “Tip?” he tests.

“Yeah. Someone told them that Poet is at Club Neon.”

Jae-wook’s apathy doesn’t improve their suspicion any. Of course he would not acknowledge the slip he made. Admitting to that impulsive move would mean telling the group he’s unfit to lead, and if there’s one thing that hasn’t changed with Jae-wook, it’s that he knows what his age and status should afford.

“Why was he released?” Jong-min asks instead. “They have all the proof they needed to prove he’s guilty.”

Jae-wook shrugs. “I don’t know. Maybe he did become an informant.”

“Overnight?”

“You’d be surprised. Sometimes even some of the most loyal of these criminals cave in when you offer them a cozy prison sentence.” Then, a moment later he mutters, “Sometimes even a seemingly good guy can become an adversary, too – if they’re dumb enough.”

They jump when someone taps loudly on Jong-min’s window. Looking up, they see it’s a man wearing a suit.

He’s using a gun to tap on the window. “Hey. Open up,” the man demands.

“Hyung,” Jong-min says, barely breathing as he leans away from the shadow. “What do we do?”

“Yah, did you not hear me?” The man taps on the glass with the barrel of the weapon. “Open this!”

Jae-wook takes a deep breath. He slips the binoculars under his seat. “What else?” he says as the man threatens to shoot them. “We roll the window down.” The window hums as it lowers, revealing what must be faces drained of any color.

“You a cop?” the man asks.

“Aniyo.” Jae-wook leans over, his facial expression surprisingly serene and friendly. “We just pulled in; we live at the house right there. My wife asked me to run to the store and get something, but they’re closed. We’re just getting back home.”

The man observes the two closely for an extremely long and uncomfortable moment. Then, he chuckles. “You’re lying.” He tilts his head. “Get out of the car.”

“I’m sorry?”

“Either your lives end where you sit, or you get a fighting chance. You two – ” he gestures at them with the mouth of the gun, “get out of the car.”

Kwang-soo only realizes then how far he’s leaning back into his seat. He watches as Jae-wook and Jong-min step out in dread. His heart is beating so fast and so loudly that he thinks that it booms like festival percussions through the whole street.

He thinks about calling 112, to call for cops, but he’s frozen. If he moves, the men outside might realize that a third person is inside, and all their chances of survival would be gone.

But if he doesn’t move and his hyungs die on his watch...

He shouldn’t have left the Philippines. It was lonely and hot and friendless, but at least he’s safe. He’s safe, and Jae-wook and Jong-min are safe.

The commotion has called the attention of the party ahead. Not even a minute after, Jae-wook and Jong-min are surrounded by Poet’s men and the gang. “Hyungnim,” the man reports, “I think these two have been watching us.”

“Must be cops,” the leader of the gang says. He turns to Poet and chides, “So I was right: you did turn against us.”

“No, hyungnim! No! Please believe me,” Poet begs desperately. “I – I don’t know these men. I have never seen them!”

“You haven’t seen them.”

“No.”

The leader ponders about it a moment. Then, he turns to one of Poet’s men. “You tell me the truth, I don’t shoot you.” He nods at Jae-wook and Jong-min. “Have you guys really not seen them before?”

Poet’s people exchange glances. They know what will happen if they say anything contrary to what Poet has said: their boss dies, but they would be hunted down by the rest of their crew.

Still, despite knowing this, one of his men cautions another glance at the men in question. His eyes lock on Jong-min a while, and then he points at him. “Hyung,” he tells his boss quietly. “This man. He was there last night.”

Poet looks up at Jong-min, and this time recognition comes to his face. “The new buyer with the pretty girlfriend,” he mutters. He steps closer to Jong-min. “What are you doing here?”

“Uh...”

“Were you a cop all this time?”

“No.”

Poet scoffs. “I knew it. You were asking some weird questions last night.”

“So you have seen him before?” the leader of the gang asks.

The fear returns to Poet. “Yes,” he says, “but he was there as a buyer. I didn’t know he was a cop.”

“We’re not cops,” Jae-wook says.

The leader of the gang sighs. He nods to his men. “Look around, make sure no one else is with them,” he instructs. Once a couple leave, he looks at Poet. “You spineless weasel. I knew one day you’d do this.”

“No, hyungnim,” Poet begs. “Please – ”

“You know the boss doesn’t tolerate traitors in his business.” He clicks his tongue, as if only upset by an annoying but relatively insignificant loss. He draws out his gun from his holster. “Sadly, I still have use of you yet. You said this man has a girlfriend. If you take care of her for me by tomorrow afternoon, I’ll give you a running head start of three hours. If you don’t, you’ll be the third person they’d read in the papers tomorrow.”

“T-third?”

The leader hands him the gun. He nods at Jae-wook and Jong-min. “Make it nice and clean,” he says as he steps back.

Poet hesitates a moment. He looks at the gun a while, and for a second it seems that he will refuse.

But then, the same predatory glint Kwangsoo’s seen in killers’ eyes before flashes brightly in Poet’s eyes. He raises the gun towards Jong-min.

Kwang-soo’s head spins. Min-young tomorrow, Jae-wook and Jong-min tonight. If he gets out, he can still warn Min-young and tell her to leave Korea as soon as possible. Yeon-seok can take her to safety.

But his hyungs – there’s nothing he can do for them. He will witness their murders, and there’s absolutely nothing he can do.

When his head bows a little, closing his eyes in extreme regret, one of the leader’s goons notices him. “Jamkamanyo,” he says, halting everything. He narrows his eyes. When Kwang-soo lifts his head and eyes up, he finds the man staring straight at him. “There’s another man in the car.”

All the spinning stops, and so does every motion within him. He watches in helpless dread as Jae-wook and Jong-min, who he now just noticed was blocking everyone’s view of his window, are pulled away to give the leader a good look of the silhouette in the car.

The leader frowns at him. Then, a long moment later, he chuckles. “Fourth,” he corrects himself, amused.

“Get out of the car,” one of his men instructs Kwang-soo. Kwang-soo flinches when the man pounds his fist against the window. “Now!”

The leader holds up a hand to the man. “Maybe he’d rather be found later at the bottom of the river. We can make that happen.” He hisses as he pretends to think. “That might take decades, though. They don’t really find anyone unless they know specifically where to look.”

Kwang-soo forces himself to take a deep breath. He’s shaking terribly, and his knees don’t feel like they’re functional anymore. But he has to get out. He can’t just let his colleagues – his only family – die because of him.

If they’re to die tonight, at least they should die together.

With another breath, he pulls on the door handle and, as composedly as he can manage, he steps out.

The night is colder outside the car, but the hostility from Poet, his men, and the others burn hot against him. He looks at Jae-wook and Jong-min, and in their eyes, above all other emotions, he sees the realization that this is it for them.

Which is why he fails to notice the look of surprise in the gang leader’s face. The leader bows to him. “Hyungnim!” he greets. “I’m sorry, hyungnim. I didn’t know it was you!”

Like the rest of the others, Kwang-soo stares on, confused. He thinks for a moment that it’s just a cruel joke. The leader would rise and kill them himself.

However, all the leader does is stand back up and smile at him as if to curry favor. He then notices that the others with him aren’t moving. With a glare, he tells them, “Do you all want to die? Show our hyungnim some respect! Greet him!”

With this command, the other men bow. Even Poet, who looks suspicious and resentful, does the same.

The leader approaches Kwang-soo’s side, suddenly docile and friendly. “You don’t remember me, hyungnim? It’s Chan-seok. We’ve had drinks a couple of times before,” he says. When Kwang-soo only stares at him blankly, he chuckles awkwardly. “Of course it’s been years. What brought you by? Are you checking to see if we’re handling the business well?”

Kwang-soo blinks. He looks around. All the scorching fire from earlier has turned into a warming flame.

He looks at Jae-wook and Jong-min. All he sees now is confusion. What case did we just actually agree to work? he wonders as he thinks of the two strangers who claim to know him and this shocking immunity to death that he finds wherever he goes.

#Fanwork Friday #Lee Kwang Soo #Ahn Jae Wook #Kim Jong Min #Ko Chang Seok #Case 002: Family Affairs #Busted Netflix

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masked-buffoon · 4 years ago

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Chapter 10: Truth and illusions (Part 1)

Warnings: none

Author notes: I’m glad to finally be back with a new chapter for you! I hope you’ll like it!

As promised, Ranpo-san had gone to meet with the director of the Armed Detective Agency and had disappeared behind a discreet door of the office. Kunikida looked bothered, but he did not add anything and went back to work on his schedule. Sometimes, as I waited for the detective to come back, I could hear him mumble and grunt about the members' irresponsibility and how untrustworthy I was at the moment. I had tricked him and used him to go back to the Agency, but did it make me a wicked person? Perhaps, actually. I realised the greatest problem I would encounter with my new life would be completing missions and doing my job without using underground techniques and skills I had acquired throughout the years. No torture, whether psychological or physical, no warning, no threat, and no killing. I was used to such methods, and I knew none other which worked so well. I wondered how Dazai dealt with that matter... On the other hand, the man was a born strategist; within the monstrous number of plans he could put in place to solve a problem, one of them could avoid the use of crimes, could it not? I decided to question him about this matter when we both would be alone. For the moment, I had to focus on being accepted in the Armed Detective Agency.

"Ogawa, could you come in a moment, please?" Ranpo-san's characteristic voice echoed in the room.

I reached him in what I assumed was the director's office. The place was a bit darker, but the atmosphere was as comfortable, perhaps even a tad more serene. This was most certainly due to the diverse traditional trinkets and decorations set around the room, rather harmoniously. The director, himself, gave off the feeling of a charismatic person, very righteous but also kind. He had nothing in common with Mori-san, whose eyes shone with evilness. I felt genuine respect for this man sitting in front of me.

"So..." His voice sounded deep and confident "You are here because you want to join our Armed Detective Agency?"

His question felt more like a statement to me, but I nodded anyway.

"It is rare for Ranpo to take interest in someone. What did you do to catch his eyes?" He questioned.

I could not admit we had barely run past each other on a bridge while I was following a man who was going to die... Could I...?

"I..." I hesitated before remembering why I was there in the first place "I think it has something to do with the reason of my presence here —"

"She threw herself out of a window, from the third floor of a building, for the sole sake of being cured by Yosano-sensei and stepping there again." He answered for me "That alone shows how determined she is, doesn't it?"

"Again...?" He raised an eyebrow.

"Several weeks ago, I was deadly wounded during a fight... And Dazai brought me there." I explained.

"I see. I have to admit, it was a bold move from you."

"I was scolded by Yosano-sensei for that..." I rubbed the back of my head "She told me to respect my life some more..."

"And, Ogawa Yōko, how would someone who doesn't care about her life protect those of the citizens of Yokohama?" He questioned me, rather curtly.

I was taken aback. Astonished. And stayed mute, stupidly trying to come up with some kind of answer. His question was not malicious, but it raised important issues. Indeed, how would I...? Was I truly able to protect people's lives, I who had always worked to steal them...? I clenched my fists, lowering my head to hide my eyes with my bangs, just so none of the men would be able to witness the gathering of tears in them. Was I even suited for this place...?

"I... I've always been told that my existence was worthless..." I confessed after a moment of awkward silence "My father repeated, every day, that it would have been better if I had never been born, that I wouldn't be a burden for him if I had never existed... With time, I... Ended up believing his words. There was no one to tell me otherwise, anyway, and when I ended up in the slums, I became all the more aware that my life was so meaningless in this ruthless world we live in... So I... I suppose I do not value my existence as I should value a human's. To be honest, I do not think the slightest that I can protect lives. I've failed countless times trying to save people I cared about... How would I preserve those of strangers...? However, at the very least, I am willing not to go back to the darkness I come from, and I want to try. I want to try growing and living under the sunlight. Will you... Will you give me a single chance...? Even if it is to prove to me I cannot do it, will you just allow me one chance...?"

The director's eyes had widened progressively as I was talking. Ranpo-san had crossed his arms and leaned his back onto the chair, perhaps thinking about whether recommending me was a good idea or not, and I regretted every word I had said. If I wanted to be taken... If I truly wanted to be employed, I would have tried and praised the little qualities I had, instead of mentioning all of my worst flaws. Did I even have any qualities…?

"Ogawa..." The older man sighed after a moment.

My heart raced in my chest. He would reject me... He would order me to leave and stay away from this place. He would toss me away. Disposable pawn... Would Mori-san's words follow me anywhere I went...? I winced, holding my head a moment. My headache, due to my anxiousness, was giving me a hard time and I had troubles focusing on something else than the various thoughts fighting around my mind for attention.

"I believe every human life holds its value." He spoke suddenly, drawing my attention to him "Yours is not different, none can make you believe it is worthless from now on. None will ever tell you that anymore if you are willing to give our Agency a try. I want to give you the chance you asked for, now it is your turn to prove me right, to prove yourself wrong and to live on. Do you think you can strive to become the person you aim to be?"

"I can. I will." I declared, serious "I will make good use of this chance given to me, Director... However, I would like to be fired if anything I do compromises the Agency or the detectives..."

"Not everything we do is according to the law." He smiled slightly "Although we try to make everything legal, there are things we do and that the government allows only due to certain circumstances. It can't be helped, but you will, indeed, be notified if anything you do seems wrong to us. I believe Kunikida-kun will tell you each time..."

"Then, thank you for your trust, Director... I will not disappoint you."

"I am not afraid that you disappoint me." He said mysteriously "You haven't been registered as a detective yet; until then, try not to cause too much trouble. Or we won't be able to help you."

His words seemed to hold a deep meaning, yet I could not understand what he was trying to imply. Trouble? Solving crimes related to abilities did not seem to involve much trouble, did it? I simply nodded, thanked him again and exited the room with Ranpo-san, who had not departed from his grin throughout the entire conversation. Once the door was closed behind us, I felt the urge to bow in front of him.

"Thank you very much, Ranpo-san, for recommending me. If not for you, I... I would not have been able to be accepted to this place."

"Don't thank me too quickly~" He chuckled "You may regret it, who knows~ Anyway, I believe Kunikida-kun already looked for a proper first job for you."

He too, seemed to make some understatement my mind could not decipher. I thought it was better not to pay too much attention to it for the moment so I could focus on solving my first case in the Armed Detective Agency.

"Obviously." The blond man sighed, handing me a printed order "You are to play the bodyguard. Is that too complicated a first mission?"

"Not at all..." I blinked, taken aback, and grabbed the sheet to read the demand "I did not expect this, that's all..."

"It's true that you've helped us with the murder case of the hostel~" Dazai noted "But although we are 'detectives', we have other occupations than investigating mysteries~"

"That's my part~" Ranpo-san added "I was too busy last time, that's all~"

"I see..." I smiled "I'll be off, then."

As I took my coat, I felt something was wrong. And I turned toward Kunikida.

"Have you... Have you taken my guns...?" I awkwardly asked him.

"Obviously...!" He groaned "In case you would be dangerous...! I could not let you shoot at everyone once you were awake...!"

"That is... Logical." I agreed "However, could I have them back...?"

"You most likely won't need them today, though?" He raised an eyebrow.

"I... I'm not used..." I embarrassingly rubbed the back of my head "I'm not used not to wearing my holsters... I even slept with them, sometimes..."

"Do you realise you could have killed yourself...?" He groaned "Fine, you'll have them back, but I won't allow you more than a magazine for each one."

"It will be more than enough." I assured with a smile as he gave them back to me.

Once the guns were in place, I could wear my coat and place the order in the inner pocket to prove my identity.

"You'll need someone to escort you." Dazai told me "For you aren't a detective yet~ I can —"

"You can't!" Kunikida argued "You are both acquaintances, who knows what you can do together? And I can't go either, for there is too much work..."

"Meh..." He seemed disappointed "My ultimate attempt to ditch work~"

"You'll have plenty of other opportunities~" I reassured him "But it is bothering me that I can't go alone..."

"The problem doesn't lay in your skills; it is more than likely that you could succeed alone. Playing bodyguard isn't something you're unused to, after all... No, the problem is, we have to keep an eye on our new trainee and prove your identity." Dazai explained "But except for Kunikida-kun, who could go...?"

"I am not suited for the task~" The detective declined, laying on his desk.

"You've already done so much for me..." I said.

"Then, I'll go."

I turned toward Yosano-sensei, who had removed her white coat and readjusted her clothes while we were busy discussing the mission.

"Is it not a problem...?" I frowned "You are the doctor, if —"

"It is unlikely that anyone will get hurt till tonight." She brushed my concern off with the back of her hand "I'll be in charge of you, and if I see you putting your life on the line again, I'll have the pleasure to punish you~"

"That... Won't happen... I hope..." I looked away before smiling at Dazai "I'll see you later..."

"See you later~" He grinned "Come back safe so we can go somewhere to drink~"

"If you are willing to do so, I can't refuse~" I chuckled, exiting the Agency with Yosano-sensei.

#bsd #bsd oc #bsd fanfic #bsd dazai #bsd imagines #bungo stray dogs #bungou stray dogs #bungou stray dogs oc #dazai osamu #bsd kunikida #kunikida doppo #bsd ranpo #edogawa ranpo #bsd yosano #yosano akiko

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theres-no-protocol-for-this · 4 years ago

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Corporate Rescue

Where the rescue turns out to be supervisor material. Also on AO3 for those wishing not to hunt through my tags.

Kris stumbled through the airlock with SecUnit only a few meters behind and holding a body in an EVAC suit in its arms. While my co-pilot struggled to get his bearings and remove the heavy spacesuit, the construct briskly escaped its own and began cutting the person they rescued out of a pristine, clearly new EVAC suit.

Never mind the new hole in the construct’s shoulder.

I ran over to meet them with a smart first-aid kit and knelt beside the unconscious newcomer. She looked fair and slender, a supermodel with pristine skin and beautifully painted nails. Her eyes were closed, and I could see the slow and steady rise and fall of her chest.

Not dead, then. I let go of a breath I didn’t remember holding.

While the medkit began running basic diagnostics and attempted to wake the woman, SecUnit stepped over to Kris and assisted him with the spacesuit. My XO pulled away from the construct the moment he was able and came to stand beside me.

He stared critically down at the corporate and groaned. “Be careful with her, Cass. These people are snakes.”

I opened my mouth to ask who ‘these people’ were when the woman revived with help from the kit’s automated systems. Dark, narrow eyes regarded first me and then Kris, their gaze dozed and unfocused. It took another minute for the woman to consciously recognize what she was looking at.

“Hello,” I said when the stranger looked at me again and offered a welcoming smile. “My name’s Cass, and you’re aboard my ship, Serenity. We rescued you from the wreckage of a ship. How’re you feeling? Does anything hurt?”

“Shit,” the stranger hissed and sat up, her movements suddenly frantic.

“It’s all right. You’re safe,” I tried to explain. “We won’t hurt you.”

Kris whispered in my ear, “That’s not how rescue operations work in the Rim.”

Meanwhile, the woman’s eyes zeroed in on me. “You have no fucking clue what you’re talking about.” Faster than I thought possible, she pulled a small gun out of her belt and aimed it at me. “I’m commandeering this ship. Take me back to the station immediately.”

I stared at the business end of a gun and froze. While fear and horror chased each other in my mind, SecUnit moved with inhuman speed and yanked the weapon out of the corporate’s hand before she had a chance to react. A moment later, it took a defensive position behind me and leveled the gun at the newcomer.

Our guest gasped when she saw the CombatUnit and appeared to recognize it. Her posture relaxed slightly, as though she felt better now that she knew the Combat SecUnit existed. Kris tensed beside me.

“Combat SecUnit J1471E, stand down and return the weapon to me,” she ordered in a voice tinged with authority. This was a human used to barking orders and receiving immediate obedience.

The construct’s gaze never shifted from its target, but through our shared connection, I could feel its uncertainty and frustration. It was silently asking me for guidance and permission. Did I want it to obey the human and stand down? I was SecUnit’s handler at the moment, and it was relying on me to interpret the situation.

It wasn’t unlike what I had to do for Serenity occasionally.

Silently, I reassured the construct. Out loud, I said, “SecUnit, you do not need to stand down, but please try not to hurt anyone.”

J1471E nodded once and lowered its weapon after flipping the safety back on. Understood. To the newcomer, it added, Unit is unable to comply.

Its internal feed voice sounded no different than usual; it was the same neutral tone I was starting to familiarize myself with. But I could’ve sworn that it had wanted to say those words to this particular individual for a long time.

“CombatUnit, I am your primary handler. Your obedience is not optional. If you fail to comply in a timely fashion, I will activate your governor, and you know what that’s like.” The threat in the corporate’s voice was unmistakable.

SecUnit didn’t move, didn’t even blink. It had more self-control than I did at that moment. “I don’t know who you are,” I said, voice steely with anger, “but this is my ship and SecUnit is a guest here. Please stop trying to order it around.”

“J1471E, why are you not responding?” the woman asked, ignoring me completely.

“Leave Jae alone,” I told her, shortening the construct’s designation to a more human-sounding name. I couldn’t bring myself to call the SecUnit by its serial number. “It doesn’t have to answer you if it doesn’t want to.”

Now I had her undivided attention. “And what do you know about constructs, little girl?”

“More than enough,” I grumbled and stood up. I felt qualified to be a little pissed at the woman's tone of voice. Having spent hours and a migraine rooting around in my own augments, I knew a little something about how CombatUnits worked.

I glanced at the SecUnit and saw it mouthing the word ‘Jae’ several times even as its attention remained on the corporate. Kris reached over, took the gun from SecUnit’s hands, and shoved it into his belt.

“Let’s not share anything that’s not absolutely necessary with the unknown stranger we’ve just rescued,” my XO suggested in a reasonable tone of voice. He nodded toward the woman. “Tell us your name.”

“Tatiana,” the woman ground out.

“Good, now get up.” Kris’s smile was wicked. “I assume you’re well acquainted with the capabilities of a CombatUnit. Yes? Keep those in mind when contemplating your next course of action.”

“Kris,” I hissed. I didn’t want anyone threatening anyone else today.

My co-pilot turned to me and shook his head. “Not now, Cass.” Meanwhile, the woman got up slowly and put her hands up in a gesture of surrender.

“Great. Come with me,” Kris said and gestured carelessly with his gun for Tatiana to walk ahead of him down the corridor.

I looked at SecUnit instead of following Kris and put a reassuring hand on its arm. “Are you all right?”

Performance rating at 63% and dropping. The construct visibly winced. Unit will recover shortly.

I wanted to reach out and give the SecUnit a hug but didn’t know if it would appreciate the gesture. Instead, I said, “Do you like Jae? As a name, I mean. I’m sorry I called you that. I just… your serial number sounded too clinical.”

Jae is acceptable.

“Good. OK. Let’s get you to medical to look at that shoulder.” It wasn’t bleeding, but even through the construct’s skinsuit, I could easily see the injury. “Serenity has assigned you a cabin, if you’d rather go there.”

This unit would like to check the ship’s security posture, if permission is granted.

“You may do whatever you feel is necessary, Jae, as long as you eventually visit medical. Is that all right?”

The SecUnit’s mouth turned up in the barest hint of a smile. Affirmative.

SecUnit departed, and I went to help Kris deal with our corporate guest.

#murderbot #combat secunit #adoption #fanfiction #ao3

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phillipsgraves · 4 years ago

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@jmcolt asked for corpos + a lingering kiss before a long trip apart and uhh whew. pre-outer worlds, not beta-read bc i'm surprised i even finished this

ship: venus/rockwell

wc: 2161

warnings: none

2344.

Venus was done.

She was tired. Tired of living in Byzantium. Tired of having the same argument with her parents, over and over again. Tired of never living up to the expectations they had set up for her. Who were they to dictate what she did with her life, anyhow? Last she checked, that decision fell to her, and her alone.

Well, tonight, she's made her choice.

From here on out, there would be no more of this. No more flying around in a gilded cage wondering if this was all life was cut out to be. Venus knows it's not. Byzantium was small compared to the rest of Halcyon-- how could her parents be certain she had all she could ever want here, when she sees so much more in the stars?

No, enough was enough. And so, a plan clear in her mind, Venus sneaks out. She walks as fast as her feet could take her, carrying nothing but a few sets of clothes that would last a little wear and tear out in the colony, and a generous amount of bits that she may or may not have swiped from her parents. They were filthy rich, anyway-- whatever money she took was most likely just pocket change to them. She'd head straight down to the freight docks and hop on the first ship that leaves this city behind.

Venus isn't sure where she wants to go yet-- maybe mercenary work on the Groundbreaker? She's decent with a gun, and an even better negotiator. Whatever helps her scrounge up enough bits to maybe get a ship of her own and go where her heart desires.

It's an ambitious goal, she admits, but baby steps. First, she'll get out of Byzantium, and the rest should all fall into place. And getting out was easy when you knew the right people.

Although, carrying a fair amount of bits wouldn't hurt her chances, either.

Venus is halfway across the estates when she hears it. It's faint, barely audible, but it was definitely there. Someone's footsteps. Immediately, she knew it wasn't either of her parents. Chances were, they'd only find out she was missing after she was already long gone.

No, only one other person knew of her plans to leave-- because he'd been the only person she trusted not to tell anyone. Of course, Venus hadn't thought of the odds of him trying to stop her, instead. It still doesn't change a thing, however, and she doesn't stop walking.

"Don't try and change my mind, James," Venus says, and she keeps her eyes ahead. "It won't work. I've made my decision, and I'm leaving Byzantium."

Before she knows it, the man in question is standing right in front of her, hands braced against her shoulders to steady her.

"I know," Rockwell says, and he's grinning at her as if he had merely caught her taking a stroll around the city and not just about to make the biggest decision of her life. "I'm not here to stop you. I wanted to walk with you."

Venus looks unimpressed. "Really?"

Rockwell snorts, offering his hand. "C'mon, V. You really think I'd let you go that easy without even saying goodbye? If your parents ask, I'll tell them I haven't seen you."

Venus rolls her eyes, but she nonetheless grabs onto his hand, letting Rockwell pull her to his side. "Please. Chances are, you'll be clinging to my leg, begging me not to go."

Rockwell laughs, but the humor's not all there, as if she had guessed correctly. "Close enough," he says, swinging their hands. How juvenile, he notes. Like teenagers fooling around. "I was actually going to ask you to let me come with you. I can be pretty handy with a gun, you know."

She'll say no. She always had. They'd been through this countless times-- the Board would never stop hunting them when they learn the Chairman's son was missing. He was needed here, and here was where he'd stay.

Rockwell holds back a scoff. Like Byzantium's ever done him any favors.

Just as he surmised, Venus shakes her head. "You know you can't," she says, laughing when she notices the sour look on his face. "And judging by your expression, I think you already know why." She reaches up, gently patting his cheek. "Chin up, James. I'll be sure to send you a postcard if you end up missing me too much."

"You know it's not the same," Rockwell tells her, squeezing her hand. He opens his mouth, but the words don't leave him. He shakes his head and laughs again. "Nevermind, it's rather silly, don't you think?" He continues when Venus raises an eyebrow in question. "I mean... what are we, V?"

Venus hums, as if she wasn't entirely sure herself. She looks up at the night sky, then at him. She looks... serene, all things considered. "Well, anything you want us to be, James."

"Do you love me, Venus?"

Venus looks surprised, but she ultimately nods, squeezing his hand in return. "I do. I honestly do." She doesn't know she's crying until Rockwell's reaching over to wipe her face. She lets out a watery laugh. "Now, look what you did. You're making a big deal out of all of this."

"Me? All I did was ask a question," Rockwell teases, gently caressing her cheek. "You ever think you'll come back?" To me, he mentally tacks on, but he doesn't say it. He clears his throat. "To Byzantium, I mean."

"Do I need a reason to?"

Rockwell actually does scoff this time. Infuriating to the end, she was, and he doesn't think he wants that to change. "What, I'm not reason enough?"

Venus hums. "Maybe," she replies, looking down at their hands. "Why, you'll promise me you'll take me away from all of this?"

"You're doing all that on your own," Rockwell points out. "No, I just want you." He pulls her closer by the waist. "Make life in Byzantium a little more tolerable."

"Ah, yes, the future Chairman of the Board has come to rescue me." Venus snorts. "And you said you weren't going to try and convince me to stay."

He wants to. By the Architect, he wants to. But Venus would never agree to it, and the last thing Rockwell would ever want was to tie her down. In all the years he's known Venus, he's since learned that she's always been a free spirit, never to be confined in one place. To one person, maybe? But never one place.

He shakes his head. "I wasn't. I'm just saying that if you ever decide to come back..." He grins at her again. "You know where to find me."

"Goodness," Venus remarks, wiping a stray tear from her eye. "You really are going to miss me, aren't you?"

"Isn't it obvious?"

"Maybe I'll come back," Venus replies, and before she knows it, they've arrived at the elevator to the freighter docks. She almost doesn't want to step in, but she does so before she has a chance to change her mind. Rockwell enters after her, holding his hands up when she gives him another look.

"I'm just going to walk you to whatever ship you decide to stowaway on."

Venus shakes her head. "Sure," she says, and to both their surprises, she finds herself nestling in between his arms. "If I ever come back, I'd like you to know that it'd be for you."

Rockwell hums, resting a hand against the small of her back. "Nice to know you think so highly of me, V."

Venus laughs, smacking his chest. "I'm being serious. Would you wait for me?" She looks up at him, then, expression expectant.

"I'll wait," Rockwell replies, and there's something unreadable in his expression that Venus can't quite place. It looked like remorse-- or perhaps a longing for something they never quite had. "For as long as you want. Halcyon could collapse for all I care, but I'll be here waiting."

Venus steps away from him when the elevator reaches their stop. "You ought to write poetry, Mr. Chairman," she teases, linking their arms. "But if you'll wait, then... I see no reason not to come back," she tells him, casually leaning against him.

They're getting closer to the end now, Venus thinks. Eventually he'll let go and walk away, and... well, who knows if that'll be the end of it. For a moment, she ponders. Would things have turned out differently if they had just... pursued whatever this was? Or would it have made no difference, besides making this moment hurt all the more.

"We're here," Rockwell suddenly says, effectively pulling Venus away from her thoughts. "You sure about this, V? You're a lot safer here in Byzantium, you know." A pause. "None of that waiting business, too."

Venus swallows hard. "I'm sure," she says, looking back at him. She gives Rockwell a soft look. "Consider it a test. If you're still waiting for me by the time I return, then I'd say you've more than earned my affection."

Chuckling, Rockwell reaches up to caress her cheek. "I'm a patient man. Be careful out there, alright? I'd hate for anything to happen to you."

"I will," Venus says, looking between him and the nearest ship. She clears her throat. "Well, um... I guess this is it," she says, taking a step away. "It's been…" she trails off, unsure of what to say. Good? What part of this whole thing was good? Though, she figures it was the right thing to say. "It's been--"

"It's been good," Rockwell says for her, taking both her hands. "You know, I really am going to miss you, Venus."

"I'll miss you too, but--" Venus sighs, pulling him back into her arms. "I think this is what I need. Just... some time away."

"I believe you," Rockwell says, and he seems almost hesitant to let go. "Don't forget about me when you're out travelling around the colony."

"I don't think I could if I tried," Venus says, beaming up at him. "Don't worry, I was being serious about the postcards. That way, you'll always know where I am." She reaches up, then, gently patting his cheek. "Alright, well, we've wasted enough time. I should go." She reaches for his hand and gives him one last squeeze. "I'll be seeing you, James," Venus says-- no, promises, and she starts to head off.

She doesn't get very far, however, when Rockwell calls after her. "Hey, V!" He says, and he tries not to let too much of his emotions show. "What, no kiss goodbye?"

For the longest moment, Venus merely stares at him. If Rockwell looked hard enough, he might've seen the gears turning in her head, pondering what to do, and if really should do it. Before he can even begin to play it off as a bad joke, she's running towards him. He just about catches her when she leaps into his arms, all-but smashing her lips against his.

It was funny, Rockwell thinks, that their first kiss might also be their last. It would've been funny, at least, if it hadn't also been macabre and just a little bit tragic. He kisses her back just as fervently as she did, a hand resting at the back of her head. When he pulls away, he's still mere inches away from her, lips still lingering close.

"I love you, V. Come back, alright?"

Venus grins. "I could promise you that, but wouldn't it be more fun to keep you in suspense?"

Rockwell rolls his eyes. "You're insufferable."

Venus gently pats his cheek. "I love you too, James. Don't miss me too much now," she teases before finally, finally pulls away from him. "I'll keep in touch, don't worry," she tells him, and with that she finally heads off.

Rockwell watches her walk off, before clearly bargaining her way onto a ship. He doesn't leave just yet, instead watching until the ship takes off and disappears out of sight. He can't help but just feel a small tinge of disappointment-- he'd been hoping she'd change her mind at the last minute, maybe jump back into his arms and realize he'd been all she needed all this time.

It was foolish to think so, of course, but he'd been hoping all the same.

He went home miserable that day. How could he have been anything but? Venus wasn't coming back-- she most likely only said she would because it'd make him feel better. Technically she didn't say anything like that, but he figured she implied it. And it did-- for about five minutes until the realization hit him. He'd lost her.

That is, until, something addressed to him shows up in the mail a few weeks later, with the scent of her perfume somehow still on it.

A postcard from Monarch, with writing carefully scribbled onto the back in what was clearly her handwriting.

'Miss me?'

Rockwell snorts. Typical Venus to make a game out of all of this, but he wastes no time in replying.

Isn't it obvious?

#cringe hours are now #man i really finished this huh #oc: venus rockwell #x: corporate assholes #chairman rockwell #the outer worlds #my writing

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hanadolphieron · 4 years ago

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lunar artist!yeojin; chapter five~

warnings; swearing, gun shots, gun wounds, death, explosions, grenades, sky battles, war in general, kissing, (ooo) crying

genre; sci-fi, strangers to friends to lovers, angst, a meager amount of fluff

pairing; im yeojin x gender neutral!reader

word count; 1.8k

summary; your small crater town on the moon was rarely visited. one day, artist!yeojin travels all the way from mars to paint the serene, wistful scenery of your planet.

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yeojin moves away from the doorway, toward you and the soldiers.

“move,” she says, “i can handle this.”

“copy that, general,” they respond, scurrying towards the exit.

wait. general?

yeojin commands this fucking army?

you have got to be kidding me. here you thought she was about to free you and give herself a cool redemption arc, but no. she’s the general of the army that has decimated your planet.

stalking closer, yeojin stands in front of you, reminding you of all the times you’ve been in this same position- staring at each other silently, understanding completely what the other is thinking.

however, this time, you’re wrong about yeojin.

glancing towards the door to make sure no one’s lurking, she grabs the cuffs around your wrists, unlocks them deftly, her small hands moving as fast as the lunar crabs that scuttle across the surface of the moon, than does the same to your ankles, rescuing them as well.

you fall into her arms. you must have been hanging on the device for a long time, considering the weakness of your joints and limbs.

her scent envelops you. it’s familiar, smelling like muddy vanilla encompassed in sunshine. you almost relax and let yourself stay in her hold, but you catch yourself.

you’re supposed to be repulsed by her. infuriated by her entire being.

your heart doesn’t agree with that. you push it to the side.

“well? you’re not even going to thank me?” yeojin says accusingly. she seems to have gotten her attraction under control, and doesn’t feel as conflicted as you.

“what am i supposed to thank you for? the destruction you’ve caused to my planet? the thousands of lives lost thanks to your command? do you really think i’m that weak? weak enough to just fall back into your arms? narcissistic enough to only care about my feelings, and not the hearts of all the people down below us?”

“look!” she yells, “i’ve told you before, i didn’t have a choice! i had to take this position or who knows what the government would do to my family! did you never listen to anything i said? any of the comments about how corrupted my planet is? and you think you’re not narcissistic..”

your mouth opens to defend yourself, but you realize you don’t have a response. you do remember all those things she’s said to you. you remember every single moment. you had prepared yourself to treasure them once the two of you settled down together, two hopeless romantics. it seems that image was just conjured up the hopeful thoughts of your mind.

leave, your brain says. you listen, turning away from yeojin, powering towards the door.

you know it’s a bad choice. walking headfirst into what could be a battlefield is incredibly dumb, but at this point you couldn’t bring yourself to care.

you couldn’t be near her. it was too much.

you couldn’t say hurtful words to her, burning through the ties of your relationship that you’ve loved so much, and can’t have taken away.

yeojin seems to regret her words, and quickly steps in front of you, grabbing your arm, “wait, y/n, please, it’s dangerous out there.”

her words aren’t laced with sarcasm or mockery, as if she was calling you weak. you want her to be mean and insult you. maybe then you could hate her.

you still let go of her. ripping your arm away from her protective grip, you storm out of the door. she tries to follow, but you break into a run. today’s leg day it seems.

luckily, the corridor hasn’t been turned into a war yet, and you sprint down it, following the sound of gunshots.

you know the violence will give you cover; yeojin can’t go racing through open fire and survive, she would be an idiot to do so.

rounding the corner, footsteps pounding against the ground, echoing throughout the hallway, you catch sight of red fire.

only a few moments ago, you wanted to run away from the same explosions, but now, you seek their loud blasts and comforting smoke.

everything feels surreal. you push your legs to go faster, powering toward danger.

you reach the room, which you realize must be the hanger, and slide behind a crate that has been partly blown up by gunfire. you pray that yeojin doesn’t see you, and has enough common sense to not follow you here.

however, you catch sight of her, she’s made it to the entrance of the hanger. you can barely make out her figure, the blasts of bullets and grenades obstructing your vision and making your eyes tear up.

pulling your eyes away from her, you look at the ground next to you.

a lifeless face looks up at you. the right side of it is so messed up it doesn’t even look lunar. the eye is bulging out, sitting off center. a bullet wound cuts through the neck, leaving a gaping hole. the whole face is ashen, covered in smoke and blood.

you can’t even scream.

you sit there, paralyzed, staring at your fellow comrade. the one who said they were going to be the one to protect you.

this could have happened to you. when that grenade went off and you blacked out, that was a lucky chance. you should be dead right now.

you tear your eyes away from it, the image burning in your mind.

staring across the hanger to yeojin, you realize she’s gone. for some reason, you feel an urgent need to find her. desperation overtakes you. something is happening to her. you can’t place what it is, but you have an aching, pulsing, screaming, crying, guilty feeling in your gut.

your eyes searching frantically through through the smoke around you, you see her.

see her get shot.

it doesn’t happen in slow motion like you hear about in books or stories.

it’s more of a blur. you don’t see the bullet, or when it hits her. you just see yeojin fall to the ground, mouth opening and making a noise you can’t hear.

red clouds your vision. you don’t know if it’s blood or anger.

forgetting all sense of self preservation, you race over to yeojin.

somehow, the bullets flying around you seem to miss your tall, slender lunar body and you make it yeojin, and fall to your knees in front of her.

all past regrets and resentment are gone. all you know, all you need, is for yeojin to live through this, and stay with you.

leaning down over her form, you see the wound. it’s a gaping, crimson hole in her side, gushing blood.

ripping apart your shirt like all the cool heroes in the movies you saw as a child, you push it up against her, temporarily stopping the blood flow.

it starts bleeding through within seconds. she’s already unconscious. you don’t want that to escalate. but there’s nothing you can do. she’ll be gone within seconds. gone forever.

and you’ll never see her contagious smile again. or her cackling laugh. or the pitch of her voice raise at the end of her sentence whenever she teases you. or her unreadable resting face.

she’ll just be another body. another number, lost to endless, depressing data.

you’re sobbing at this point. taking her head and resting it in your lap, you can’t stop the tears. you stroke her hair, reveling in its coarse strands. they soon become wet with your tears.

you don’t bother checking her pulse; you’re too scared too. she’s breathing, but for how long?

the salt from your sorrows streams toward the open wound. you feel bad, knowing how salt hurts flesh, and move to stop them, hands shaking.

but something curious happens.

the tears don’t seem to hurt yeojin. they seem to help her.

the small bit of flesh inside the wound that your tears touched is not red anymore, it’s the color of her skin. it is skin, you realize.

your weeping is healing her.

and that’s when it hits you. your from neptune. where some people’s tears are known to heal others. you fucking bimbo.

you have saved others before?! on the playground, when your best friend skinned their knee, you cried for her, testing your powers out. and another time, when you’d broken your leg trying to open the fridge and was too embarrassed to admit this to your parents. and countless more

and you hadn’t even thought about it now, when you’re in dire need.

panicking now, practically stabbing your tears to make them well up again, and scraping the past sobs from her head and pushing them at her wound.

you’re busy with this, working the fasted you’ve worked in years. you’re useful for once. you like saving lives.

you don’t look at yeojin’s face, still afraid to see it unmoving and ghastly gray.

however, it is the exact opposite.

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yeojin’s eyes flutter open after feeling nurse-like hands stroke frantically against her forehead, arms, and side.

she’s delirious for a moments, and doesn’t know where, what, who, why, or when is going on.

when she finally comes to her sense after a few minutes of blinking, she still thinks she’s gone crazy.

it’s you, the one who has run away from her countless times. you, who she thought was never going to come back. you, who she supposed was going to go back to her lonely life and never be seen again. you, who she guessed couldn’t care less if she was gone.

and she calls out for you, her voice a scratchy whisper.

you turn to her, wide eyes glistening, face wrinkled in pain and exertion, beautiful, messy hair framing your soft face.

your features light up, all of them turning up and making her cracked, dry skin brighten in return.

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you can’t believe it. she’s alive. when you thought all hope was lost, even if your sorrow somehow created life, a miracle happened.

squealing her name, and cupping her face in your hands, you bend over her and place a sloppy, ecstatic kiss on her forehead. her beautiful lips are parted in a smile that hurts you deep down, knowing that you almost lost it.

and that’s when you know.

and you can’t wait any longer. you need to have her, now and forever.

you repeat what did a few moments ago, except this time on her lips. you lean over her, pressing your chest up against hers, clasping her cheeks in one of your hands, the other reaching around to brush against the back of her neck, and push your lips up against hers.

you’ve never done this before, yet it feels perfect. feels so right, despite everything that’s happened.

and as your desperately engulf each other, never wanting to let go, as fire burns in the background, as others fall around you, you confess, “i love you.”

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masterlist ~ previous

#femifics #loona #im yeojin #loona imagines #loona fluff #loona angst #loona reactions #loona scenarios #loona x reader #yeojin x reader

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asthmark · 5 years ago

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❝ hotel soteria ❞ [ i ]

summary → After an assassination gone wrong, you and your partner are in critical need of a hideout and what better place than Hotel Soteria — an exclusive safe haven for the worst of the worst. But, the longer you stay, the more you become exposed to Korea’s biggest and baddest outlaws and begin to learn what the criminal life is truly all about.

warnings → mentions of death, blood n guns n stuff

word count → 3k (kind of short i’m sorry!!)

You had done something bad.

Your crimson-soaked clothes, disheveled hair, and bruise littered skin confirmed it. You ignored the blood that dribbled down your upper lip and what you were sure was a black eye forming. You shut your eyes, trying to focus on the sound of gravel beneath the tires of the car rather than the pain. You were so exhausted you had begun to doze off, before the boy in the driver's seat spoke up.

“How you holding up back there?”

You twist your head slightly to make eye contact with Lucas through the rear view mirror and simply groan in response to his question.

You see sympathy wash over his face. “Don't worry. We'll be there soon.”

You have so many questions for him. Where exactly were you going? Why was it taking so long? Was it safe?

You're out before you can ask.

When the car door opens, you jolt awake. You crane your neck to look up at the shadow towering above you.

“C’mon, we’re here.” Lucas extends his arm out to you.

You take his hand, finding yourself to be incredibly stiff. You both cringe when you hear your bones crack as you move ever so slowly.

When you step out of the vehicle after what seemed like an eternity, the first thing you notice is how dark it was. You had fled the crime scene a little after sunset but you could now see the yellow moon illuminate the sky.

"What time is it?" you ask, your voice hoarse.

"It's around 11. Why?"

"It's just… these past few hours have been a blur," you respond. You wince as Lucas puts your arm around him so you can use his broad shoulders as support. “We should stick to robbing banks.”

"That’s probably true... but, hey, we're not dead." He chuckles dryly.

You look at him and he flashes you that charming smile of his. It makes you feel better for a second. Then you notice the dry blood on his temple and the cut on his bottom lip.

You frown. "Are you okay?"

He nods, reassuringly but you don't fail to notice his limp as you both walk. He catches the way your eyes dart down to his injury. "Don't worry about that. I'd say we got off pretty easy this time.”

You have to agree with him there. Once your covers had been blown, you expected more police sirens and handcuffs but the current situation you find yourself in is oddly serene. Just you and him walking beneath the stars.

"Where are we going?" you ask after a moment of silence.

His answer is simple. "Hotel for criminals.”

You go still, trying to process what your partner has just said. He senses your confusion and continues explaining.

“I heard about it through a friend. Apparently, it really comes in handy when you need a hideout.”

“And it’s not just some government scheme to lure in delinquents or something?"

“It seemed legit to me. I had to pay for memberships and everything.”

"Memberships? Lucas, this whole thing sounds sketchy."

"Well, we need a place to stay. We shouldn’t spend the night at just any hotel, the cops could track us down. This place is our best bet. And look, if it is all a scam, we'll just kill 'em." Lucas offers you a bright smile that made it seem as if he were talking about something much more upbeat instead of murder.

You finally relent. "Alright. If we're gonna get caught I'd rather it be now. So, where is this place?"

You and Lucas walk and don’t stop until you reach a complex that looks to be so run down you believe it’s abandoned. The only thing that indicates that it’s the place you’re looking for is the sign that hangs above the front door.

You read it aloud. "Hotel Soteria. Sounds… fancy."

The two of you shuffle up to the front steps, equally unsure of whether or not this was the right choice.

"Before we do this… any other ideas?" Lucas asks, his voice dropping to a whisper.

You shake your head. "Like you said, you already paid. We have the memberships. No backing down now."

Lucas seems to agree because after taking a deep breath he twists the knob and swiftly steps inside. You glance behind you, surveying the dark that engulfed the streets, then follow.

Dust is the first thing you notice about Hotel Soteria. It's everywhere. On the floor, on the portraits that litter the walls and on the front desk that is placed right in the middle of the lobby.

"So much for fancy," Lucas murmurs, lingering behind you, too busy observing the framed photos.

You make a beeline for the wooden surface. A shiny, metal bell sits atop it next to a computer and a landline phone. None of these items are dusty, though. They've been in use.

Lucas steps forward to tap the bell and you jump slightly; the ding sound cutting through the eerie silence of the hotel and startling you. The noise echoes until it fades and you're once again left with nothing but quiet.

"Do you think they're closed?" you ask, turning to face your partner.

"We never close."

You and Lucas turn around in unison to face the desk and the man that has suddenly appeared behind it, pulling out your guns and aiming them at him in record time.

The man does not seem fazed in the slightest. In fact, he seems almost bored with the two of you, his cat-like eyes narrowed into an unamused stare. “Well, good evening to you too.”

“You're the guy I talked to over the phone.” Lucas lowers his gun at hearing the man's voice more clearly. “Sorry. Force of habit.”

The man seems to remember him as he smiles ever so slightly. “Ah, Lucas, right? I'm pleased to see you got here safely.” The man then turns to you. His smile has dropped and been replaced with a look of pure disgust at seeing how you still have your weapon up. “Would you mind?”

You reluctantly lower it but not before mumbling, “This place is so sketchy.”

The man scoffs, having heard you. “What did you expect? Five star ratings? This is a place for criminals. If it bothers you so much you can go elsewhere.”

“No, no. We’re fine.” Lucas punctuates the last word by nudging your arm and shooting you a glare for your comment. He attempts to move the conversation forward. “So, uh, can we please check in?”

The man doesn't hesitate to deny him. “Nope.”

“Nope?" Lucas repeats, incredulously. “What do you mean? We paid for the membership. You have to help us."

"Actually, I don't have to do anything," the man says, smiling smugly. "Especially not when you're violating my rules."

Lucas furrows his eyebrows. "You didn't tell me anything about rules."

"You didn't ask."

You sigh. “We're tired and we’re injured. Just tell us your rules so we can get this going.”

The man clears his throat. "First of all, no weapons are allowed."

You glance at Lucas, a displeased expression on your face. He pays you no mind, opting instead to listen to the man, carefully.

"Secondly, no disrespectful words or harmful actions are allowed against the staff." You notice how his eyes flicker to you when he says this. "Third of all, your membership must be paid for in full and in advance. Fourth of all, no video or photography is permitted. Lastly, there is zero tolerance policy against killing or physical altercations of any sort. That should be a given but I've figured out you can never be too sure." He sighs and you can only imagine all the awful things that had happened in the hotel for him to have to establish that as a rule. "Violate any of these rules and your membership will immediately be terminated, no questions asked. Are we clear?"

Lucas nods vigorously.

The man's gaze shifts to you. "I asked if we were clear."

"Crystal," you respond.

He smiles once more but it lacks emotion. “Perfect. You can leave any weapons or firearms right here.”

Lucas obeys, pulling his gun from his holster and placing it on the desk. You copy his action, biting back a complaint.

The man nods, satisfied with your cooperation. “They will be returned once your stay ends. Now, Yangyang will escort you to your room.”

As if on cue, the sound of footsteps are heard and another man appears—if you could even call him that. He looks more like a boy to you, if anything. You wonder what he’s doing working at a place like this. Was it possible that he had a criminal record of some sort? If he did, he certainly did not show it. He had a warm smile on his face, a stark contrast from the cold faced man at the front desk. He makes a motion for you to follow him and leads you up a set of stairs, away from the lobby. For a moment, it’s only the sound of footsteps and creaking but surprisingly, he decides to make conversation.

“What did you guys do?” he asks. His voice seems childlike, like a nosy little boy.

“Huh?”

He chuckles at your answer. “Well, you’re not here for fun, right? You’re running from something.”

Lucas chimes in. “Police.”

Yangyang makes a face, as if the mere thought of any legal authority disgusts him. “So, what was it then? Why are they after you two?”

“Killed a guy,” your partner answers, nonchalantly.

“Ah, good ol’ murder. You guys don’t seem like the type to just go on killing sprees, I’m guessing there must’ve been a pretty good pay to do the job.”

You nod. “That’s the only reason we did it. Robbing banks just wasn’t enough anymore.”

“Well, for people in your line of business, Hotel Soteria is the right place to be. Perfect getaway spot to lay low until the cops get off your back. Only people who know about this place have memberships and besides, there’s no photograph evidence of what goes on inside.”

Lucas smirks. “Guess those rules do come in handy.”

The young boy nods. “That’s the only way the hotel has lasted as long as it has.”

“Handing over my gun to that guy was still the toughest thing I’ve done all day,” you huff.

Yangyang laughs. “Even over killing that dude? Wow, Ten must’ve been really bad to you.”

“Ten?”

“The angry guy at the front desk,” Yangyang explains. “He’s not that bad, I promise. He just cares about this place a lot. Too much, almost.”

Quiet falls upon the three of you. Luckily, you don’t have to endure any awkward silence as Yangyang hands you the key to your room.

“Enjoy your stay. If you need anything, don’t be shy, okay?”

You and Lucas both nod your heads and with that he disappears down the hall. Lucas wastes no time unlocking the door.

You expect a run down room but once the lights are flicked on, you find that it’s rather well kept. The beds are made neatly and there’s not a speck of dust, unlike the lobby that was covered in it. Lucas flops on to a mattress, not even bothering to get under the sheets. He tucks his hands beneath his head and contentedly sighs.

“I’ve been waiting for this.”

You smile and make your way over to him. “It’s been a rough day.”

He nods then scoots over to the edge of the bed. You only realize he’s making room for you when he pats the space next to him.

You can’t help but smile. “Lucas, there’s two beds.”

He mirrors your grin. “Doesn’t matter.”

He opens his arms towards you and you can’t deny the urge you feel to climb into his arms and stay there until the mess you’ve found yourself in is all over.

So, you do.

His arms envelop your figure and you just about melt into his embrace. You can’t ignore how tightly he holds you and you feel almost embarrassed at how much you enjoy it. Of course, doing what the two of you did for a living hardly left any time for tender moments like these so when they did happen, your relished in it. You feel yourself begin to doze off faster than ever before and you credit the man holding you entirely.

“I can’t believe I’m cuddling with someone capable of murder,” you mumble, tiredly.

Lucas’ ears pick it up and he chuckles, his chest rumbling against your back. “I could say the same thing.”

You smile and that’s exactly how you fall asleep.

When you wake up, it’s still pitch black.

That’s nothing new for you. The jobs you and Lucas did usually required you to wake up before the crack of dawn. With the dark working as your cover, it made sneaking up on your target a million times easier. You’re about to dismiss the disturbance in your sleep as pure habit and close your eyes once more when you hear talking. You could tell it wasn’t just a conversation between a couple people because of how incredibly loud it was—it had to be a large group.

Before you can stop yourself, you’re slipping out of Lucas’ grip and climbing out of bed. You stop once you reach the door of your room, pressing your ear firmly against it. You listen carefully, seeing if you can pick up anything that’s being said. The sound is still muffled, almost like it’s far away and you assume it’s coming from downstairs. Without a second thought you grab your key off the nightstand, giving Lucas’ unconscious figure a quick glance. His snores fill the room, your movement thankfully not causing any disturbance in his sleep.

With that, you leave the room.

Darkness engulfs you as soon as you step into the hallway and you almost instantly regret leaving the comfort of your bed and Lucas. You know it isn’t too late to turn around and find your way back into his arms but you realize how much clearer you can hear the chatter from downstairs and your curiosity gets the best of you. You try to walk as quietly as possible to the end of the hallway although you’re sure that even if you stomped the entire way no one would notice since the commotion is getting louder and louder with every step you take. Finally, you reach the top of the stairs and you wait there, leaning against the wall and tuning into the conversation.

“—such short notice.” You recognize the voice as Ten’s.

“Well, forgive me. I can’t usually find the time to call you in the middle of a heist. I’d get my brains blown out before I even finished dialing your number.” This voice is new but right off the bat you can tell they hold enough sarcasm to rival Ten’s.

“All I’m saying is a heads up would have been nice,” Ten responds and you can almost visualize the annoyed look on his face. “Nearly all the rooms are booked.”

You hear a string of groans and complaints. Just how many people were down there?

“You’ve gotta figure something out,” the same voice from before says. “We did some real damage this time, Ten.”

He scoffs. “That’s certainly nothing new.”

“We need to stay here, it’s the only place we’re really safe.” The person clears his throat. “Please.”

A chorus of agreements follow, multiple other voices pleading with Ten. Then there’s a pause. Even you hold your breath, wondering what he will say.

“Fine. I guess I could work something out.”

There’s immediately cheering and excited shouting following this statement.

“I knew you’d give in.” You can tell that the same guy who had been bargaining with Ten moments before is the one to say this. Everyone simmers down, as if they need to listen attentively to his every word. Was he perhaps some kind of leader?

“Is that so?”

“You could never turn us away. Even if you wanted to.”

“Of course not. But you know just how much I love to see you beg, Lee. Consider it giving you a run for your money.”

He scoffs. “You’re one to talk about money. One membership here is worth Johnny’s entire closet.” This comment produces laughs from the group. You guess this Johnny guy had some expensive taste. “At this point I think you’re a better con man than all of us combined.”

“Don’t be so dramatic. Stealing and lying is your second nature.” The brutal bluntness of Ten’s statement gains a couple chuckles. “And if you really had a problem with paying for so many memberships, you would stop adding member after member into your little gang.” This really seems to crack them up and even you find yourself smiling a bit, imagining the large group crammed downstairs and having to deal with Ten’s relentless sass (which you had experienced first hand).

“You just keep getting bolder and bolder, huh?” There's a pause and you almost begin to think he’s going to snap. Instead, the voice goes from smug to surprisingly genuine. “It’s good to see you again.”

“Right back at you. It’s a shame that Mark setting off security alarms is what brought us together.”

“Hey!” someone—Mark, you assume—protests. “It was an accident!”

“Yeah, yeah. Let’s just get you into your rooms. You already know the rules, drop your weapons and you can go right ahead. And Yuta, if I find out you smuggled any firearms in again I will make sure the police know your name, okay?”

Yuta huffs. “And I’ll make sure they know you work the front desk at a bad guy hotel.”

“Excuse me? Did I misunderstand or did you just threaten a harmful act against a staff member?” You can hear the teasing tone in Ten’s voice. You know he must love having authority over every person that sets foot in the building thanks to the rules he established.

“‘Course not, sir,” responds Yuta in an overly polite, purposefully high pitched voice.

“Well, in that case, enjoy your stay at Hotel Soteria, boys.”

a/n → omg!! finally part one is out!!!1! firstly THIS IS NOT MY CONCEPT and is based loosely off a film called Hotel Artemis which i have actually never watched but i remember seeing the commercials for it on tv and being like “wow that’s a really cool concept :-)” secondly i’m not sure how many parts this series is gonna have or even what direction it’s going in all i know is that i want to introduce all of nct bc i enjoy giving ppl criminal backgrounds lol anyway feedback is greatly appreciated and i hoped u liked it

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tirednotflirting · 4 years ago

Text

but we were something, don't you think so?

vaguely based on ‘the one’ by taylor swift and also my walk home on an afternoon in july last year

also i asked helen if my writing lashton card gets revoked if i write something sad. will report back on what she decides.

(i apologize now for the tense issues in this i am still Learning how to not do that but i think it’s pretty obvious what takes place in the present and what does not)

oh and here is the ao3 link !

It’s a blazing hot early afternoon in July when Luke sees Ashton for the first time in over a year.

(It’s been 13 months and 12 days since he last saw Ashton. It was on a cooler day in early May and he had been wearing the blue sweater. The one that made the green in his eyes stand out more than normal. But Luke likes to pretend he doesn’t keep track of that so consistently.)

It had been a good morning. Luke opened at the office that day so he had the privilege of making the first pot of coffee, getting to experience the rich smell filling the space while he responded to emails and voicemails. He had a brief chat with his favorite mail delivery person about their plans for the weekend and the renovations happening in the bathroom down the hall. His boss assigned him a list of names to call to discuss their fall registration complications. The time passed quickly with the phone chatter and two cups of coffee out of his favorite mug.

His replacement for the afternoon shift showed up on time for once and he shouted his goodbyes out as he left the office. He was eager to get back to the apartment he shared with Calum so they could head to the store and grab drinks and snacks for the concert in the park they had decided to attend that night. Last time they had gone to the event just the three of them, he had let Michael and Calum do the drink run and they ended up deciding that Jello shots were to be the drink of choice and all of the families attending gave them disappointed looks the whole night.

Luke walks through campus, his t shirt sticking to him a bit in the heat, and catches up on the texts he had missed from his mom and brothers. He takes a moment to appreciate the serenity of his university campus when it’s all empty in the summer, the only other people around being the occasional professor or a local family taking a walk with sunhats and a stroller.

He’s just gotten a text from Calum asking when he’ll be back at their apartment and Luke is responding with an estimated time of arrival, factoring in the time it should take for him to grab an iced coffee on the way, when he looks up once he reaches the street corner. He’s only meaning to check for cars and to see how many seconds are left before he can cross when he sees him.

Luke didn’t expect the way his heart would drop straight into his stomach when he saw Ashton again. Didn’t expect the way the message on his phone (one important to respond to unless he wants to get plastered off of vodka and Jello in public again) would be completely dismissed when he saw the black curls of the man who had made him feel like everything. The way his fingers felt like they were on fire.

He also never expected Ashton to lock eyes with him the first time they saw each other again.

But oddly enough, he is.

Two things flood into Luke’s mind then. The first is that Ashton doesn’t look bad. He’s got his hands shoved into black jeans that aren’t at all appropriate for the current weather. His hair is longer than he had kept it in quite some time, tied back into a tiny bun that rests just above the tattoo at his neck that he had gotten junior year (Luke still remembers his hand being sore for a couple of days because of how tightly Ashton had gripped it while the gun buzzed along his tanned skin). And his calm gaze holds Luke’s in a way that he had only just recently stopped craving four times a day at least.

The second thing that comes to mind is a day from two years earlier, probably almost exactly two years (if it wouldn’t nearly physically pain him to see their happy, drunken smiles from that day, Luke would have thought later to look through his camera roll to check if he was right).

Ashton had only officially asked Luke to be his boyfriend about a month prior, just after finals ended. It was the summer after Luke’s freshman year, the summer he started working his campus office job that allowed him a reason to stay in the city with his friends and his boyfriend. One of Calum’s older sister’s friends needed to rent out her room for the summer and Luke’s advisor had offered him the job. It was a perfect storm.

After work one day in June, Luke headed back toward the student apartments to Ashton’s building, his smile lazy but bright as he headed into a weekend and his boyfriend’s home. It was still very new, his relationship with Ashton, but it felt very big, very important. If he wasn’t so high on his love for the curly haired philosophy major and the feeling of being in the city in the summer, he might have taken the time to think a bit more critically about what it meant to dive in so deep with someone so fast. But then he felt a breeze in the air and the sun shining on his face, and he figured that was something to worry about on another day. Things were really good.

He punches the door code at the front of the building and climbs the stairs two at a time up two floors. When he turns out of the stairwell, he grasps the handle to the first door on the right, left unlocked since he was expected that afternoon.

“Honey, I’m home?” he calls out as he pulls at the laces on his Converse so he can leave them at the shoe rack before continuing into the cozy space. The coziness of the place felt a little odd for June, a candle that smelled like Christmas burning somewhere based on the mix of the smell of sugar cookies and pine that meets Luke’s nose as he hangs his backpack on his designated hook. But that was Ashton, always curating his spaces to feel what he wanted. During one of the first few times they had hung out the previous January, Ashton had insisted on popsicles. It was one of the things Luke felt himself already loving about him.

Luke frowns at the lack of response to his greeting and makes his way down the hall to the kitchen, his sock-covered feet sliding a bit on the wood floor. He turns into the kitchen and finds that the cookie smell had been due not to a candle but real life cookies that were cooling on a rack on the counter behind a headphone-clad Ashton. Luke laughs quietly to himself, wondering what the occasion was as he continues through the space and checks to make sure there’s nothing hot or sharp in his boyfriend’s hands before wrapping his arms around his waist. He lets his hands clasp together at his stomach and huffs out a giggle when he feels him jump with surprise.

Ashton uses his free hand not holding a spatula to pull his headphones off his head, hanging them from one of the cabinet handles. He leaves the utensil in the bowl and turns in Luke’s arms to face him, his arms wrapping around the blonde’s neck. “Hey you,” he beams, his arms tightening some to pull Luke closer to brush their lips together in greeting. Luke notes to himself that he must have been sampling his cookie dough from the sugar against his own lips now. “Didn’t hear you come in.”

“Seems like you were busy,” Luke smiles, moving one of his hands from Ashton’s back to gesture to the kitchen.

Ashton lights up, his dimples deepening as he smiles. “Oh, yeah! Wanted snacks for the show tonight.”

A confused look drops to Luke’s face. “Didn’t remember that we bought tickets for something tonight? Where is it at?”

“We don’t have tickets for anything. There’s this free concert series at the park that I thought would make a wonderful Friday night date night and I am determined to continue wooing you. So I bought pink wine and I’m making cookies.”

Luke releases his arms from his waist then, moving to the side to dip his finger into the cookie dough to taste it. “Consider me wooed. That sounds lovely.”

He’s ushered out of the space to sit at the counter then so Ashton can continue working. He’s given a glass of lemonade and tells Ashton all about his day, about the students who came into the office for help with registration things and the dogs that he saw on his walk to campus. Luke gets Ashton to talk some about what they’re going to and it’s apparently Ashton’s favorite part of the summer. He goes into a story about a sweet dog and baby he got to meet when sharing a beer with some dad at one of the shows the previous summer.

“It’s funny because last summer it was my favorite thing to do with just me,” Ashton starts as he packs the cookies into plastic bags to put in a tote with the wine that he’s already poured into plastic bottles (glass wasn’t allowed at the park). “But I got the email about the set for tonight and I don’t know, I think it could be nice if this becomes our thing in the summer, you know?”

He turns up to look for a response from Luke and is met with the likely hilariously bright blush that Luke feels creeping up to paint across his cheeks and nose. He giggles to himself and raises his brows at the blonde as he packs some strawberries and cherries away to take with them as well. “I’ll take that as a good response to the idea then?”

Luke bites at his lip as he smiles. “That sounds incredible.”

They take the bus to the park. The sky is just dipping into golden hour as they dance their way to where the other attendees have their blankets set up for the evening. Luke makes Ashton stop his skipping for just a moment, claiming he needs him to stand still and smile for a lock screen picture, please. They find a good spot next to a group of women who brought their dogs and boxed wine and immediately start telling them how cute of a couple they are. Luke blushes fiercely as Ashton kisses his cheek, resulting in a chorus of squeals from their neighbors. They introduce themselves and the dogs and it’s really all something out of a film, Luke thinks.

They chat about work and summer courses some more and exchange stories from their younger years they have yet to share while sipping wine from plastic cups. Ashton lets Luke feed him cookies and they listen to the women tell stories from their many years of coming to the shows there. Luke sits between Ashton’s legs as they listen, gentle and thankful smiles on their faces, and Ashton reaches for one Luke’s hands, weaving their fingers together and resting them against Luke’s lap.

The sun sets further and the music starts. They thank their new friends for the stories and smile respectfully, blushes on both of their faces hidden in the twilight when the women request invitations to their wedding. Ashton is stunned silent (a rare occurrence, really) so Luke makes sure to tell them he’ll add them to the guest list.

It’s during the main set that Luke realizes he wants to live in this night for the rest of his life maybe. His back is against the chest of the first boy he’s ever loved, his body rising and falling just slightly with Ashton’s breathing and singing and laughter. The hazel eyed boy has one arm wrapped securely around Luke’s waist while the other lifts the water bottle of rose to his lips every so often. Luke finds that he feels so safe in that moment, like because of this night, nothing in the world could ever hurt him because he feels so high up in the air. He feels Ashton tilt his head some to place his lips against Luke’s neck, and he just never wants this to end.

Eventually it does though, of course. They fold up their blanket, smiles on their faces after the band closed with a cover of one of their favorite songs. Goodbyes and promises to meet up at the next show are made as their new friends wander off. Luke jokes that he’ll have to tell his mom about how easily the pair of them are able to make company with women like her friends. On the bus back to the apartment complex, Ashton sleepily leans against Luke and the blonde cards his fingers through his hair, smiling at the bright, fruity scent of Ashton’s cologne he keeps catching a whiff of.

They stumble into the apartment, slightly tipsy off the wine and each other, only pausing to brush their teeth and change into something more comfortable to sleep in before falling into Ashton’s bed. They face each other and Luke kisses at Ashton’s laughter lines as their legs tangle together.

“God,” Ashton bites his lip against a smile as he lifts a hand to cup Luke’s cheek, his thumb stroking across his cheekbone. “I have no idea what good I did to deserve you.”

“Glad we’re on the same page,” Luke sighs as he leans into the warm hand on his cheek. “I think I might love you. Is that okay?”

Before responding, Ashton lifts his chin slightly to press his lips to Luke’s forehead. They breathe in unison for a moment before he moves to look Luke in the eye. “Only if it’s okay that I might love you.”

Sleep finds them quickly after their (almost, maybe) confessions.

The memory fades out like a fog when Ashton’s eyes pull away from Luke’s when the signal changes for Ashton to cross the street taking him in the opposite direction. Luke finds himself unable to tell if he wants the black-haired boy to turn back to face him or not. He’s not sure which action would break his heart apart more. As he watches him walk into the crosswalk, he feels another memory, this one quite the opposite feeling to the first, start to creep into the edges of his brain but he finds himself able to push that one down (thankfully).

He takes a deep breath as he watches Ashton continue down the street, not once looking back to see if Luke is still looking at him. And when his own walk sign lights up, it takes Luke just a moment to get his feet to start moving again as one single thought fills his mind so many times it feels like it’s blocking his vision.

If one thing happened different, would everything be different today?

He crosses the street then and continues down in that direction, deciding to take just a slightly longer route so his feet don’t have to take any of the same path as his ex-lover. He sighs then but as he feels a somewhat nostalgic summer breeze cool his face, Luke pulls his phone out to text the group message to ask if they want to help him make sugar cookies to take along with them to the park.

(That night, for just a moment, he swears he sees Ashton again a few picnic blankets away, his head tucked into the neck of another boy with curly hair. But then the boy sits up to laugh at something the other has said and Luke realizes it isn’t his past love. But the odd sense of hopefulness he had felt for the couple when he thought it was Ashton tells him that maybe one day he’ll really feel okay.)

#lashton #lashton fic #this really just kinda poured out to the doc and it was kinda cathartic i am not going to lie #summer concert thing is another thing i am missing bc of coronavirus #seeing your past someone on the street corner and having them lock eyes with you and then walk away is not something i am missing #this is barely edited i am sorry if there are Mistakes

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golden-saga-imagines · 5 years ago

Note

NSFW headcanons for Lupin Gang and Zenigata? I mean if you’re not too busy..

Yeah, don’t worry. About Zenigata I did it in the last post, so, in this post only I’ve done Lupin Gang. But if you want more of Zenigata, only you have to request it again and I’ll write it. Well, I hope you like these hcs. Enjoy! 💕💕💕

LUPIN

💰 Needless to say, Lupin is horny 24/7. And he never refuse to have sex. He’s pretty romantic, too, but his cock clouds his mind. So, you know he become stupid in presence of a woman.

💰 Each opportunity he has, he will take it. In a romantic dinner? Yes. In a robbery? Why not. Lupin loves to takes a risk, this is the best part of steal and the sex, too. Be Lupin’s lover is exciting. Isn’t the first time that Lupin turns on escaping of Zenigata.

💰 In fact, once you and Lupin hid inside a closet, it was little and if you wanted finish in prison, you had to stay quiet and still. But, suddenly two hands squeeze your butt and you could feel an erection is pressing your thigh. You sigh, but you can’t deny you’re bit horny. Finally, among kiss and kiss Lupin fucks you in this wardrobe, with his head in your neck. And his cravat between your teeth in cause you don’t moan in loud voice.

💰 In this time, Zenigata almost catch you.

💰 Lupin is a great lover, he adores you. Lupin doesn’t have problems in the bed, he doesn’t care about roles. Do you want ride him? Lupin will be delighted. Do you want do it a blowjob? Lupin never says no. Do you want test other things? He has a list about it. Bondage? He’ll love it see you like that. Buy the rope to tie you isn’t a problem, he’s a criminal after all. (Fuck u Mr. Grey).

💰 Lupin is pretty versatile in the bed. This surprise you, but not in the bad way. Because that means Lupin has a lot of experience and you can fully trust him. He never hurts you.

💰 The rope always are of colour of his jacket. Lupin ties you to headboard and kisses your body and bites it. Lupin teases you a lot off. Don’t worry, later, you will have the opportunity to return him. The kinbaku is an art that Lupin controls, he loves how your boobs are squeeze against the string, like your thighs and your butt.

💰 Lupin really loves have a blowjob before of any theft, he likes to cum in your mouth and Lupin gently pulls your hair. This awards the victory in the robbery.

💰 Lupin doesn’t usually leave marks of kisses or bites in your skin, but he loves you do it in him. He really loves you bite his neck and scratch his back, and you moan and call him in loud voice when he fucks you. Lupin usually lets you to ride him, he kisses your boobs and you press his hip with your legs.

💰 Lupin loves that you sit in his face, he would stay hours and hours like this. Sometimes, he lies you down on the bed and puts your legs in his shoulders.

JIGEN

🥃 Jigen is a reserved man, he isn’t a great high sex drive like Lupin. BUT that doesn’t mean Jigen doesn’t enjoy about the sex. Unfortunately, he always is on guard, more if you’re a woman. The gunman has a big dick, over average, but he’s modest about that.

🥃 He likes more receive than give, but he doesn’t have any problem to give. Jigen never say no a blowjob, but always out of work. Sex and work don’t get along. You know how Lupin and the messes he causes is. But, Jigen doesn’t refuse one before or after work.

🥃 When he’s in his safe house and he’s a bit drunk, you only have to sit in his lap and kiss his neck, Jigen become melt. You unbutton his shirt and caress his chest, he’s pretty hairy. Please, kiss his scars and you will have him where you want. You do him a blowjob with fully clothed, but you must be careful that any drop stains his trousers, are expensive. Jigen tangles his hand in your hair and with other holds a scotch.

🥃 Jigen is a great dirty talker, he makes a lot of jokes of guns and dicks. Jigen praises you and your body, sometimes if you ask for it, he degrades you. He likes talks in your ear slowly and with hoarse voice. (Jigen has a great voice).

🥃 He loves to leave marks in your skin, bites, kisses and teeth marks. She loves your boobs, kisses it, licks it, massages it; sinks his face until choke. If you have a bit of whisky, you can put it in your boob, squeeze it to leave a puddle of alcohol, then, Jigen drinks until quench. The rest of scotch in your skin he will lick it until clean it.

🥃 Jigen doesn’t mind to have a fast sex before a work or wake up in the morning. He’s pretty lazy at mornings, if you want wake up quickly you just to make him a blowjob.

🥃 How he loves classical music, after shower you can dance with him naked in the livingroom. After, he puts in the couch and kisses you. And rest all afternoon in the couch completely nude, hugging you.

🥃 When you ride him, he likes puts his hat in your hair as a cowboy. If you pull softly of his beard, your drive mad him. He prefers fucks in his safe house, but he doesn’t say no if he is horny in public and you can to resolve this problem. But, he prefers fucks you than you do him a blowjob. He’s a master criminal, Jigen knows where hide you for no one catchs you.

🥃 He doesn’t mind has a mirror to show you your face when he fucks you. He will mutter you how beautiful you are, and tease you a lot of. Please, beg him, he loves it.

GOEMON

🎐 For what Goemon fucks with you, you need a lot of familiarity with him. He doesn’t have a high sex drive, in fact, he has an incredible self-control. Goemon will turn on when his stress peak are very high, any brush or touch, in his neck, his jaw or more cheeky; will make Goemon have an erection that he can’t supress based in willpower.

🎐 So Goemon will be direct. “(Name), I want fuck”. You almost choke in this moment. You look him, he is blushed and a bit uncomfortable, Goemon play with his kimono’s sleeve. You accept and move this into your bedroom.

🎐 When you’re inside, Goemon just taken off his kimono and kisses you with necessities, he rocks your face with his hands while kisses your lips and your neck. How Goemon knows human body he knows where touch you for you to moan of pleasure. His fingers are relentless and leave a fire trail in your skin. He is pretty good with his mouth, Goemon is filling and attentive, he memorises all your expressions for get the best result. When you cum, he clean you with his tongue.

🎐 Goemon is the strongest in the gang, so, he take you and fucks you against the wall, holds you by the hips, your legs goes around his hip while Goemon kisses your neck. Please, caress his hair, this will drive him made. Goemon is pretty quietly in the bed, you listen sigh and moan. He sinks his face in your neck.

🎐 Goemon leaves a lot of marks in your skin but unintentionally. In the next morning he’ll be very embarrassed, so, Goemon apologizes with you about that.

🎐 Goemon doesn’t like PDA and much less have sex in public. But, if you must wear a bikini for a robbery, Goemon looks you discreetly.

🎐 Goemon isn’t a man with a lot of kinks, he have a basics like tie you at the headboard. BUT, sometimes, he added his sword at the equation. He uses his sarashi (the cloth he wrapped around his chest) for ties your wrists on Zantetsuken’s case. If you ask for curt your clothes with Zantetsuken, at first Goemon refuses but you only have to raise an eyebrow for the blade tears your clothes (including your underwear).

🎐 Sometimes, when he fucks you, he take your hair, Goemon never pulls it. He isn’t a kisser, he is more a toucher. Goemon loves to touch your skin, draughts your scars, your striates and another marks.

🎐 When he is about to cum, he speaks in Japanese.

FUJIKO

💎Fujiko is the person most coveted in this group. She can seduce until the own devil. And you aren’t the exception. She just has to wear a beautiful dress and wink for anybody (except Jigen) drool at his feet.

💎Fujiko is the queen of teases and kinks. She just caress your neck with his finger for you turn on. She get close to you until your noses touch each other, until his lips brush yours, but when you want kiss her, Fujiko moves away and she invites you to follow her. You try to appear serene, you slide until his bedroom and when you see her. Fujiko only wear lingerie. She signals with his finger that you approaches her, you accept (with dignity).

💎Then, you grab her legs and pull of her, you lie her down and kiss her. Fujiko is surprised, pleasantly surprised. She draw a half smile and caress your hair. “I win”, you says. Fujiko looks at you as if you were his prey. “For this time, (Name). But, I have all night to win as many times as I want”.

💎Fujiko fucks you of all ways you can think. He ties you at the headboard, in the kitchen, on the shower, in public. She has handcuffs but he loves tie you with his own necktie. And YES she has the satisfyer and she knows how to use it for you to cry and cum.

💎Fujiko is pretty good with his mouth, she leaves you a lot of marks of his lipstick, Fujiko will not want that you erase it. Neither the marks she leaves in your neck or in your boobs. She loves see you the next morning in public with a lot of marks made it by her.

💎She loves the parties, more, if the host is a rich. She introduce you as her girlfriend, when you steal the gemstone that she wants rob. Fujiko puts you inside on of the mains rooms. She fucks you and kisses you. And if anybody enters, quickly will leave of the room. The jewel is secure with you.

💎She likes make you a blowjob before a robbery and during the robbery, she licks his lips looking you and remembers you what did just do. The rest of the gang don’t understand her, for you relief. When you finish the robbery, Fujiko approaches to you, grab your waist and mutter in your ear: “Do you need another, sweetheart?”

💎When you finished, Fujiko loves that you rest your head in his chest, caress her boobs with love and adoration. She loves you as if you were an ancient relic. She caresses your back with his fingers, softly, and kisses your hair. She loves rest in the bed hugging you with your bodies interlaced.

Ari 🌿

#Lupin III #lupin the 3rd #lupin iii headcanon #jigen #jigen daisuke #jigen headcanon #goemon #goemon ishikawa xiii #goemon headcanon #fujiko #fujiko mine #fujiko headcanon #👀

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bigskydreaming · 5 years ago

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Imagine the Batkids hanging out at like....the food court of a mall or something, Jason keeping paparazzi at bay with finger guns that manage to be wildly ominous even if the gulping paparazzo have no true idea WHY that particular motion from this particular man has cold beads of sweat breaking out on the backs of their necks. Damian loudly proclaiming he hates everything and everyone even though he only half means it, well at least until Tim asks if he needs them to go get him a booster seat. To which Jason stops long enough to cackle about Tim finally finding someone he can actually literally look down on, it must be like Christmas for him, and meanwhile, Duke idly says to no one in particular that he can never decide if he accidentally got adopted into the Addams family, the Manson family or the Kardashians.

“I would be great at being a Kardashian,” Jason muses.

“Well you’re already 90% ass, so you’ve got that going for you,” Steph chirps brightly.

“Die, but for real this time,” Jason volleys back, equally pleasantly.

“I can’t believe the English major is suggesting I plagiarize him,” Steph says with eyes wide in mock bewilderment. Jason scoffs.

“What English major? In case you’ve forgotten, I never even finished high school, I was busy being de - “

He cuts off as Cass holds out her palm and Dick and Duke both slide ten dollar bills across the table to her, accompanied by groans. Tim jabs a finger at her with a scowl, half rising out of his seat in outrage.

“That doesn’t count, he didn’t even finish saying it!”

“Also, you’re cheating,” Damian adds on hotly, too incensed to notice he’s literally standing in solidarity with his most hated enemy. Though Tim catches it, if the slightly constipated look on his face is anything to go by. “Do you really think us so blind we can’t tell that Brown blatantly set that one up for you?”

“Don’t hate the players, hate the game,” Steph says sagely, as she and Cass split the take.

“What the hell just happened?” Jason asks. No one looks anywhere near the zip code of apologetic.

“Well we definitely didn’t all get together once a majority of us had done the knock knock knocking on death’s door thing ourselves and wound up making a long-standing bet about how long you can go without bringing that up and where the clock restarts each time you do,” Steph says thoughtfully, eyes intent even as she stares off into the distance, like it’s an actual mystery and she’s really trying quite hard to scry out the answer.

“What?” Jason says flatly.

“In my defense, they were doing it long before I came along and they said it was like, a family tradition,” Duke offers.

“I mean, it’s not like we lied,” Tim shrugs. “Besides, it was Cass’ idea and she’s died twice, so it’s allowed.”

Jason redirects his ire on their sister. “Why are you the worst.”

She shrugs. “I died.”

“I used to think having a sister would be cool. I can’t believe you ruined sisters for me.”

“Bite me, little brother,” she says sweetly. His face flames. Detonation imminent.

“I’m older than you!”

“Not if you don’t count the six months you were dead,” she sing-songs. “Besides, Tim’s lying. It was his idea.”

Jason’s head swivels like a turret-mounted missile launcher. Tim chokes on his French fry.

“What the hell! That’s not tr - .” He trails off then, frowning slightly. “Wait, was it? Oh. Right.”

Jason’s eyes narrow, tension on the trigger, but Tim rallies and just shrugs unrepentantly.

“Eh. You’ve tried to kill me like three times. Suck it up.”

“Next time, I’ll be sure to try harder,” Jason growls. Tim smiles serenely and takes an extra obnoxious slurp of his milkshake.

“See? You’ve learned something new today. You’re welcome.”

“Why am I not live-tweeting this,” Steph wonders, yanking out her phone and sending digits swiftly flying across its keys. Dick leans over on her left to view her screen.

“Are you tweeting as Batgirl about her fellow vigilantes, or the random blond stranger always seen out with the Waynes but that no one can determine their connection to?”

“First off, I’m the EXOTIC blond stranger, excuse you. Get it right. And second...idk. Either. Both. Does it really matter?”

“Well, it might if you actually do tweet the same content from both accounts and someone somehow manages to spot some kind of connection,” Tim says dryly. Steph scowls without looking up from her phone.

“Stop oppressing my shenanigans with your logic, Timbleton.”

“Timbleton?”

“It’s my new name for you. For it is both pretentious and douchey, as are you.”

Tim glowers. “Sometimes I honestly can’t remember why I went out with you.”

She shrugs. “You were a fifteen year old virgin and I have a killer rack. It wasn’t that deep.”

“Hey, you are still just the exotic blond stranger seen with us all the time, right?” Dick says suddenly, seemingly lost in thought. “Like, B didn’t adopt you since I last saw you or anything.”

“No, and you know you don’t ACTUALLY have to ask me that every time you see me.”

He shrugs. “I mean I kinda do. You are always here, and it is Bruce. It’s not like he ever tells me when he adopts someone new so like, you could be my sister for four years before I even realized it if I didn’t ask.”

“Ooh. A sighting of Dick angst, spotted in the wild. Those are rare,” Jason snickers. Dick just eyes him.

“FYI, I still have footage of a certain Robin, age fourteen, singing Backstreet Boys. And I have Roy on speed dial. Tread lightly, Little Wing.”

“You said you deleted that!”

“I lied. I do that sometimes. I’m terribly problematic.” Dick beams beatifically.

“Why have I not seen this footage?” Steph shrieks.

“Make me an offer,” Dick says as leans back smugly.

She wastes no time, fingers dancing across her keyboard again, and moments later Dick pulls out his own phone and reads her incoming text. One eyebrow arches significantly.

“That’s an offer, alright.” He frowns. “You came up with that quick. I’m either impressed or disturbed.”

Steph shrugs. “I get bored on stakeouts sometimes.”

“You can be dispressed,” Cass pipes up helpfully. Dick nods solemnly.

“An excellent suggestion, Cassandra, thank you. Just for that, I’ll send it to you too.”

“I will stab you,” Jason says dangerously.

“Just think, Jay, if you didn’t try and stab me all the time already, that might actually be incentive not to....oh whoops, finger slipped, just hit send, how terrible, much regret.”

“I feel like there’s supposed to be a life lesson in there somewhere,” Duke murmurs.

“Stay out of this, new kid on the block.”

“Does that make you Marky Mark or like, Donnie?” Tim wonders idly. He shakes his head at himself then, baffled. “Why do I know the names of the New Kids on the Block?”

Stephanie meanwhile is watching her phone with what can only be described as naked glee. It’s muted - she’s never one to share her spoils freely after all - but apparently that is more than good enough for now as far as she’s concerned. Beside her, Cass intently stares at her own screen, shoulders shaking with silent laughter.

“I will kill you all someday, and when I do the courts will rule it justifiable homicide and I shall be vindicated.”

“Please, Todd. As if I don’t have contingencies in place to ensure you receive my vengeance even from beyond the grave, should I ever perish at your hands.”

Silence falls across the table as they all stare at Damian.

“See, now I’m dispressed,” Tim says. “Sometimes I wonder what it’d be like to take a guided tour of your brain, but then I think why not wait til Halloween and sell tickets too.”

Damian glares at him, but to the surprise of everyone, Tim included, he reacts no further than that. A few seconds later though, Duke bolts upright in his chair across from him, directing his own baleful glare at the smaller boy. Damian just stares at him meaningfully and jerks his head in Tim’s direction. Duke rolls his eyes and sighs.

“Shut your facehole, Drake, you blithering dolt,” Duke says robotically. “Also, you are excessively diminutive for your age and nobody likes you. Allegedly.”

Once more silence reigns supreme.

“Oh fuck, can he possess people now?” Jason asks.

Dick waves them all down, gesturing for quiet before he takes the lead, studying Duke with an intent focus. “I think I speak for all of us here, when I say: no, but seriously, what the actual fuck.”

Cass nods gravely. “What he said.”

Duke shrugs a half-hearted apology. “It’s nothing personal Tim. It’s just that Damian and I have an alliance, and part of the terms are I have to defend his honor, since - and I quote - ‘tt, the very notion I need assistance defending my actual person is laughable, Thomas, don’t be daft.’”

“Wait, we’re doing alliances now?” Steph asks, because of course that would be the part that catches her attention. “I want an alliance. Cass, make an alliance with me.”

“Kay.”

“Whose idea was this alliance, anyway?” Jason asks. Duke just shrugs again, this time defensively.

“Hey don’t look at me, Dick’s the one who apparently thought it was a good idea to introduce Damian to Survivor reruns.”

All eyes turn to the eldest. In a particularly accusatory fashion.

Well, with the exception of Damian, as he has returned to his meal and is quite contentedly dining with a distinct air of smugness about him. (Even more so than usual.)

“What? I couldn’t get him to agree to watching anything else on TV, and then we came across some reruns and I thought it might appeal to him.”

“And you saw no potential drawbacks to him seeing appeal in the basic premise of voting people off the island?” Jason asks skeptically. Dick picks up a fry and studies it with clear deliberation and an equally clear attempt at avoidance. Subtlety, thy name is not Grayson.

“In hindsight, it’s possible mistakes were made.”

“I mean, at least now Dami’s attempts at casting undesirables out of the family are rooted in democracy instead of totalitarianism. That’s progress, right?” Steph asks. Heavy on the uncertainty.

“Right, and I have some beachfront property in Kansas to sell you,” Tim says sardonically.

“Nah, you keep it. I’ll just get it in the divorce when we get back together in ten years, marry, and I abscond with half of your fortune.”

“Wait, what?”

“Shh, just let it happen.”

“Hang on, back to this alliance,” Jason says, turning back to Duke. “So what are you getting out of it?”

“Oh, he has to do my calc homework for the rest of the semester,” Duke replies.

“Duke, you should have just told one of us you needed some help with your homework,” Dick says with an unmistakable note of concern in his voice. Duke shoots him a quizzical look.

“I don’t. I just don’t want to do it.”

“This is why Duke is the most valid,” Steph nods knowingly. Cass nods in agreement.

“Hey, did nobody else notice that in essence, Damian implicitly admitted he needed help protecting his feelings from getting boo-boos,” Tim pipes up oh so casually. The youngest among them narrows his eyes.

“In my spare time, I peruse the occult tomes recommended by Raven and the Zatara brat in search of a ritual that will make it so you never existed in the first place,” he says, matching his tone to Tim’s conversational one. Not deterred in the slightest, Tim just adopts an expression of over the top faux sympathy.

“Sucks you can’t just ask me for help. I already know where one of those is.”

“Dami, no!” Dick speaks up sharply. Their little brother slumps back in his seat and crosses his arms over his chest.

“I wasn’t actually going to do anything, Grayson,” he sulks. Dick snorts.

“You were absolutely about to jump on top of the table and kick Tim in the face. Don’t even try and pretend I don’t know what I’m talking about.”

“I was an only child once,” Jason muses. “I should have appreciated it more.”

“But then you couldn’t form an alliance with me, little brother,” Cass points out, equal parts sweetness and wickedness. He hesitates, visibly torn between wanting to protect his vaunted older brother status and agreeing to an alliance with the most feared of them all.

“You’re evil.”

She shrugs but doesn’t contest the point.

“I’ll form an alliance with you, Cass,” Tim says, smirking at Jason.

“No thanks.”

Tim’s mouth falls open and he looks between her and his now cackling older brother. “What the hell? You’ll form an alliance with Steph and Jason but not with me? Why not?”

“I’m chaotic neutral,” their sister explains sunnily, as she steals some more of Dick’s fries.

#look they all actually so love each other okay #this is just how siblings are #just like #with less actual murder attempts

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abitnotgoodiebag · 5 years ago

Text

Ties that bind

Title: Ties that bind

Square filled: G1 - Wearing each other’s clothes

Warnings: language, light violence

Word count: 6,185

Summary: Sam keeps finding Bucky’s hair ties where they Should Not Be

Link to AO3

Ties that bind

Sam wanted nothing more than to clean himself in solitude and sing loud (and terribly off-key) Motown hits. It was a rare moment that Sam was able to luxuriate in the shower without having to worry about rationing the hot water. Two grown men in one house shouldn’t use as much hot water as they do, but Bucky did not understand the concept of a short shower and had a tendency to make their water heater work overtime.

Sam didn’t have the heart to curtail Bucky’s extended showers, as he seemed to be so content afterwards, so when he had the chance to have his own quality time, he made sure to take it. Bucky hadn’t come back the previous night, no doubt off on some strange SHIELD side quest so Sam had the whole house to himself.

Sam was determined to treat himself, so not only did he bring his bluetooth speaker with him into the shower, but he also dabbed some of his homemade beard mask onto his beard and after a bit of thought, added some to his face as well before he began to tinker with the water temperature. As Sam waited the requisite 3 minutes, he grabbed a fresh washcloth from their linen closet and decided he was in a Toni Braxton mood.

He got in the shower, already crooning ‘You’re Making Me High.’ The steam from the scalding water filled the room, opening Sam’s pores and clearing his sinuses. He washed the mask from his face and beard, settling for humming as he removed all traces of residue.

“ And in my mind I feel, I think I might be obsessed. The very thought of you makes me want to get undressed .” Sam’s thoughts drifted towards his housemate as he sang, thinking of Bucky’s tendency to wear as few clothes as possible while in the house. Sam’s got eyes and Bucky was built like a brick house especially to distract Sam Wilson from everything.

Sam had embraced the steam for long enough as the initial notes to ‘Un-Break My Heart’ trailed lazily through the bathroom. He made to grab for the exfoliating gloves he kept on a hook suctioned to the tile of their small-ish shower stall and was baffled when only one came away in his hand. He pulled at the second glove, frowning as he saw that it was attached to the hook with something small and dark. Closer inspection showed Sam that it was a hair tie. Sam did not sport enough hair to utilize hair ties and Figaro damn sure didn’t use them, seeing as he had no thumbs and didn’t take showers. This left only one suspect.

“BARNES!” Sam’s deeply annoyed shout completely erased the light mood of his shower and once he untangled the glove from it’s hair-tie captivity he quickly gave himself a good scrubbing, muttering angrily to himself about needing separate bathrooms and pondered (not for the first time) looking for a bigger place.

He finished his shower, dressed himself quickly and was making his way back to his room when he crashed into the (shirtless, as usual) glove-bander himself. “What the fuck, Barnes?” Sam asked, irritated.

Bucky looked back in confusion. “You ran into me, Tweety.”

“I mean why the fuck would you tie my glove to the hook?!” Sam knew he probably looked a bit nuts. “Is a man’s bath glove not sacred? What do we have in this world if not the sanctity of our toiletries?”

Bucky looked alarmed until Sam’s words sunk in and he began to snicker. “I kept knocking them over, and I didn’t want them to get all over the floor so I secured them so I wouldn’t keep jostling them.” Bucky looked down at Sam through his lashes in the most infuriating way. “I’m sorry, Sammy.”

Sam stood there in the hallway and felt his irritation slip away despite his best efforts to hold onto it. Bucky batted his eyes some more and Sam knew he was done for. “It’s all good, Barnes.” Sam sighed.

Bucky’s grin faded a bit at Sam’s resigned tone. “I’m serious, Sam. I thought it’d be helpful.”

Figaro chose that very moment to wind himself between their legs meowing for his breakfast.

“Figs says ‘fur-give me, Pops, you know Bucky was trying to be a good guy.’” Bucky said, imitating a cartoon cat voice.

Sam reached down to pat Figaro and rolled his eyes on his way back up. “Sounded more like a ‘Why hasn’t that weird bum fed me instead of yapping it up in the hallway’ to me.”

They headed towards the kitchen, Figaro bounding ahead, yowling in impatience.

“What’s that?” Sam said, pretending to translate the hungry meows. “‘Bum should cook?’” Sam looked pensive for a moment as he opened a can of Fancy Feast and tipped it into Figaro’s dish. “I think you’re onto something, Figs.”

Bucky just laughed and made his way to the fridge, pulling out the carton of eggs and some cheese. Sam reached past him and grabbed the last of their spinach to Bucky’s amused brow.

“It’s like you don’t believe in green foods.” Sam sighed, shaking the container of produce.

Bucky grabbed the spinach and was soon well on his way to making a couple of omelettes for the two of them.

Sam hummed in contentment as he watched Bucky and Figaro soon jumped in his lap and started purring in contentment. Sam scratched behind his ears and inhaled the scent of their breakfast. Bucky soon slid the food onto plates and grabbed glasses and the last of their OJ as well while Sam observed, trapped under his purring cat.

“Your food, your majesty.” Bucky said, bowing as he set Sam’s plate down in front of him.

Sam smirked and inclined his head while Figaro raised his head, sniffing at the omelette with interest. “Thank you kindly.”

Bucky flopped onto the stool next to Sam and attacked his food like he was starving. Sam couldn’t help but laugh at Bucky’s enthusiasm and Figaro, disliking Sam’s movement, vacated his lap in disgust.

Bucky smiled at the feline diva and his antics. “I guess his majesty wasn’t impressed after all.”

Sam looked affronted that Bucky was referring to Figaro as royalty over himself and stuck his tongue out before taking a bite of his meal. “I guess you’ll have to keep trying to gain the good Prince’s favor. How tragic.”

Bucky snorted and reached out to steal a bit of Sam’s food. Not one to give Bucky an inch, Sam used his fork to block the attempt and flashed a victorious grin. “Not today, Buckaroo. You gotta be quicker than that!”

“But I’m a growing boy!” Bucky whined, still trying to get at Sam’s plate. He pulled out the big guns when he pouted and batted his eyes. Sam was forced to share the last bit of omelette in the face of such an effective offense.

“Geez, you baby. Take it.” Sam said, chuckling. “You know the puppy face gets me every time.”

By the time Bucky finished the last bite, Sam had forgotten all about his vexing shower.

Sam was a tad hungover. Never one to say no to drinks after the mandatory monthly Avenger’s meetings, Sam, Bucky, Thor and Luke Cage had gone back to his Hell’s Kitchen bar and promptly gotten wasted. Well, Sam got wasted, everyone else was enhanced and probably just got pleasantly buzzed. No Sam absolutely does not have a chip on his shoulder about his tolerance, not even a little bit.

His head felt like it was full of rocks and dryer lint and he stumbled as he made his way into the bathroom to splash water on his face. Staring at himself in the mirror, Sam grimaced. He looked terrible and unfortunately he felt as bad as he looked.

Shutting off the bathroom light, Sam shuffled down the hall toward the kitchen, needing to simultaneously eat and vomit. He reached the kitchen, meeting Figaro on his way in (seems he wasn’t the only one looking for breakfast). Sam dutifully fed his spoiled cat and debated trying for anything more than water after almost gagging at Figaro’s breakfast. Sam decided that cereal sounded like a safe bet and grabbed the first box on the top of their fridge (Count Chocula because apparently there weren’t any adults in their house) and the almost empty milk jug from inside of it.

A bowl and a spoon were the next order of business for the hungover hero and he gingerly moved as slowly as possible to stop the queasiness he was trying not to think about. Armed with all the necessary things to force something into his protesting stomach, Sam gingerly sat down in the least wobbly of their barstools, leaning his elbows heavily on the island due to his persistent nausea.

After a rough 30 seconds, Sam’s stomach had settled enough for him to pick up the box of sugary goodness and pour himself a restrained amount. That was the plan, at least. Instead it happened like this: Sam picked up the box of cereal, squeezing in a bit to pop open the cardboard flaps. Sam held his bowl steady and waited for the pattering of his cereal to reach his ears. The sound that actually reached his ears was the entire bag hitting his bowl a little bit too hard. The inner bag of cereal, closed haphazardly with a bright green hair tie that immediately sprang free, burst open and littered the entire counter with chocolate bits and tiny marshmallows.

Sam, who was not expecting this at all, could do nothing but watch as his meager breakfast scattered any and everywhere throughout the small kitchen. Sam could do nothing but rest his head on his arms and wait for death to claim him. The cool tiles felt good so close to Sam’s sad forehead. He spread his arms so they weren’t overlapping and the coolness intensified. He let out a small gasp of contentment, pleased when he didn’t immediately feel like vomiting.

Sam rested there in the kitchen for a moment. Well, it was supposed to be a moment. Sam’s body had other plans and he fell asleep right at the counter and all was serene until the apartment’s tranquility was shattered with a shriek of “FIGS, YOU FAT FUCK!”

Sam jolted awake, causing him to almost hurl. He closed his eyes and prayed for the spots in his vision to go away and take the lurching room with them. His prayers were not answered and to insult to injury Figaro decided Sam’s lap looked like a good place to sit, jostling him even more.

“SAM!” Bucky yelled from the hallway. “YOUR FUCKING CAT IS AN ASSHOLE!”

Sam could only moan quietly to himself and stay still to quell the room’s spinning. He heard Bucky enter the kitchen and made no move to look at him, he just let out another pitiful noise.

Figaro could sense that he had no friends in the room at the moment and abandoned Sam’s lap to scamper out of there, no doubt to take the warm spot left in Bucky’s bed.

“You ok, man?” Bucky asked softly next to Sam’s ear. “Did Figgy knock over your cereal?”

Sam had forgotten all about his aborted attempt at breakfast and replied in an even softer voice. “Figs didn’t do shit, Barnes, this cereal mess is your fault.”

“How can this possibly be my fault?” Bucky asked, indignant. Then he spotted it. “Oh.” he said.

Sam snorted and then winced and then just groaned. “Yeah. ‘Oh.’”

“Well it keeps the cereal fresher!” Bucky tried to explain. “I know you have those clips but-”

Sam cuts him off with a raised hand. “Nothing in this world matters to me right now except surviving. Fuck this cereal. It probably would’ve come back up anyway.”

Bucky’s face softened at Sam’s misery and he spoke softly, “Don’t worry, Sammy, I’ve got you.”

Minutes later, Sam was presented with a glass of cool water and a plate of banana slices and a single piece of bread before Bucky left the kitchen. He sipped at the water, feeling the soothing glide of it down his throat. The bananas seemed too daunting so he instead started with the bread. He finished half the slice and felt marginally better.

Unfortunately falling asleep at the counter had done nothing for his generally achy and sore body. Sam knew he wasn’t old by any stretch of the imagination, but he could not deny that his hangovers were getting worse with age. He managed to finish the water and eat a few pieces of banana before admitting defeat.

“You ‘bout ready to move somewhere less bright?” Bucky asked Sam lightly once he returned.

Sam nodded once and stood up slowly. They made their way into the living room where Bucky had closed the curtains and Sam immediately sank down into the couch. Bucky grabbed the fuzzy blue throw Sam had bought him for Christmas and tucked Sam in gently. He turned the TV on and set the volume at a level barely above silence and began Planet Earth II.

He went to the bathroom to find some ibuprofen and returned with the pills and another glass of water. Sam took it gratefully and let out a satisfied sigh when he drained half the glass. “I am never going out with you assholes again.” He said ruefully.

Bucky snorted, knowing Sam would break his promise as he had the last six times he’d made it. “I don’t know why you try to keep up with Thor and Luke. It’s not a competition.”

Sam scowled. “Says the juiced up jock.”

Bucky straight up laughed at Sam’s petulance. “Look, Dinky Duck, I know my own limits and don’t go past them. As the grown man you insist that you are you should really try that.”

Sam just pouted and slumped down to watch the documentary playing before them. “You’re not the boss of me, Barnes.”

Bucky shook his head in exasperation before settling in for what promised to be a lazy day of recovery for Sam. Sam fidgeted a little until he was perfectly cocooned in his blanket, leaning slightly against Bucky. He was out cold in less than thirty minutes, smiling lightly and soaking up Bucky’s warmth.

The day had been full of chores and housekeeping. Two grown men sharing a space had a tendency to leave the housework until the last possible moment. That morning Bucky had swept and mopped (wearing nothing but royal blue briefs and singing loudly along with Aretha, obviously trying to give Sam an ulcer) before taking out the trash on the way to a nearby SHIELD field office. Sam had begun their laundry while he worked on dusting and cataloguing exactly what essentials they needed to restock (they were down to their last two rolls of toilet paper, Figaro would soon starve, and the toothpaste had been squeezed to within a millimeter of its life).

Sam had given up trying to separate their clothes anymore. Once he woke up to Bucky rifling through his dresser looking for a t-shirt for the second time in as many days, Sam had forgone it utterly, keeping the shirts in his room, the pants in Bucky’s room and the coats and hats and things in the hall closet. Clothes were for whoever got to them first in their house and so it took Sam a few weeks to notice the pattern.

Fall was making its way into winter and that meant that the four hoodies they had between the two of them were constantly in rotation, especially for their lazy-ass runs to the corner store. Three of the hoodies originally belonged to Sam (before the whole of their wardrobe became communal), so he didn’t notice until he was unloading the dryer that he saw them all in the same place. Three of the hoodies had new adornments. His navy blue HU hoodie, faded with age, was trimmed in bright red hair ties on the ends of the frayed strings, making Sam smile at the clear attempt in coordination. He saw multicolored elastics on the pulls of his gray USAF hoodie and his red Avengers one. Bucky’s lone black hoodie with a red and green stripe across the chest that had been with him since leaving Wakanda had no embellishments, just ratty, uneven strings tied in large messy knots.

Sam took a moment to note that strange fact before transferring the wet clothes from the washing machine to the dryer. He grabbed the basket of clean clothes and brought it to the living room to fold while he caught a few episodes of his guilty pleasure (Law and Order:SVU, Olivia was the best), Figaro falling into step behind him.

Later that evening after Bucky came home from whatever debrief SHIELD had mandated without the groceries he was supposed to stop and get, the two decided they were too lazy to shop and cook dinner. Bucky suggested they visit that new Thai place that opened up a few blocks away and Sam didn’t see a reason to object so they dressed up in their outerwear and headed out.

Every time Sam saw Bucky in his Howard hoody, Sam couldn’t help but smile. The fact that he walked around the streets of DC with the Bison proudly displayed on his front filled Sam with warmth (and he couldn’t deny, the confused glances that Bucky got from members of the public made Sam smirk a bit). The red hair ties bounced on Bucky’s chest with every step he took and Sam was so distracted by them that he almost face planted after missing a curb.

Embarrassed, Sam kept his eyes straight ahead until they reached their destination. Luckily for them the dreary weather was keeping most people indoors and there was no wait for them and they were quickly escorted to a table near the window. Their server brought them both water and took their order with quick efficiency. Sam choked a bit when Bucky ordered nam tok but decided to enjoy the ensuing entertainment.

“I guess we’ll just get the stuff from the store when we leave?” Sam asked as they waited on their food.

Bucky grunted with a half shrug. “If we must.” “I know your previous residence was a hut with no plumbing and all, but I am very much used to wiping my ass with Charmin.” Sam said with a grin.

“Well if it’ll keep princess Pigeon quiet, then I guess that’s what we’ll do.” Bucky said magnanimously, as if accompanying Sam to the store was doing him a favor.

Sam crossed his arms in mock annoyance and saw their server approaching with their food. Sam, unlike Bucky, did not just pick things at random off of the menu was entirely too excited to see how Bucky liked his choice. The server arrived at the table and Sam slyly reached for his phone. He discreetly activated the camera while Bucky unrolled his silverware and set his napkin across his lap. Bucky took a (rather too large, in Sam’s opinion) bite of his meal. First there was silence. As his eyes watered and cried, Bucky coughed hard and his face turned strawberry red. Sam snapped a quick photo as he chuckled.

“You ok, Buckaroo?” Sam asked, his face a picture of smiling innocence.

“Why would you let me do this?” Bucky sputtered out a few minutes later after he

“Man, I didn’t let you do shit!” Sam said through his laughter. “I told you picking things at random is a terrible idea, maybe now you’ll listen.”

Bucky just glared at him with red eyes and cheeks.

Sam took pity on him and switched their plates. Sam was no stranger to spicy food and while nam tok wasn’t his favorite, he at least knew to eat it in smaller bites and he did sort of enjoy the burning of his tongue. He dabbed a bit at his lightly running nose and winked at Bucky who seemed personally offended that Sam wasn’t a crying mess.

“Unlike you, I am used to my food with something other than three grains of salt.” Sam couldn’t resist cracking.

Bucky huffed and finished Sam’s pad see ew in silence.

Sam sent the photo of Bucky’s red face to all of the Avengers the moment they left the restaurant.

Sam was confused. His car was in it’s normal place, but he could tell that someone had touched it. He stood on their porch and cocked his head to the side. His brain was screaming that his vehicle had been messed with, but BeepBeep was exactly where Sam had left her after his trip to CostCo the previous afternoon. The front wheels were just as crooked, the fallen pine needles didn’t give any indication that they’d been run over or disturbed in any way.

Sam had not gone with just any car once he took up the Captain America mantle. Sam went with his Dream Car . Sam purchased a beautifully restored, crimson and black (absolutely not Hot Rod red, he had some class) 1970 Plymouth RoadRunner. The car was an absolute monster and Sam had been known to spend a good chunk of time detailing it and keeping it pretty. Sam figured that after all of the shit he’d seen, that there was no reason to put off things that made him happy, and boy did this car make him happy. He remembered his father showing him all of the old muscle cars he liked as a boy before he died and always treasured those times (his dad liked the mustang the best, but Sam had always been partial to the bird-themed cars. What can he say, he likes what he likes).

Sam knew that someone touched his baby. And he was absolutely fucking sure that a certain someone was not stupid enough to touch his car (especially after absolutely obliterating his last one). Sam made sure to pay for this one in cash upfront and carried the absolute highest amount of insurance, well, as high as an Avenger could reasonably expect to have (Sam will admit that they did go through vehicles more than the average citizen).

Deciding that he wouldn’t rest until he figured out what was different about the car he approached her cautiously. One too many bomb threats (a few of which were NOT hoaxes) had made Sam trust his gut even more. He sometimes wished he had the Parker kid’s petey-tingle or whatever the kid was calling it these days. A quick circle of the car didn’t put Sam at ease even though he couldn’t see what was different.

He checked the trunk and the undercarriage, getting his jeans dirty in the process. He couldn’t find anything underneath the hood or underneath the seats. Nothing in the pockets in the back of the seats. He finally got in the driver’s seat, frustrated beyond belief that he couldn’t shake the feeling of something being different about his BeepBeep.

He fit perfectly in to the seat, so it hadn’t been moved. Sam growled to himself, overcome with frustration. He grabbed the steering wheel angrily and--oh! He found it! He squeezed the suede steering wheel cover and felt a strange protrusion. He ran his hands around the wheel and found three additional bumps.

Since he hadn’t blown up yet, Sam decided that removing the steering wheel cover was a safe bet. After spending the last half hour thinking that he was moments from dying in a bomb blast Sam let fly a string of curses so terrible he was surprised his mama hadn’t spontaneously appeared to wash his mouth out.

Four bright orange hair ties are wrapped around the top half of the steering wheel. Sam cannot for the life of him figure out what they’re doing there. Bucky knows how Sam feels about this car. Sam is so caught up in his thoughts and confusion that he doesn’t notice the subject of those thoughts standing right outside the passenger window. Sam nearly jumped out of his skin when Bucky knocked on the window.

“You good, Sammy?” Bucky asked, concerned.

Sam stared at him for a solid ten seconds, then gestured at the steering wheel. “Explain.” The words were tense.

“Oh,” Bucky said, ducking his head and blushing a bit. “I heard you say your hands would slip on the wheel sometimes when you turn when you were talking to your sister. I didn’t mean to pry, I just thought it’d help you stay at 10 and 2.” The explanation was so darn cute that Sam found all of his irritation leaving him yet again . It seemed that Bucky was determined to make his life easier by any means necessary and Sam was about done trying to figure it out at this point.

“Man,” Sam began. “What are you, my fairy godmother?” He leaned his head back against the headrest.

Bucky’s confusion morphed into a smirk, “Who else is going to look after you, pigeon?”

Sam groaned at the nickname. “We were having a moment, Terminator. Look what you’ve done to it.”

“Whoops.” Bucky said, deadpan. “What are you doing out here, anyway? Going somewhere interesting?”

Sam had indeed forgotten why he had come out here in the first place, once he noticed his beloved car had been touched. He didn’t want to go back inside and just sit around though, he felt like going out and doing something out of their routine. “Why don’t you get in and find out?” He asked, leaning over and opening the passenger door for Bucky.

Bucky grinned and slid onto the long bench seat. “Take us away, Sammy.”

Sam cranked up his baby, listening to the Hemi engine growl low. He carefully replaced the steering wheel cover and placed his hands between the guides Bucky had so thoughtfully placed for him. Sam looked over at Bucky and took in his easy smile as he relaxed, leaning his head back and closing his eyes. Sam rolled down their windows and put on Still Bill , they needed some soul for this ride. As he backed out of their driveway, Sam had no idea where they were going, but he knew he’d enjoy every moment of the journey as long as Bucky was on his right.

Sam really did enjoy training exercises. Well, sometimes. Today wasn’t going in his good books, though, because he was almost dead on his feet. Bucky had kept him up all night. He didn’t hold the nightmares against the soldier at all, especially since he was just as prone to them as any of them these days. Bucky’s just had a tendency to wake up the whole house. Sam and Figaro both did their best to calm him afterwards, but Sam knew from personal experience that usually the only thing that drove the demons away was the warm light of the sun.

All of that was neither here nor there because Sam was supposed to be focused on rescuing their virtual hostages from terrorists who’d unleashed some killer robots unto the city. Sam was not supposed to be dwelling on nightmares that were not even his own.

He was across the street from the bank in which the terrorists had 13 hostages. Wanda was holding the perimeter, making sure that the killer robots didn’t advance further into the city while Sam and Bucky were attempting to infiltrate the building without tipping off the hostiles.

Sam saw a flash of light in his periphery from the side street next to the bank and once he focused on it, he saw that Bucky was signalling that he had found a way in. Sam made it to the alley and let out a low whistle as he saw Barnes point up several floors to a broken window.

“Just couldn’t resist another ride on the Sam Wilson Express, could you?” He asked quietly as he maneuvered and rose to a hover in the tight space.

Barnes just raised a brow and lifted his arms (determined to ignore Sam’s quips), ready to be carried to the window. Sam obliged him and when they landed in the small office on the fourth floor of the bank they made their way to the door to begin working out the best way to disable their targets.

“Cap, perimeter is secure and all robots have been neutralized.” Wanda’s heavily accented English came crackling into Sam’s earpiece. “Orders?”

Sam gave Wanda their location and a moment later Wanda floated in. “Looks like the hostages are on the main floor of the bank, but we don’t know where all of the hostiles are, so I’m gonna send Redwing out to see what’s what.”

Sam tapped on his bracer, calling for his well-loved drone and--

“What the fuck is this?” Sam asked, voice flat. Redwing’s tail-end had been covered in a rainbow of colors. Sam didn’t even need to look any closer to know that they were Bucky’s damn hair ties. He has not had enough sleep or coffee for this and Sam was just done.

Bucky snorted before schooling his face into an innocent expression. “Redwing is a pretty bird, Sam. Just like his mom.”

“Nope.” Sam got up (leaving the beautifully--absurdly--decorated redwing hovering) and walked out into the hallway and made his way to a balcony where he shot the two targets holding the hostages. Bucky was at his six and he took out the one above them. They were making their way down the stairs, back to back, when their virtual construct blew up around them.

Sam and Bucky stood in the middle of the second largest training room, Wanda and Redwing several yards behind them looking at them (a bit too judgmentally in Sam’s opinion). Sam threw his hands up and left. He headed straight to his room in the compound without another word.

He had just managed to take off his wings, boots and goggles before Bucky was banging on his door. Sam sighed and contemplated ignoring him, but Sam knew that Bucky was stubborn enough to stay out there all night, the asshole.

Sam opened the sliding door just as Bucky was about to start banging with his left hand (and wouldn’t that just do wonders to the poor metal?). Bucky abruptly dropped both hands to his sides and looked at Sam in concern.

Sam didn’t want to do this now, he was sleep-deprived and keyed up for a reason he hasn’t really examined himself yet. “Can I help you?”

Bucky held out his right hand and Sam saw that he had brought Redwing back, without all of the extra layers. “I didn’t mean any harm by it, I thought you’d laugh.” Bucky said softly.

Sam did laugh as he claimed his mechanical wingman which further confused Bucky. He felt as if the last two days had lasted an entire week and Redwing being ‘pretty like his mom’ was just too much. He moved to put Redwing back in with his wings and said, “Babe, I’m too tired for life right now. It was funny.”

Bucky was silent when Sam turned to look at him, finished with the drone. “What?”

Bucky came closer, right into Sam’s personal bubble, still not saying a word. Sam raised an eyebrow in question.

“Wanna try that again, Wilson?” Bucky’s voice was lower and Sam felt faint at their nearness and Bucky’s damn (voice, smell, face, body heat) everything .

Sam internally rewound the last two minutes and mentally slapped himself. Seeing as how he’d already put it out in the universe and Bucky wasn’t running away, Sam was (still) too tired to be upset. Eyebrow still raised, he said, “I said : Babe, I’m-”

Sam didn’t get to finish his sarcastic reply as Bucky was kissing him. Bucky’s lips were touching his and Sam must surely be dreaming. He will cuss if his alarm goes off and he has to do this terrible training day all over again. He threw his arms around Bucky’s neck and kissed back eagerly, because if this was a lucid dream he was going to enjoy the hell out of it.

Bucky pulled back slightly, laughing, “So not a mistake then?”

“Obviously not a dream, you would be naked and shutting up,” Sam muttered to no one before Bucky distracted his thoughts by licking a stripe from his neck to his earlobe, sucking the latter into his mouth.

The noise Sam made could have been categorized as a moan (or a shriek depending on which one of them you asked) and he pulled them both further into the room, determined to get horizontal before he passed out from either exhaustion or (suddenly requited) horniness.

Neither Sam nor Bucky were seen for the rest of the day.

+1.

Sam yawned as he shuffled into the compound’s kitchen and went straight to the coffee pot, praying there was some left. He was in luck as there was just enough left to fill the largest mug he could find. Once his coffee was creamed, he joined the rest of the Avengers at the table and reached for a muffin from the tray someone (probably Rhodes, he was considerate like that) had brought.

Bucky’s sleepy form plodded to the table and he grunted in appreciation as Sam handed him the half-full mug of coffee he’d made. Sam knocked Bucky’s shoulder with his own and Bucky dropped his head on Sam’s shoulder in answer (covering Sam’s upper torso in loose, wavy hair) once he’d gulped down the rest of the coffee.

“Why do you people wake up so early?” Bucky whined.

“It’s 9:30, Barnes.” Rhodes said, unimpressed at Bucky’s displeasure.

“Last I checked, that was before noon, which is a more reasonable hour for being conscious.” Bucky mumbled, determined to stay grumpy.

Rhodes snorted. “You sound like Peter.”

“How dare you, Quill is an idiot.” Bucky said, affronted.

“Not that Peter, dumbass. Parker. The actual teenager.”

Bucky’s frown deepened even further because he was certainly not a chipper, happy, talkative teenager, he was a grown man who just enjoyed resting his worn-out body sometimes. “Why is everyone on my ass all of a sudden?” He wondered aloud, shaking his hair out of his face.

Sam giggled softly at the word ‘ass’ and Bucky smirked up at him. Valkyrie rolled her eyes at the two of them and set her bottle of whatever she was drinking (not coffee, that’s for sure) down on the table hard enough to rattle silverware. “You two are sickeningly chummy this morning.” She observed them with narrowed eyes.

Bucky whipped his head around to glare at her, tossing his hair back again when his glare seemed to have no effect at all on the Asgardian. Bruce cocked his head and looked at both Bucky and Sam closely. “You know, she’s right.”

“Thank you for your support, dear greenie.” Valkyrie said sarcastically as she took a fortifying swig of what smelled like rocket fuel. “After what I heard of yesterday’s training exercise, I would have expected more--not this.”

“You gossips!” Sam accused with his mouth full of the last of his muffin. Crumbs flew everywhere and everyone looked disgusted except Bucky who looked at Sam in amusement.

“Look at these guys,” Bucky said, shaking his head and then tucking all the hair he shook loose back behind his ear. “Just bumping gums all over the place. For shame.”

“Oh my God, babe. Just put it up already!” Sam said, exasperated as he took the black elastic from his wrist and handed it over.

“Whatever, mom.” Bucky griped as he pulled it into a messy bun and stuck his tongue out at Sam.

The rest of the table was shocked silent. Bruce and Rhodey’s jaws dropped and Valkyrie just stared at them with a brow raised. Wanda remained unaffected, simply going back to her magazine. “Well that explains a lot.”

Sam ignored her and proceeded to give Bucky a loud smacking kiss on the cheek. “See? The morning is better already, isn't it Barnesy?”

“Absolutely not. I draw the line at cutesy names.” Val got up from the table, draining her bottle as she went, leaving them with Bruce, Rhodes and Wanda.

“We don’t have to take this, Willie.” Bucky said, pulling Sam close and kissing the top of his head as Sam laughed at the butchering of his surname. “They don’t deserve our shmoop.”

Bruce kept glancing between them trying to gauge whether or not they were serious. “Are you just messing with us?”

Sam looked up at Bucky and grinned. “Are we, babe?”

He was answered by Bucky getting up, picking Sam up and throwing him over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry. Bucky kissed the side of Sam’s backside and headed out of the kitchen. He paused at the doorway, looked back at everyone and slapped a laughing Sam’s ass, the sound echoing through the kitchen.

“Nah.”

Sam’s laughter echoed after them.

#sbbingo1 #sambucky #winterfalcon #fanfic #fluff

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