#you can shave off bits but the thing is warped and there's nothing that can be done about that

[echoofawind]

My new oral appliance doesn't fit in my mouth right. It doesn't snap on my teeth correctly and it hurts. The hurt is lessening but it's not a one for one replacement. It's crooked and pulling my jaw to the side. My teeth don't line up. I like my dentist and she normally does very good work. I'm disappointed with this device.

[randomwriteronline]

"I can't do anything for the eyelid."

Krakua listened in polite and total silence as Jaller (slightly creaky, emphasis on velar consonants) insisted: "Nothing at all?"

"It's fused into the mask," Zaria (ejective alveolar fricatives, deeper tinnier tone, slightly scratchy) replied curtly: "I can't separate the different protodermis masses anymore, and even if I could the lid wouldn't be able to move on its own after the damage it sustained. The only viable options are to either close it completely, leave it like this, or remove the whole thing."

"A permanently open eye sounds like a nightmare..."

"And there's no saying an operation like that doesn't run the risk of fracturing the brain, either."

"That's a possibility?"

"With how brittle he is, I wouldn't be surprised." the voice shifted, sound waves changing trajectory with a sneer: "How did you even wreck yourself like that, huh? Forgot how to finish a Nova blast?"

Krakua remained perfectly still, breaths quiet, shallow.

After a long pause, Jaller spoke up: "Can the mask be removed?

"Surgically, yes. I could probably shave off a bit of the excess protodermis to make the mass a little more manageable, too. He'll need to be operated on his joints either way."

"What's your sentence on those?"

"Left knee will have to be bolted down so it doesn't risk dislocating abruptly, but it'll survive; I'll leave what to do with the right one up to him in the end, though personally I'd completely re-do it since it's not much better than the calf and ankle - those are too damaged and will need prosthetic replacements. His foot seems fine enough, I'll see if I can salvage it."

"And his other ankle? Hewkii said it was broken."

"It is, and it'll need a thorough welding job. His hip and spine too, on a smaller scale. His chest is only a bit warped, thankfully, so there shouldn't be too many problems."

"About his arm--"

"The problem's organic. Elder Racans promised they'll check on it."

"Thank you. If there's anything we can do..."

"See if you can remedy him some more braces like the one he already had until the prosthetics feel natural and at least one crutch to get around, maybe a small vehicle. He'll need as little weight on his lower half as possible for the adjustment period, and it surely won't be too bad to let him have some support later on, either."

"That's the opposite of an issue. Nuparu will love to keep himself busy for about a day designing and making all that."

A deeper hum closed the conversation with a nod, and the Toa of Iron stalked away to the other side of the room to rummage with a pile of something delicate, of carefully tempered metal and thick crystalline glass, looking for the correct tool.

Their soft tinkering painted unclear shapes in the eye of Krakua's mind as their careful sounds melted into the white noise tracing patterns on the ceiling.

"You've been awfully quiet," a creaky voice whispered at his side.

"Thinking," he replied hoarsely, peacefully.

Jaller smiled: "About what?"

"If my mask can be fixed."

"That's a question for the mask makers," Zaria interjected.

"They'll surely have the schematics for a Suletu," the Toa of Fire reassured his friend: "If not, they can easily get someone to send a print for it over."

But the De-Toa tilted his head slightly: "I want my mask fixed," he insisted: "I don't need a new one. Mine's fine. I just want it fixed."

"It will have to be melted down."

"That's fine. I just want it fixed."

"I think that can be done. It will probably have some added protodermis, though, to stabilize it."

"But most of it will still be the same?"

"Of course."

"That's fine, then."

Liquid lightly crashing against the inside of some kind of vial distracted him briefly: the Toa of Iron laid the object down before he could catch a good glimpse of it and went back to rummaging for yet some other medical utensil.

Raising his volume so he could be heard above the rockus, he did not turn as he asked: "Did you listen to what I said earlier?"

"Yes," Krakua croaked as nicely as his ghastly voice could.

"What do you want for your eye, then?"

"Like this is fine."

"Your knee?"

"I trust you."

"So I have permission to make it a prosthesis?"

"Yes, please."

Zaria turned to him briefly like he'd just spoken in an alien language: "Aren't you polite," he muttered at last, sounding flabbergasted.

Krakua coughed out a little laugh.

Jaller remained in the room as long as he could, keeping a careful eye on the few pieces of equipment slowly piling up on a small tray beside the cot - metal ingots, a sealed glass vial of some nebulous liquid, some kind of half-mask, a chisel, a pair of small scissors, a miniature blowtorch, a scalpel of sorts. He recognized most of them from his time getting a shoulder fixed up in the claustrophobic infirmary in Ta-Koro, his example being used to teach as many Matoran as possible how to treat more dire injuries.

His thoughts soured the longer his gaze lingered on the utensils. A vague sense of calm nudged them to the side: glancing downward, he found the De-Toa staring at him, buzzing faintly yet reassuringly where he laid with a sort of pleasant grimace and a quiet mischievoys request to distract him.

Acquiescing, a short sonar wave left the Arthron.

The Toa of Fire managed a little smile when his friend squirmed with a hissing giggle as the sound gently hit him.

He nodded whenZaria made a definitive gesture, telling him to get out and wait until called again - probably to fetch the safely removed Mask of Telepathy.

His hand squeezed gently the dark armored shoulder one last time: "Remember you'll need to adjust."

"Hm-hm."

"And I'll have your mask."

"Hm-hm."

"So don't disappear again. Got it?"

"Hm-hm."

A stern look: "Got it?"

The battered warrior cackled: "Got it."

Jaller patted him lightly; the next moment, he was gone.

The Fe-Toa's palm was heavier, more concrete: laid across Krakua's chestpiece it seemed to encompass it completely, carefully studying how the protodermis rose and fell beneath it.

"Take a deep breath," he instructed.

Krakua inhaled as much as he could.

"Does it hurt?"

"No."

"Good. Keep going," he ordered as he went to fetch the vial.

The younger being watched him fix the half-mask on top of it, careful not to jostle the liquid too much yet: "I don't need it," he spoke calmly, very quietly. "I can handle the pain."

He watched the rusted fingers clench a little harder around the glass.

The words came out of Zaria in a hiss: "You can't."

No further arguments were had.

It took a couple of tries, but at last the muzzle fit perfectly over the Suletu's mouth.

The anesthetic smelled like something far too clean, scrubbed dry of any hint of life. Krakua shut the one eye that could still be properly shut and breathed the disgusting antiseptic scent in as long and as deep as he could, just like he was told to do, while a palm pressed down on his forehead.

Slowly, very slowly, the odor subsided.

He startled awake when he realized the weight spread on his face was gone as well. His throat rumbled and sputtered like an engine revved up one too many times, hurriedly calling out for Trinuma: no other part of his body understood his intentions, remaining limp and unresponsive inside his frozen body, and so all that came out of him was the low monotone wail of a calculator incurring into an impossible error.

An orange shape entered his field of vision: "Stay calm," (ejective alveolar fricatives, deeper tinnier tone, slightly scratchy) "Stay calm, we're done. Deep breaths."

"Done?" Krakua repeated - borrowing Zaria's voice when his own failed him again.

"Done. The operation's done. It went well. Now breathe."

His chest moved easier now. His back had lost the strange tingle he'd been feeling long enough to forget about, noticing it again only now that it had disappeared. His lower half felt like bits and pieces of a whole: entire body parts he knew had to be there left terrifyingly large gaps in his tactile reception.

His body felt more his with each breath, returning inhabitable little by little. It took a few long attempts, but his neck cleared, and opened, and words began to fill his mouth once more.

"How are you feeling?" the Fe-Toa inquired.

"Weird," he wheezed raucously, a little pained: "Drowsy."

"That's normal," his surgeon reassured him. "Your body is trying to recognize the prosthetics. Try to sleep it off, I'll wake you when Racans arrives to see what to do for your arm."

"My mask?"

Steps moving away: "Jaller's got it."

"Ah... Ah. Right."

He focused on the white noise - conversations out of the door, just far enough for the words to become indistinguishable, blooming into large pixelated patterns of static against the ceiling.

Another part of his body felt a little more familiar.

A whine left him.

Zaria turned back to him: "What now?"

"Wanted to ask," Krakua groaned through his tiredness. "More discreet... With a Suletu..."

He did not miss the scratching sound of tightening joints: "Questions about your operation?" the deep tinny voice hissed, warning him witho uttering any threat: "Or about Toa Zaria?"

The De-Toa craned his neck enough to look at the other.

His interlocutor showed him his back as he fancied himself busy putting his tools back in their rightful place.

"You thought of two things, when I said... I could handle it. The pain."

The creak of glass under pressure: "Be very quick."

"For the second - does it always feel, that bad?"

"Yes."

A soft hum.

Zaria's eye glowered from behind his shoulder: "And for the first?"

"Does it ever get better?"

Silence followed.

His head felt so terribly heavy. He didn't want to sleep.

It would have been so easy, if he'd had his mask. Maybe he should have left it forever stuck to his skull. It hurt horribly, and it didn't work as well as before, but he would have been able to use it now.

His body quivered. He was so tired. He didn't want to sleep.

The white noise on the ceiling curled around him comfortably, locking him in some sort of soothing hold.

Rusted hands rested on his knees.

"You'll need these checked every year," Zaria mumbled: "I'll be waiting for you. And hopefully, I'll... I'll have a good enough answer for you, one of these times."

His gaze met Krakua's.

He got back a comforted smile.

[trishmishtree]

So I made another c0rset, and it comes stuffed with fancy pillows

Apparently I am now on a quest to recreate an early Edwardian summer dress/historybound...in the middle of winter. The last time I made a c0rset, it was an under bust design meant to go under my modern clothes, and I drafted it myself--so this time I decided to be lazy and used Aranea Black’s Tulip c0rset pattern with a few minor alterations for fit.

The great thing about these straight front c0rsets is that they aren't actually supposed to fit to the contours of your body. As long as the waist size is right for you, you can pad out the bust and hips to fill out the areas of the c0rset that you're too small to fill. A foundational undergarment with wider hips and a lower, fuller bust instantly creates the illusion of a smaller waist, even if (like me) you aren’t able to lace down more than an inch before getting too close to tight lacing territory.

I made it in size D (which gives the c0rset a 23 5/8" waist, which means a ~2.5" lacing gap on me), but the cotton twill I used must’ve stretched a bit because it ended up closing all the way in the back again (but I did put in a waist tape so maybe I used a twill tape that stretches?). Come to think of it, I really should have started with size C instead. I ended up having to shave off an inch and a half off the two back pieces to get back some semblance of a lacing gap, and then let out 3/8" from one of the front seams where I have a weird rib that sticks out more on the right compared to the left (thanks, scoliosis) and only makes its presence known when I wear tight clothing that contains plastic whalebone.

^Closeup of some the flossing detail because this is the first time I've actually been happy with the result.

The fashion layer is an iridescent silk shantung that my phone camera keeps trying to make appear purple. It's made from black warp threads and cornflower blue weft threads and actually looks a lot more blue in real life. (Also, my skin is not this pink irl either. I think my phone camera just tints everything slightly pink.)

Also, here's the bust improver:

I self drafted the pattern pretty much directly from the extant in the LACMA collection. It’s stuffed with fabric scraps that I save specifically for stuffing, but it could still use a little more volume since the stuffing must have flattened down a bit from being worn. It’s probably going to need an entire extra inch of thickness, if the discrepancy in the lacing gap in the c0rset is anything to go by.

Speaking of padding, at the moment, the hip spring in the c0rset isn't quite up to Edwardian standards because it's just my natural hip spring since I haven't gotten around to making the hip pad yet. But I did take a page out of Snappydragon's book and made the sides of the hips adjustable to accommodate a hip pad in the future. Also, not entirely sure when I’m going to make the hip pad because everything I’ve read has advised against using fabric scraps for those because they’re too heavy, so I guess I’m going to have to invest in some cotton fiber fill.

As always, yes I can breathe. I think I got lucky and this c0rset pattern just works really well with my personal skeletal structure with minimal adjustments. Nothing is digging in in uncomfortable places. That said, this is not going to be something I'll wear in my daily life because the silhouette is just too exaggerated for me to get away with, and it doesn’t really provide that much back support since it is so loose around the entire circumference of my bust. 

Update: I did end up adding a lot more stuffing to the bust improver and now the c0rset actually laces up evenly, so yay

[parvulous-writings]

Home // Mother!Dimitrescu x Child!F!Reader

Request:  Hi! may i request this scenario: what if lady dimitrescu had a fourth daughter? like child reader stumbles into the castle and lady dimitrescu decides to raise her as her own. thanks love!

Requested by: Anon

Summary: Lady Dimitrescu adopts a new daughter. 

Warnings: mentions of death

Words: 1.7K

Notes:  My requests are currently open! My pinned post (found here) contains both a list of characters I write for, and a masterlist!

Not my gif 

Cold. That was the only thing you could feel. The only thing you had felt for the past several hours, at least. Well, feel in a loose sense of the term. Your limbs were numb, stiff and unable to move. You had been shuffling forward with no real sense of direction for who knows how long now, with no end in sight, no shelter from the elements you were forced to endure.  Your home had been attacked by massive monsters- not quite man, not quite human. You parents had ushered you and your siblings out of your home,  but now you were the last of your family line. One by one, your family had been picked off by your attackers, but each time you had managed to wriggle your way out of the situation. At one point you had even ducked into the woods to escape the beasts, but now that you had returned to the village you didn’t know what landmarks were what; almost everything you could recognise had been destroyed. You did, however, manage to find the Maiden of War, a statue that was in the centre of a roundabout like pathway that tractors and wagons often used. In normal life at least.  Nearby to that, up some stone steps, was a stone door with a carving that frightened most of the children of the village, even with the two reliefs missing. However, this time, the reliefs were there,  and the gateway had opened ever so slightly. Void of hope, and with every other option exhausted, you shuffle towards it, slipping through the crack, and starting up the snow-covered pathway to who knows where. Though, by looking up, you assumed that it lead to the massive castle which loomed over the village and it’s surroundings. 

The trek up there was probably much shorter than it seemed to be. There was a drawbridge that lay over a small, shallow body of water, and your footsteps echo off of it as you cross into a dark and rocky tunnel. It’s very dimly lit- nothing more than wall mounted torches and the fading remaining light to guide your way. You felt your way along to stone wall, the surface cold to the touch, not that you could tell all that much. Eventually, you came to a door. It was tall, much taller than you, although it was only about average height in reality. You pressed all your weight against it, and slowly- oh so slowly- did it creak open. You scurried inside, pushing the door shut once more behind you.  After catching your breath you take a moment to observe your surroundings- you were in a rather lavish room, just large enough to be classed as a hall, with hard, marble floors and a tiny staircase onto a more raised floor. You clamber up them, and notice a rather detailed portrait in front of you, of three beautiful young women, with tied up brown hair, sitting together in what appeared to be a forest or woodland clearing; it was a little bit hard to tell since the women took up most of the picture. You tilted your head slightly as you got lost in the colours and brushstrokes, wondering who these women were and what they did to warrant such a wonderful portrait. Of course, there was a plaque beneath it- most likely holding some of the information you wanted- you couldn’t read it, and it was a little too high for you anyway.

The sound of an opening door somewhere down the hall to your left catches your attention. Without knowing what else to do, you start to walk towards it, staying close to the walls and running your hand slowly along it. You push through a few more doors, before coming to a large hall- occupied with a chair, small table, assorted plants and even a chest of drawers in a corner. Your eyes roam upwards, and this room alone could house the entirety of the village, perhaps two or three times over. You knew the castle was big- it often occupied conversation among the children of the village- but this took your breath away. Not only was it huge, but it was ornate, more ornate than anything you had seen before in your life. One mere trinket from this room alone could have fed your family for at least two months, had they been alive still to see this.  You hear another door close behind you, and you spin round to see if who is there. You can only hope that the residents of this castle take pity on you. But, you see nothing. No one. You’re incredibly confused by this, and you have to glance this way and that to make sure that there’s no one around you. All you can find is a few flies. Wait. There’s more than a few. There’s three whole clouds.  You give a small shriek and duck to the floor, covering your head and face to try and hide away from the bugs, making sure they didn’t get near your face. If they didn’t get near your face, you could pretend they weren’t there at all. 

The only problem was, you could still hear the buzzing of their wings. You felt a few beat against your back, as the sounds began to warp and change. From buzzing and droning to... Laughter? Yes, it was laughter, three different laughs to be exact. Fearfully, you look up from your arms, to see three, rather fearsome looking young women in front of you. In surprise you bury your face into your arms again- if you couldn’t see them, they couldn’t see you, right? The three girls look between one another, slightly confused. Not at your behaviour, but more at how you- a mere child- had managed to get yourself up into the castle. The one standing in the middle,  one with red, oddly shaved hair, crouched down in front of you, tilting her head curiously. She glanced over her shoulder at the other two fly women, who shrugged at her; they didn’t know who you were or how you got into the castle either. “Child?” The one in front of you spoke, her voice like silk to your ears, especially after their piercing laughs and the roars of the Lycans. You shakily lift your head up again, looking up at her with tears of fear starting to prick at the corners of your eyes. She holds her hand out to you, trying to give you a smile of reassurance.  It works to some extent, though you don’t have too much of a choice other than to take the woman’s hand, so you carefully do so. She helps you to your feet, and you see the other two women staring at you. The blonde women looks to the last one, a brunette wearing a yellow variation of the pendant worn by all three. “Go tell mother.” The blonde said to her, to which the brunette burst into a cloud of flies in reply, swooping off down a hall. You give a yelp of surprise, hiding behind the legs of the woman who’s hand you still clutch to. She looks at you, confused for a second. 

She sighs, and starts to tug you along. “Come on.” She urges, rather impatiently, dragging you off down a side hall, where you can hear a couple of voices as you approach another door. The blonde woman pushes the door open, “Mother.” She greets, speaking to someone sitting in a plush, velvety chair. Whoever is sitting down places a crimson glass on a small table in front of her, before getting to her feet. “Well, let’s take a look at the child.” She speaks, and your jaw practically drops at her height. You hardly even reach her knees. You’re not sure whether to remain in awe, or to let the fright and fear set in. She looks down at you, regarding you briefly before starting to smile. “Why... I don’t see why you were so panicked, Cassandra...” She spoke to the brunette stood beside her chair, sent ahead of the other two with you. “Look at her- she poses no threat. It was chance she happened upon us, was it not?” She looked to the woman, who has lowered her head respectfully.  “Yes, mother.” She replied, before moving her gaze over to you again. “What are we to do with her? She is human, what if-” “Ah-ah.” The tall woman interrupts. “No what-ifs.” She says sternly, before turning her attention fully to you. “What happened to your family, little one?” She asks, not bothering to get down on your level. You take a moment to answer, which the Lady of the castle allows, considering you are merely a child, and in a strange new environment. She could understand any fear you may have, she has been there herself in the past.  “The.. The monsters.” You squeak, and the woman hums softly, looking at her three daughters briefly. 

In her mind, you were a child without a family, a child with need of a home and a family. She gave a curt nod to herself, folding her arms over her chest. “Well, then we shall be your new family.” She tells you, and the shock is clear on your face.  “What..?” You whisper, your voice hardly audible to any of the other women in the room.  “We shall be your new family.” She declares proudly again, “These are your new sisters. Bela.” She gestures to the woman still holding loosely onto your hand, with the shaved red hair. “Daniela.” She gestured to the blonde woman on the other side of you, “And Cassandra.” She placed a hand on the shoulder of the girl closest to her. “And you can call me mother.” She smiled brightly at you, stepping forward slightly, and bending down, opening her arms to you. “Come here, child.” She coos to you, as Bela drops your hand. You shuffle towards her, and as soon as you’re close enough, she scoops you up into her arms, resting you against her shoulder, cradling you with a warm smile. “Come now, let us find you a room...” She whispers, and as she starts walking through the seemingly endless maze of hallways you feel yourself drifting off to sleep in the arms of.. Well, your mother. Despite only just meeting her, you feel safe with her and her daughters, your sisters. You knew you’d be happy here, happier than you would be anywhere else, especially in the ruins of the village you once called home. 

------

Part two

[misterghostfrog]

[IMAGE ID; a digital drawing of Martin Blackwood carrying Jonathan Sims from The Magnus Archives. Martin is a fat freckled white man with curly ginger hair that is shaved close at the sides. He has a pair of round framed glasses in a bright red, under the glasses he is wearing eyeliner, and a navy eyeshadow. He has black lipstick, two black snakebite piercings under his lip, and a small black nostril piercing. His ear has a large black piercing that cuffs a chain to a small black piercing higher up his ear, and one final black piercing in the middle. He has a black choker, and then a looser chain necklace with an eye ornament on it. He has a studded lather jacket on that is covered in multiple patches and pins, mostly hidden by Jon: of the visible pins there is a trans flag patch on his chest, and on his shoulder is a large dark colored patch that has A-C-A-B on it in white. Under the Jacket is a black shirt that he has partly tucked into his pants, the shirt has a large anarchy symbol drawn on it in red. Under that he is wearing jeans that are significantly ripped as far as we can see. On his right hand he has several black rings, and his nails are painted black. Jon is a skinny Jordanian man with brown eyes and shoulder-length grey-streaked dark brown hair pulled back into a messy ponytail at the base of his neck. He has a beard beginning to grow that appears to be the product of forgetting to shave. He is covered in a series of small round scars that vary in exact size. He is wearing a pair of rectangle-framed glasses, a plain t-shirt, a pair of jeans that are ripped at the knee, and converse. Martin is carrying Jon bridal style in his arms, and is looking away, he is blushing, though his expression is concerned and appears to be speaking. Jon has his arms wrapped around Martins neck, his cheeks are darkened and he is staring at hte ground with an expression somewhere between fear and the face one makes when they’re having to retrace every step they’ve taken to get here. END ID]

Punk Martin but make it Jonmartin.

Also I wrote a lil thing to go along with this under the cut, its only barely edited because it was mostly for fun so be warned its a big ol mess! But its s2 jonmartin nonsense with Martin being very cool and attractive and Jon being seven layers deep in denial (Also I may have written Jon as a touch autistic because its projection hours tonight i’m too sleepy to mask and that goes for writing too babey)

(Mentions of worms, past injuries, and Jon dealing with some internalised ableism and general foolishness)

Jon forgot his cane.

It’s a relatively regular occurrence, for a multitude of reasons. For one thing it’s something of a recent addition to the list of things he needs to keep track of when he leaves the house. Another lovely parting gift from Prentiss, a worm in his left leg that went just quick enough to start burrowing into the bone before it was removed. 

For another, he really has other things to worry about. And if it doesn’t hurt, it shouldn’t matter. Most days he can get by just fine without it- it hurts of course. But not so much he can’t support himself, and really, does he need it otherwise?

Martin and Tim don’t seem to agree, though Sasha has kept respectfully to herself on the whole business. Martin, of course, he trusts. Albeit only recently. But that doesn’t make him right, his priorities are warped. Naturally. He doesn’t see the bigger picture.

(or at least that’s what Jon tells himself)

Which is what leads to this moment, sitting on a bench outside the shop, single grocery bag by his feet. He’d only run out to get a few things, but somewhere between the his flat the the shop his barely visible limp had become more pronounced as his hip began to throb, then he was halfway through the frozens when he realized he wasn’t going to be able to finish the trip. After that he’d barely made it through checkout to the nearest seat before all but collapsing into it.

And now he’s sitting, stuck. An insurmountable walk from home, without his stupid cane. Which, he notes, he wouldn’t need if he’d brought in the first place. Funny how that works.

“Jon?” A familiar voice jolts him out of his thoughts. Jon jolts upright. Martin. 

He knows Martin lives in the area, a side effect of his... investigations. Though he was unaware he used the same shop. He looks up, a greeting or perhaps a question on his lips that dies as soon as he actually lays eyes on Martin.

Martin is wearing a leather jacket. Not just a leather jacket of course, but that’s the first thing Jon can process. He’s wearing a studded leather jacket covered in various patches that advertise various opinions and identities that Jon doesn’t have time to think about. His  jeans are about as much rip as they are Jean, and he’s got piercings- and eyeliner. he’s dressed like he should be riding a motorcycle, not the beat-up red bike he’s got beside him.

“Are you alright?” Martin says, and Jon realizes he’s been staring.

“Are you going to a costume party?” Jon blurts instead of answering. A costume party would make sense, of course. Martin doesn’t dress like this, he dresses like- like-

It occurs to him dimly that he’s never encountered Martin outside of work, at least never in a scenario that would allow him to change out of his work clothes. And some part of him has always assumed that sweaters and khakis were simply how he dressed. It suited him, really. Or Jon had assumed, but then again he assumed anything familiar is suiting.

“Wh- A- no?” Martin answers, looking vaguely offended. Jon flushes.

“I- sorry, I just- I’ve... I didn’t think you seemed the type to dress... like that...?” Jon fumbles, pathetically trying to salvage the conversation. Judging by Martins expression, he’s failing.

Martin opens his mouth to say something, and Jon realizes there’s likely no coming back from this particular mortification. He snatches the bag by his feet and moves to stand. Some excuse already tumbling out when the reason for his sit-down, which had dulled to a shockingly forgettable throb, decides to remind him of his place in the world.

He lets out a cry of pain, and crumples. Only stopped from hitting the ground by a pair of arms that wrap around his chest and under his shoulder. 

“Oh my god, Jon. Are you alright- what- is it your leg? Where’s your cane-” Martin babbles, Gently replacing Jon on his bench as Jon breathes through gritted teeth.

“It’s fine- i’m fine Martin I-” he sighs, studiously avoiding Martins gaze. “My cane is at home.” He tries not to sound chastised as he says the last part- he shouldn’t have to after all. He’s still Martins boss. He shouldn’t be looking away like he’s been caught at something.

“Jon” Martin sounds exasperated, and Jon crosses his arms. Once again, nothing like someone being scolded. He’s not being scolded. He’s an adult. “How long have you been sitting here like this?”

“I...” Jon begins before trailing off, he’s not actually sure. The period between sitting on the bench and the pain dulling enough for him to think through the fog is something is a blur. He is pretty sure someone asked if he was alright at some point. His lack of answer seems to be enough for Martin though.

“Just give me a moment.” He says, stepping away from Jon over to his bike- which has fallen over onto the ground -pulling it upright and over to Jon on the bench. He pushes down the rusted kickstand with a hearty kick- and Jon briefly notes he’s wearing steel-toed boots -and sets the bike gently upright.

“Okay, so! If you sit on the bike I can push it, and you can get home and rest that leg without jostling it too much by trying to walk without your cane.” He says pointedly. Jon makes a face,

“This... this really isn’t necessary Martin- I’m perfectly capable-” He grumbles, waving a hand dismissively. But a glance at Martins expression shuts him up quick. 

“Do you think you can stand?” He asks. Jon pauses, the memory of the white-hot flash of pain still fresh in his mind. He grimaces, shaking his head. Martin hums thoughtfully. “Alright, would you be alright if I picked you up? Just for a moment to get you on the bike” He asks carefully.

Jon hesitates, looking between Martin and the bike. And weighs his options. After several seconds he nods. Martin smiles, and Jon feels something in his chest flutter. Anxiety at his decision most likely. Or perhaps nerves in relation to sitting on a bike, he’s never ridden one- of course Martin will be doing all the work but surely there’s some sort of balance required isn’t there? Really he shouldn’t be riding a bike like this-

Those thoughts are all swept away at the feeling of large warm hands gently scooping him off the bench. He instinctively throws his arms around Martins neck for support as he’s lifted into the air. 

He can feel Martins chest warm against his side as Martin holds him close, one hand on his shoulder and the other supporting his legs. He’s being cradled by his subordinate, carefully as so not to jostle his leg. And all he can think about is how warm Martin is. He’s large and soft despite all the sharper accessories and he smells a bit like leather and tea on top of whatever soap he uses. Probably something that Jon wouldn’t be able to name with a gun to his head. And Jon can see the freckles on Martins cheeks and neck close enough to count if he wanted to even as he looks away, saying something Jon can’t quite parse because he’s too busy reeling from the realization he’d be happy to sit in Martins arms like this for the rest of his life.

His face goes hot and he forces himself to look down at the ground. The pain is clearly messing with his head, or perhaps the sleep deprivation. Or perhaps he’s still riding the high from that moment of realization that Martin isn’t trying to kill him, that he can trust him. 

Either way he’s not thinking straight, which is why he’s dissapointed instead of relieved when Martin gently places him on the bike with the exact amount of care he took in picking him up. Which shouldn’t make him feel so oddly jittery but it does.

The ride is quiet, aside from awkward instructions from Jon on where to turn as Martin guides them carefully along the sidewalk. They miss a turn once because Jons too preoccupied with the feeling of Martins arm bumping against his shoulder as he guides the bike.

And then they’re at Jons flat, and Jon once again feels that misplaced disappointment. He wonders if perhaps Martin will carry him up to his flat, and his face burns again as the silliness of the thought hits him.

Martin does very, very briefly lift him to help him off the bike when he stumbles. But his leg has recovered enough that he can make it up to his flat without assistance, or so he tells Martin. Who looks unconvinced.

“Let me at least walk with you, yea? That way I know for sure you got home safe.” He insists, and Jon forced himself to be displeased with the situation.

It ends up being a good thing Martin came along though, a partway up the steps the railing is no longer enough to support Jon, and he ends up half-carried the rest of the way. Martins arm under his shoulder, his own loops around Martins back, gripping the jacket for support. He can feel his head drifting at the contact- Martin is just so damned warm and safe and Martin it’s impossible not to get distacted.

He forces himself to think about something else, anything else. The jacket- he can feel the leather under his fingertips and it’s as good distraction as any.

It’s a nice jacket, really. Clearly well-worn. And it does suit Martin, in an odd sort-of way.

Jon winces internally, remembering the conversation from earlier. He hadn’t meant to come off so... well. It doesn’t matter. Except that it does, even though it doesn’t, but it does.

Once they reach Jons door, he pushes off of Martin to lean on the wall while he fumbles for his keys. Martin lingers as he does so, twiddling his thumbs awkwardly in the silence.

Jon finds his keys and sighs in relief as the door swings open.

He nearly wanders inside and shuts the door before remembering basic human etiquette. He pauses in the doorway, turning to Martin. Who smiles awkwardly.

“Thank you.” He says stiffly, still leaning heavily on the doorframe. “That was... very kind. Of you.” Martin shakes his head.

“It’s nothing, really. Couldn’t exactly just leave you there, could I?” 

Jon shifts awkwardly, wincing at the brief weight on his leg. He’s right of course, morally at least. If not logically.

“I... I suppose not.” He says, hesitating before adding “I’m sorry.”

“Look, Jon. I already said it’s fine-”

“No-” Jon grimaces “not for that. I- I meant... for what I said. About your clothes. They don’t... I just- I didn’t expect it, and I may have come off as... rude.” He mutters

“Oh.” Martin says flatly, Jons sure he’d forgotten about that until just now, and he wishes he could have kept it that way.

“they do suit you, though.” He says, after an awkward pause. “Your clothes, I mean. It looks- you look nice.” he finishes as genuinely as he can- he does mean it. Of course, he just doesn’t know how to make it sound like he does.

“Oh” Martin says again, brightening slightly, his cheeks going blotchy red in a blush. “I- er- thank you...? I suppose?”

“Yes. Well. Your welcome, I suppose.” There’s another awkward pause, Martin isn’t quite smiling at Jon, but there’s something soft in his expression Jon can’t quite parse. “ Have a good day, Martin.” He says finally, after a long pause. Martins cheeks redden again.

“Oh- yeah, er. You too Jon- and take care of yourself. Alright?”

Jon nods, and Martin smiles. And Jon thinks he’d like to see Martin smile a bit more.

He waves as Martin heads down the stairs, he can hear Martin humming as he goes.

[anonbeadraws]

So I caved and with @spacespectres help made an avatarsona! With a big chunky statement to go with it!    (Trigger warnings for homophobia/transphobia, conversion therapy, death and parental abuse. Everyone gets just desserts though.)

‘I’m, actually not sure why I’m here. You can’t help me, my son is gone and the police arn't saying it but - I’m sorry, my ears are- It’s like- You know those alarms, the ones that are made to disperse kids at shopping centres, keep them from causing trouble- not that i think they work. you see more of them these days, scruffy and dirty, what their parents doing, i don’t-  Anyway, it’s like that noise, that high buzz. it’s meant to be that, as you get older, your brain tunes it out, adults aren’t meant to hear it anymore, just keep on shopping without hoodlums hanging about outside smoking and throwing shit at the elderly.   I don’t miss that, Ben’s smoking, i’ll say that. That’s awful to say, i bet you’re thinking, god how terrible, her child’s missing and she’s moaning about a few nicotine stains on the ceiling.

I know theres plenty that would call me a terrible mother anyway, i know the neighbours didn’t agree with my decision, the decision of a single mother, who struggled enough just to keep her child fed and watered and out of trouble, to then struggle to keep him from wearing my lipstick when i was out of the house-!   I have no problem with the gays. I want to say that, have that clear. I just know, what he was doing, that wasn’t my Ben, that wasn’t my son and, the Helping House was what he needed.   I’m his mum, i know what he needed, don’t care what his dad says. he wasn’t here, he wasn’t here to raise Ben, so he doesn’t-

The pamphlet was so nice, so professional and i checked it out online, all 5 stars, apart from the odd protester sticking his oar in, and it was- reassuring to know he’d be looked after, helped! Get what he needed. And he was fine when i left him there, with his old school backpack with all his bits in, the Helping staff there to welcome him. Reminded me a little of when he started primary school, he looked so small, all big eyes…  They promised it’d be a couple of weeks, maybe a month, and then he could come home, all better.

  I got to visit every weekend, which was nice! Sometimes brought him biscuits, can't beat home made, chatted a little. He still had that, that look from when i left, like he was little again, when i could tell he didn’t really want to leave me at the gates, he didn’t want to go in all alone, couldn’t we just go home instead mum?  But i was strong. For him. I resisted.

I think, it was when that look started to go, that little boy look, replaced with something, i don’t really want to think about even now, that i really noticed the other patients. One in particular. He looked different from the others. Props to the Helping House, they keep, kept the kids tidy. it was actually lovely, real treat to see Ben all combed and neat, not smelling like his trash dump of a room. And not a whiff of smoke! i’d honestly not have been surprised if he’d snuck in some ciggies in but if he had, they must have confiscated em quick.    No fags in the Helping House! I mean-! oh you know, what i mean!

But this one,.. they all dressed in clothes from home, apparently they worked out its better for the process, this one was a mess. Half shaved hair, no knees in the jeans and honestly, sunglasses indoors? who did He think he was!? Mick Jagger?  He just slouched in the corner of the visiting room, looking out into the gardens, like he belonged there in that clean good place.  They were nice gardens, well looked after, like the kids. I remember it was coming up summer, lots of lovely flowers. lots of happy bees.

Anyway, i did Not like how Ben looked over at, him, while we had our cups of tea. it was this, gooey soft look i’d never seen on him. later i remembered it. it was how his dad looked when we started courting. That cloying honey sweet love that turned sickly and choking far too quick. God, that look, on my boys face? You bet I had words with the staff before i went. I did not bring my boy here to get help and it be ruined by some hooligan with warped intentions. I made sure they understood. They didn't seem to know what i meant by the Sunglasses kid but it’s a big facility, probably get a lot of patients. Their success rate was incredible really, always seemed to be spaces open. Whatever they did, didn’t do a lot though. Cause i kept seeing him, every time i visited. And he drew a crowd.       At first it was the ones who didn’t have family to come, poor dears. They’d be sat, close as they could to him. They had rules about touching in the Helping House, and rightly so, helps with, the temptation, but they’d sit there, close as they could to him, just listening, sun on their faces from the big glass window.  Now that i’m thinking about it, I don’t think i remember ‘em blinking?    Anyway, Could never hear what was said, what venom that creeper was pouring into their ears, whenever i tried to hear him over the other visitors, it just came over as a low buzz. Well, whatever it was, those kids were hooked.  I didn't like it. And the next weekend, there more of ‘em! You’d have kids that’d be crying one week that their family hadn't come, who didn't give two shits the next, pardon my french. They’d be sat in the corner, happy sappy faces, listening to whatever nonsense that kid was murmuring to his little flock. They didn’t touch, not then, but it was a close thing, i remember being so shocked that nothing was being done about it. It was obviously a problem. that weirdo was the problem.

But my boy didn’t stray. He might’ve looked over at that hive of idiots who worked against what these good people were trying to do for them, with that… look. But he stayed and drank his tea with me like he should. He looked tired, but i knew that’s cause he was working hard, getting better.  i got the reports.

But the last couple of visits, i come in and it’s just my boy in the visitors room.   The rest were outside in the garden, in the flowers. All those kids, twenty or so of em, tangled in each other, touching and so close. I don’t think they were, Doing things but, it was against regulation for sure,  and I stood up, to go do something, anything, even just yell at them to stop it, ask what they thought they were doing!? That’s when the Buzzing started. For a second i thought it was just a bee come in from the garden, poor little bumble trapped indoors but it was in my ears, in my head. It was nothing i’d ever felt before and I’ve had Tinitus and that’s a nasty bugger but it was more than that.

Been to the doctors since. Apparently they can’t work it out, whats causing it. All they can say was it wasn’t Tinitus.

I think it was, Sunglasses looking at me. I remember when i got up, to tell ‘em off, i remember light in the corner of my eye, like a reflection off glass. I think he turned, he knew i was going to stop em and he-

Last sunday was the last time, the last visit. Had a big tin of biscuits, gingerbread, Ben’s favourite, had some nice news about his cousin getting into uni, first in the family! Always had hopes Ben would be the second, but-  Ben wasn’t waiting for me. He was outside. With Them.

Him.

There he was, holding the hand of that freak and the staff were just stood round like numpty’s doing nothing! Dumb faces and vacant as their patients were outside rolling about in the sun like it was the 60’s! And smoking! I thought, they must’ve found a stash cause i could see the smoke, swirling dark against the sky, dark against their smiling, stupid faces.

I was furious. i was, so angry.

I think thats why i did it. I was so angry that i couldn’t think of anything else to do but grab that sunglasses wearing freak who was corrupting my boy, who was holding his hand and steering him wrong and undoing all my work and love, and shake my anger out of him. I was yelling all that, yelling at him. I remember he was light, not as heavy as he should be, not for a kid his age and that he didn’t flinch. And he spoke to me, in that low drone that I thought had been just distance and space distorting his voice, but was just him, god it was just him.

I cant remember exactly what he said, something about love, real love, some hippy nonsense. No, i remember one thing. The little shit asked if i thought i was ‘my child’s real Family.” ‘Of course, i said, ‘i’m his mother’ Then he smiled, like i was wrong and i hated him. And I could see myself, in that dark reflection, in those stupid shades and i couldn’t stand it.   I wish i hadn’t, done what i did. i just didn’t want to see myself in that black mirror anymore, all twisted and hateful.   Turns out it was far nicer than what was behind them.

I let go, dropped it, that thing in ripped jeans and stripes and it fell into the flowers. There were so many happy bees. Thats when i heard the other kids. They had it’s voice, shared it’s voice, that drone. That buzz. i didn’t dare look at them. My ears, started up again, like before but, that sound, their sound, it made it louder and i honestly thought my head might explode and I turn to Ben, my boy, who had dropped to his knees in front of that thing, holding it’s hand and for a second, I thought he was smoking again, dark wisps coming from his downturned face and, I just, my fear turned to anger, for just a second, that he would do that here and now.

But I begged him to come away, to leave it alone, to get better, to just be my little boy again, to come home with mummy. Then he looked up, my Ben, and his face-   it wasn’t smoke, it had never been smoke. it was the same as whatever had been bumbling around in the creature that still lay in the flowers but Ben smiled all the same. I, feel crazy, crazy saying it but- as the bees poured out of my little boy’s smiling mouth in that choking swarm, their buzzing droning out his words, my boys last-

My name is Sarah

i’d never seen him happier.

Apparently I fainted. Never fainted in my life, i’ll tell you, too tough for that sort of thing, but i must’ve. Police think it’s what saved me. I like to think otherwise.   Officially, what happened was that the patients turned on the staff, killed em and left. Simple, explainable. Some sicko’s like to use what happened as an argument against conversion therapy, old hippy dykes that don’t have enough to picket over, idiots.  They didn’t see the bodies, they didn’t see what those ‘helpless victims’ did- They dragged them outside after they killed em, into the sun, into the flowers. I remember waking up once, amongst all the dead. Happy bees, dipping their beaks into the blood of the doctors. Plenty of sugar in blood, I read.

Ben was all i had left, my only family. I don’t have no one left. You don’t get many visitor when the papers insist you made your kid a killer. Don’t even get phone calls from Dave anymore, but i call that blessing. He was barely Ben’s dad anyway. I’ve gotten used to the quiet. i go to work, i come home, watch a bit of telly. the buzz from the old tv only scares me a little. I know i did my best for him. i believe that, after everything. I wouldn’t be here though, if, there wasn’t, something else.

 I had a visitor the yesterday. Wasn’t expecting it, thought it was a missionary, Jehovah’s or something. Was ready to tell them to piss off, i tell you. It was a girl. Said she was my daughter. she looked like my Ben, same smile, same funny little knees he used to scrape up, ones i used to kiss better. It wasn’t Ben. My Ben had eyes. My daughters words buzzed, like there was something in her throat. Perhaps the same things that crawled where her eyes would be, round and yellow and bumbling, i thought, and my head starting hurting again. She only stayed at the door, didn’t come in. She said she just wanted to say hello.

She said she’ll visit again.

That she’ll bring her family.

i don’t think she means me anymore.’ The magnus archives belongs to Rusty Quill, the above belongs to me!

[lionheartkrbkzine]

Lionheart’s Interactive KiriBaku Twitter Thread

Pro Heroes, Bed-Sharing, Fake Dating, Quirk Accident

Rating: T (for swearing & canon-typical violence)

At the end of each Twitter update was an overnight poll where our followers got to decide the direction of the plot or details about story elements!

Feel free to reply with your thoughts, predictions, or desires, and Head Mod ET and Social Media Mod Belle will do our best to incorporate your ideas! This is a thank you and a way for us all to collaborate together until application responses are sent out on April 5th.

🧡❤️💥⚙️💥❤️🧡

Three buildings were on fire, and it wasn’t Bakugou’s fault.

Blackened smokestacks billowed above the Tokyo cityscape as he and Kirishima raced toward the scene. Bakugou took to the skies while his partner swerved between sedans and work trucks parked bumper-to-bumper on the roadway. Bakugou’s boots skid on the rough gravel of rooftops as he blasted from one to the next, his scorching propellant warping the air behind him, leaving trails of Schlieren lines in his wake.

He crouched on the edge of a four-story building above the battle, glimpses of a hero battle raging beneath the haze of ash and concrete dust. Heroes with water-based quirks tried and failed to mitigate the damage of six gangly beams of red-hot light.

“Riot, you got eyes?” he asked into his earpiece.

“Not directly on the prize, but I’m getting intel now! Are you seeing how the beams flicker in and out?”

“Yeah. Probably low level of quirk control or erratic mentality. Or both.”

“The team leader on the ground says the villain’s in a donut hole of concrete. Rubble’s piled up on all sides, so no one can get to him.”

Bakugou rolled his eyes. “Amateurs.” The villain probably got himself cornered in a pit of fallen debris and figured he could wait it out or cause enough damage to try to make a run for it. “Shock Diamond, then.”

“Now?! Finally?! Hell yeah, let's go!"

Bakugou felt the heat of the lasers as one shaved the side of his building. He sneered at the heroes doing a piss-poor job of containment and checked behind him for the extent of the damage. A singed line gouged into the wall of a parking garage, but it stopped with a blunted tip before it speared the next building. The lasers didn’t seem to work like Aoyama’s — they could only extend so far.

Not made out of light, then. Kiri will be fine.

Not that he was worried about his partner. Kirishima could handle himself.

Even if Bakugou did pack the idiot a lunch every day and nudge him to go to bed when he fell asleep on the couch. And bought him cold medicine when he stayed out late walking Mirko’s seventy-eight-year-old receptionist home on dark, rainy nights. And bleached and dyed his roots when they started growing out.

But he wasn’t worried. The fact that the beams must be a form of slow-moving energy just gave them a tactical advantage. It had nothing to do with the fact that Kirishima’s hardening was more sensitive to concentrated light attacks yet the hero would bulldoze his way in front of them anyway.

The idiot’s voice rang through Bakugou’s earpiece. “Greenlight, Dynamight!”

“No matter how many times you say it, the rhyme doesn’t get any catchier.” Like a swimmer, he gripped the edge of the roof, rose halfway from his crouch, and dove into the pool of ash and smoke head-first. 

Catching the current mid-air, he soared closer to where Kirishima was probably charging into the fray. Bakugou used the familiar shock of red hair as his signal and dropped feet-first, sending down a counterblast to stick the landing. 

As Dynamight set himself up directly behind Red Riot, they charged the villain in a single-file line. 

Without missing a beat, Kirishima extended his arms behind him at the same time Bakugou pushed his chest into the other man’s back. Kirishima’s arms locked onto Bakugou’s sides.

Bakugou tucked his chin, extended his hands behind him, and sent out a blinding explosion.

They rocketed forward — an unbreakable wall and a ballistic force. The perfect offense and defense. Explosion and Hardening. 

Dynamight and Red Riot: Shock Diamond.

As they smashed through the rubble, the devastating strength of Red Riot’s quirk wracked through Bakugou’s body, but Kirishima held him tightly against his back. The shock waves cleared from Bakugou’s spine, and he jumped into the rapidly-clearing fog of smoke and dust.

His eyes widened. He whipped his head from side to side. He stopped, listened.

The pit was empty.

Meeting his partner’s eyes, Bakugou could only think of one thing to say. “What the fuck?!”

But Red Riot was similarly dumbfounded, his brows furrowed and jaw hanging slack, glancing around the center of the crater.

Bakugou kicked at a fallen pebble, its mere presence offensive in the heat of his frustration. 

“Dynamight! Red Riot!” An aged hero with a sky blue costume ran toward them, waving his arms in ridiculous circles and spraying arcs of water through the air. “Good work out there!”

“We didn’t do shit! We just busted through a wall!”

"What Bakugou means to say is 'thank you', sir!”

“Well, the guy’s a problem for tomorrow’s heroes now. I’ve sent a team to scout the perimeter, and the police have his mugshot and quirk info. Another group is putting out the last of the fires. We’re lucky it’s a weekend — no one in those office buildings meant no casualties.” The older hero jiggled and sloshed as he rested his hands on his service belt, the edges of his existence just barely see-through as his costume molded to his mutation quirk. “For now, we need you two to handle some of the media coverage while we start to get a section of road opened back up.”

“No problem! Leave it to us!”

Flubber strode off, his boots leaving wet footprints on the asphalt.

Bakugou turned to his partner. “No.”

"Hey— where are you going?! You can't just leave the press to me all the time!"

Huffing, Bakugou slipped through an unblocked alleyway, brushing concrete crumbs off his shoulders as he took deep breaths. Normally he would feel some semblance of guilt about leaving a crime scene or abandoning Kirishima to fend off the harpies on his own, but the villain did escape. Bakugou might as well join the search of the perimeter.

A sharp scream had his feet slapping the pavement before his brain caught up.

Rounding the corner of an office park, the street opened up to allow for a municipal park one block long and one wide. Amidst swing sets and jungle gyms stood a proud maple tree. In one of its branches clung a girl no more than six years old.

Below her, a group of parents huddled in a crescent moon around the trunk, some gawking, some enjoying the entertainment, and others consoling one woman in the center of it all. Bakugou made a beeline for her.

She jumped at the hulking form of a grenade-adorned hero. He never tried very hard to work on his public image.

“Oh, Dynamight.” The whites of the woman’s eyes gaped in surprise, and she looked back and forth between the imposing hero and the girl high up in the tree. “She just— She feels more secure when she’s up high, and she got scared by all the noise and the lights, so she climbed into the tree, but now she can’t get back down and she’s too high for me to reach her, and I can’t climb up—”

“Stop.” The woman snapped her teeth closed with a click. “I’ll get her down.”

She didn’t look especially reassured. Shit. What would Kirishima do? Probably flash a smile and bang his fists together or some other cute-ass Kirishima-ism. Bakugou gave her a closed-mouth smile and a stiff pat on the shoulder instead. That’ll do.

Grasping a branch with one hand and placing the flat of his boot on the trunk, he hoisted himself into the tree. He climbed higher and higher, wary of the thinning branches. When he couldn’t fit on the remaining limbs, he lifted his arms out for the girl.

“C’mon, I’ll take you back to your mom.” His voice was soft, low, and practiced. The girl eyed him warily, but after catching a glimpse of her mom below, shuffled into Bakugou’s hold. “Good job. Just hold on to me like you did to the branch, okay?”

She nodded against his shoulder, and he began his climb back down.

“What’s your name?”

“Matatabi,” she mumbled.

“What were you doin’ that high up?”

“Wanted to catch it.”

He frowned, wondering what it was, but they had reached the bottom and he had reached his patience quota for the day. Especially when the girl threw a fit in his arms, hissing and wiggling, and pushing and scratching at him. “Oi!” He dropped her, and she scurried to her mom, leaving him with whiplash and three welts on his bicep.

“Oh. Oh, dear.” The mother looked like she was about to confess to murder. Great. “Did she scratch you?”

No shit. “Yes, but it’s completely understandable.”

“Ah, awe, thank you—” at least he got a smile out of that one “—but, um, there may be a bit of an issue?” Of course there is. “She seems to activate her quirk when she scratches or bites.” She grimaced, floundering for her next words.

He took a deep breath. It wasn’t the kid’s fault. “It’s fine. What should I expect with the effects?”

“Um. Cat?”

He blinked. “Cat?”

She nodded. “Cat.”

“Dynamight!”

They both looked up then to Red Riot’s jogging figure, dust and cement billowing behind his ass cape. 

“Everything alri-oh.” Kirishima was staring somewhere above Bakugou’s forehead, his mouth formed in the perfect ‘O’ shape.

“What are you looking at?!”

“Ears.”

Bakugou’s stomach fell into his butt. “What?”

“Bro… ears. You have… ears.”

“No.”

“Dude they look so soft.” Slow hands lifted higher and higher, above Bakugou’s face up to the top of his head. “Can I just—”

Bakugou slapped his hands away. “Don’t you dare,” he hissed.

Kirishima chortled— chortled! — and turned to the mother of the tree climbing, cat nabbing daughter.

Bakugou watched the exchange with clenched fists.

“I’m so sorry!” She bowed low, almost tipping her kid onto the ground. “Is she in trouble?”

“No, no!” Kirishima smiled at them. They seeped into it like a warm blanket on a cold day. “We’ll just get your contact information in case we have any further questions about the quirk—”

A sharp pain stung both of Bakugou’s palms. He hissed and checked his hands, tuning out the rest of Kirishima’s mediation.

Claws. He had ears and claws.

Well, at least he had another weapon now — that was pretty cool, actually. As soon as the thought passed through his head, the claws retracted into his nail beds, leaving behind his normal, blunt nails.

He felt his ears droop to the side of his head.

“So… do you want to head back to the agency?”

He looked up at his partner, giving him his best baleful glare with the ears and all. Kirishima just snorted. “There’s no way in Hell I’m going back there like this.”

“Awe, but you could be our new office mascot.” He reached forward to pet Bakugou’s ear again. He was unsuccessful. “Alright, alright,” he laughed, pulling out his phone, “let’s call Mirko and get our next orders, then.” The ringer blasted loud and clear, Kirishima holding his phone in selfie-mode.

“You little shit! She doesn’t need to see!”

They played a game of impromptu tag until their boss picked up. She, of course, immediately burst into guffaws of laughter. 

Bakugou was so ready for today to be over.

“Hey, boss! What, uh— What do you suggest we do here with uh, Cat...kugou?”

“I’ll kill you,” he whispered.

“Hell if I know, I’ve never needed flea prevention.” Bakugou balked. “Take him to the vet, I guess!”

“Yessir!” Kirishima hung up before Bakugou could even process the words that just came out of his boss’s mouth.

“I am not—” he huffed “—going—” huff “—to the fucking VET!”

🧡❤️💥⚙️💥❤️🧡

If All Might himself had told Bakugou that hero life would involve sitting on a metal exam table in a veterinarian’s office, he wouldn’t believe a word of it. Not because it was impossible. Just because Bakugou would never get himself into that kind of situation.

He craned his neck back, glaring at his reflection in the operating mirror hanging from the ceiling. Two ash blond ears twitched back at him.

He sighed, crossing his arms and adjusting his seat on the hard metal. If I grow a tail, I’m gonna scream.

After what felt like hours of waiting, twitching, and reading pamphlets about “What to do if you have a fat cat,” the vet finally strode through the door, Kirishima hot on her heels.

She turned, frowning. “Oh, I’m so sorry — I know you’re hero partners, but technically the exam room is family only."

Bakugou’s eyes flicked to Kirishima. His partner met his desperate glare head-on.

[itsjustmyfantasyroom]

Fresh Start part 4

Get ready to melt a little, all the fluff <3 but don’t worry more fluff where that came from. Deep down every Barba/Raul lover would want this to happen to them personally 

You woke up the next morning feeling really excited, you and the squad had started a group chat, you guys chatted nonstop and had all planned to meet outside the gala for 7 pm.

You showered, washed your hair, shaved and walked out of the bathroom in your towel, and look at the beautiful gown you had chosen to wear for you first NYPD gala, along with the beautiful sliver sandals you had chosen and your diamond earrings your Mum had got you a few years ago for Christmas were the finishing touch. You where not much of a heels person, why be uncomfortable was your life motto.

****

It was 6.45 pm, and Rafael had just pulled up at the gala, he walked over to seating plan and seen that he was seated with you and the squad, he smiled with delight, maybe he would get to talk to you tonight after all.  He went to the men’s room and fixed himself up, straitening his bow tie and tux jacket, as he walked out he heard a laugh he had heard before, Amaro. He was standing there with Liv, Fin, Amanda, and then he saw someone else standing with their back to him. Knowing full well it was you, he has seen that sexy ass before, he looked you up and down.

You were dressed in a navy blue velvet long form fitting dress. It was tight fitted which showed off all your curves. One shoulder and arm was completely uncovered and the other covered with a long sleeve down to your wrist and flared out a little. Your hair was curled in big curls running down your back.

“Barba, your here, we are all sitting with you” Said Liv with a smile.

You turned around, your make up was just right. Your eye makeup was just enough to bring out your eyes, and long eye lashes he had only just noticed, with a light tint of pink on your lips, he seen the side of your neck out, the beautiful diamond stud earrings in your ears, your hair parted to the side, one side behind your ear. You looked amazing, breath taking. And as he got closer, your perfume was different, more of a bite, rather than the sweet one you wear to work.

“Detectives” he said nodding his head

“Hey” everyone said together.

He walked over and stood next to you, “Shall we find our table.” trying to control himself from grabbing you and kissing you in front of everyone.  Amanda and Nick walked ahead, walking closely to each other, Liv hooked onto Fins arm and they walked in. You were looking in front of you and you hadn’t even noticed, Barba grabbing your arm, and warped it around his.

“Thank you Mr Barba.”

“Please, tonight call me Rafael.”

“I hope I don’t disappoint you if my tongue slips and I still call you Mr Barba, it’s a habit.”

“Trust me tonight, there is no way you could disappoint me.”

You giggled, “In that case you better call me Y/N”

When you got to your table, Nick saved you the seat between him and Fin, Rafael went and sat around the other side of the table next to Liv, you where a little upset he wasn’t next to you, but when you seen him sit down, he was directly in your eye sight.

He lent over to Liv, looked directly at you and said, “This is going to be fun.” With a smirk on his face.

Just like every other gala, it was boring, all the speeches and formalities, a few times Barba looked over and seen Nick whispering in your ear and you would giggle, he would frown and look down. Dinner was amazing, so tasty. But then the fun began. Usually the gala’s had a band, but this time they had a DJ. A very up beat song came on and Nick grabbed yours and Amanda’s hands and lead you both to the dance floor. You were dancing and having a great time with your new friends and work mates. Fin and Liv came over and started to dance with you guys. Rafael couldn’t keep his eyes off you. You looked so happy laughing, singing and moving your hips. You waved at him a couple of times, to try and get him to join you guys, but he just shook his head no. After a few songs, Liv and Fin called it a night and left. You didn’t see Barba in his chair, so you assumed he had left too, a little rude not saying goodbye. You needed a drink, and a slow song came on, so you left Amanda and Nick to it, sat down to have a sip of water. You went to pull out your phone out of your clutch, when Rafael came and sat on the seat next to you.

“I thought you left.”

“Do you really think I would leave without saying bye, that’s a bit disappointing?”

You shrugged your shoulders. “I thought you said I couldn’t disappoint you tonight.” You said with your eye brows frowned and a small smile on your face.

He giggled and looked down. “I told Liv I would keep an eye on you, and make sure you got home safe, you have no hope with those two love birds.” And he nodded at Amanda and Nick dancing close to each other with Nicks arms wrapped around Amanda’s waist, and Amanda’s arms wrapped around Nick’s neck, both smiling and looking into each others eyes.

“Thanks, but you don’t have to stick around for me, I’m sure you have better things you could be doing. And I haven’t had much to drink anyway.” You said with a smile.

Rafael looked at you with a smile, a smile like he was up to something, before you knew it; he grabbed your hand and pulled you towards the dance floor. He wrapped one arm around you waist and held your other hand on his chest, with his hand on top, while your free hand was resting on his shoulder, him looking deep into  your eyes. The slow song finished and an upbeat song came on. He let go of your waist and garbed your other hand that was on his shoulder and you guys danced together, him spinning you around, laughing and dancing. He didn’t let go on your hands once.

You where puffed out from all the dancing, who knew what a great dancer the ADA was, the way he moved those hips! Then you noticed Nick and Amanda where gone, you both walked back to your table for drink and you checked your phone;

Nick: 12am- Sorry I left you partner, you were having fun with Barba, see you Monday

You giggled; “I think it’s time to go home.” you lent close to his ear, he placed a hand on your waist to get closer to listen to you.

“OK.”

He grabbed your arm and wrapped it around his and you both walked out.

“I live up town.”

“Me too, let’s share a cab?” you nodded and he hailed one down

You both gave your addresses and the cab took off.

The cab ride you laughed and giggled with each other, he was making fun that you hadn’t seen New York and all you wanted was to go to Brooklyn for cakes, and how you where the first women he had even met that didn’t wear heels with a ball gown. The next thing you knew, the cab pulled up at your place.

“That’s a shame, I was having fun.” You looked at the metre and gave the cab driver your half.

“Me too, maybe...maybe tomorrow we can meet at Central Park and I can show you around and maybe get lunch?”

“That would be great. But do you really want to spend your day off with a co worker?”

“I could think of nothing better. Meet me where the horse carriages are at 10”

“Hope you don’t disappoint Mr. Barba.” You lent over and gave him a small kiss on the cheek, opened the door and got out, closing the door behind you.

Just as you got to your door, your phone buzzed:

1.03 am- Rafael; I told you I never disappoint, see you at 10 at Central Park. Sweet Dreams Detective. You looked beautiful tonight by the way, even if you didn’t wear heels.

1.05 am-Y/N; Looking forward to it Mr Barba, see you at 10. You looked very handsome tonight, defiantly didn’t disappoint, Sweet Dreams x

When Rafael read your text his tummy started to flutter, he couldn’t wait for tomorrow.

[myaekingheart]

139. Clumsy

read the scarecrow and the bell on ao3 index | from the beginning | < previous | next >

               When Lady Tsunade asked to see her in the hokage’s office on a Saturday morning, Rei wasn’t quite sure what else she had expected. Word travels fast in Konoha, and even faster among the hospital staff. The hokage was bound to find out eventually. Still, Rei had hoped—naively so—that she would have been granted just a little more time. She wasn’t ready for this. Not yet. She wondered for a moment if she could just feign sickness, a sorry excuse to avoid confrontation. Standing over the sink now, hands shaking and face pale, she knew she wouldn’t have to try very hard to begin with.

               But no. She could not procrastinate any longer. Time refused to stop for her and her indecision. The sooner she got this over with, the better. Gritting her teeth, Rei forced herself to move, to reach for her toothbrush in the cup by the sink. Her trembling hands betrayed her, however, and her faulty grip led to a domino effect of clutter spilling across the counter and onto the floor. Rei cursed under her breath and scrambled awkwardly, clumsily, to grab as much as she could. Bottles of mouthwash and shaving cream, razors and makeup brushes and toothpaste, all tumbled down with a chaotic crash.

               Immediately, Kakashi skidded into the doorway with a frantic look on his face. “Rei, what happened? Are you okay?” he asked. Before she could even answer, he swooped in to help her gather their things. His movements were so quick, so decisive. A stark contrast to the way Rei’s limbs warped and lagged.

               “It’s fine, don’t worry about it” Rei muttered sourly. “Just me fucking shit up again, per usual.”  

               Kakashi frowned. “What did you even do?” he asked, and Rei couldn’t tell whether he was disappointed or concerned. Either way, her blood boiled at the inquiry.

               “All I was trying to do was brush my dumbass teeth, but our bathroom is such a fucking catastrophe, I just—augh!” she groaned, and slammed her forehead against the edge of the counter in defeat.

               “You were…going to brush your teeth before breakfast…?” Kakashi cocked a brow.

               Rei paused, blinked. “I swear to fuck” she muttered under her breath. She clenched her jaw and reached up toward the counter so as to slam the toothbrushes violently back into their cup.

               Kakashi sighed and shook his head. Over the past few days, something had changed within his fiancée. Her mind had grown so cloudy, her acuity blunt and hazy. Even the most basic of tasks required utmost care and concentration and even then, she still faltered. He hated seeing her like this. She was a captain of the ANBU black ops, for heaven’s sake. He knew she was better than this. Helping her back up to her feet, Kakashi frowned and asked, “Rei, what’s gotten into you?”

               The question infuriated her. What had gotten into her? How dare he even ask. Shoving him away, she spat, “Your fucking sperm is what’s gotten into me, Kakashi.” Anger rose up in the back of her throat and her head had started to pound. She could feel her rapid heartbeat in her hot, ringing ears. As she stormed off toward the dresser, the whole world warped technicolor. The floor swayed beneath her and the walls vortexed and she suddenly felt as if her brain had astral projected straight out of her skull. She reached a hazy hand out to the nearest piece of furniture in an attempt to steady herself, her knees buckling beneath her weight, but found herself stumbling into Kakashi’s strong arms instead. He guided her to the bed and sat her down gently on the edge.

               Rei vibrated with urgency, eyes darting around the room in an attempt to discern what needed to be done next. All her thoughts jumbled into radio static. Kakashi took hold of her trembling hands, squeezing them lightly in reassurance. Toshio lumbered nearer to rest his head by her side. A small whimper pushed it’s way through Rei’s nose as her heart picked up the pace, rattling against her ribs. Every nerve in her body tingled and numbed.

               “Rei, just breathe” Kakashi murmured, brushing the bangs back out of her face. He wondered if her anxiety attacks were worse now than ever before, if the pregnancy hormones had only enhanced the inner chaos.

               “Don’t tell me what to do, Kakashi” she spat.

               “I’m only trying to help” Kakashi frowned.

               “I don’t need your help” she replied, even though she knew that was a lie. This loss of independence, this spinning in her head and pounding in her chest, only emphasized the cognitive dissonance screaming in her subconscious. She squeezed Kakashi’s hand, begged her body to move, but she was paralyzed.

               “Rei, just tell me what’s going on” Kakashi said. “What’s gotten you so worked up?” And that was the other point of contention: Rei had not told Kakashi of what was to come that morning. She had received Lady Tsunade’s summon the morning after the doctor’s appointment. Kakashi had been away on a low-rank mission; she had intended to tell him when he got home, but she couldn’t stomach speaking it into existence. She knew deep down that if she tried to verbalize what was being asked of her, the promise of the ultimate confrontation, all she would produce was anxious vomit. Rei had no other choice but to swallow it down, keep it to herself, in hopes that her own avoidance might make it disappear. Realistically, she knew that it would not.

                “K-Kakashi…” Rei finally croaked after a long stretch of silence. Kakashi looked to her expectantly. She swallowed back her fear now, forced herself to power onward. “Lady Tsunade asked me to see her this morning. I know exactly what’s going on. She knows, Kakashi. Sh-she has to know. And…and I don’t think I can handle it. I don’t think I can handle any of this…!”

               “Shh, Rei, it’s okay” Kakashi whispered, cupping her face in his hand. He caressed her cheek softly with his thumb. “You have nothing to worry about, I promise. Everything is going to be fine.”

               “Y-You keep saying that, Kakashi, but how can you know?” Rei exclaimed, borderline hysterical. “Kakashi, I’m barely even functional anymore by myself, let alone dealing with something like this! I don’t know what the fuck is wrong, I don’t know what’s going on, I just—Kakashi, I can’t do this”—here, she pounded her fist against her thigh in frustration. “I can’t do any of this.” Her voice cracked and her eyes glossed over, threatening tears. Her lower lip quivered and she gagged into the palm of her hand, her breathing desperate and unsteady. Kakashi quickly climbed up onto the bed beside her and pulled her into his arms. He could feel the haphazard beat of her heart, the anxious shivers slowly creeping over her body. “I don’t know how I’m going to do this, Kakashi. What if Lady Tsunade is pissed at me? Sh-she’s going to be so pissed at me. I-I made a promise, and now I have to break it. A-and how am I supposed to tell my team?! Oh god, th-they’re never going to forgive me! I said I would guide them, a-and now…now I have to break that promise, too. I just…I feel so fucking out of control, I can’t get a fucking grip on anything. I-I can’t focus. I can’t do anything right, I just—Kakashi, please…”

               Pursing his lips, Kakashi hugged Rei even closer to his chest, raked his fingers through her tangled hair. His lips brushed against her sweaty forehead. “Just take one thing at a time, Rei” he whispered. “You don’t have to do everything all at once.”

               Rei shook her head. “Th-that doesn’t mean anything” she argued, wiggling around uncomfortably in his arms. “I need a plan, Kakashi. I need…I need to fucking focus, but…but I can’t even do that right!” Defeated, she buried her face in his chest, clung to his shirt with a white-knuckle grip. “I just feel so out of control…I don’t know what I’m doing. I don’t even know who I am anymore.”

               “What do you mean?” Kakashi asked. He wasn’t sure he liked the sound of that.

               Rei pulled back, wiped the tears from her face. “Kakashi, I don’t feel like myself anymore” she admitted. She kept her eyes firmly locked on his sternum, knowing that if she dared to meet his gaze, she would completely lose it. Her hand skated down to her stomach, pressed her palm gently against the waist of her pants. “I just…I feel like my body doesn’t belong to me anymore. I just feel…so fucking weird. I can’t focus, I can’t think. I feel different, a-and I look different…”

               “I don’t think you look any different” Kakashi assured her. And truly, he didn’t. She was still the same bright, beautiful woman he woke up to every morning. If nothing else, the knowledge of her pregnancy somehow made her even more beautiful to him—though even he wasn’t sure how that was possible.

               Rei’s crooked teeth bit down on her chapped lower lip. “N-No, you don’t get it, Kakashi” she shook her head. “I look at myself in the mirror and…and I’m starting to not even recognize myself. I-I feel like I’m in someone else’s body, I-I don’t know…” Her voice quivered with equal parts fear and confusion, as if she was struggling to even put these feelings into words.

               Kakashi furrowed his brows. “Rei, that doesn’t really make any sense” he replied. He hated that he didn’t understand it, but he hated even more seeing her hysterical over something so abstract and overblown. “Rei, you’re just the same as you always were. The only difference is that your body is doing something incredible. But just because things are changing, that doesn’t mean you have to lose yourself in the process. Does that make sense?”  

               That’s easy for you to say, Rei thought to herself. You’re not the one metamorphosizing.

               “Come on” Kakashi then said, rising to his feet. He extended a hand to help Rei up. “Let’s go get something to eat and then I’ll walk you to the hokage office.”

               Rei shook her head. “I’m not hungry” she replied. Not even five seconds later, her stomach retaliated with a monstrous growl. Rei dropped her gaze to the floor, pursed her lips, cursed her body. Kakashi lifted her to her feet and guided her to the kitchen, sitting her down at the table before making her a bowl of tamago kake gohan.

               He watched her poke at the raw egg yolk with her chopsticks, knees drawn up to her chest and a look of defeat on her face. Toshio whimpered at her side, desperate for a taste. “Rei, you need to eat” he told her.

               “How the fuck do you even expect me to eat at a time like this, Kakashi?” Rei asked. “I told you, I’m not hungry. And even if I was, I wouldn’t be able to keep anything down anyway. Do you really want me to puke all over the hokage’s office? Do you really want me to make things ten times worse? Because honestly, just looking at this shit is making me want to puke.” She stabbed the tip of her chopstick into the egg yolk, watched it explode and flow over the rice like a mucusy tsunami. Pressing her hand to her mouth, she shoved the bowl across the table and swallowed back the gag pressing into her throat.

               Sighing, Kakashi rubbed his temples and dropped his shoulders in defeat. He hated that she had a point. He knew her stomach had been finicky lately. He knew she had no control over when and where she felt sick. And at a time like this, she really didn’t need any more stress on her shoulders. And yet he couldn’t stand the thought of letting her go hungry.

               Before he could protest further, Rei leapt to her feet and began tugging on her sandals at the front door. “I have to go, I’m going to be late” she croaked. Toshio followed close behind her, stamping his feet with impatient excitement.

               “Let me go with you” Kakashi said, approaching. Rei simply shook her head and extended a hand out to halt him.

               “No, Kakashi” she insisted. “I-I need to do this on my own.” As much as she appreciated the offer, and deep down truly wanted Kakashi there, she didn’t want to have to depend on him constantly. Kakashi’s face fell. Clearly he was uncomfortable with the thought of her doing this by herself. He promised to be there for her every step of the way, hadn’t he? But how could he be expected to keep his promise if she kept pushing him away? The look of defeat on his face broke Rei’s heart but meant nothing to what she had to do. Her face softened only slightly, a bittersweet smile flickering across her lips, as she assured him, “Don’t worry. It’ll be fine, right? Besides, I’ll have Toshio with me.” She reached down to scratch behind the dog’s ear, and Toshio barked in happy agreement. At least Kakashi could take solace in that.

               With a defeated sigh, he slowly came nearer to tenderly kiss her forehead. “Just promise me one thing” he whispered, fingers tangled in her hair.

               Rei swallowed hard, anxious. “What…?” she croaked. She wasn’t sure she wanted to know. She didn’t want him to ask anything more of her, to add more weight to her burden.

               Kakashi tilted her head up to face him, whispered, “Promise me that you’ll at least eat something when you get home.”

               Dropping her eyes to the ground, Rei gave a single nod. “I will” she whispered. Then, without another word, she turned to leave.

               The hokage’s office felt all at once vast and suffocating as Rei knocked on the door and slipped inside. Tsunade looked up from her stacks of paperwork and smiled. “Just the person I wanted to see” she said and set the documents aside.  

               Rei gulped back her fear and forced a smile. Toshio nudged her hand, urged her forward. She was grateful to have him by her side at a time like this. “So, what did you need to see me for?” she asked with forced casualness.

               “Rei, I think you know” Tsunade replied, cocking a brow. Her manicured fingers trailed her desk then and held up a lab report from among the pile. “I received word from the hospital a few days ago about your most recent appointment. Congratulations.”

               “Th-thank you” Rei croaked.

               “Now, as I’m sure you’re well aware, you can’t continue your ANBU duties in your current condition” Tsunade continued.

               Rei shook her head in understanding. “I know, which is why I’ve decided—”

               “You’ll just have to go on light duty in the meantime” Tsunade interrupted. Rei froze, shellshocked.

               “L-Light duty…?” she asked slowly, cautiously. A part of her wasn’t even sure if she had heard her correctly.

               Tsunade nodded. “That’s right. We sure as hell can’t have you out in the field while pregnant. You’d endanger both your life and that of the child’s. But I can’t expect you to just give up your entire career. After all, something tells me this wasn’t exactly planned…”

               The insinuation, while correct, sent a shiver down Rei’s spine. “It’s, uh…it’s complicated” she muttered, dropping her gaze. She really didn’t have time to get into the specifics right now, nor did she want to. Lady Tsunade didn’t need to know.

               “I’ve already looked into your options” Tsunade continued, “and I think you’d be a perfect fit for the records department, given your history with filing at the bookshop.”

               Rei found herself nodding on her own accord. Somehow just automatically accepting the offer. It wasn’t even that she was against working in records, either. She knew she had a knack for filing, and she enjoyed being around binders and old books. There was something deeply satisfying about the organizational aspect of it all, of the intricate coding system, the smell of yellowed paper and stale ink. And yet there was still one more point of contention nagging at the back of her mind. “What about my ANBU team?”

               Tsunade heaved a sigh and her once-pleased expression fell. “That’s something I’m going to have to figure out” she replied honestly. “Your pregnancy does create a bit of a rift in the black ops, but that’s not your problem to worry about. You have far more important things at hand. Still, if you can think of anyone to take your place in the meantime, by all means.” Here, she motioned with her hand as if to silently encourage Rei to pose her suggestions.

               “Well…I do have one person in mind” Rei muttered, “but…when you say in the meantime…?”

               Tsunade blinked. “I mean until you’re off maternity leave. You do intend to return to duty once your child is born, don’t you?”

               Rei toed the ground anxiously. “Honestly, I didn’t know I was allowed to.”

               “Of course you’re allowed to!” Tsunade exclaimed. A light laugh bubbled up from her chest. “You act like you’re the first ANBU to ever get pregnant.”

               “Well, I don’t know of anyone else who has” Rei explained. “I didn’t think…I don’t know. I thought my career was over.”

               “Your career is definitely not over. Not unless you want it to be, that is” Tsunade replied. Rei hated to admit that the hokage’s words had alighted something in her. Kakashi’s insistence that she quit her job still hung heavy in the back of her mind, but at least now she knew that that was not the only option. That maybe, just maybe, she could have the best of both worlds after all. Spreading her hands out across her desk then, Tsunade pursed her lips and said, “Now, about your replacement.”

               Rei sucked in a sharp breath as she made her way to the ANBU headquarters. She wasn’t sure if she could do this, any of this. She didn’t think she could walk in there, face her comrades, gather her things from her locker, confront the situation at hand. While she knew now that this did not have to be permanent, that meant nothing for the fact that she would still have to leave anyway. She only hoped her subordinates would be kind. After all, she truly had not planned for this.

               Toshio nudged the door open for her, guided her down the dark and narrow hallways to the locker rooms underground. He helped steady her on the stairs, ensuring that he would catch her should she stumble and fall, and barked a hello at the ninja behind the barred supply counter. The man did not acknowledge them, but Rei wondered if he was smiling beneath his mask. Toshio seemed to have that effect on people. He could crack a smile from even the most stoic.

               The halls were nearly empty save for a few shinobi making their way to the briefing room or the holding cells. Rei wasn’t sure which would have been better: this, where no one could see her deliberate, or a crowded room where she could hide among the many. She shuffled toward the locker room and the whole world began to spin. As her hand hovered over the doorknob, her stomach lurched and she was positive she was about to be sick. Not now, fuck, she thought, leaning forward against the wall and attempting to steady her breath. Every worst-case scenario cycled through her head at warp speed, taunting her. She became grossly aware of the flashing red exit sgins at the end of each hall, feeling their existence boring holes into her back. She couldn’t do this. She needed fresh air, freedom, an escape.

               “Rei?” a voice then called from behind, and Rei’s entire body went icy. She turned slowly, cracking a faint smile at Yugao standing at the mouth of the hall. Before she could even say anything, Yugao surged forward and wrapped Rei in a tight hug. “I’ve been so worried about you! You should’ve kept in touch with me while you were gone.”

               “S-sorry” Rei croaked. “I’ve, uh…I’ve had a lot going on.”

               “Are you okay? Is everything okay?” Yugao asked, leaning back to get a better look at her captain’s face. “You look terrible” she then added, noting the pallor in Rei’s face, the dark circles under her eyes, the tremble of her hands.

               Rei nodded, dropping her gaze and raking her fingers through her bangs. “Yeah, I’m alright. I just…can we talk?”

               “Yeah, of course” Yugao affirmed, and motioned for Rei and Toshio to follow her into the locker room.

               Everything about this place suddenly disgusted Rei. She felt her stomach churn as she slipped inside, assaulted by the strong smell of floral perfumes and the sight so many naked women. Even though she knew, realistically, that they were all preoccupied, Rei couldn’t help but feel like all eyes were on her. She could feel them hone into her presence, ears pricked up like dogs just waiting for the tiniest morsel of juicy gossip. By now, word of Rei’s questionable state had surely circulated through the black ops. She hated to think of what kinds of rumors hung over her head now, a black cloud heavy with purpose, as she waded her way even deeper into the swamp.

               Yugao guided Rei toward her locker, propping it open as she got ready. “So what did you need to talk to me about?” she asked and though her tone was bright and eager, Rei could sense a hint of uncertainty lurking under the surface. As if Yugao somehow knew there was something wrong. Rei wondered if she bought into the rumors herself. She hoped her lieutenant would be a little more discerning but Yugao was only human. Besides, she had already known of Rei and Kakashi’s previous plans.

               Rei tangled her fingers in Toshio’s thick fur as her eyes skimmed the crowd, feeling completely surveilled. She wished there was someplace more private where they could speak, but beggars can’t be choosers. With her back to the rest of the kunoichi, Rei lowered her voice and said, “Yugao, I need to ask a favor of you.”

               Yugao met Rei’s face with wide-eyed anxiety. “O-Of course. Anything.”

               Rei sucked in a deep breath. She couldn’t look at her. Not now. “Some things have come up. Some, uh…unexpected things, and I…I need you to take over my captain���s duties. Temporarily, but…still.”

               The request, as expected, shocked Yugao. “Y-You need me to wh--? Wait, why? Rei, what’s going on? What happened?” An anxious nausea rose into the back of Yugao’s throat. Something was wrong, she could feel it. She rested a hand on Rei’s shoulder, squeezing it lightly. “Rei, what happened?”

               She didn’t expect to feel so vulnerable, but Rei’s emotions quickly got the better of her. Her throat tightened and tears pricked at the back of her eyes. The weight of the past few days bore down even heavier upon her shoulders. “Yugao, I…” Rei started, voice choked and meek. Yugao tightened her grip, hardened her gaze, desperate. Squeezing her eyes shut tight, Rei forced the words out of her mouth, a confession. “I’m pregnant” she gasped.

               Yugao immediately recoiled, her face falling. “Rei, you’re…” she whispered in disbelief. Rei nodded, wrapping her arms around her waist as if in defense. “A-are you…I mean…was this planned?”

               “N-Not exactly” Rei said sheepishly. “It was an accident, I guess things just got out of hand, I don’t know…”

               “Well, of course you can’t continue working like this” Yugao said. “Are you okay with that?”

               “I’ve made my peace with it” Rei lied. “Lady Tsunade said I could work in records until the baby is born, which should be fine. I just…I don’t want you guys to think I’m abandoning you.”

               “No, no, of course not” Yugao shook her head. “I don’t feel that way. Things happen. I get it. Are you…I mean, are you happy?”

               A small smile touched Rei’s lips, though even she wasn’t sure how genuine it was. “It’s just…it’s a lot all at once” she finally answered. Toshio nuzzled her hand, licked at her fingertips, sensing her silent distress.

               Yugao nodded empathetically. “Of course” she whispered. To say that she was shocked by this new development was an understatement. Certainly Yugao had her assumptions, as did everyone, but now that Rei’s pregnancy was confirmed, she couldn’t help but wonder what this meant moving forward. She watched as Rei ultimately turned toward her own locker a few doors down, swung it open, and began gathering her things. Something wary and desperate began to take root in Yugao’s chest as she watched Rei’s locker gradually empty. “R-Rei…?” she finally asked. Rei paused, turned to look at her. “You are going to come back, right…?”

               “O-Of course…” Rei replied. “Why wouldn’t I?” She refused to revisit Kakashi’s words, to linger on his insistences. Tsunade had given her a choice. The hokage almost even expected Rei to return. She had options. This was not the end.

               Yugao dropped her gaze, shook her head. “I don’t know, I just…want to make sure” she muttered. “Having a baby is a big responsibility. I’m not…well, how can you be sure you would even want to return to work after all of this?”

               Rei hated that she even had to consider Yugao’s point in the first place. Deep down, she didn’t know. Motherhood was a vast expanse of uncertainty and fear. From this point forward, Rei would be responsible for a little human life, fully dependent on her and her alone. She wanted to believe that there was a way to juggle both, to have one foot firmly planted on each road, but was that even realistic? Rei didn’t know. And quite frankly, she couldn’t stomach considering it further. Narrowing her eyes, she definitively replied, “I’m sure.” Even if she wasn’t, she needed Yugao to believe that she was. Rei herself needed to believe that she was.

               Before any more could be said, the bell crackled over the loudspeakers calling everyone in for the morning briefing. Yugao and Rei exchanged panicked looks as the other kunoichi frantically strapped their gauntlets to their arms and fastened their shoes to their feet, stumbling and swarming out into the hallway. Yugao fed Rei a sheepish smile, asked, “So what now?”

               Hugging her belongings to her chest, Rei’s eyes drifted toward the door as she croaked, “Now I just have to tell everyone else.”

               Rei stood at the back of the briefing room, her belongings crumpled at her feet, as Meishu gruffly outlined the night shift’s happenings. She kept a hand firmly on Toshio at all times, scratching the back of his neck and massaging the tip of his velvety ear. In the pit of her chest, she felt the nagging weight of her own disattention but had to remind herself: what was the point? It wasn’t like this was going to have any importance on her day moving forward. She was not on duty.

               Her eyes skated to Team Ku seated a few feet ahead of her and her heart ached. They sat rigid with a unanimous tension, as if they knew something was about to break. An eerie feeling in the pit of their chests, a buzzing in the air. Every so often, Rei swore she caught Arai glance at her over her shoulder. In those deep amethyst eyes, there was nothing but sharp suspicion.

               And then Meishu dismissed everyone for their daily assignments, and Rei had no other choice. She clenched her fists at her sides, swallowed her fear, and strode forward.

               “Where the hell have you been?” Arai smirked, suppressing laughter. “What happened? Did you have to get your stomach pumped or something?”

               “I knew it had to be something serious” Hitsuji shivered. “Are you better now? You’re not contagious anymore, are you?” A small sneeze squeaked out of him, sniffling at Toshio’s allergic presence.

               “You look absolutely awful” Sukui complained. He reached back to pick up a strand of Rei’s limp, red hair off her shoulder, loosened from her ponytail. Frowning, she swatted him away.

               “No, I’m fine” Rei replied curtly. “Everything is fine.”

               “Oh yeah? You don’t sound fine” Kikkake snarked. “What’s with your clothes, anyway?” He motioned to her outfit, to the navy blue tunic with the full, turquoise sleeves and gold trim on the collar, the fabric faded and hem fraying from years of use.

               Sukui made a stink face and shook his head. “Retail therapy would’ve done you well, that’s for sure” he commented.

               “No, it’s not that” Kikkake said, waving dismissively to his comrade. Stalking forward, he stared down at Rei like a predator zeroing in on his prey. Unforgiving. “If everything was fine, you’d be in your uniform like the rest of us. The fact that you’re not means something is wrong. It means that you’re not actually at work today, are you? You’re here for a reason, and it’s not because you’re no longer sick.” Toshio’s upper lip curled into a growl.

               Hitsuji tensed, gripping the edge of the table tightly. “It’s worse than we thought, isn’t it?” he cried. “Is it Cyclospora? Gallstones? Cancer?!”

               Rei sighed and rubbed at her aching forehead. “Guys, please…” she whined. Her stomach churned and her hands felt numb and something within the pit of her chest lurched, anxious. She gripped at the waist of her dress in hopes that it might ground her.

               “Well?” Arai asked, cocking a brow. “Spit it out, boss. What’s the deal?”

               “Yeah, Rei, fess up” Kikkake spat. “What’s the matter with you?”

               Hitsuji covered his nose and mouth with his hand, his heart pounding out of his chest. “P-Please tell me you’re not contagious.”

               “Can you guys calm down?” Yugao asked. Then, meeting Rei’s gaze, she said much softer, “Go ahead, Rei. Tell them what’s going on.”

               The room was suddenly far too loud and far too bright. The air conditioner hummed overhead, the blast of cold air giving Rei goosebumps, and yet sweat beaded at the small of her back and underneath her bangs. Her subordinates faces blurred and melded together, desperate and angsty and scared. Rei’s throat tightened and her nose tingled and a sour taste filled her mouth and oh my god she was going to be sick. Their rapid inquiries pounded in her head—Come on, tell us. What are you waiting for? What’s going on? Rei, what’s wrong? What the fuck are you doing? What’s going on? You’re wasting time! Just spit it out! What have you done? Tell us, tell us, tell us, tell us. Squeezing her eyes shut tight, she clenched her fist tighter around the fabric and shouted, “I’m fucking pregnant, okay?!”

               The whole room fell silent. Even the few shinobi who had hung back, going over battle plans and studying assignments, paused and slowly looked toward Rei. And while the confession had released the weight of anticipation off her shoulders, it was now quickly replaced with something much worse: the fear of their reception.

               Team Ku sat in stunned silence for a long while before finally, Arai burst out in incredulous laughter. “That’s real fucking funny, boss! Now come on, tell us what’s really going on.” Rei pursed her lips and dropped her gaze to the ground. She wasn’t sure what else she could even say. All the potential sentences tangled in her throat, strangling her. Her silence only enhanced the weight of her confession, clarified the reality. “Captain Rei…come on. That can’t really be it, is it?” Arai asked. Her faith was steadily draining. When Rei still said nothing else, Arai recoiled in shock. “No fucking way…” she murmured.

               “A-are you sure?” Hitsuji asked. Rei caught his eyes skate down to her stomach, as if questioning the validity based on the size of her belly. Rei shot him a fierce glare that told him that she was, in fact, sure.

               “Well, this is just fucking stupdendous” Kikkake complained, leaning back against the table in defeat. “And what do you expect to become of us now, huh? You had a responsibility to us, you know. You can’t just get off scot-free because you couldn’t keep your legs shut.”

               “Kikkake!” Yugao shouted, slapping him hard on the arm. “Watch your mouth! This is still your captain you’re speaking to.” Kikkake, however, showed no remorse.

               “Well, as much as I hate to agree with him, he does have a point” Sukui muttered, fingertip tapped to his chin. “What is going to become of us?”

               “W-Well, I spoke with Lady Tsunade this morning and we decided on a temporary replacement” Rei replied cautiously, frantically. She kept her voice low, fearing that any louder might not only anger the beast but attract more unwanted attention.

               Shaking her head, Arai leaned back in her chair and sucked her teeth in distaste. “Oh, great. Awesome. So you’re going to just leave us in the mud and pawn us off to some other tired sucker. Love that. Way to show you really care, Captain Rei.”

               Hitsuji pursed his lips, furrowed his brows. “B-But you said temporary. That means you’ll be back, right?”

               Rei gave a single nod. “That’s the plan” she replied. “I am not abandoning you guys.”

               “Oh really?” Kikkake snapped. “Because that’s sure as hell what it feels like.”

               “And how do you know you’ll actually come back, anyway?” Arai asked. “And even if you do, it’s never gonna be the same. You can’t just walk into battle with a kid sucking on your tit.”

               “That would be pretty badass if she did, though” Sukui commented toward his comrade. Arai rolled her eyes, unimpressed.

               Rei was beginning to lose her nerve now. She could feel her muscles tense and electrify, her heart pounding and a vicious anger rising up into her throat. Gritting her teeth, she pounded her fist against the table and glared at her subordinates. “Hey. I am still your fucking captain and I demand to be treated with respect. Is that understood? Like I said, I am not abandoning you guys. I will do everything in my fucking power to make sure that you are taken care of in my absence, and that I will come back. Have any of you ever thought for one second about how I feel about all of this? Have you ever thought of anyone but yourselves? Because this isn’t ideal for me, either, but this is just the way things are now and I’ll be damned if anyone, and I mean anyone, stands in the way of making this transition as smooth and unproblematic as humanly possible. Do I make myself fucking clear?”

               Team Ku stared back at her with wide, silenced eyes. Hitsuji sat stock still, his grip tightening evermore on the table. Without even breaking eye contact, Sukui slowly leaned over to whisper to Arai, “They weren’t kidding when they said pregnant women were scary.”

               Arai immediately clapped her hand over her comrade’s mouth, growling, “Good god, man, don’t anger it!”

               Kikkake slapped both of them on the back of the head before asking, “So what about this temporary captain, huh? Who’s taking your place?”

               Rei glanced across the room and fed Yugao a silent signal to step forward. With a definitive nod, she obliged. “That would be me” Yugao said with a slight wave.

               “Oh, thank god!” Arai exclaimed, slumping in her chair in relief. As unpleasant an experience as all this was, at least they still had Yugao. Arai trusted her, almost even considered her more of a captain than Rei herself. In Yugao’s hands, Arai—and all the others, even—felt safe and capable. As if maybe this terrible turn of events wasn’t quite so terrible after all.

               “I may not be able to go on missions with you guys anymore” Rei stated, “but that doesn’t mean I won’t be within your reach, either. I’ll, uh…I’ll probably be working in records during my maternity leave, so whenever you need me, I won’t be very far. Alright?”

               The others all nodded halfheartedly, but it was still clear to Rei that they were not pleased. She glanced to Yugao, searching for some form of reassurance, but Yugao’s eyes turned instead to the clock. “Shit, we’re running late” she muttered under her breath. And with that, she whipped out the paperwork for the day’s assignment and began detailing their duties. Rei quickly felt their circle of inclusion close, an unrelenting pressure on her chest phasing her out of view. This was no longer her responsibility. She had no obligation to stick around and listen. Back pressed against the wall, she paused for only a moment to allow the weight of her new normal to crush her completely. Then, without another word, she scooped up her belongings and made her way to the door.

               The hallway expanded and contracted before her as she swayed toward the stairwell, Toshio dutifully by her side. Time seemed to speed past her and she was powerless. Her chest ached with anxiety but her limbs felt heavy and uncooperative. She cursed herself under her breath as she begged herself to just fucking move. And all the while, her throat grew tight and sore with impending tears, swallowing back the monstrous cry threatening to rise up out of her.

               And then, all at once, a weak hand took hold of her wrist and Rei’s body electrified. Toshio whipped around with a growl, immediately prepared to apprehend. For a moment, Rei expected—or perhaps even hoped­­—that it was Yugao but she knew full well that this was not her lieutenant’s grip. Toshio huffed and backed down. When Rei turned around, she was faced with none other than sheepish Hitsuji.

               “C-Captain Rei, before you go, I just wanted to say one thing” he murmured. Rei cocked a brow, urging him to continue. Hitsuji forced himself to look up at her, a small smile touching his lips as he said, “Congratulations.”

               Rei couldn’t help but smile softly, bittersweetly at this sweet, innocent boy. “Thank you” she whispered. “Now go get back inside. The others need you.” She hated to think of all the information he was missing by coming to speak with her. With a single nod, Hitsuji shot her one last reassuring smile before rushing back into the briefing room.

               Rei managed to remain relatively composed until she exited the building. The sun sat hot and heavy in the sky overhead and the smell of summer rain filled the air. Rei pressed a hand to her tight chest, prayed for peace, before turning a dark corner and allowing herself to finally, ultimately break down.

               She felt ridiculous for being so emotional—after all, there was no point in sobbing over something that needed to be done, right? Still, that heavy rock of despair lodged itself firmly in her chest. She swallowed back the rest of her sobs, wiped the tears from her face with the back of her hand, straightened her back and stepped out into the sunlight. She struggled to keep her breathing steady as she walked home, one hand hugging her uniforms to her chest as the other clung to the thick fur at Toshio’s neck. She felt like a child, needy and vulnerable. She felt pathetic.

               And all the while, her eyes drifted to scenes of children playing in the street, of mother’s tending to fussy babies in restaurants and through shop windows. She envisioned herself in their roles and something suddenly felt so strange and unnatural about it. She couldn’t get used to it. She wanted to be a mother, of course she did, and yet there was something deep in the pit of her stomach screaming that this was all wrong. Turn back, danger ahead. Rei’s head began to spin. Her hand trembled as she unlocked the front door to an empty apartment and sank down on the couch.

               Toshio lumbered up beside her, resting his heavy head in her lap and whimpering dolefully. As if he could sense her mind in disrepair and wanted to heal it despite not knowing how. She scratched behind his ears and under his chin and the lump in the back of her throat hardened. She pressed a shaky hand to her waist, grazed the imprint of her hipbone through her tunic. She remembered Kakashi’s request from that morning. Really, she knew she should eat something. Patting Toshio on the head, she forced herself up off the couch and trudged into the kitchen. The tile was cold and unforgiving against her bare feet, the fridge foreboding. She creaked the door open slowly and idled in front of the full shelves. A loaf of bread, a jug of milk, last night’s leftovers. She studied them until she could no longer bear it, until the anger growing behind her ribs exploded out of her chest with a frustrated grunt. Gritting her teeth, she slammed the fridge door shut. Instead, she turned to the cabinet, pulling down a glass and holding it unsteadily beneath the faucet. She watched the water fill to the top, then overflow, letting it run over her tight knuckles and pale fingernails. When the hush of the running water began to annoy her, she flicked the tap off, brushed her hair back out of her damp face, and took a long, desperate swig. Her stomach expanded and grew heavier with each monstrous gulp. Deep down, she hoped it would trick her body into thinking she was full. She hoped it would be enough.

               It was never enough.

[a-jynx]

A Family’s Matter |Part 1: Another Paradise

They fell in love, they moved away to California, they got hitched and had a shotgun wedding. A surrogate was kind enough to give them their daughter, Maxine. Billy got his dream job, along with signing up to take over his own mechanic garage... Their lives seemed perfect - well, almost perfect. 

Pairing| Billy Hargrove x Steve Harrington 

Warnings| Cursing, mentions of abuse, small amounts of drinking, smoking, physical fighting, blood {chapter will have warnings appropriate it!}

Taglist is opened and people can be added or removed! Just let me know! 

Please, enjoy it! Feedback is the glue to my writing! 💕

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Have you ever found paradise? Not THE paradise, but… the paradise that belongs to -  you? That holds you tightly in the middle of the night after a nightmare? Makes your coffee the way you like? Or, perhaps gives you a life that you believed you would never live? 

Because Steve James Harrington did. 

The cold winds and bone-chilling pasts that lived back in Hawkins, Indiana still haunted the back of his mind - scratching at his brain and thoughts as if trying to claw it’s way back into his mainframe. However, he escaped that. He escaped that cage that was made of homophobes and tall trees, the small town sitting pretty in the middle of fuck-ton nowhere. But, here he was. The California sky bright and blue, the practically white sun glaring down and easily - quickly - warming the Harrington-Hargrove apartment. Steve could live with a smile, a genuine one, almost all the time. He lived happily with his Billy Boy by his side… He couldn’t be happier. 

“Steve! Have you seen my button-up?!” Billy called from their bedroom, the sound of his boots stomping around on the soft carpet made Steve smile to himself. 

“Babe, it’s in the bathroom on the back of the door... Y’know? Where you hung it after you took your shower?” Steve couldn’t help but laugh to himself while waiting for the coffee to finish before turning to be greeted by the sight of his husband sautering in. He looked good - better than he had back in that hellhole. Billy Hargrove’s signature mullet had been chopped when they first arrived home, the long lush curls now sitting on top of his head while the sides and back were shaved. The greased white tanktop, the baby blue button-up that flashed his name stitched on. Then the dark denim jeans that hung around Billy’s hips loosely while his work boots squeaked against the small tiled kitchen. 

“Find it?” 

“Obviously,” Billy grinned as Steve took a step forward, meeting him halfway as their lips clashed sweetly. It wasn’t rushed, secretive… It was sweet, caring, and chaste. A squeak escaped Steve’s throat as Billy gripped his ass, his lips peeling into a shit-eating grin before Steve reached up, smacking his shoulder. 

“Hurry up and get to work! I’m sure Andy and Matthew are already there and waiting for you,” 

“Let them wait,” he mumbled against Steve’s shoulder, nuzzling his face into his throat with a gentle, opened-mouth kiss. 

“Oh, yeah, that’s a good way to run your business,” Steve snorted, shouldering away his husband, who merely whined at the lost before standing back up. “I’ll swing by at lunch, okay? Hell, I’ll even make your favorite and bring it by.” 

Billy hummed, grinning almost wolfishly before swooping in to gather another kiss before slowly moving towards the front door. He stopped short of the door, scooting around the pack n’ play, bending down and pressing a kiss to his daughters’ thick chocolate curls while swiping his rough thumb across her soft cheek, already feeling the warmth practically leaking from her skin. 

“I’ll see you later, Max-a-million.” He whispered softly, careful to not wake the sleeping infant. 

Steve moved towards the loves of his life, carefully stepping to stand next to Billy before pecking his cheek and gently tugging him towards the front door. “Y’ know if you keep staring at her, or kissing me, you’ll never make it to work,” he grinned as Billy snatched his backpack from the coatrack before pressing another kiss to Steve’s temple. 

“This is very true, that’s why I usually leave earlier,” he smirked as Steve gently shoved at his back, grinning as he leaned against the doorframe with a smile. He stepped backward, closing the door with a soft thud, however… Maxine began to sniffle and squirm against the soft pad beneath her. 

“Oh, my little, Maxi! I know, I know, I miss him already too,” he paused, lifting the squirming infant with a little shush, tapping his palm against her bottom as he held her close. “We’ll see him later, but you gotta be a good girl, okay?” Steve grinned to himself as the sour face that had covered his daughters’ face quickly subdued as he tottered from side-to-side, holding her against his heart. 

----

Hours pass, Maxine was asleep in her pack ‘n play again after finishing her early lunch, Steve was cooking away in the kitchen to get Billy and his lunch finished before having to pack up the Camaro to head towards the garage. Humming softly along to ‘Juice’ by Lizzo before a loud, frantic knocking came from the front door. 

Peaking his head from the kitchen, he wiped at his hands before glancing towards Maxine, who was sleeping peacefully still. Swallowing at the lump building in his throat, gently tossing the hand towel onto his shoulder, before taking a few careful steps towards the door. He shouldn’t be afraid to open their front door for Christ's sake... Billy had made sure - a million times - that they were going to live in a good neighborhood where they could see the beach, walk to the garage, and raise their child… But that doesn’t mean nothing bad could slither into the happy home they’ve set up. 

Gently opening the door and fitting himself against the frame and edge of the white door, Steve glanced up to meet the frantic and almost wild-looking eyes of a young woman. The thick waves of hair on her head were a little greasy and matted looking, the AC/DC shirt she wore was torn while the shorts around her thin legs seemed to almost fall off. He blinked before his vision settled on her face - Jesus - her left eye swelled black and blue while a bit of blood ushered from the corner. Taking a mental note of that… 

“Can I help you?” His voice wavered as she audibly swallowed, licking her lips before shooting him a sheepish grin. 

“Hi, uh… This is probably very, very strange but… This is the Harrington-Hargrove residence, right?” Her voice came out faint but rushed almost panicked sounding. Steve frowned, before sliding himself further into the little hole, blocking any way to see his sleeping daughter. 

“Yes. Is there something you needed?” 

“Oh, oh thank God! Uh, first off, hello, I’m actually your neighbor from apartment 12? My name is Y/N and I… I understand you’re married to Billy, the mechanic, right?” Her brows furrowed in worry as Steve blinked. Sure, he was used to people showing up to their door asking about Billy, but they usually could find the shop no problem… 

“Yes… He’s working as we speak, I’m sorry but is there a reason you’re here or… Or do I need to call the police?” Steve’s voice wavered, but he held it as the woman’s - Y/N’s - eyes grew wide. 

“No! No, please, you don’t need to do that, I just… Dammit, I’m terribly sorry, but I need some help. My car shit on me last week and I… My job is threatening to cut me loose if I can’t show up on time,” Steve’s eyes narrowed, searching the woman’s face for any sign of lying or fibs. 

“I’ll pay! I’ll… I’ll pay whatever you want, hell, even the last couple bills I have to my name, just, please… I - I need to keep this job. I need the money.” She whispered the last part, her brows furrowed as Steve swallowed, flicking his tongue over his bottom lip before sighing. 

“I’ll… I’ll have a talk with him later tonight, though, I can’t promise anything…” 

“Yes! Of course, thank - thank you, really. I… I can’t show you how grateful I am for you even ask. As I mentioned, I live in apartment 12, my names Y/N L/N and I…” She paused, making Steve cock a brow as she stood straight, grinning gently. “I hope to hear from you two soon. Have a good afternoon, Mr. Harrington-Hargrove.” And just as quickly as she appeared, she was gone. The only sound being the small smacking steps from her bare feet hitting the pavement. 

Gently closing the door, Steve leaned against it with his arms crossed over his chest. Blinking, he glanced at the clock and grew wide-eyed, he needed to hurry and pack everything for lunch - now. Quickly moving back into the small kitchen, he began to pack up small tuber wares of chicken alfredo with a bit of extra sauce in Billy’s because that’s how he likes his pasta - extra saucy. 

Packing them away into his own bag, he gathered up a few extra things for Maxine to play with before gathering her into his arms and moving outside, locking the front door and moving downstairs with her snuggled against his hammering heart. His steps only faltered for a moment as he passed the apartment 12… It was eerily quiet. Like the forest back in Hawkins, the eery feel that surrounded his hometown somehow had wiggled its way into his paradise. Shaking his head, he quickly moved to where the Camaro was parked, sitting Maxine into her car seat before putting the food bag in the floorboard underneath her. Climbing into the old girl, he paused for a mere second, breathing in the leathery, smokey, and sweet scent that filtered throughout the muscle car. It smelt heavily of his husband and he was in another small paradise. 

“Alright, Max-a-million, let’s go see papa!” Steve grinned as little grumbles came from the small car seat, making his grin grow wider as he put the car in reverse and took a steady stroll towards the shop. On the way, Steve tapped his fingers along to the radio, the salty scent from the ocean soaking into his nasal cavity, mixing with the imprinted scent of Billy - he felt almost dizzy. He felt good. Happy. But, his mind kept warping back to that girl, the creepy vibes that followed her to his homes’ door. It felt like the Upside Down all over again… 

Shaking his head, he pulled into his usual parking spot, climbing out and only to be greeted by the other workers and customers he’s come to know and love. Gathering the food and his little girl, he quickly wandered inside, looking for his husband in hopes he could help keep his mind at ease… And the eery thoughts in the back of his mind.

----

Ooo, part one of the Mechanic!Billy prompt I’ve come up with! I hope this makes sense and turns out as good as I hope/plan! <3 

Taglists:  @transbillyhargrove @trashmouth-hargrove @stranger-h @harrington-s @awickedplacethisis @may-the-moon-love-me-back @harringrovetrashh @supermegapauselouca @hargrove-billy @hargrovesharrington @harringhoe @greyspilot @flippyspoon @bakausagiwithwings @your-pretty-bambi @strangerfictions @myboyfriendsteve @marythemudblood @memes-saved-me​

[i-can-kazoo]

LEADING ROLE - PART 1/?

We look about the same. I can fix this.

"I can fix this," Roman muttered as he studied himself in Remus's warped and oily mirror. He could shave the mustache, dye the gray streak in his hair -- come to think of it, that hair needed a good wash. The body too. Roman shuddered to think of when his brother had last showered. Then he'd need to brush his teeth, obviously, and maybe he could fit in a manicure before finding his disgusting biohazard of a brother and BREAKING EVERY BONE IN HIS DISEASE RIDDEN--

Roman jumped as someone began pounding on the uncomfortably squishy, half-rotted wood of Remus's door. "Don't come in!" he shouted, trying to imitate the nasally tones that Remus was so fond of using. The door flew open anyways, slamming into the wall, the greasy handle getting caught in a jagged hole, and Roman found himself face-to-face with -- well, with himself. And he looked horrible. It was a level of horrible that only Remus could have come up with. Bright green knee socks with individual holes cut out for the toes, booty shorts fashioned from what appeared to be a bowling alley's carpet, a black-and-white cowhide vest, and -- to top it all off -- a furry orange fedora. 

Remus sauntered into the room in Roman's body and collapsed spread-eagle onto the grimy mattress that served as a bed. "It would seem, dear brother, that we're having ourselves a teensy bit of a problem," he drawled. "But before we dig into the meat of that issue…" Remus flipped onto his stomach and frowned at Roman. "You need to change. That outfit is shameful! Really, I'm disappointed in you." Roman glanced down; he was wearing a white hoodie and red sweatpants. Not his best look, but it was the first thing that came to mind when he saw whose body he had woken up in. "I panicked," he muttered at Remus. "I just needed to cover up all of this… you." Roman turned back to his brother's mirror and winced; nothing looked good with Remus's pitiful excuse for facial hair. "I'll change into something better once I've cleaned up a bit," he continued, conjuring a razor and heading for Remus's bathroom to shave away the mustache. The gasp that this elicited from his brother was nothing compared to the one that Roman himself let out when he noticed the state of the razor. It was old, rusty, and dull, the blades clogged with gum and lint. Roman gagged and threw it across the room, wiping his hands on the front of his shirt. Disgusting. 

"Oh, yeah," said Remus. "I was going to tell you about that, but your outfit was a far bigger emergency. This isn't as bad as it could be," he added hastily as Roman paled by several shades. "Appearances can be changed without a problem; it's just the conjuring that we have to figure out." As if to prove his point, Remus raised his hands over his (Roman's?) face and up into his hair, growing a mustache and graying a single lock of hair under that horrid, furry little fedora. "See?" 

"Well, isn't that convenient." Roman mirrored his brother's gesture anyways, removing the mustache along with the gray streak of hair. 

"Brilliant!" Remus cheered. He sprang off of the bed, conjured up a blackboard and a piece of chalk, and began to write, chalk squealing with every letter. PLAN OF ACTION, the blackboard said. "Now, let's get to work." Roman nodded and conjured his own chalk -- just a nub, but it would work. "Number one," he said, narrating as he wrote, "we're going to have to choose. Are we going to play each other, or act as ourselves and conjure for each other?" He twirled to face Remus, tossing the chalk nub away. "I think that both solutions have merit, but if we need to keep this up for an extended period of time we'll have to-" Roman was cut off by a whack to the back of his head, delivered by his twin. "Remus! What part of brainstorming would suggest that I want to be slapped?" 

"Are you daft?" Remus shouted back. "Why would we hide this? The others might have a way to help us back into our own bodies!" 

Roman hated to admit it, but his brother had a point. "You want them to know about this? Fine. Go tell them." 

Remus shook his head, wagging a finger at Roman. "I don't think so, brother dearest. If I go, they'll assume it's an elaborate prank of some sort. You'll have to tell them." 

"Wha-- nothing about that makes any sense," Roman stammered. "They know that you can change your appearance to look like me; seeing me with your powers would just make it look even more like a prank." 

"Well I don't want to go on my own," Remus countered. "So you have to at least be there. Come with me?"

Roman sighed, but nodded his assent. "I suppose that having the two of us present the problem together will increase our reliability…"

Remus grinned broadly, poking his twin in the ribs. "Hey, there you go! You sound just like Professor Loganberry!" 

"I do not," Roman protested, but Remus was already out the door. With another heavy sigh, Roman went after him.

[ohblackdiamond]

little t&a (paul/gene, nc-17) (part 19 of 29)

part 1   part 2   part 3   part 4   part 5   part 6   part 7   part 8   part 9   part 10   part 11   part 12   part 13   part 14   part 15   part 16   part 17   part 18   part 19   part 20   part 21  part 22   part 23   part 24    part 25   part 26   part 27   part 28   part 29

Four weeks before KISS gets back on tour, Gene discovers that Paul’s been cursed by a groupie. For the sake of KISS’ finances, Paul’s comfort levels, and Gene’s libido, this crisis must be resolved. Sexswap fic.  In this chapter:  Paul has a nightmare and finally starts to confess to Gene. (Yes, there’s finally some smut again.) (Author’s note 6/24/2020: Smut has been revised! Thighsex imminent.)

           In his dreams Paul was always himself. Sometimes he was eight years old, in the school playground, hearing his classmates singsong "Stanley the one-eared monster" to the tune of Rudolph, and sometimes the classmates would turn into a whole stadium full of people, thousands, cackling and pointing, while he stood onstage and couldn't say a word. Sometimes he was his own age, walking off a plane, or at a photoshoot, stripped down and bare-faced and afraid as soon as the cameras started.

           That night he was seventeen again. He knew because the T.V. was on in the living room, Neil Armstrong on the screen in all his astronaut garb, sticking the flag up on the Moon's rocky soil. Julia was there, for once, sitting beside him on the couch.

           "Do you think it's real?" she said, and he looked at her, disgusted.

           (of course it's real)

           "Do you think it's real?" she repeated, and he thought she must not have heard him. He put his hand to his face, touching the start of his sideburns—something new he was trying, something he'd need to shave before school started back up, but for now, it was cool. He'd seen them on rockstars, but rarely in person, and never on someone he knew, until that guy he'd met a month back. Gene. But Gene was too fat in the face to pull the look off. They would look better on him, once they grew out.

           (it's got to be real. why would they waste all that time and money on something that wasn't real? why would they be so stupid?)

           "You tell me," Julia said, and her face and build shifted, dark hair bleaching out to light brown, pockmarks and freckles sketching across her face, Carol's face, Carol's voice now, Carol's hand reaching out to touch his shoulder. "Why don't you tell me, Stan?"

         (i don't—)

        Another shift. Carol's face melted down, skull pushing outward, hair going shaggy and wild. Her nose forced out and flattened all at once, muzzle emerging. A lion's face on a man's body, a man's voice coming through its throat.

           "Are you going to tell me?"

         (please)

          (please, take it off, i'm sorry—i'm so sorry—)

           "Is it real?"

          (please)

        (what're you saying, i don't understand)

           "Is love real, Stan?" Marbas' voice was oddly soft as he curled his hand around Paul's suddenly much more narrow shoulder. Tapped it, then Marbas' still-human fingers moved to trace the sides of his smooth, bare face. "Or—let's put it differently. What she felt for you, was that love?"

           (i)

            (i don't think you can love someone you don't know)

           But you've made your fortune pretending." Marbas' lips pulled back, revealing teeth as long as his thumbs. "And so has he."

          (he?)

           "The man in your bed." The demon pushed Paul's hair behind his left ear. "I've cursed greater men than you. Byron. Shelley. More. Watching you was hardly entertaining in comparison, until he came along."

         (don't hurt him)

          (please don't—)

           "Do you really love him, Stan?" Marbas didn't give him time to answer, tugging at a curl, longer now than it had been minutes before. Paul couldn't feel a centimeter of what was happening to him, could barely do more than watch and breathe as his body warped before him. "Why? Because he was kind to you?"

          (i don't know)

           "Because he had the qualities you lacked? Or because you didn't believe he'd want you?"

          (i don't know!)

           The demon wasn't letting the point go. Neil Armstrong still in the background, the sound of the T.V. tinny. His shoes off to the side on the dirty carpet. The plugged-in fan on the coffee table. Everything, everything the same in that little apartment but him.

           "You won't tell me. You won't tell him. What I wrought on you really makes no difference." Marbas touched the center of chest, full and heavy before the demon even moved his finger towards it, and Paul realized, just from what he could see of his body, that he was still seventeen after all. The weight he'd had back then was there, the stomach flab, the too-thick thighs. Every bit of him dumpy and unattractive, no definition, nothing worth wanting. "Even if you'd always had this form, you'd have kept your silence. You'd never have given yourself up."

          (i can't, i just can't—)

           "Then you want to remain as you are?" The demon's mouth twitched again; he seemed almost to smile, fingers toying with Paul's shirt.

          (of course not!)

          (you don't understand!)

           "Paul? Paul, wake up."

           He opened his eyes. Gene was there, leaning over him. Out of the corner of his eye he could see a book and a newspaper on the other side of the bed. Gene had stayed with him.

           "What time is it?"

           "Noon. Are you okay?"

           Paul nodded, rubbing his eyes with the back of his hand. Looking down, he realized he was still in last night's dress. The nightie's straps beneath it, amazingly, had stayed in place, though the sleeves of the dress had slid a bit. He swallowed, the memories of the night prior trickling in like a drizzle before a thunderstorm, replacing the fragments of his dream, and tugged the sleeves back up to his shoulder.

           "Did I say anything strange?"

           "You were getting kind of twitchy."

           A glance at the kicked-askew bedsheets told Paul that was an understatement.

           "I'm sorry."

           "No, I'm sorry. I should have stopped you."

           "From kicking in my sleep?"

           "From leaving last night."

           Paul looked over at him.

           "What could you have done? Chased down my car?"

           "I could've grabbed you when you were going out the door." Gene grabbed the book—it was one of his old self-help numbers from high school—and set it on the nightstand, possibly the only attempt at putting something away that Paul had ever seen out of him. "Or I could've done what you wanted. It's my fault."

           "It's not your fault at all. You got me out of there." Paul shifted until he was on his side. "If it hadn't been for you, I…"

           "Mary-Anne was taking care of you."

           "She… she was, wasn't she? She must've thought I was so stupid." He shook his head. "I don't know how you knew where to look for me."

           "I didn't. It was just a guess."

           "I shouldn't have gone off. I guess I wanted to… I don't know what I wanted." Paul paused. "I'm okay. I promise."

           "Are you sure nothing—"

           "Nothing happened." Paul tried to smile, weakly. "I wouldn't still be in this shape if something had."

           "If anybody touched you, then—"

           "It's fine. I'm fine."

           "Paul, you're not fine." Gene swallowed. "Somebody spiked your drink."

           Paul didn't answer for a long moment.

           "Nobody spiked my drink."

           "What?"

           "I said nobody spiked my drink. I took the 'ludes myself."

           He didn't want to look Gene in the face. He didn't want to see the disappointment and disgust there, now that he knew that Paul had drugged himself when he was already in danger. That he hadn't been innocent. That had to have done it for Gene. Wrecked any chance of leftover fondness or want.

           "Why?"

           "Because I couldn't stand the thought of fucking some random guy sober." Paul exhaled. "I didn't realize I couldn't stand the thought of fucking him trashed, either."

           "Paul—"

           "It's okay, all right?"

           He was surprised when Gene gathered him up in his arms. His breaths hitched, all of him just tightening, tightening up at first. Gene almost let go then, but then Paul grabbed him, burying his face against Gene's neck.

           He didn't deserve that kind of comfort out of Gene after what he'd done. Worrying Gene. Risking his own safety. He knew it, but that didn't make him any less greedy for it. He remembered, in blurred-out fragments, Gene's hold on him in CBGB last night, Gene's arm around him in the limo. Gene wiping his face off with the towel. He remembered leaning into all that warmth, too 'luded out to even quite understand it, only recognize that it was there for him, despite everything.

           Hopeless. So hopeless. But he kept holding on anyway, grateful, pathetically grateful, holding on longer than he should have, breathing in the scent of Gene's skin. Closer than he'd ever let himself get before. Closer, maybe, than he'd ever get again. Gene hadn't even gotten dressed yet, was still in his boxers, and his bare arms around him felt so good, so reassuring, it almost hurt. Paul shut his eyes and peeled himself away, not wanting to wait for Gene to let go first.

           "It's really… it's okay."

           And then he got up. He felt more clearheaded than he'd expected. Peter had told him 'ludes kept him from waking up with a hangover after a night of partying, but he'd never really believed him until now. Except for the acrid taste of vomit and morning breath still in his mouth, he felt… bizarrely enough, he almost felt refreshed, physically. He crossed over to the master bathroom, brushing his teeth and gargling with mouthwash before returning to the bedroom. He walked over to the closet door, where the other blouse and dress that he'd bought still hung from coathangers. "I… I'm gonna get dressed. Which one do you want?"

           "Paul, they're your clothes."

           Paul chewed on his lip and took the dress off its hanger, lining it up level against him. The hem fell two or three inches above his knee. He turned around, dress in hand, and started to head back to the bathroom, but Gene spoke again before he got there.

           "Don't wear things just because you think I'll like them."

           "I'm not."

           "Paul." Gene got up from the bed. "I gave it a lot of thought last night. I haven't helped you out like I needed to."

           "Gene, all you've done is help me out."

           "I've hurt your self-respect. I told you what to do. I made you dependent on me."

           "I was depending on you way before this. You just didn't realize it."

           "Not that way." Gene walked up to him. Paul draped the dress over one arm like a waiter's napkin. "I made you feel like you had to—to wear things, to do things, to keep my attention. I never should've—"

           "That's not true."

           "Yeah, it is. Last night, before you left…" Gene's gaze lowered to the floor before lifting back to meet Paul's. "I didn't know why you were acting like that. I'd thought you wanted me."

           There it was. There it was, closer than Paul had ever dared to put it himself. There was his chance. He could shut it all down right now, seal off any hope of Gene ever getting close enough to hurt again, do what last night had, somehow, failed to manage. Drive Gene away with an assurance that what he'd done, he'd done out of practicality. Tell Gene he'd used him all the way around, that every flirt, every kiss, had just been a means to an end. Lie to him the way he couldn't lie to himself.

           He had to struggle to keep looking Gene in the eye. The nerves that the Quaaludes and drinks had destroyed were all back again; he was keenly, so keenly aware of what he stood to lose. Gene's expression was guilty, almost penitent, and that hurt, too, but—maybe there was something past that. Maybe there was still some desire left in him. Maybe, even, if it wasn't the same as what Paul felt, it would still be okay. Paul wanted to believe that. He took a breath, and said three words.

           "You weren't wrong."

           "What?"

           "I did want you."

           "C'mon, Paul. You know my ego could use a little knocking down."

           "I did want you. I do want you."

           "Paul—"

           It felt like he was walking through water, every movement artificially slowed down. Two steps to close in on Gene. The reach of his hand to touch Gene's face, the morning stubble he hadn't yet shaved, tugging his chin down to kiss him. Just once, quickly, softly. Gene didn't stiffen up, didn't draw back, but he didn't answer immediately, either. As he broke the kiss, looking at Gene, trying to gauge his expression, Paul realized, offhand, that he'd had to raise up on the balls of his feet just to reach him. He hadn't even noticed.

           "You're not gonna want me after. I know that."

           "I don't know that I'd say that."

           "I would." Paul's mouth crooked upward, only a little wobbly. The words seemed to spill out of him like the water from a burst dam. "That's why I acted like that. That's why I left, because I knew."

           "Paul, listen—" Gene started, but Paul cut him off.

           "It's okay. I… I haven't treated you right. You've been real good to me and I—" Paul shook his head. "Let's try, all right? If you still want to—I wanna try."

           "I—"

           "I don't think I could go all the way yet. But I wanna be with you."

           "Don't push yourself. Especially not after last night."

           "I'm not pushing myself."

           "Paul, I'm serious."

           "I'm serious, too."

           Gene didn't answer for awhile. Paul felt frozen in front of him, biting back a thousand more words, swallowing every impulse to spill his guts even further. He wouldn't hold eight years of want over Gene's head like a ransom that needed to be paid. He wouldn't beg Gene again. He wouldn't yell at him, or throw a fit. And he wouldn't—he wouldn't give himself up, any more than he had already. He couldn't.

           Gene's hand touched his cheek. He seemed to be thinking. Gene always seemed to be thinking. Paul took a few quick breaths, until Gene bent his head and met Paul's lips with his own. Warm lips he'd already half-given up on touching again. Paul kissed back hard, suddenly desperate, arms looping around the back of Gene's neck. Beyond eager, beyond grateful, wanting to erase the memory of last night on the bed. Touching him the way he'd wanted to before. Kissing him the way he'd wanted to before, the way he'd done when they were dancing. Gene's tongue was in his mouth, one hand tangling against in his hair while the other tugged him tight against him.

           Paul was getting wet, like before, trying to grind against Gene like he still had a dick, like any movement of his hips right now, standing up, was granting him half the friction it was giving Gene. Gene was tugging him backwards before long, back towards the bed. Paul let him. His whole body felt hot and just on the verge, already unraveled over so little. Gene eased him into sitting on the bed and he scooted backwards, swinging his legs across the bed.

           Gene didn't go for the zipper of his dress this time. He seemed almost cautious, only kissing him on the mouth and neck, not yet even groping his chest. Paul reached behind him, sliding the zipper down, down, sliding the dress off. More purposely exposed than Gene had seen him until now, nothing remaining but the thin, purple nightie and panties. He was trying not to squirm as he felt Gene's gaze on him, but he couldn't seem to help himself, fingers curling around the nightie's hem. When he'd put it on late yesterday afternoon, he'd realized how short it was, the hem only barely skirting the upper part of his thighs, and how the silky material strained against his breasts. It had sort of warmed him, then, made him feel a little hopeful, a little desirable. Now, he wasn't so sure.

           "Do you like it?"

           "Yeah. It looks good on you."

           "I got it for you."

           Gene hesitated.

           "That's what I mean, you don't need to wear things to—"

           "I'm not—"

           "What… what I mean is, you had my attention already."

           Paul felt the heat rise in his cheeks. He didn't know how to answer that. Gene didn't seem to be waiting on an answer, anyway, one hand sliding up his thigh, beneath the nightie, tracing the soft skin there and the spreading wetness on his panties. His other hand went for one breast, squeezing it, sending another surge of need through Paul's body. He'd tried groping his own breasts a few times, before Gene came, never getting anywhere with it. It had been about as pleasurable as rubbing a hand against his knee. But now that Gene was touching them, tweaking one already-hard nipple and then the other, Paul found himself groaning, back arching. On some level it was almost humiliating, to be crying out over so little. Gene's other hand had only barely started rubbing him through the damp fabric.

           Gene tugged Paul up on his lap before long, Paul's legs splayed on either side of him, the nightie bunched up above his hips. Gene's erection was rubbing up against him, too tantalizingly close to be avoidable now, and Paul held his breath, half-expecting Gene's slow strokes to stop entirely, but they didn't. Paul grunted a bit, tugging the elastic of Gene's boxers down just enough to free his dick.

           "Lemme suck you off," he urged, starting to scoot back, although the twitch of Gene's fingers, finally sliding beneath his panties, made it almost impossible to want to get off of him for that long. "You haven't gotten a damn thing out of this yet."

           "I don't know about that." Gene was smiling, running his fingers against his slick folds, Paul pushing his hips forward to meet them. "Just give me a hand here. I've got a great view."

           "C'mon, you… you can't just want a handjob." It had to be disappointing enough just keeping it to fooling around in the first place with him. Paul hadn't even been brave enough to take off the nightgown. Paul grasped Gene's dick anyway, almost unprompted, his own strokes firmer and more assured than he'd expected. He watched Gene take a deep breath, his cock already twitching a bit in his hand. "I've blown guys before, I'm not a virgin there—"

           "Maybe later." Gene grinned, pressed a kiss to his throat. "You know, I never actually got to see you relax the other night." His finger ran lightly across the edge of his clit, too lightly.

           "You felt it," Paul protested, distracted. It was already getting hard to concentrate. He didn't want to halfass it, especially when part of him could still barely believe it was happening at all. Especially when he knew, from rare, scattered conversations early on when they'd toured, that Gene tried to avoid masturbating much—which had always struck Paul as weird. Gene's selective orthodoxy and hang-ups were so baffling. He shifted, rolling his hips harder against Gene's fingers and hand.

           "Let me see it."

           Oh. Oh. Paul was crying out again, cursing as he tried to focus, keep a rhythm going despite his own arousal. The precome already dripping from the tip was gratifying, Gene's breaths getting ragged, but he didn't know if it was enough. Gene kept watching him, watching his face. Every high-pitched sound that came out of Paul's throat was hotly embarrassing, not in the least because Gene was quieter in comparison, while Paul's moaning was only ever covered up when his lips met Gene's. But Gene was getting less cautious now, groping his breasts beneath the nightie instead of just through it, the skin-on-skin sensation almost overwhelming. His other hand, caught between Paul's thighs, was certain, slipping along his folds, finger running small strokes against the hood and clit.

          Gene was already closer than he was. Paul could tell that by the feel of his dick in his hand, and the expressions crossing his face, making him redouble his efforts. Paul’s vision swam, his own concentration faltering far before Gene came, groaning lowly, spurting mostly in his hand and on his dick, a bit of come ending up on Paul’s bare thigh. Paul let go, bracing his damp hand on the bed, leaning forward. Gene’s own hand had gone almost still between his legs. The blissed-out look on Gene’s face almost made up for it.

          “Hey, Paul, you haven’t—” Gene started, fingers moving again, not quite as intently as before. Paul grabbed his wrist, tugging it back.

          “Wait. Let’s try something else.”

          Gene looked a little confused but moved his hand away, starting to rest it on his leg. Paul shook his head.

          “Not there. I need that.”

          “You need that?” Gene furrowing his brows post-coital would’ve been funny, if Paul wasn’t battling his own arousal. The heat was starting to rise in his cheeks as he took Gene by the wrist again, setting it on the sheets. He wasn’t quite able to look Gene in the eye again yet, so he ran his fingers against the warm, soft fabric of his boxers, rolling up the hem of one leg slightly, mouth pursed.

          “You’ll see.”

          Paul closed his eyes briefly, breaths heavy, and scooted in closer, shifting until he was straddling one of Gene’s thighs. He made only a token effort at wiping his right hand off on the sheet before clasping both hands around the back of Gene’s neck, as he started to rub himself against Gene’s leg.

          Gene’s lips parted in surprise. Unbelievably, he actually looked like he didn’t know what to do at first, hands taking awhile to find their way back to Paul, one resting on his shoulder while the other slipped back under the nightie to rove over his stomach and back up to his breasts. Pairing that with Paul’s own grinding made it all the more intense, stimulation almost overwhelming. His damp panties were barely a barrier, exactly the extra friction he needed as he rocked his hips in short, quick bursts. Every so often, his leg would brush up against Gene’s dick—still soft for now, but still its own sharp thrill. Warm. As long as he was this close, this wet, he wasn’t nearly so worried about how letting him, about how actually fucking, would end it. It was just something else spurring on his arousal, a promise of something to come.

          “You’re killing me, Paul.”

          “Yeah?” Paul’s mouth twitched into a small smile as Gene tugged him into a kiss.His legs were clamping tight around Gene’s thigh nearly of their own accord, amping up the pressure, concentrating it. Paul was panting and groaning again before long. His clit was throbbing, the wetness that had already soaked through his underwear going past it, making Gene’s bare skin and the edge of his boxers slightly slick.  Easy to push and rub up against, find the exact right rhythm to leave him breathless.

          But it wasn’t quite enough until Gene pulled him forward just a bit, just until Paul found himself panting against his neck. Paul sped up a little, hips rocking, moans and curses all he seemed able to manage as the pleasure built up, closer, closer. He realized, dimly, that he was starting to finally get used to this body, figure out what he liked now, how to get off. He wasn’t sure how he felt about that, not that it mattered right now. Gene was still watching, his gaze, the unfettered, needy want there making Paul feel heady. Looking him right in the eye was better than before, better than it had been in the dark. He cried out again, sharply, as he finally came, clutching Gene hard as he rode out his orgasm. It was a few seconds before he let go, Gene’s grip on his shoulder not loosening up until Paul relaxed his legs again.

          “Gene,” he said. “That… that was good.”

          “Yeah? Good.” Gene grinned. “You look cute when you come.”

          Paul glanced down reflexively at the comment, shaking his head. The spunk on his hand and on the sheets was long since clotted up. He started to get up from Gene’s thigh, a little shakily, straightening his underwear and pushing down the nightie with his clean hand. He felt a little like apologizing—it couldn’t have been that good for Gene, who probably hadn’t had a chick stop at a handjob with him in ten years, and Paul knew he couldn’t have been that fun to watch get off, either, if only because of what it wasn’t—but Gene didn’t look unhappy with the way things had gone at all. He looked pleased, maybe almost sated, running his hand almost possessively down the wet spot Paul had left behind on his thigh and boxers, rubbing the fluid between his fingertips. Paul’s face felt hot as Gene brought his fingers to his lips.

          “You taste pretty good, too.”

           “Aw, c’mon, Gene--”

          “You do.”

          Paul shook his head, but his heart was beating a hard, hopeful cadence at the words. He didn't quite feel sated. There was a weird leftover warmth in him, a deep-down feeling that he could probably go again without much trouble, but he felt like he'd asked too much of Gene already. It'd probably be another ten minutes at least before Gene could get hard again.

           "Uh. Lemme get you a towel or something, then we can… I don't know, I can fix some toast…" Paul trailed, awkward as all hell, starting to scoot off the bed. He'd forgotten how to handle anyone in the after. Gene, especially. Gene looked at him as if he were about to laugh.

           "You'll really leave it at that?"

           "I'm not leaving it at anything." Paul tried to rearrange his face into as bland an expression as he could, too keenly aware of how tightly he was still pressing his thighs together. Gene laughed, tugging him back up by the arm, back nearly into place on his lap. He wasn't facing him head-on this time, at first, but he turned his head, a vague sort of hope making his pulse flit. "C'mon, Gene, I know you can't—"

           "You have a hard time enjoying anything, don't you?"

           Oh, God. Just like last time, Gene was picking the worst point possible to start asking questions. Paul hesitated.

           "I enjoy plenty."

           "You're still soaking." Gene had gone for the hem of the nightie, tugging it up and pressing a finger against his panties, making Paul twitch anew. "I bet you could go again. Maybe more than once."

           "I don't know— "

           "You wanna try?" Gene leaned in, kissing the top of his head. Just as easy and thoughtless as if they really were together. As if this wasn't going to evaporate the second Paul gathered up enough nerve to give in entirely.  Why shouldn't he be thoughtless about it? I want you was all Paul had managed to own up to.

           Paul shoved those thoughts aside as hard as he could, and turned around entirely, tracing his hand down Gene's chest. Gene, to his credit, barely winced at the cold, not nearly inadvertent smear of come from Paul's hand.

           "Depends. Would you go down on me for it?"

           The glint in Gene's eye gave him away long before he even licked his lips.

[whumpster-fire]

Whumpmas In July - Day 12 (Belated): “Do it.”

CONTENT WARNING: Female whumpee, minor whumpee - and I don’t mean “can get a driver’s license but not vote.” Character is 18 days old at the time of this incident, and mentally a child. Read at your own risk.

The Animator’s voice was low and calm – irritatingly calm. His brown eyes stared down through his glasses with barely a spark of anger. “If you ever – and I mean ever – pull a stunt like that again, you’ll be disposed of. The Resistance needs weapons, not liabilities.”

Wendy Weasel, Human Resistance Toon Weaponization Program Number 15, scowled up at him, flattening her ears partway and baring her pointed teeth. “What, you givin’ me this goddamn lecture now? Couldn’t you have done it...” she glanced around, looking for a clock. When she didn’t find one, she made a watch appear on her wrist, then remembered she didn’t know exactly when the event she was referring to was anyway. “...Yesterday morning? Or were you scared Herschel was gonna turn that hammer on you too if you interrupted him?” She wasn’t scared of Lowell. He was one of the two Animators, and de facto leaders, of the Human Resistance, but he wasn’t the one who’d drawn her. He didn’t have the guts to create something like her.

Lowell’s brow furrowed, stretching the skin on his shaved-bald head. “I know you’re trying to turn Herschel and me against each other, Number Fifteen, and it’s not going to work. I’m not going to be baited into badmouthing my colleague and closest friend to a toon. Herschel has a short temper, but his actions were warranted given yours. The only thing I have to question is whether he went far enough.”

The man was so composed and non-threatening it was boring. He was almost three times Wendy’s height, of course, but she doubted he’d ever been in a fight in his life, unless you counted getting shoved into a locker. And size was nearly meaningless against a Toon. Mental and emotional strength was what counted. Any human was helpless against her physically, but she couldn’t exactly take a mallet to her superiors or she was as good as dead. What she could do was mess with their heads, and Lowell seemed to think if he showed the emotional range of a bowl of wet sawdust she’d have nothing to use against him. “Besides,” he went on, “I don’t think you were in any state to hear me then.”

“Exactly,” Wendy said with a smirk. “Would’a been better for everyone that way. I wouldn’t have to listen to you, and you could pretend you were the one making an impression.” But her gloved hands clenched. Yeah, like she needed to be reminded that Herschel’d beaten her into a bloody pulp, which it wasn’t supposed to even be possible to do to a toon. But the Resistance had invented a special plastic that completely suppressed her reality warping abilities, and a fluid that didn’t dissolve toons’ flesh like Dip did, but it made it break and yield and not bounce back… like a human’s. She rubbed her wrist where the cuffs had dug in, and her chin where he’d broken her jaw. The damage was gone now, of course, now that her powers were back, but it was still sore. Her throat hurt too, from Herschel forcing the damn stuff down it and then her puking it back up along with half the ink in her body and maybe a couple internal organs. It was almost impossible to permanently injure a toon, but the problem was, the line between thoughts and reality was so blurred for them that the memory of pain could be almost as bad as the real thing – sometimes could even make an injury reappear, or take way longer to heal, if you couldn’t get it out of your head. Lowell bringing it up again was a dick move. He was really pissing her off now. She wanted to kill someone – or something. Not like she was allowed to kill humans anyway. Even enemies of the Resistance she’d need a direct order to harm. And other toons, the creatures she was made to kill, were in the ‘something’ category. Like her.

But there was tension in Lowell’s face too. Good. Prick. Like she needed a repeat of the same fucking lecture, except not even entertaining.

“Fifteen...”

“Ooops! Was that last bit out loud?” Wendy’s voice was still hoarse and scratchy. It had barely been an hour since she’d finally been let out of the cuffs and the straitjacket and muzzle.

Lowell sighed and pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “Apparently you do,” he said through gritted teeth. “Although you’re right, I doubt it will sink in anyway, which is why I’m in agreement with Gene and Lawrence that you should have just been Dipped. And you should know, I’ve discussed it with Herschel, and he’s only resistant to the idea because -”

“Because I’m the daughter he never had?” Wendy interrupted.

“No. If you’re trying to shock me, forget it. I’ve known about Herschel trying to create a Toon as a surrogate child for years – his story was part of what opened my eyes about Toons. I’ll admit when he created you and Number Six with such… childlike forms, I was worried he still had some sentimental tendencies, but even if he did I doubt they survived contact with you.”

Wendy’s smirk got bigger. It had taken all of five sentences to get him ‘badmouthing’ Herschel. Although he hadn’t exactly said anything juicy.

“Listen. The reason you’re still alive is because Herschel’s afraid. He’s afraid of you, he’s afraid of another feedback event like the one when you were created, and he’s always been a bit overly cautious. But remember this: you represent about a week’s work for either of us – maybe two. You aren’t irreplaceable, and you aren’t invincible. I’m not afraid of you, and I’m not afraid of getting rid of you. Six, Eleven, and Eighteen can all fulfill your role for a few days, and once Herschel’s and my next creations are animated, there’s nothing stopping us from -”

“Blah, blah, yadda, yadda.” Wendy feigned a yawn. “Come up with some new material, and then get somebody else to threaten me with it, ‘cuz your delivery’s a lost cause. And so’s your animation talent. You think Eleven can replace me? The moron I got to deep fry himself when I was just drawn? Ya know, calling me replaceable’s really the pot calling the kettle black when all your toons are good for is making Dip soup.” Her smirk grew to a vicious grin as Lowell’s face finally contorted in anger. He made a grab for her. She nimbly stepped back, waited for him to blink, and reappeared behind him. “And so’s calling Herschel too cautious. At least he’s not some spineless dickweed who can’t draw up any toon with the balls to reach down and scratch ‘em without asking permission first, because he was terrified of Elmer Fudd as a child and now he relives his boyhood nightmare every time he looks in the mirror. Face it Lowell, you’re the replaceable one around here, not me! If Herschel died tomorrow the Resistance’d be fucked. If you died tomorrow, they’d just have to put up a classified ad for some animation college dropout – ack!”

Oh, she was dead. That had felt good to say, but he was soooo dead. She’d been letting him get a little closer with each lunge, reveling in how angry she’d gotten him, reveling in how she’d completely ruined his calm demeanor, reveling at the fact that whoever checked the security cameras was going to get a good ab workout laughing at Lowell’s expense. But she’d dropped her guard a little too much, and he’d moved faster than she’d expected. He seized her by the throat and slammed her against the concrete wall. It wouldn’t have even been enough to get her adrenaline pumping if it wasn’t still sore. And even so… why was having her ability to breathe cut off like this making her pulse jump like crazy, and not in a fun way?

“Fifteen, I swear… I swear to God… I’ve spent ten years of my life dreaming of wiping your species off the fucking Earth, but I’ve never wanted to kill a Toon as much as I do right now...” His glasses were askew. His eyes were mad, the pupils unevenly sized. An occupational hazard. Bringing a toon to life was kind of like sticking your head in a microwave. Everyone in the profession had some kind of brain damage, Herschel had said. Some just hid it better than others. “I want to melt that smile right off your fucking face...”

“Go ahead then. Do it.” Wendy pried his hand away just enough to get the words out. “If you want me dead that bad, then kill me.” Yeah, right. She knew he was bluffing. Oh, the Resistance’s leadership weren’t happy that she hadn’t technically 100% done exactly what she was supposed to, and the mission hadn’t technically been successful, but they also knew she’d mopped the floor with Acme Looniversity’s star pupils, and Riley – Number Six – had barely made it out of a one-on-one fight alive. That kind of power was too valuable to throw away, not when they didn’t know if the Animators could replicate it.

But suddenly, that power vanished. Wendy felt the horrible cold feeling of one of the plastic cuffs snapping shut around her neck. Tight. Too tight. Suddenly everything was weak. She couldn’t pull her head free, or even squash and stretch her neck so she could breathe freely, or create a crowbar out of Hammerspace to break the lock. She’d felt this awful, helpless feeling once, and she’d sworn she never would again. But she hadn’t even made it a couple hours.

“Uhh… just… just kidding, Lowell...” Wendy gulped. The calm was back, icy and satisfied, as he dragged her down the hall towards the elevator. “Hey, I got legs! Put me down, you fucking -” She kicked and clawed at the cuff. It felt like a truck was parked on her windpipe.

The elevator rose one level. Level Four. It didn’t necessarily mean anything. Dip wasn’t the only thing the Resistance made there: there were also weapons, spare parts for the ACME Machine, and other equipment they couldn’t exactly buy at a hardware store. But when Lowell had two other guys blindfold her, and tie her hands behind her back, she knew.

He was going to kill her. He was actually going to kill her. The harsh chemical smell of Dip, the one substance that was lethal to her kind, burned her nose and sent icy veins of instinctive panic coursing through her body.

“Morning, Lowell,” an older man with a rural midwestern accident said. “What’ve you got there?”

“A discipline problem,” said Lowell. Wendy could hear his scowl. Then, he hastily added: “Oh – good morning to you too, Bill!”

“Fuckin’ dweeb,” Wendy muttered under her breath. Not like they could hear her over the ventilation fans anyway.

“What’re you bringing it up here for, then?” Bill – one of the Resistance’s chemists – asked in an irritated voice. “I’ve told you guys I don’t agree with you letting your little Frankenstein’s Monsters run around this place, but – well, living quarters are one thing, this is another. I gotta remind you, even if your plan’s a total success you still need Dip to finish a toon off, and there’s a lotta fragile equipment on this line.”

“Actually, I was wondering if I could borrow a bucket.”

“Aaahhh...” Bill whistled. “Ah, that kind of discipline problem. About time if you ask me. I’ve been sayin’ you oughta melt that thing down before it kills someone.”

Wendy’s fists clenched. She glared daggers through the blindfold in the direction of his voice. A hundred comebacks and insults ran through her head, and it took all her willpower to bite her tongue. But right now, the anger was being blotted out by an emotion she’d hardly ever felt in her life. True fear. Her whole body felt weak, like her bones might dissolve and she’d melt into a puddle even before they finished her off. She heard Lowell saying something to Bill that she couldn’t make out over the hum of the fans and the pounding of her own heart. She felt sick to her stomach – although that could’ve been just the smell of Dip. She wanted to be anywhere but here – to vanish and reappear somewhere else in the underground complex. She wanted to pull a hacksaw out of Hammerspace to get rid of the cuff choking her, or failing that just blast it to pieces even if it meant setting off enough explosives to level a city block in her own face. Hell, she wanted to make Bill try it on for size on his fat fucking neck. The result would probably be like putting a bunch of rubber bands around a watermelon, but if they were going to kill her anyway, did it really matter if she got a parting shot?

But she was completely helpless in this goddamn thing. No teleportation, no hammerspace, no playing tricks on the humans’ minds. She should have had the strength to whip the two men’s legs out from under them and take them apart like Tinker Toys, but instead she was almost as weak as a creature her size should have been if it obeyed normal laws of physics.

A boot caught her under her ribs, hard enough to lift her off her feet and throw her across the room. It knocked the breath out of her, but it didn’t really hurt much. Even with the cuff cartoon physics still applied if something else hit her. But it did hurt that the blow had come out of nowhere. She’d been completely unable to see it, avoid it, or even brace herself.

She tried to run when she heard the bucket being filled – the sloshing of liquid, the squeaking and clanking of the handle. The smell was almost overpowering. But something tripped her, and she was dragged back by her tail and thrown against a concrete wall. That gave her an idea. She thrashed against it, dragging her temples along the rough cement to try to pull the blindfold free, but it didn’t budge.

“Come on, guys, you know I was joking, right? Right?” she fidgeted nervously, waiting for the fatal blow. “You’re almost as good an animator as Herschel, and I’m really sorry I said you were scared of Elmer Fudd. And Bill, I’m sorry I stole all your socket wrenches and replaced them with left-handed ones.” Metal scraped against cement. The bucket was being lifted. Wendy’s blood froze. She froze, pressing herself back against the wall. “Fuck! Don’t kill me, don’t kill me, don’t kill -”

She was cut off by the shock of cold liquid hitting her. She instinctively closed her mouth and ducked her head as best she could trying to protect her nose and eyes, but she knew it didn’t matter. She knew what Dip did to toons. A direct hit like this would dissolve her alive within seconds. Every muscle tensed, and she didn’t dare breathe as she tried to brace herself for what would surely be indescribable agony. A flood of panicked emotions  melted her brain from the inside out. She was dead she was dead she was dead!

Only… she wasn’t. The pain never came. There was a little numbness, but it was just from the cold. Her fur was soaked to the skin, but it wasn’t melting her, just freezing her.

There was a howl of laughter. The blindfold was ripped away, and she stood there blinking and shivering in the fluorescent lights. A clear puddle was running down to a drain in the floor. Bill stood there holding an empty bucket, but there was a second one sitting nearby, full of caustic green liquid. That son of a bitch. It was water. Ordinary fucking water, but they’d even been smart enough to fill one with real Dip so the smell would fool her. He’d tricked her. He’d tricked her!

“Hoo! Man, did ya see the look on her fuckin’ face? I still think you should’ve dipped her for real, but damn, bet those couple weeks of life flashed before her eyes, huh? That oughta straighten ‘er out!”

Lowell smiled and gave a soft chuckle. “Don’t be fooled. They imitate human facial expressions and body language, but they’re no different from -”

“HAL 9000, like that scene in the movie where he’s telling Dave not to unplug him?”

“Exactly. Toons have a basic self-preservation instinct, but it’s not the same as human fear. We were unsure about whether to eliminate it from our creations, but they wouldn’t be nearly as effective in combat without it. And there are only two ways to motivate and discipline a creature with no capacity for empathy or morality: blind, programmed obedience, and fear. The first on its own would, again, make them too susceptible to mental manipulation.”

Wendy couldn’t make herself say a word as the animator knelt and reached out for her throat with a magnetic key. She was afraid her voice would break. Her breath was already catching in her throat in a way the pressure on her windpipe couldn’t cause, and silent tears mixed with the cold water dripping down her face. She couldn’t stop shivering. She hated cold. She hated it. She was so goddamn sick of how the compound was always at fifty-five degrees or something – maybe warmer in here with the heat given off by machinery and chemicals, but still always uncomfortably chilly.

Click. The cuff opened. The instant the cuff was released from her neck, Wendy snapped the zipties binding her wrists. She winced and rubbed her throat, and wrung out her soaked gloves. She fought the urge to shake herself dry; she’d probably get punished for that, too.

“Get the message, Number Fifteen?” Lowell said icily. “The next time, it won’t be water.”

Wendy nodded, and swallowed hard. Painfully. “Yeah. Whatever. There’s not gonna be a next time.” There was a concerned look. “Because I won’t screw up again.”

“This isn’t about your actions. This is about the attitude that lead to them.”

“I know.” Bullshit. What did he want her to do, bow before him and polish his shoes? He’d said it himself, the whole reason she was made was to have a toon in the Resistance’s arsenal that wasn’t a sniveling toady, that was completely devoted to her purpose and sure of herself enough to carry out her mission even if the humans that were supposed to be commanding her got killed, or worse – that was smart enough to disobey if her superiors fell under the enemy’s power. And that was exactly what she’d done – minus getting carried away a little bit. If Lowell had a problem with her attitude he could take it up with Herschel, not her.

But she couldn’t say any of it. That confidence had just evaporated. All that was left was ice-cold fear and burning anger and hatred that met in a deadly explosion. “Sir.” Goddamnit, why couldn’t she stop shaking? She spat the word out and glowered up at him. She clenched her fists, and a little smoke rose from her gloves. “I...” Fuck it. “I’ll be good.”

She snatched the empty bucket out of his hands and darted off around the corner. The moment she was out of sight, she folded space around her and her next step took her into the small concrete cell that passed for her quarters.

“Son of a bitch,” she snarled. A lit stick of dynamite under the upturned bucket shredded it like tinfoil in a blender, but that didn’t satisfy her. She wanted to kill something. She wanted to wring the neck of the next toon she saw and shove its face into a barrel of Dip herself. She wanted to die, but not enough to actually do it. The next words were just a whisper. “I didn’t even do anything that time.”

Just like she predicted, Wendy’s voice broke. It was freezing in the cell, and the water made it worse, but she didn’t have the mental energy to create something that would dry her off properly. She just pulled a threadbare towel from behind her back and wrapped it around herself, and shrank back into the corner, shuddering. Almost died. She’d almost died. For nothing. Just because she wouldn’t stop running her mouth. Just for behaving exactly how she’d been drawn to.

She knew she’d have a chance to release this anger, sooner or later. Being blown into a thousand pieces wouldn’t let her next target escape. It didn’t matter if they were toon or human, they were gonna die screaming. But the pain, the humiliation, the unfairness, ran too deep for the anger to burn them away. And she didn’t know what to do with them.

Faked emotions. Imitated expressions, basic instincts. The least Herschel could’ve done was made her not fool herself into believing her own lies. This was why she was glad she wasn’t human, even if it meant she was inferior, just a monster made to kill other monsters. She didn’t want to know what the real thing was like.

____

My first ever Tumblr prompt response fiction, yay! Meet Wendy Weasel, from my Who Framed Roger Rabbit (setting, characters are mostly from Animaniacs, Tiny Toon Adventures, and Looney Tunes) fanfic La Resistance. Basically she’s a Toon who was created by a genocidal terrorist group that wants to wipe Toons out, and for all intents and purposes a child soldier. When she’s not making life hell for the protagonists, she’s pissing off her own side as much as possible because she’s bored / wants attention. She’s way too cocky and aggressive for her own good.

This is the epitome of what I said in another post about liking whumpees who are dangerous to the whumpers. Power-suppressing cuffs and Dip not withstanding, there’s nothing but psychological conditioning between Lowell or anyone else in the Resistance and a shoebox funeral if Wendy turns on them, and they both know it. The problem is neither of them actually understands the true nature of that conditioning.

[eldritchsurveys]

862.

1. have you ever gotten soap in your mouth for cursing? do you think that’s right to do to kids who curse?: >> I did get soap in my mouth, but not for cursing; for “talking back” or being “fresh”, mostly. I was (understandably...) too afraid to do anything as brash as curse. I don’t think it’s an appropriate disciplinary measure at all, unless your mission is to confuse and frighten your child into obedience... which, apparently, is a lot of parents’ ultimate goal, it seems.

2. what age do you think is appropriate for kids to start watching horror movies with lots of gore?: >> I really don’t have a solid opinion about this. I tend to skew a little unorthodox on this front, which is probably best left unexplored (fortunately, this is all hypothetical and I’ll never have to address this situation in real life).

3. do you know what the word “polyamorous” means? and did you ever hear that song by breaking benjamin?: >> I know what it means, and I do remember the Breaking Benjamin song.

4. how many bug bites do you currently have?: >> Zero.

5. what’s one word you always have trouble spelling and can’t remember the correct spelling of?: >> I don’t think there’s any word like that. Spelling and phonics is one of my few strong suits.

6. what’s one band that really sucks live?: >> I don’t know, I haven’t seen any that I thought sucked performance-wise (I have seen a few whose music I just didn’t care for, like some opening acts, but that has nothing to do with the quality of their performance).

7. do you go to warped tour? why or why not?: >> I have never been to Warped Tour. I just never got an opportunity to go, or I was never interested, or whatever.

8. do you have any wind chimes outside your house? how many?: >> No. Some neighbours have them, I think.

9. do you know someone who actually had someone give them a bouquet of real roses and one fake one, and tell them they’ll love them until the last one dies?: >> I’ve never even heard of that.

10. which do you like better, firefox or internet explorer?: >> Firefox.

11. who is the most attractive person on your street?: >> ---

12. do you have a flat stomach? would you ever wear a belly shirt to show it off?: >> I no longer have a flat stomach, and you wouldn’t catch me dead in a crop top.

13. which do you prefer on yourself, long or short hair?: >> I like how I look with long hair, but I prefer the low maintenance of short hair. So, I buzz my head, and I wear wigs when I feel like it. Best of both worlds.

14. what about on your preferred sex? long or short?: >> ---

15. with eyebrow piercings, do you prefer the ring or the curved barbell?: >> I have no opinion.

16. have you ever pierced something yourself? why and what was it?: >> Yeah, I pierced my ears a few times. I did it because I wanted to? And also because I couldn’t afford to have them professionally done. I also did it when I was 16 because my father wouldn’t let me get a cartilage piercing, so I pierced my own ear at work one day. (My father eventually noticed because I put the most ridiculously obvious jewelry in it... hold on, I’m going to find a photo of what I’m talking about because like... what did I expect to happen)

looked something like that. I straight up deserved to get caught.

17. would you date someone who was five years older than you?: >> I don’t date, but that wouldn’t be a dealbreaker if I did.

18. i heard of a girl whose boyfriend cheated on her with a 13yearold (he’s 18) and got her pregnant, so she left him. what would you have done if you were in her situation?: >> I... just can’t imagine being in this situation, sorry.

19. how old was the youngest person you ever found attractive? and how old were you?: >> Oh, I don’t know. Probably not much younger than myself; my tastes always skewed older (oftentimes much older).

20. isn’t it annoying when you’re trying to start conversation with someone and all they say is “yup” or “really now” or something like that?: >> Not necessarily, unless they’re usually much more exuberant and participatory than that. Then I’d wonder if something was wrong (and if it was my fault).

21. if you have aim, do you have any linked screen names? how many?: >> ---

22. which of your favorite bands released a new album last?: >> I’m not sure.

23. are you waiting for any bands to release new albums? which ones?: >> No.

24. what’s your favorite store for buying cds and such at?: >> Back in the day when that was my primary mode of listening to music, my favourite music stores were Virgin Megastore and Tower Records. Ah, nostalgia.

25. what’s the point in buying dvds like “girls gone wild” and other porn if you can get tons more online for free?: >> Well, people generally do watch more porn online nowadays, I think. But the benefit of having a DVD is that... you never have to worry about the video being taken down, and you always have it available (so, even if you don’t have internet connection, etc). It’s the same argument for having paper books or movies/shows on DVD, really.

26. if you had to have one drug (illegal ones, like marijuana and cocaine and all of them) right now, what would it be?: >> Well, marijuana is technically legal here (although I think new recreational dispensary openings in this city have been kinda interrupted by the whole pandemic business, so it’s still a bit hard to access for now). The only drugs I’m even interested in anymore (besides maybe a little low-THC weed, just to see) are psychedelics, and I don’t just want to take them casually, I want a tripsitter or a therapist present. So it’s more complicated than just “getting the drug”.

27. would you ever get a sleeve or a half sleeve on your arm (we’re talking about tattoos)?: >> I would love that. I have had the idea to have a tree-rings tattoo down my left arm like the astronaut character in The Fountain for years.

28. do you have a wireless mouse and/or keyboard?: >> No, my keyboard and mouse are both wired, which is logical. Wouldn’t it suck if I was in the middle of a boss fight in FFXIV and the battery in my keyboard or mouse just fuckin died? Yikes.

29. do you think your biological parents love each other?: >> They did not love each other, from my perspective. I don’t even know if my father is capable of loving anyone, the way he fucking acts.

30. do you have callouses on your feet?: >> No.

31. did you see the commercial for that “foot grater” on tv that basically shaves the callouses off of your feet? isn’t that nasty to think about?: >> That is nasty to think about, and I don’t think it’s even necessary. Anything to make a buck, I guess.

31. what’s your favorite color combination (ex. pink and purple)?: >> I don’t know, I like a lot of colour combinations.

32. ever been to watchmovies.net? what do you think of the quality of the movies there?: >> Yeah. I don’t like sites like that because I can never get good subtitles and also they’re always buffering and shit. I can’t put up with that anymore, I paid my dues back in my literally-broke days.

33. what’s one movie you’re dying to see but haven’t had the chance to see yet?: >> Everything on my watchlists across the four streaming services I patronise. I just don’t always have movie-watching energy (or time), so it’s slow going to get through all my watchlists.

34. would you rather live alone in a huge mansion or alone in a small studio apartment?: >> Alone in a small studio apartment. Unless the huge mansion had a staff, because I really can’t fucking imagine keeping a mansion clean and maintained otherwise. But... huge mansions often come with a lot of acreage... and no neighbours... that’d be nice.

35. if you came across child porn on your computer, what would you do?: >> How the fuck would that even happen? Let’s not get silly here.

36. what’s the last computer game you played?: >> Final Fantasy XIV.

37. what’s the name of the street you live on?: >> Eh, let’s not.

38. would you ever dye your entire head blonde?: >> No.

39. what’s the randomest thing you ever heard of someone collecting?: >> I don’t know, most things people collect seem random to me.

40. how often do you use “<3” or “:]”?: >> Rarely.

41. isn’t it annoying how people walk around thinking hollister logo tshirts and ripped jeans are preppy, even though those things would never be allowed in a prepatory school because of the dress code?: >> *stares blankly in “I don’t care”*

42. how do you feel about abortion?: >> I am pro-choice.

43. what’s one thing your grandmother does that you can’t stand?: >> ---

44. did you ever notice how it’s more tragic if a younger person dies than an older person, even if they both died of the same cause?: >> It does seem that way to people, but I don’t see it that way myself. Of course I’d rather die when I’m old than, like, right now, but hey. It be like that.

45. when’s the last time you snuck around, and where did you go?: >> I don’t have to sneak around.

46. how often do you wash your hair?: >> Once a week, provided I remember.

47. do you think the price for a movie ticket is too high these days?: >> Not here, it isn’t. In NYC, it was fucking astronomical.

48. have you ever been to a drive-in movie theater?: >> No. I’d like to one day, that seems fun. But only if I have a convertible, lol.

49. what’s your favorite musical?: >> Phantom of the Opera.

50. what do you think of dr. seuss?: >> I’ve never read him (that I can remember) and I don’t care.

[sketchy-saram]

Just some very personal thoughts I had yesterday, thinking about all the small ways that society--and my mother--taught me not to love myself when I was younger, and how long it has taken to claw myself out of that pit. And that was in a LOVING home. How some people ever manage self-love despite the negativity, I have no idea. But I love all of you, and just know that it might take a while--it may take a LONG while--but you can learn to love yourself, and let yourself be. <3

As I was sitting having lunch yesterday, listening to the cafeteria ladies chat about my new haircut, I thought: is it really so revolutionary, in 2020, for a girl to have short hair? But of course it is. It may be something we're more used to seeing than, say, men with long hair, but it defies traditional gender nonetheless. Yet the older I get, the more I wonder why we feel the need to cling to gender and propriety and tradition so strongly that we will limit ourselves and others. But we do, and we begin so early that it is scary.

 I thought about my hair. I thought about the reasons I had for keeping it long, when it was long, and I thought about how I felt now that it was shorter. The truth is, I never liked having long hair. It takes so long to shampoo and condition...it clings to your neck in the summer, and gets in your eyes...I never knew what to do with it or how to style it, and from the ages of 12-18 I almost exclusively wore it in a clam-style clip, twisted back and out of sight, out of mind. Why then? Why didn't I get it cut? Because girls are supposed to have long hair. Because when older women have longer hair, they're weird hippies, so if you want to have long hair, you have to do it while you're young. But at the same time, if you have short hair while you're young, it means that you're a lesbian, which of course IS FINE, but yet not at the same time, because you can tell by the way it’s said that it isn’t something you’re supposed to want to look like. 

I used to think that I had to grow my hair out so that it could be styled when I got married, because of course only long hairstyles look good on brides for wedding photos, and at that time so long ago I figured that a wedding would be in my cards soon enough. Except that I still hated my long hair. It was frizzy and thick, but nobody would let me get it thinned--for reasons I still have yet to decipher to this day--so it had no shape and no body, it just...existed. The first time I got a major haircut as an adult was the first time I really felt freedom. It wasn’t even that short...just shoulder-length...but I already felt an inkling of what it was that I wanted, which was to take back my appearance and make it my own. My long hair, to me, said that I was trying to fit in but would always be found wanting, because I wasn’t like everyone else. Short hair said yes, I’m not meant to fit into the box of normal things, so please don’t put your expectations on me--I don’t want them. I hate expectations.

 It was, more or less, the same for clothes. I am stocky at best, fat at also-best, because neither of those are evil and are only descriptions. But just like ‘lesbian’, ‘fat’ has connotations for normalcy that are stigmatized; while nobody will come right out and say it (unless you happen to be on an internet forum,) being fat is not the IDEAL description you want to be using for yourself. And so it goes. But it made what was already a fraught experience of existing as a girl even more exhausting, because I wasn’t allowed to look fat. The first time I felt that, in my bones, was when I was still fairly young. Maybe eight? I was bathing suit shopping with my mom, and tried on a two-piece that was very 4th-of-July, American-flag themed. I can still see the white stars and blue-and-red stripes on the top in my mind’s eye. She looked at me troubled for a minute before saying, I guess in the nicest way possible to give your child lifelong body issues, that perhaps we should try the one piece. That day, the way the world would look at me suddenly came into sharp relief; all the parts of myself I should be trying to hide popped out like a hidden picture book in that shopping mall fitting-room mirror. I saw my round belly, poking out from between the two separate pieces of fabric, and realized it was not right. I hadn’t even learned to suck in yet, a subconscious action which I now do as thoughtlessly as breathing because of the off-handed comments my mother would make about girls I saw as skinny who ‘would look much better if they just learned to suck in that little bit of stomach’. This is a game with no winners, I realized so early, but I guess I still have to play. Now I have to consciously try not to suck in, and it is so hard to unlearn. 

We, mom and I, talked at first about how I would get thinner because ‘it was just baby fat’; and then, when it didn’t go away, how ‘we can diet together. You’re still young. Your skin will bounce back.’ Shopping at the one cheap store in the mall that sold plus-sizes--on the other side from the straight-size section, and with much uglier options--I learned that plaid ‘will make you look like a lesbian’--seems like that was a theme--so I didn’t get the plaid button-up that I really liked. But now I am almost thirty, and I look back with so much anger and sadness and confusion and regret. Why? WHY did it have to be like that? My mom wasn’t a spiteful or a hateful woman. I know that if she read this, it would break her heart into a million pieces to think that all these things have affected me so much for so long. She didn’t do or say anything that a million other parents haven’t told their kids off-handedly before her, or since. But still, I have to ask the question: why? What is the point?

 I don’t want to have children. I’ve given the issue a lot of thought, and it just isn’t for me. But I still feel, strongly, that parents need to put more effort into not saying things that their kids will remember long after they’re said. Let your kids do what they want with their appearance. It truly, truly doesn’t matter. Let them have their hair how they want it--it will grow back. Let them wear whatever fashion they like, and refrain from stepping in with your outside opinions about how the world will perceive those choices. Your children desperately need you to be in their corner; not their first bullies, and not the first words of doubt in their mind. Don’t let your voice be their voice of inner-doubt. Kids are cruel, but they don’t have to be. It is just as learned as using a fork, or going to the bathroom, or turning off the lights. When you say things that you think will help your child not be made fun of, you are teaching them a few things; one, that fitting in is the most important thing a person can do, and it is something to strive for. Two, that you are judging them, and that you are part of the society of which they should be worried about pleasing. Why would you want that? If you support their choices, then sure, maybe you’ll have to console a few tears--but in doing so, you put yourself firmly in your child’s corner, and it becomes the two of you versus the world. They will see you as an ally they can confide in, instead of worrying about talking to you because they’ll only get a ‘told you so’. And in the end, isn’t that what you want to be for your children? Otherwise, why did you have them in the first place? 

It has taken me the better part of 29 years to learn to, at long last, finally start to quell the voices of inner doubt that plague my every decision, and even now there are days which are a real struggle. I read an article about an 80-year-old woman who was finally comfortable enough with herself to dress the way she wanted. Take that in. Eighty years. Why has society warped us so much that it takes someone eighty YEARS to do what they want to do, when it isn’t hurting anyone? The way you dress, the way you look; as long as you are legal, it shouldn’t be anyone else’s concern. So the next time you see someone who looks a way you don’t agree with, shut yourself down before you think anything unkind. Change starts there. It gets easier to look at yourself kindly when you don’t keep a judgemental running dialogue about other people in your mind. And learn to let yourself be. We all have those moments that we realized the world would not be kind. Maybe, someday, other people won’t have to have those moments. And wouldn’t that be lovely? 

So I keep sliding my hands over my shaved head, enjoying the feeling of the buzzed bits, more authentically me than I ever have been, and I smile when people look at me with confusion. Because at last I look the way I want to look, holding nothing back...and that is so wonderfully freeing.

[theonewiththefanfics]

Hopelessly Devoted (one-shot)

Synopsys: The Reader has been in love with Steve for a while, but the only problem is- he’s with someone else. Bucky has been in love with the Reader for years, the only problem is- she doesn’t love him. But a night spent together at a gala might change people’s feelings.

Pairing: Bucky x Reader

Genre: angst, fluff, SMUT

Warnings: SMUT; unprotected sex (gotta wrap it up before you do the devil’s tango), swearing and the usual stuff

Word count: 5771

   Y/N’s heart clenched as she looked at Steve, his hand intertwined with Dalia’s while they smiled at one another. She had been crushing on the Captain for almost four years but he obviously didn’t feel the same. But right at that same time, his best friend Bucky Barnes was giving Y/N the exact look as she curled up in Natasha’s side, the redhead lazily stroking the other woman’s hair.    Bucky sipped a bit more of his coffee, letting the bitter taste trickling down his throat match what he felt on the inside. The newest season of ‘Brooklyn 9-9’ was mindlessly playing on the big screen before a loud voice interrupted their peace.    “Listen up, jerks!” Tony’s voice boomed throughout the room. “In two days there is going to be a gala. Here in the tower, so you don’t have to be babies about not wanting to drive anywhere. It’s a black-tie event. All of you have to be there. We’re trying to make good with the public since you know... Sokovia... so please be nice. Thank you that is all.” And in a true Stark fashion, he sauntered away without taking any murmurs of protest into account.    "I really don’t wanna do this,” Y/N groaned pushing her head in the crook of Natasha’s neck, who gently patted her fellow Avenger's head.    “I know, sweetie, but hey- free booze and food!”    “It’s not like we pay for our stuff anyways. Everything is on Tony’s credit card,” the Y/H/C haired girl replied before pushing off the couch and making her way into the kitchen where Bucky was sitting by the countertop on a barstool.    His blue gaze followed every single move of hers, but most importantly how the muscles scrunched up her face in disgust.    “Not a fan of parties?” Bucky chuckled, handing Y/N her favourite mug.    “Not a fan of getting ready, not being able to stay in my PJs and having to wear heels that make my legs look fucking amazing while at the same time wishing I could just cut my feet off.”    He snorted, shaking his head and taking a big gulp of coffee.    “You sure it has nothing to do with those two?” Bucky pointed at Steve and his blonde girlfriend. In an already sour mood, Y/N flipped the man off. Obviously, he didn’t take it to heart, but then an idea popped into his head when he heard her mutter a quiet ‘what if it is?’.    “Do you want to go with me?” Bucky asked, his eyes defiantly looking at how the spoon made his drink swirl.

   “To the gala? Like together? As dates?”    “We don’t have to,” he was quick to interject. Maybe too quick, for his own liking, the fear of saying how he felt acting for him. “We can go as friends though. And still, you’d be able to show what that punk is missing out on. Get glammed up, look like an absolute princess and make the idiot realise what has always been right in front of him.”    Y/N grasped his palm, squeezing the ex-Winter Soldier’s fingers. “I’d like that. Thank you, Buck.”    A tightlipped smile was what she got as an answer, but even the small gesture had set her heart stuttering. And Y/N had no idea why.

***

   He fidgeted with his cufflink, so unaccustomed to wearing fancy clothes. Bucky was more of sweats and a shirt or jeans and a leather jacket type of a guy, but there was a difference when Tony Stark threw a gala or a party where people got hammered.    Standing by Y/N’s door his nerves got the best of him. Yes, he had offered to make Steve jealous, but for him, this was an opportunity to spend more time with the gorgeous Avenger. Three years he had been in love with the girl. They had met a few days after he’d become an official part of the team. She was on a solo mission somewhere in Guam and when the blood, dirt and all sorts of grime covered woman entered the common room floor, cheers erupting all around making her widely grin, Bucky was done for it. Just like he was in the moment she opened her door.    He couldn’t help the fact his jaw hung open. Y/N looked absolutely stunning, the deep blue gown hugged her form and it looked like a sea in the storm with every step she took. The back had a deep plunge and there would be little possibility of him keeping things modest as the opening ended just above the curve of her spine.    “You look absolutely magnificent,” he breathed out as Y/N stood before him, a palm clutching her small handbag.    “And you look like you just stepped out of a Hugo Boss ad,” she replied with a smile letting her eyes roam over Bucky’s form, but most importantly his face for it was no longer concealed by the dark brown locks. Instead, he’d gotten a haircut, quite similar to that of what he had in the photos. From back in the day. Slicked back hair, jaw shaved and back straight- there was no doubt in the girl’s mind he’d been a ladies man.    The deep rumble in his chest was a complimentary sound to that of his wide grin.    “Shall we?” he extended Y/N his elbow in a true gentleman fashion and with a mock curtsy she linked her arm through his.    The gentle music could be heard even two floors above and it encased them like a blanket when the two Avengers stepped out of the elevator. The tower had been completely redone. Or at least it looked that way, the two giant chandeliers that hung from the ceiling casting a yellowish glow over everything, while usually, the place was darker, made perfect for their movie nights.    A loud whistle came from their side, the pair’s heads whipping in sync as they saw Nat, body covered in a gleaming emerald dress striding towards them.    “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say my friend has been kidnapped and an impersonator has arrived in her place.”    Y/N went to jab her in the side, but missed, a small smile playing on her lips.    “You calling me ugly, Romanoff?”    “I’m calling you not a fan of attention yet here we are.”    That confused the girl, but her question was answered when Y/E/C eyes looked around the room, seeing everybody’s gaze settle on her. Some men’s were so predatory it made her squirm in place. Nat immediately noted how uncomfortable she felt, but the way Bucky’s jaw clenched told her, Y/N would be fine. There was no way in hell, he’d let her out of his sights.    “Made quite the entrance,” she purred in her ear before sauntering away and towards a smirking Tony.    “I need a drink,” Y/N mumbled, Bucky immediately having picked up on the words and leading them towards the bar. “Scratch that- I need like ten.”    “This is a fancy event, Y/N. You really want me to carry you upstairs?”    “Just leave me somewhere on the floor, no real need to do that,” she laughingly retorted as the bartender passed her the gin and tonic.    “No can do. If my best girl gets drunk you can be positive I’ll make sure she gets home safely. Don’t care if it’s two floors up, two blocks away or a two-hour drive.”    Bucky was grinning at the woman right until he realised what he had said.    “I’m your best girl, huh?” there was a smirk on her face, but underneath that, he saw a mix of emotions swirling. It was hard to decipher what exactly was going on in her mind, especially when he thought he saw a flash of happiness gleam through.    “I mean,” the man searched for words, but Y/N stopped his erratic heartbeat with just the touch of her palm on his. Literally, he felt his heart stop, blood freezing in his veins.    “It’s fine. It’s actually kinda… nice… makes me feel special.”    He wanted to reply with a definite ‘you are special’, but kept the words on the tip of his tongue not letting them slip past his lips. He’d already incriminated too much of himself.    “Come, let’s dance,” Bucky downed the rest of his drink and extended his hand for Y/N to grasp.    And she accepted right away. The night trailed on, but there was a moment, right when a more modern song had been put on and the metal-armed super soldier twirled her around, a wide grin splitting his face in half, Y/N found herself dumbfounded as not even for a second had she thought about Steve that evening. Yes, Bucky had said that originally they had gone as friends and she could use it as an opportunity to show his best friend what he was missing out on, but instead, Y/N was immensely enjoying the night by the brunet’s side, the laughter never ceasing. Until her eyes caught the glimpse of Dalia, snuggly sitting in Steve’s lap while his hands trailed up and down her sides. Bucky had gone off to get the pair something to quench their dry throats and Y/N took it as her opportunity to become invisible, slipping out onto the restricted section of the landing pad. Restricted to others, not the Avengers.    She looked at New York, the bright lights making the sky turn an orange hue, not a shimmering star peeking through. Y/N took a deep breath and exhaled, shoulders slumping forward as the girl leaned against the glass panel which allowed her not to fall.    “You disappeared,” Bucky’s low voice invaded the quiet of the balcony. Well, as quiet as you could get in New York. Y/N looked back at the man. He stood by the door aisle, arms crossed while his gaze simply trailed over her figure. It made her shiver and she had to break away from the intensity of his eyes.    “Just needed some air. It gets quite stuffy when there are hundreds of people around.”    Bucky scoffed but masked it as a chuckle. “And it had nothing to do with the fact Steve was being all lovey-dovey with Dalia?”    Y/N stuck her tongue out but it was a halfhearted attempt to hide her true reason for ditching the party. A silence settled over the pair, Bucky having walked over to the railing, leaning against it on his elbows, but he kept a little bit of a distance. After all, they had come as friends, even though he wished nothing more to warp the girl in his embrace any time he craved and to have her respond the same way.    “Am I a fool?” Y/N’s voice was soft as the words passed her lips.    “Why would you think that way?”    “For pining after somebody who clearly isn’t even remotely interested in me, hoping that maybe they’d notice even though it breaks my heart every time they don’t?”    Bucky wanted to laugh how perfectly her words described his own situation, but the way his heart clenched was a reminder, that he was also helplessly in love with a girl whose heart belonged to someone else.    “I think you can’t control your feelings,” with a sad look he flitted his gaze over at the girl who kept on peering into the night sky. “You didn’t mean to fall for him. I think you can choose your friends, you can choose your family, but the one thing that is out of everybody’s hands is who you love. That’s the hearts and only her decision.”    Y/N finally turned her head to face Bucky. “When did you become so wise?”    “Maybe I’ve always been that way.”    Their eyes locked, piercing blue with her sparkling Y/E/C ones. Unconsciously the pair had started to lean in, bodies moving on their own accord, two magnets having found their opposite. It was when their noses brushed against one another Y/N noted she was barely breathing and took a shuddering breath, yet still not fully snapping out of the trance.    A gentle palm, rugged but the touch utmost caring, cupped the girl’s cheek as Bucky searched for any sign that she didn’t want this, and when the super soldier found none, he softly pressed their lips together. Y/N melted against him, her fingers weaving through his hair pulling and tugging in places making him groan into her mouth. The response he got was an even harder kiss as she seemed eager to hear the sound again.    The cold winds whipped around them, but both felt hot like a forest fire was raging through their veins. Bucky’s grip on her hips was bruising, and she knew there would be marks left for her to find the next day, but somehow, Y/N cared about nothing but the feel of him against her body.    But the kiss was over almost as quickly as it came to be. The two completely and utterly shocked about what had happened. When Bucky opened his mouth to say something, a loud noise from behind startled the pair, their heads whipping around to see Tony.    “Sorry to interrupt whatever this is,” he pointed between the two, “but Y/N we need you on a mission. ASAP. Like right this second. There’s a jet ready and you have to go. Sorry.”    The look on the billionaire's face was serious, so with one last glance at the brunet soldier, the woman picked up the front of her gown and rushed off leaving Bucky cold and alone on the balcony.

***

   The morning after the gala, Bucky was in a weird mood. He’d kissed Y/N, he’d kissed the woman he’d been in love with for almost half a decade and she had reciprocated. The man’s knees had almost bucked when her fingers had woven through his hair, tugging in places, as if she needed to be closer to him. But then that stupid mission had come up, Stark having burst onto the scene a second after they had pulled away and made Y/N step onto a jet to who knows where.    Entering the kitchen blue orbs saw his best friend, yet the girl who was always by his side was nowhere to be seen.    “Where’s Dalia?” Bucky asked, not seeing the blonde by the counter as she usually shared her morning coffee with Steve.    The Captain deeply exhaled before replying. “We broke up.”    Bucky almost choked on the piece of bacon he had snatched from the pan. “What? Why?”    “Remember that gala, the one Tony threw two weeks ago?”    Bucky nodded, mind carefully selecting the emotions he was going to show. He hadn’t been able to talk to the girl how greatly the kiss had affected him, nor was he able to ask if what he had felt was real. If that had been the champagne in her system or was he delusional thinking that emotions were involved.    “She said I spent too much time eyeing Y/N. Threw a fit in the cab. Said I was obviously involved with someone else since I couldn’t keep my face together when I saw her. I'm a shit liar apparently.”    Blood rushed to Bucky’s head as the jealousy made him see red. But he pushed it down. This is what Y/N would want. He had suggested the idea, but now it might have worked and she could get what she wanted.    “Were you though?” he questioned further, scraping the eggs along the pan. “Paying more attention to Y/N than her?”    “I mean you can’t deny she looked stunning. No one had seen her so dressed up and I guess, inadvertently I did. She’s a beautiful girl, without a doubt, but that laugh… she reminded me so much of Peggy, so much of that confidence she exuded and the strength…”    The brunet hummed, mind reeling with the newfound information. He was desperate to talk to Y/N, but she was away on a mission. The girl was supposed to get back sometime that day, but every minute was almost agonising. Most importantly- she’d find out Steve was single and Bucky was afraid that the kiss they had shared had been his only chance. And he had blown it.

***

   Bucky was fidgety throughout the entire movie. And it was four hours long. When FRIDAY finally turned on the lights and people started to drag themselves to their respective rooms it was like he could take a breath. The fact that it was already past midnight and Y/N had not given a single message of her progress was nagging at Bucky, but the rest seemed calm, so he just sat tight and waited.    Also, having lost a bet to Sam who could make Steve more annoyed, he was stuck on dish-duty, but it was a good thing. His mind was able to worry about Y/N without any other distraction apart from the racing of his heart any thought of the woman induced.    The soft sound of the elevator hissing open took away Bucky’s attention. Looking over his shoulder he expected it to be Nat or even Sam, having forgotten something or just needing another cup of coffee, but instead, a tired looking Y/N exited.    His face visibly lit up as she stalked towards him, the duffle bag hitting the floor with an audible thud.    “Hey…” Bucky’s arms wrapped around Y/N’s body, the touch careful afraid she might have gotten hurt during the mission, but with how much strength she put in her own muscles, to tighten her grip around his neck, it seemed to him she was quite alright.    “Hi…” her reply was breathless, the feeling of safety and content weaving its way into her body. “Why are you still awake?” Y/N asked, concern making her forehead crease. “Did you have another nightmare?”    “No,” Bucky shook his head, a small smile on his lips. “We just finished movie night and I was left to do the dishes.”    “I thought it was Sam’s week.”    “Yeah, well… I lost a bet, so…”    Y/N snorted making her way to the kitchen and taking a glass, filling it up with water and chugging it in a span of three seconds.    “How was the mission?” Bucky asked, blue eyes looking at the girl, as she went over to the fridge and fumbled for some food. He saw her shrug in response.    “Fine. Took a bad hit while escaping, but nothing that Tony’s nanotech couldn’t fix on the way over. How are you?”    “I- I’m good. Was worried about you. When Stark sprung it on like that, it must’ve been a really tough one….” he trailed off. “I really th-“ but Bucky was cut off mid-sentence as FRIDAY’s female voice butted in.    “Your ship’s log has been processed and it turns out you haven’t slept in two days, Miss Y/L/N.”    Y/N bit her lip as to not snort at the motherly tone of the A.I. and at Bucky’s disappointed face.    “Bed, doll,” he said. “Now.”    With a roll of her eyes, the girl stood up from her stool and slung her duffle bag over her shoulder.    “Night, Buck.”    He let the blue gaze trail after her until Y/N’s form disappeared behind the corner.    “Night, doll."

***

   Even though Y/N was home safe and sound a different kind of worry ate at the super soldier. He had to be the one to break the news of Steves split. Yes, it was his best friend’s relationship, but the brunet was fairly certain that the girl would like to know from her co-conspirator. So when she hadn’t shown up for breakfast in the morning, nor lunch, nor dinner he decided to wake up his crush with a meal in bed the next day.    “Morning, doll,” Bucky mumbled pushing a strand of hair out of Y/N’s face after he had lightly tiptoed into her room and closed the door with an inaudible click.    A prominent groan escaped her throat and she opened one eye. “What time is it?”    “Seven.”    “Seven? Yeah, no, I don’t deal with single digit numbers, goodnight.”    “Love, you’ve been asleep for twenty-nine hours. You gotta eat something.”    “I’ll eat when I’m dead.”    A snort escaped the super soldier when he heard Y/N’s grumbled response, but none the less he persisted.    “Isn’t it ‘I’ll sleep when I’m dead’? Doll, come on. Breakfast’s ready.”    Finally, with a deeply dissatisfied look on her face and a groan, she turned around in her cocoon of blankets. Only her face was visible, nose sniffing the air as the sweet scent of pancakes and raspberry jam enter her nostrils, accompanied by the bitterness of freshly brewed coffee. Despite her efforts to look pissed at Bucky for waking her up, Y/N’s features softened and she gave him a small smile. And by the growling of her stomach, it seemed to agree with the hundred-year-old man.    His laughter was deep and seeped into Y/N’s bones as she untangled herself from the white bedsheets and sat up, comfort overtaking the room. Bucky took the tray he had set on her nightstand and placed in the girl’s lap.    “Okay, you and Steve might be super soldiers, but I’m not. I can’t eat this much.”    The man wiggled his brows in response as he revealed another fork hiding underneath the napkins. “Good thing I’m here then.”    Together they sat against the headboard of Y/N’s bed and ate. The clinking of utensils and hums of content were the only sounds in her room for a good while. She felt safe with Bucky, that was a prominent thing the girl noted. She felt like there was no need to pretend or hide what she truly thought. And he was definitely a sight for sore eyes.    Y/E/C orbs peeked at his face, while he concentrated on the taste of coffee. He’d brushed the hair away, this time without any products, longer strands still slipping into his eyes, yet the chiselled jaw was now covered in a stubble instead of being smoothly shaven. He looked gorgeous and Y/N’s heart suddenly started to thud a bit faster.    “Steve broke up with Dalia,” the words were uttered quietly, and in an instant, a tense silence settled over the two people.    “What? When?” that took the girl out of the moment.    Bucky sighed, intertwining his fingers, the metal rubbing across his other thumb. “Right after the party. Apparently, she didn’t like the fact he had been paying too much attention to you that night.”    It was out there, and he couldn’t take it back. The sound of a heart shattering is silent, but Bucky felt like his created the same amount of noise as an explosion would, leaving a gaping, bleeding wound in its wake. He was terrified to look away from his clasped hands, to see the happiness and glee written all over Y/N’s features when he was doomed to be alone for the rest of his life. Yet when he did glance upwards her shocked, but mostly blank face made Bucky frown.    “Isn’t that what you wanted?” he questioned, feeling his heart clench.    “I- yeah, but I- I never wanted to be the reason they broke up, not like this. But now...”    She looked to the side at Bucky, eyes immediately falling to his lips. The man’s breath hitched seeing it settle there.    “Now?”    “Now I don’t think I wanted them to break up at all,” she finally flitted her gaze back to his orbs, holding it for a few seconds, but Y/N couldn’t find the words so instead she leaned over, pulling their mouths together and straddling his lap. Instantly Bucky melted against her, arms securing her back and feeling bold he gripped her butt, giving it a squeeze. She moaned into his mouth before pulling away.        “Because of that.”    Blue eyes, wonder, disbelief and awe shining through them kept looking into Y/N’s Y/E/C ones.    “Please, tell me you really want this, that you want me,” Bucky’s voice cracked. “I couldn’t take it if your heart isn’t truly in it.”    Vigorously she shook her head, pressing their foreheads together, fingers weaving through the dark-haired man’s long lock.    “I- I don’t want Steve. I,” Y/N huffed searching for the right words. “I guess I always felt a certain way towards him because he was the first person to ever look at me like I belonged here. Like an equal. And I fixated onto that. I was scared that nobody else would see me, see that I had value. I don’t have amazing powers, just my brain, maybe a little brawl… that’s it…  But that night at the gala. I- you were the only one I could think of. Steve didn’t enter my mind once. I was so happy with you. And when you kissed me I couldn’t help but wish it was because you wanted to do that, not because you felt obliged to help me out with that ‘make him jealous’ thing.”    Y/N kept her gaze onto Bucky whose palms had settled onto her hips, her plain shirt having ridden up, allowing the man to trace invisible patterns with his thumbs onto the exposed skin.    “I’ve had some time to think about everything. Being away for the two weeks was actually a good thing because it made me reevaluate my life and what I want.”    “And what do you want?” Bucky asked, tightening his hold, afraid she’d slip out of his arms like smoke into the air. He didn't get the answer he expected but certainly wished for.    The kiss was filled with passion, frustration, feelings of inadequacy and most importantly love. As their lips moved together, a dance they slowly became experts in, Bucky had lifted her shirt over her head and settled his hands onto her hips, grinding up his crotch, to her core. A strangled moan made its way into his mouth and the man ate it up like it was a five-course meal, begging for more.    Bucky’s mind had been so preoccupied with the feel of Y/N’s hot skin moving against his, her laboured breathing and the delicious sounds her throat made, only now did he note the tightness in his pants that was becoming very uncomfortable. To get some sort of friction he rolled his hips again and Y/N detached her lips, throwing her head back in pleasure. Blue eyes watched in awe as the girl relished in the sensations overtaking her body.    “I love you, doll. Let me make you feel good,” he licked up a long stripe from the hollow of her neck to her ear. “Let me make you swim between the stars.”    Y/N let out a high-pitched whine and sighed his name, making his erection painfully twitch in its confinement. It wasn’t too gentlemanly of Bucky to groan in her ear and whisper profanities, but he just needed to feel her, needed to have her wrapped around him in every possible way, that the manners he’d possessed during the forties completely evaporated. Of course, if there was even a whisper of how she didn’t want to continue he’d stop on the spot, but her soft nips at his collarbone told him otherwise.    “You’re wearing too many clothes, Buck,” her words came out growl-like and the man couldn’t help the excitement that rushed through him.    “Then I guess you gotta remedy that.”    Y/E/C eyes narrowed in on him and she bit the corner of her lip. “Fine,” Y/N said right before her fingers grasped onto the collar of his shirt and ripped it clean down the middle.    “Fuck,” was the only word Bucky managed to rake his brains for, his already lust-blown pupils dilating so much there was no visible trace of the blue they usually sported. He left a trail of sloppy kisses down Y/N’s shoulder, over her collarbone and settled himself in the valley of her breasts while she desperately tried to rid him of the torn piece of fabric.    When his arms were finally free, completely able to envelop her in his touch, the cold metal sent a shiver up her spine while his hot skin soothed the unexpected sensation. Their kisses didn’t stop, mouths separating for a second to pull some oxygen into their lungs before resuming the breathless dance.    Bucky grasped onto her duvet and flung it out of the way, the soft cover making it harder for the man to follow Y/N as she made her way up the bed to lean against her plush pillows. Trembling arms pressed right next to her head, desperately trying to keep the man from crushing her, but it seemed like the wrong thing to do.    A harsh yank against the nape of his neck and Bucky was fully pressed to Y/N, her legs locking around the man’s hips.    “You keep doing that and well have an unfortunate situation here,” he warned when the girl ground up against him, her heat needing some friction, some sort of release.    “If I don’t keep doing that I’ll have an unfortunate situation where I have to finish things myself."    “Impatient are we?” Bucky mumbled before starting his assault on her breasts. He sucked and bit at the mounds, Y/N’s back arching up in pleasure while nimble fingers made quick work of her sleep shorts a palm slipping between her thighs.    “You are soaked,” they were words of admiration and pride- he’d gotten her to this point. It was his doing, how her body was writhing underneath his, searching for ecstasy. She let a guttural sound into the air as two long fingers rubbed around at her entrance before sliding in without any problems, her arousal making everything almost effortless.    Bucky set a slow pace, allowing Y/N to feel every push and pull, every curl of his fingertips and the flicks of his thumb against her clit. Her face was adorned by a blissful smile as she continuously whispered his name.    He worked her like that for quite a few minutes, before a sudden change in pace. With lips still attached to one of her nipples, Bucky pushed another finger into her. Y/N’s eyes sprung open before rolling to the back of her head, palms grasping at his hair which he took as a sign- the harsher the tug, the closer she was. But the soldier hadn’t found what he was looking for.    “Where is it,” he mainly muttered to himself, but the girl looked over at him, concern flashing over her features. She was just about to ask what was wrong when all the air was punched out of her, a wicked grin settling on Bucky’s face at her reaction.    “That’s the spot? Right there? Feels good, sweetheart?” Y/N’s only answer was a moan, the coil in her abdomen tightening and tightening until there was nothing left and she had to let go. Her nails dug deeply into his shoulders, some places breaking the skin, but Bucky was relentless, helping her through the orgasm and then some as her legs shook. Gentle palms soothed her outer thighs and he left a kiss everywhere a love bite sat on her chest before connecting their lips.    A hand settled on Bucky’s hip, tugging down his sweats and the boxers underneath.    “Insatiable woman,” he muttered into her mouth before dropping the annoying clothes on the ground, both people completely naked now. A groan of relief rolled off of the man’s tongue as his rock hard member was no longer constricted and instead it slapped against his abdomen.    “One word and we stop,” Y/N’s voice had a hint of innocence like she wasn’t the devil incarnate and Bucky had to slap her thigh in response. She pointed a finger at him, mouth pursed in a tight line    “Behave, you caveman,” but amusement shone through as he rolled his eyes and leaned down, pressing his forehead tightly to hers.    “Ready doll?” it was whispered with trembling lips as Bucky coated himself in her slick, the warm feel already too much to handle. He slid a few more times up and down, nudging his tip against her clit before lining up and entering Y/N. Never had he used as much strength in his life as Bucky did holding himself off from exploding.    She was tight, so unbelievably tight, squeezing and pulsing all around, the only thing he could see was white. Her voice brought him back, pleading for him to move, to do something as she desperately tried to move her hips.    A primal instinct kicked in as Bucky thrust down, completely bottoming out and going back up barely leaving his tip in before slamming again. Y/N was a mess underneath him and the ex-assassin was in love with the sight, with the breathless moans and needy whispers of his name, with the feel of how perfectly she fit around him, hugging every pulsing vein and ridge, but most importantly with her.    It didn’t take long to bring Y/N to the edge once more and Bucky was glad because there was no way he’d be able to keep things together for much longer.    “Cum, doll. Come on, I got you,” he murmured in the girl’s neck before leaning up and biting her earlobe, pulling the skin between his teeth. “You’re being so good to me. Come on, sweetheart.”    She was whimpering uncontrollably and with two more thrusts from Bucky, she shattered. It was everything and nothing all at once. Y/N’s fingers dug deep into his back, scratching, trying to find purchase all the while not feeling a thing. Her spine arched all the way up, their chests pressed together so tightly not an ant could crawl between them, sweat covered skin gleaming in the morning light.    Nothing but pleasure existed. Bucky had promised to make her swim between the stars, yet he had not expected to practically lose consciousness himself. With his mouth hanging open, eyes squeezed shut he emptied himself inside of the girl. It took every muscle, every ounce of brainpower he had left to not just drop dead on her, the super soldier ’s body completely and utterly wrecked.    Y/N spasmed under him, face hidden in the crook of his neck, trying to regain some sort of control and composure, but when Bucky weakly pulled out, collapsing by her side and instantly dragging her to his chest, she relented, drifting off to sleep in an instant. He chuckled, hearing the soft snores she’d been emitting only an hour ago, listening to her gentle breathing and feeling how his heart slowed down to match the beat of her.    He was hopelessly in love. And right before Y/N slipped under, body blissfully exhausted, the girl realised- so was she.

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A/N: I’m so mad at Article 13!!!!! Like seriously- as a person living in the EU this is not copyright law- this is blatantly taking away creative freedom from people who base their work on already existing materials- fanart, fanfic, covers etc. It’s insane people actually think this will do good. Fuck all of those assholes who voted yes.

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