#;To infinity and...whatever. Oh yeah. Beyond. Right. (IC)

[xperimentalranger]

"You all have short issues. Short is sweet."

#he says that until someone bigger than him bullies him #like his brother #;dashboard commentary #;To infinity and...whatever. Oh yeah. Beyond. Right. (IC)

[thatgoblin]

The Club - Worry

Summary: Reader is at their breaking point between work and Sheva being a mother hen as Chris offers comfort where he can in his own special way.

Pairings: Chris Redfield/Reader

Warnings: dom/sub roles, smut, oral (afab receiving), shitty work injuries, afab reader, 1st Person POV.

“Hey, Boo! Why are there several buckets of coffee on the counter?!” Sheva called from the bathroom door.

I had gotten home from work a half hour before Sheva and decided to hop in the shower to wash off the smell of sweat, burnt coffee, and over perfumed women. After finishing a double overnight shift at work, I was beyond exhausted. I was pretty sure I was starting to hallucinate from lack of sleep at one point on the bus home when I swore that I saw fairies floating around this old lady’s head. It could have also been from the hours of me pressing my thumbs into my eyes to keep from shooting off smartass comments to the manager.

To say thank you for all my hard work and taking double shifts, for some reason, the manager gave me several large jugs of coffee to take home. They were branded and designed to look like buckets, which wasn’t that attractive really, but if anything I could use the containers for crafty things later even if I didn’t actually drink the coffee. I was also pretty sure that they were going to be thrown out because they were left over from the morning rush, so why not give it to the sleep deprived employee?

“Sorry! Got them from work after finishing up a double! Feel free to have some!” I called back, washing the conditioner from my hair. My next shift was that evening and I only had just under 8 hours to sleep, get up, and get back to work. I was hoping I’d be promoted to manager soon, but it seemed no matter how hard I worked or how much initiative I took, Halleigh was going to get it over me. She was a college freshman and was a stereotypical ugg boots, infinity scarf, ‘gotta have my pumpkin spice because it’s Fall ya’ll’ white girl, so of course I was going to be passed over again by someone who was a carbon copy of the owners but didn’t know her left from her right a good portion of the time.

Whatever.

Turning the shower off, I wiped some of the water off my body before wrapping myself in a towel. Walking out, I expected to find Sheva making an iced coffee with the amount that we had. Instead I found her on the counter while eating some yogurt as she spoke to Chris.

Nearly jumping out of my skin at the sight of the gorgeous man in my kitchen, I rushed to my bedroom to avoid an awkward meeting. It had been a little over two weeks since I’d last seen him and while most people might have daydreamed of him non-stop, I was throwing myself back into work again. Except for small moments on my days off where I had picked up sketching again. All of my pieces featuring his hands or lower half of his face or just some part of him. None of it was inherently sexual either. Chris was one of those people that made excellent study pieces to practice anatomy.

In my room, I closed the door to give myself privacy and relief to dry off and dress. Granted Chris had seen a very private version of me, that was in a different setting than my apartment was. Did I dress up a bit to go out there? Did Sheva plan on me being here? The questions ran through my head before I looked at the clock and realized what time it was. Groaning softly, I went with a hoodie and shorts combo before making an appearance. I would at least say hi and grab a banana before passing out. It was the polite thing to do.

“Hey you, you’re home early,” Sheva said, giving me a smile and a wave as I walked out. Chris looked over and did the same. “Chris and I were about to go to brunch, you wanna come with?”

“As much fun as that sounds, I actually finished my overnight shift, remember?” I said, keeping my eyes firmly on the fruit bowl and away from the gorgeous people. Brunch with Sheva and Chris? Why couldn’t I be more carefree and less sleep dependent?

“Oh yeah,” Sheva said, making a face. “You must be exhausted.”

“Overnight shift?” Chris asked, looking at me.

“I work at a local coffee shop. We’re starting a 24 hour schedule and we’re in the prep stages so I was scheduled to work last night after closing and this morning,” I said with a shrug as I got a water bottle from the fridge. “I also have a 10 hour shift that I have to be at in 8 hours, so I’m going to go pass in my room out till then. I would love to join you guys though. Brunch sounds more fun than work.”

“You have to stop taking those shifts,” Sheva said with a sigh as she hopped off the counter, walking over to me, blocking me from leaving just yet. “What did I tell you?”

“To take better care of myself,” I said, glancing at Chris for a moment. “But I didn’t choose the schedule. The store manager did and either I work the hours I’m given or someone else will and I’ll be out of a job.”

“Maybe you should get another job?” Sheva said, frowning. “This one isn’t working well for you.”

“Look, Sheva, I know you’re trying to help, but I need to go to sleep and being out here to argue with you over my work isn’t helping,” I said, trying not to get loud or harsh. Confrontation already made me uncomfortable and when it was with my roommate as well as in front of someone else, it made me want to go crawl in a hole and hide. “I’m gonna go get some sleep, you guys go enjoy your brunch.” Without letting her get another word in, I dodged her imposing frame and walked off back to my room. Giving me a night of good fucking wasn’t going to magically change things and it seemed Sheva was catching onto that. I was doing better, but apparently not as good as she would have liked.

It wasn’t something I could take care of right then, so I focused on what I could and that was getting sleep. Pulling my hoodie off, I closed my curtains to make it as dark as possible before eating my banana and drinking my water. Satisfied for the time being, I was about to flop into bed when there was a knock at the door. I held back a groan, covering my face as frustration threatened to make me cry. “Come in,” I said after a few deep breaths.

I was expecting Sheva to apologize or try to push her point home, but instead it was Chris. He walked in with that soft smile that was so disarming that I couldn’t even try to be mad that he was there. “Hey, glad I caught you before you were asleep,” he said, coming in and shutting the door behind him. “Can I talk to you for a moment?”

“Uh, yeah, sure,” I said. I didn’t want to talk to anyone, but I didn’t want to seem rude. At the same time it felt like everyone was ganging up on me a bit. I hated it. Couldn’t they leave me alone? I was so tired and fried from serving mostly pretentious assholes all night. “What’s up?” I asked with a big sigh, moving to grab my chair from my drawing desk to offer it to him.

“I wanted to check on you,” Chris said, shaking his head at the offer before gesturing for me to sit. “Sheva’s pretty worried about you.”

“I’m fine, it’s just work,” I said with a shrug as I sat. “It’s a daily grind, but no harder than anyone else doing the same thing.”

“I understand that,” Chris said with a nod. “But have you considered what working so hard is doing to your body and your overall health?”

“Yes, I have and a lot of other people do the same with a lot more at stake than just paying simple bills,” I said curtly, doing my best to keep from getting upset again. “I am an adult and I am doing a job I hate, but it’s a job. But is there a need to be worried just because it’s not fun or glamorous like Sheva’s? I’ve tried looking for things in the art field like graphics design or social media marketing or anything really, but no one is hiring or willing to hire me. So it’s either get a job that sucks to pay bills or don’t have income and be homeless.”

“I don’t think Sheva would let you be homeless,” Chris said with a soft snort.

“Not the focus here,” I said with a sigh. “I do not have the freedom to just quit my job and go pursue something that I want just because I want to. That takes money and time, two things I don’t have a lot of.”

“Well, what is it that you want to do?” Chris asked as he slid his hands into his front pants pockets.

“Draw. I used to be an artist for a comic book series, but I got laid off and like I said, there’s not really anyone hiring for a traditional artist let alone other forms,” I said, leaning against the back of the chair. What was he doing? Why was he asking about this? We knew the bare minimum about each other and here he was in my room, asking me about what my dream job was.

“You know, usually traditional artists don’t get hired, they just create and then people come,” Chris said with a soft chuckle.

“I don’t have the money or time to just create and hope someone likes it. That’s something that people who already have money do. I’m not from a rich family or somehow got lucky to be seen at the right place at the right time. Everyone always says they’d buy something from an artist, but then baulk at the price because they don’t consider the hours of labor that go into or the supplies needed. If I wanted to just do art for a living and have a decent income I would need more than just someone saying they liked my stuff,” I said, shaking my head with a huff. “I barely have time for doodles and small sketches as it is, so a portfolio or a painting or anything more is impossible.”

“No one said you had to start big,” he said, holding up his hands like he was working with a spooked animal. I gave him an irritated look, one that didn’t faze him at all as he cocked his head to the side a bit. It instantly brought me back to when he saw me fresh out of the shower, realizing I had freckles on my face. “Let me see what you’ve drawn.”

“What? Why?” I asked, heat going right to my cheeks. Oh god, I was NOT showing him the sketches I’d made of him.

“I wanna see how good you are,” Chris said with a smirk. “I mean, if you were hired before, you had to have had talent.”

“What if I don’t want to show you them? I need to get to sleep, remember?” I said as I looked towards my bed, hoping he’d let go of the subject. I was already in a weird mood because of the pushing about my art and job, I didn’t need to add embarrassment to the mix.

“I remember, but humor me,” Chris said as he moved closer to me. I swallowed as he leaned down, bracing himself on my desk and chair to bracket me into place. “If you show me, I’ll help you fall asleep.” His voice was soft, low in tone that made me think of dark roast coffee. It was strong, but not overpowering. I swallowed hard, my mouth going dry as I leaned back trying to get any bit of space I could to compose myself, but Chris wasn’t going to let me. Someone should not be that alluring when they are trying to get something from someone. I could smell his cologne and the heat of his breath when he spoke, giving me goosebumps as his eyes locked onto mine, our faces so close our noses were nearly touching. Damn this man and his power to make me weak in the knees with a simple quirk of the corner of his lips.

“Okay,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper as I waited for him to give me room. He stood back up straight, which didn’t ease the intensity of his presence at all, before I turned in my swivel chair to face my desk. I grabbed my sketchbook from the small cubby hole before turning back to Chris to hand it over. Taking it from me, he opened the cover and began to drink in my art. He was silent for a while, turning through the pages with a studious face, his eyes flitting about the images as if he were trying to commit them to memory. I could tell when when he got to the drawings of himself, he raised a brow as his smirk widened. I wanted to take the book and throw it out the window, to shove him out and lock the door, but it was too late for that.

“These are really good,” he said after closing the book and handing it back. “I’d certainly look into buying them.” I took the book back, blushing harder as I put it back in its place. “You really do have a lot of talent. You should share that with others. I know for a fact that people would love it.”

“You’re just saying that because you’re in there,” I said, clearing my throat to not choke on my own breath at his compliment.

“No, even if I wasn’t in there, I would still say that. Not a lot of people have your skill or flare,” Chris said, his gaze holding mine. “I truly think that you are an amazing artist and that it’s something you should throw yourself into fully.”

“Thank you,” I said softly. Standing up, I looked away, needing to get some space from him or I was sure I’d burst into flames. “I’ll think about it and look into it.”

“Promise?” Chris said, reaching out to catch my hand. Looking at our hands, my eyes went to his face and saw that he was being serious. Chris was genuinely wanting the best for me and I didn’t know how to take that.

“Promise,” I said with a nod.

“Good,” he said. “Now, I said I’d help you fall asleep, yeah? It’s my turn to hold up that end of the bargain.” Still holding my hand, he walked us to my bed where he sat me down before kneeling in front of me. My brows shot up in surprise as I looked down at him. Licking his lips, Chris gave me a dangerous smirk before pressing his lips to my knees as his large hands pushed to spread my legs. His scruff scraped against my skin deliciously as he nipped at my thighs before pressing his face against me over my shorts.

The moan it drew from me was so loud that I actually startled myself. Chris chuckled as he nuzzled and mouthed at me as I slapped a hand over my mouth. There was no way I was going to be that loud with Sheva still in the apartment. In fact, having Chris in my room while she waited outside felt wrong. Almost like I was a teen with my boyfriend over while my mom was in the living room.

“Go on, get loud. Let everyone know how good I am at eating your pussy,” Chris said with a chuckle, helping me raise my hips to tug my shorts and underwear off. He pulled my legs over his shoulders as his hand slid under my tank top to massage and grope my breasts. There was no holding back as he began to lap at me, even blowing on my wetness before thrusting his tongue between my folds.

“Fuck! Chris!” I cried out as he latched onto my clit. My hands went to his hair, weaving into the dark locks as I held on for dear life as he lapped at me. “Oh fuck,” I groaned as he spread me with his free hand to thrust his tongue deeper. The man was made for going down on a person and was showing it off. His tongue worked quickly and precisely enough that I didn’t have long to go before I was suddenly cumming on his face. Shaking and gasping, I whined as he kept going.

Chris added a finger to thrust into me, making me keen as he pressed up and found this amazing set of nerves that had me orgasming again. I was sobbing as I jerked and tried to pull away, but he wasn’t having it. His tongue kept going, another finger inside of me to work me to another climax.

“Chris, please!” I cried as he pinched a nipple hard before moving to the other. It was the third one that he finally let up. As I laid there shaking and cumming on his face, it felt like I was going to pass out. Unable to fight anymore, I let the man do as he pleased. Which in this case was to slowly put my lower half down on the bed before pulling away. His face glistened from my wetness as he climbed up above me to press his lips to mine in a claiming, deep kiss.

“Good job, Kitten,” Chris said, pulling back for just a moment, his voice thick and rough. He kissed me again, pushing his tongue into my mouth to spread the taste of myself before finally pulling back. All I could do was lay there and let the aftershocks take their course. He grabbed a towel from my dresser top before taking the bottle of water I had, wetting the towel to clean me up.

“Wha-wait,” I said before gasping as he ran the cloth over my sensitive and engorged sex. “What about you?”

“What about me?” Chris asked before wiping my face as well.

“You didn’t, uh, well cum,” I said as he put my shorts and underwear back on me.

“It’s okay. It wasn’t about me,” he said with a soft smile. “It was about you.”

“Oh,” I said.

“I bet you’re exhausted after that, aren’t you?” Chris said before cleaning his own face. “Go ahead and get some sleep. Pretty sure you’ve got work in a few hours.”

“Okay,” I nodded, the fight leaving me as I yawned before crawling into my bed fully and pulling the blankets over me. “Hey, Chris?” I said, as he turned to leave.

“Yeah, Kitten?” he said, pausing at the door to look at me.

“Have Sheva give you my number so we can actually talk. Like. . . As friends,” I said, hoping that he wouldn’t rebuff me. After all, we barely knew each other and had only had sex really for the majority of our interactions.

“Alright,” Chris said with that same, gentle smile that seemed to be his default for me. “I’ll have her give you mine as well. Now get some sleep.”

“Yes, Sir,” I said with a yawn before he left. It didn’t take me long before I passed out.

All too soon, my alarm went off for work. I usually took the bus, much to Sheva’s chagrin, and the one I always took would be there in 45 minutes. Having set everything up to just put my clothes on and go, I was heading out the door in 10 minutes. I usually would grab my free meal at the start of my day before I started working, but with the hectic nature of the overhaul, I was lucky to get a smoothie before starting my shift.

It was post school busy, a local college finishing up day classes and a nearby high school letting out as well had us slammed. I had no time to drink my smoothie let alone go to the bathroom for nearly five hours. We were short staffed and I ended up working the bar myself and doing all the drinks as construction went on all around us. My feet didn’t seem to touch the ground until almost 6 hours into my shift. My back ached and my feet were on fire. I had burned myself all over my arms and there was a wicked looking cut I had to hurry up and bandage between drinks.

When the other overnighters came in, I was so tempted to just ask to leave early. Things had settled to a simmer and while we were still busy, it wasn’t nearly as bad as earlier. I was exhausted and still had four more hours to go and I hadn’t had a break or lunch yet. A headache had crept in steadily as I tasted my smoothie, only to make a face and toss it. It was warm and certainly did not taste like it was still good.

I was letting the other workers that had come in take over for a bit while I went to the break room to either cry or just pretend to be dead for a few minutes. Just as I had put my feet up, my manager came into the back.

“Oh? Already slacking?” Halleigh asked with a chuckle as she heated some food in the microwave.

“Yup,” I said, wanting nothing more than to crawl into hole to hide. “Been slammed today.”

“I saw,” she said with a nod. “Good work out there. Doing that all by yourself is hard.” Was it good enough to get a promotion?

“Thanks, just doing my job,” I said, looking over my arms. I was usually more careful, but we never had been slammed like that with just one person making orders. Usually it was at least two people. A morning, a mid, and a closer so that everyone overlapped enough to make sure we weren’t short staffed. There were red splotches and raised bumps on my hand from being bumped while pouring fresh coffee and a steam tube from the espresso machine meant for the milk getting clogged then suddenly blasting scalding hot water onto my other arm. Nothing so severe that a little aloe vera wouldn’t fix, but I looked like I suddenly had poison ivy. Not to mention the cut from slicing an orange for a drink. It was right in the webbing of my thumb and forefinger and I had spilt orange juice on it.

“Good luck finishing up. We couldn’t do it without you,” Halliegh said with a nod as the microwave dinged. She grabbed her food and left before I could respond. Sighing, I knew Sheva was going to yell at me when I got home, but the amount of fucks I had left was zero and I was close to just walking out. I had some savings, maybe I could take a week or two to look for another position somewhere else? Even a receptionist job would be better than this. Hell, delivering subpoenas would be preferable at that point.

A few moments later I was back on duty. Feeling even worse than when I went to break, I stuck it out till the end of my shift. I would be back the next day as an extended mid shift which I was not excited about. Less sleep in a weird time, but I had a three day weekend coming up that I was going to take advantage of. Unless they changed the schedule. Double checking that, I kept my days off which gave me enough energy to finish cleaning up then clocking out.

“Hey, uh, you might want someone to walk you to your bus stop,” Mandy, the night manager said as she caught me in the break room.

“What? Why?” I asked, frowning as I paused getting my things.

“There’s been some guy sitting in the parking lot for almost half an hour without getting out and just watching the store,” she said, her brows knitted with worry. Great. Maybe I could call Sheva for a ride home. I lived a ten minute car ride away, but by foot and bus it was almost 45 minutes because the route circled away then back around.

“Hold on, I’ll see if my roommate can come get me,” I said with a nod. The last thing I needed was a reddit ‘Let’s not meet’ story coming to life. Pulling my phone from my locker, I unlocked it to find a text from Chris that was sent about half an hour ago.

‘Hey, it’s Chris. Sheva told me to come pick you up after work. I’m out front.’

“Does the guy have dark hair, scruff, and look vaguely like a mountain?” I asked, closing my eyes and willing myself not to scream.

“Uh, yeah that fits his description. Do you want me to call the police?” Mandy asked, nervously twirling a lock of hair.

“No, I know who the idiot is,” I said with a sigh. “He’s my ride. Thanks for looking out for me though.”

“No problem. I’m still going to walk you to the door, just in case,” she said. I liked Mandy a lot. She was sweet and cared about the workers a lot more than the other managers who were more hands off and distant. She’d just been hired on as the night manager when we expanded our hours, so at first I was bitter because I wasn’t promoted like I had inquired about, but then I got to know her and felt like I could trust her. Small blessings I guess.

At the front door, I looked out to see Chris sitting in a black BMW while on his phone. “Thanks Mandy, I’ll see you tomorrow,” I said with a small smile to her as I walked out. Going over to the car, I knocked on the window gently to get Chris’s attention. Looking up, he unlocked the door for me.

“Hey,” Chris said as I got in the passenger seat and shut the door.

“You know I have a bus I can take,” I said, setting my bag in the floorboard before I buckled up. “Sheva just worries because it’s late and doesn’t like public transportation.”

“I know, but she wouldn’t let up about how she just hoped you wouldn’t be the next victim of a serial killer she’d conjured in her head, so I offered to pick you up to make her feel better,” Chris said as he put the car into reverse then pulled out of the parking lot.

“My boss thought you were a creeper before I was leaving,” I said with a soft snort, relaxing into the leather seat of the car. It must have cost a small fortune from how comfortable and luxurious it felt. It was a two door with seats made to cradle you while also going Mach 5.

“Did you not get my text?” He asked, keeping his eyes on the road.

“We can’t have our phones on us while we’re on the floor. Only if it’s an emergency so I didn’t see it till I was clocking out,” I said.

“Ah,” he said with a nod. “Have you eaten yet?”

“Uh. . .” I had to stop and think. Had I eaten at all that day? No. Not since the few sips of a smoothie. I sometimes didn’t notice how hungry I was or if I hadn’t eaten or drank water when we got that busy. That explained the pounding in my head a lot more.

“Did you at least drink water?” He asked, glancing at me as we stopped at a light. “Jesus, your arms!”

“It’s not that bad, just superficial burns,” I said, crossing my arms to hide the wounds so he couldn’t stare at them. “They’ll be gone in a few days with some aloe vera wrappings.”

“How did you do that? You’ve been at that place for a while now, but I didn’t see any burns on you and what happened to your hand?” Chris asked, shocked as he pulled my arms from their hiding place.

“I was the only one making drinks during rush and burnt myself a bit. It’s not a big deal. Same for my hand, not a big deal. I just nicked it with a knife while cutting fruit for a drink. It’s fine, just had to be bandaged for a bit. It looks worse than it really is,” I said, wishing that he’d stop making a fuss about it. If he and Sheva could stop being so protective and let me breathe, it’d be fine.

“This isn’t okay,” Chris said with a sigh, letting me go when the light turned green. “You could have really hurt yourself and the job would have been at fault. They shouldn’t have made you do that alone.”

“Well, they messed up the staffing, I can’t do anything about it,” I snapped, feeling the headache take hold at the base of my skull before shooting pain into my eyes and temples.

“Yes you can, there’s freakin’ OSHA you can call. I know it’s not a chain coffee place and you have your hands tied, but. . .” Chris paushed, taking a deep breath. “I don’t like seeing how you’re working yourself to the bone and getting hurt. Sheva said so too. We’re not trying to be privileged and talk down to you, we’re concerned. You’re our friend and we don’t like seeing you struggle or hurt.”

Oh. Well then, that certainly was a view changer. I hadn’t thought about that. All that was in my head was that they didn’t understand or just thought it was an easy fix. I didn’t realize that they were saying this because they were worried about my health.

“Sorry I snapped,” I said after a few moments of silence. “It’s been a rough day and I see what you’re saying. I appreciate you trying to look out for me.”

“Good, now have you at least had water today at work?” He asked. I was silent as I faced forward, trying not to meet his eyes. “Well?”

“Yes?” I said as we parked outside my building.

“Look at me and tell me that you drank water at least,” Chris said, turning in his seat to face me after he turned the car off. Oh no. He was using ‘the voice.’ It was a mix of stern dad and ordering ‘daddy.’ I hesitated, unable to keep a serious face and instead squinted and bunched up my mouth before turning to him.

“I did?” I said. God I was too awkward for my own good. Chris looked at me and groaned as he ran a hand over his face.

“You have a death wish, it’s the only explanation,” he said with a sigh as he rubbed his face. “You literally are playing chicken with the grim reaper and giving him the middle finger the whole time.”

“Thanks?” I asked, confused.

“Get out of the car,” he groaned as he opened his door to get out as well. I shrugged before getting out. We walked into the building and took the elevator to my floor. Watching him, I couldn’t tell if he was mad or frustrated or just tired. He didn’t say a word though as we got to my apartment. Keys in hand, I unlocked it quickly before letting us in.

“Thanks Chris, I owe you one,” Sheva said as we walked in before seeing us. She was at the dining room table on her laptop, probably working on photos, when she lifted her head. “Oh my god! What happened!?” She cried, getting up and rushing over to us as Chris shut the door.

“Work happened,” I said as I set my stuff down on the counter. “I’ll let you look it over while I tell you everything, but I wanna get out of these clothes and showered so I don’t smell like coffee anymore.”

“No, no, no, you explain now,” Sheva said, stopping me from leaving or ignoring her. She planted herself in front of me, the same tone Chris had, but a mix of ‘mom’ stern and ‘mommy’ stern. I was in DEEP trouble. “You’ve never gotten this hurt at work before. I’ve noticed when you have a burn here and there, it’s part of the job when you handle hot stuff, but this is almost covering your arms. What happened to your hand?!” She grabbed the wrapped hand to hold it up, looked at me the same way Chris had when he saw my arms.

“I cut it with a knife. It’s fine. I’ll change the bandage and check to see if it really needs it after my shower,” I said, pulling away and stepping around her despite her trying to stop me. “Look, I’m really tired and would like to just go to sleep before tomorrow’s shift.”

“Wait, I thought you were off tomorrow,” Sheva said, moving to stand between me and the bathroom.

“I was, but they changed my schedule two days ago, so now I work tomorrow with a three day weekend,” I said, feeling my testiness rising. As much as I loved and adored Sheva, I was reaching my limit. Concern for my health was one thing, but I was about to start saying things I didn’t mean just so I could be left alone. I didn’t want to do that with her. Sheva was my best friend and the last thing I wanted or needed was to have a blow out with her.

“No, that’s not right! You’re being taken advantage of!” Sheva cried. “You worked three doubles this week and now they have you staying up late as hell and forcing you to work long hours!”

“She hasn’t eaten or drank water all day either,” Chris added in, leaning against the kitchen counter as he waited patiently for us to finish bickering or for one of us to start swinging.

“Are you kidding me!?” Sheva screamed. My fists were clenched at my side, shaking as I held back tears. No, I couldn’t do this. I had had enough of people screaming at me from work to Nikolai and I was not going to let Sheva start.

“Let’s just take a second,” Chris said, walking over to us. “There’s no need to shout. It’s been a long and hard day for one of us, so let’s take some deep breaths.” If Chris hadn’t stepped in I was sure I would have shut down completely. I was teetering on the ledge, ready to push myself off to just make this stop. Sheva took a moment, holding her breath before letting it out slowly before repeating it a few more times.

“I’m sorry I screamed. I know you want to work your job and earn your keep as well as pay the bills yourself. I am not upset with you. I am upset with your work because you are very dear to me and they should not be treating you like this. It was not this bad till they changed things around and now you are suffering for it. Please, Sweetie, let me help you out here. If you want to quit and take a month or two to look for a much better job, I will cover the bills and rent and whatever else you need.”

“What?” I said, looking up at her. I was stunned. She was offering to help me out with this huge situation and wasn’t hesitating about it. I’d never had that done before. Sheva was willing to do a lot for me, more than I thought anyone should, and I was flabbergasted. It didn’t seem real or possible. “N-no, Sheva-” I tried, shaking my head, holding up my hands to tell her no, but she wouldn’t have it.

“Sweetie, you’re my friend. One of my very best friends. There’s not a lot that I wouldn’t do for you,” Sheva said, reaching out and taking my bandaged hand gently to clasp in hers. “Please, let me help you.” I couldn’t answer her, I could barely get words out as I swallowed back a sob. Not even my own parents had done this for me, but Sheva was willing to do it without a second thought. That didn’t make sense to my brain, but then again not a lot did. No food or water for over 12 hours with hard labor and a splitting headache had made rational thought very hard.

“Um. . .” I managed to get out as tears began to fall down my face before I nodded. “Please,” I squeaked out. The job had taken its toll and while I wanted to make my own money and take care of myself, I was going to get hurt even worse if I kept working the job I had. The pay wasn’t worth me continually getting hurt and working to death. Sheva pulled me to her, wrapping her arms around me and resting my head on her shoulder as I let go of control and gave it to her.

“You deserve to rest and be happy,” she said into my hair. “If I can help, I want to.” I nodded again, sobbing against her. To know that I had someone to catch me when I fell, to have permission to let myself rest was something I didn’t know I needed. “Now, let’s get you cleaned up. I’ll order food while Chris helps you in the shower.”

“Bwha?” I said, looking up at her with wide, teary eyes.

“Chris will help you shower because you obviously can’t be left alone. Besides I’m sure you’d rather his help than mine,” she said with a sly grin. “I’ll just hose you down like in prison.”

And there it was. Sheva was sweet and kind and caring, but she was also conniving in the best way and I had forgotten that till she decided to remind me.

“Maybe he doesn’t want to. Maybe he wants to go home and go to bed like a reasonable person. It’s almost 2 AM after all,” I said, wiping my face as I tried to give him an out.

“I’m good. I’ll help you shower.” I could hear the smile in his voice as I closed my eyes.

“Fine, let’s go,” I said with a sigh as I walked to the bathroom. Our apartment’s bathroom was set up almost like a school’s with two stalls for toilets and a standing shower as well as a set of sinks that went along the wall across from the shower. Which made it easier to use for both of us to get things done. “Oh, wait, I gotta get clothes,” I said, pausing when I realized that we only had towels in the bathroom. Normally it wasn’t a problem, but I didn’t think that Sheva would want us walking around naked.

“Don’t worry about it,” Chris said, wrapping an arm around my shoulder and gently guiding me away from the doorway before closing it. “First, we’re going to take a look at those arms and hands, then shower.”

“Okay,” I said with a resigned sigh. Showing him where the first aid kit was, Chris took my arms to carefully look over my arms. Nothing was blistering or an open wound, but there were a lot of red patches and some raised bumps. They didn’t even hurt that much. It was my hand that was really the problem. Carefully, he unbandaged it only to wince when he got the red soaked bandage off.

“Christ,” he said. “You said you nicked it, not nearly sliced your thumb off.”

“It’s really not that bad, just a little sore,” I said. Biting his lip, he looked over the long cut between my thumb and forefinger.

“We’ll clean it up in the shower and bandage it back up afterwards. It’s not bleeding so it should be fine,” he said with a frown. “Alright, clothes off, Kitten.” Without a second thought, I stripped out of my work clothes, a black tee and jeans, before trying to get my bra. It was made to cover and hold down more than a traditional bra, like a mix between a binder and sports bra. I loved them, but it hooked in the side. Which wasn’t usually a problem as I’d just slide it over my head like a shirt, except I was a bit handicapped now. I struggled a moment to keep from pushing on my burns or pulling on the open cut before Chris sighed as he turned me to face to the side. “You really need to work on asking for help instead of trying to do things on your own,” he said.

“Well, it’s something I’ll work on,” I said, catching his eye roll. His fingers easily worked the hooks of my bra, letting me slide it off. I moved to turn, but his hands held me still, gently nudging me to turn away as one slowly slid down my back. “What is it?” I asked, getting goosebumps as flashbacks to our first meeting came to mind.

“I can’t get over your freckles,” Chris said with a soft chuckle. “I love how they look on you. Like stars in the night sky.” His fingers began to trace lines over my back, making me shiver as he stepped closer. I felt his warm breath ghosting over the back of my neck before his soft lips pressed to my skin. “I’d worship you if you’d let me,” he said softly into my ear. “Kiss up and down your body to map it out, find your secret spots to make you moan or sigh. Maybe see how close we can press into each other before we just melt into one another. Would you let me make an altar to you? Bring you offerings of my soul and body?”

His hands were the only thing holding me up as my knees went weak. How was I supposed to turn this man down? Did I want to? Absolutely not. But. . . The longer he was there, the more attention he paid me, I began to feel a stirring. A longing of sorts for mornings in bed with him, picking out groceries or going to the park with him, something that was so domestic and mundane that it hurt. He was a friend and at that, he was a professional Dom. A sex worker. Someone who probably did this for some of his friends and for who knew how many other clients. It wouldn’t be fair of me to pursue him, but goddamnit, I missed being in a relationship. No, I missed having that connection with someone on the most basic of levels that words weren’t needed for small moments that blossomed. Moments like this.

Chris wasn’t it though and I would have to accept that and move on. Which meant after the shower, there couldn’t be any more sex. No more touching or kissing. Any sort of physical affection would just make my heart ache and as much as I wanted to keep having my cake and eating it too, I knew it wasn’t right. Right at that moment though, I was going to enjoy myself and enjoy his body against mine.

His fingers moved from my hips to between my legs, cupping me to have a finger stroke between my folds. I moaned as he began to press into me, holding me up as he stoked a fire inside me that kept me from pushing away. All I could do was hold onto him, keep myself upright as he fingered me.

“God, you’re so wet for me,” Chris breathed into my ear. “Such a good Kitten, getting so fuckin’ slick for me. You’re pussy is begging for my cock to pound it, isn’t it?”

“Uh-huh,” I said with a nod.

“I bet it could use a good pounding after today,” he groaned. “Such a hard shift and you’re all knotted up in stress. Would you like that? Do you want Sir to pound that pussy till you’re screaming?”

“God, yes!” I cried out as he began to thrust his finger into me hard and fast. “Please, Sir,” I whined. “Please pound my pussy with your cock.”

“Good Kitten,” Chris said, nipping at my neck. “Bend over the sink to show me that pretty pussy of yours.” Pulling his finger out, I whined before doing as I was told. Bending over the sink, spreading my legs for him, all while being careful of my hand, I looked over my shoulder to see him unzipping his pants. Still fully clothed aside from pulling his dick out, Chris slid into me easily. There was something about him still in his clothes while I was completely nude that had me even more turned on. “There we go, good Kitten,” he moaned.

He filled me up completely and perfectly that I could have just worked my hips with him staying still and still cum. Chris’s hands ran over my back, making me arch into his touch as I bit my lip. A quick swat to my ass had me yelping before he suddenly began to jack hammer into me. I cried out, moaning as he kept going without mercy.

“That’s it, keep taking my cock like a good kitten,” Chris moaned as he gripped my hips in a vice hold. I was sure there’d be bruises the next day, but right then I couldn’t care less.

“Thank you, Sir,” I sobbed as he kept the pace harsh and fast. It was almost too much, following a fine line of pain and pleasure and each time I thought the scales would tip, his fingers brushed over my clit to make it level again. One hand left my hips, reaching up to pull my hair, forcing my head to look up in the mirror and see myself as he fucked me.

“That’s it, keep watching. I wanna see that face of yours when you cum from being fucked by my cock,” he growled, not missing a beat. My mouth hung open as he angled himself differently, taking my breath away. Even though Sheva was right outside in the living room, I couldn’t help the choked moans Chris forced out of me. The whole thing was intense and it shoved every thought from my head, leaving me a panting, moaning mess that crumbled as Chris ran his fingers over my clit a few times and I was cumming around him hard.

Crying out and shaking, I looked at Chris’s face in the mirror as he kept thrusting through my orgasm. His lips were slightly parted as he panted, his brows furrowing before he pulled out. One hand kept me in place as the other stroked his cock through his own orgasm, white ropes shooting out across my ass and lower back. We stood there for a few moments, catching our breath before Chris stripped as well then turned on the shower. He pulled me up, turning me around to bracket his arms around me, pinning me to the sink as our lips crashed against each other in a hungry kiss. His tongue took over and I tasted what he truly was and it was delicious. Nothing else besides Chris was in that kiss, not the taste of my sex, not sweat, just Chris.

Once the shower was steaming, he pulled me under the water with him. We took our time, enjoying the post-coital touching as he washed me then himself. After the shower, he wrapped me in a large, fluffy towel before grabbing one for himself. Chris put ointment and a fresh bandage on my hand as well as aloe vera on my burns. All the while, he would press soft kisses to my head or my hands, making me feel that ache far more. Done with that, he took me to my room, only leaving me to grab a bottle of water.

I was surprised he moved us to lay in my bed together. What was he doing? Did he have feelings for me? There couldn’t be. He was a professional at this. It was what he did for me the first time in the club. It was probably routine and he knew how to read what I wanted. That was what he had said. ��Good Doms can read what Subs need.’ The whole thing was one sided and I just had to push it out of my head and accept it.

Not that he made it easy. Laying in bed, he held me close as I rested my head on his chest. He had me sip water as he stroked my hair, all the while I listened to his heart beat. It was steady and strong, encouraging me to pass out on him.

I wasn’t sure what time it was when I woke up again, but it was daylight. I looked at my clock to see it read 10 :30AM. It took me a moment as I stretched and looked around, that when I tried to snuggle back against Chris, I realized he wasn’t there. His scent, despite using my soaps and shampoos, still lingered on my bed though. My stomach dropped as I tried to hold back tears. He was just a friend. Chris didn’t have to stay the night, he didn’t have to do what he did. I should be grateful he did as much as that. Getting up, while ignoring my aching heart, I dressed in lounge clothes before calling work and quitting over the phone. I didn’t discuss why or give into their begging, hell I was barely there on the call. Hanging up when they still didn’t understand that I had quit, I left my room to go search for something to eat. At least I told myself I was.

Going to the kitchen, I found Sheva sipping on a cup of coffee in her pajamas as she scrolled on her computer. “Hey sleepy head,” she said, giving me a smile as I walked over to her. “Do you feel better?”

“I guess,” I said, sitting across from her and picking at the ratty cuffs of my shirt sleeves. “I called in and quit. So I’ll probably take the day to just. . . Kinda take it easy.”

“Good! I’m glad to hear that,” she said before frowning. “Sweetie, what’s wrong?”

“Where’s Chris?” I asked, my voice cracking as I kept my gaze on the table.

“He went home last night. You passed out and he left so you could get some rest,” Sheva said. “Honey. . .”

“I don’t think I should see him for a while,” I said, choking out the words. “This wasn’t a good idea.”

“Oh Honey,” Sheva said softly.

“I really like him and I know I shouldn’t, I know it’s not supposed to be like that, but. . . I’m sorry,” I said before just breaking down completely again. The last 24 hours had been a roller coaster of emotions and Chris not being there when I woke up was the cherry on top of a shit sundae. My body and head and heart were exhausted and broken, making my feelings for him amplified “I didn’t mean to like him so much.”

“It’s okay,” Sheva said, getting up to come around the table to hold me close. “I should have known better. I’m so sorry you’re hurting.” All I could do was cling to her and cry because I couldn’t say anything. I was embarrassed and felt stupid and weak. I depended on people so much it seemed and I felt like a burden. Chris was better off without me making this complicated for him. It was what was best.

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#resident evil fanfiction #resident evil #fanfiction #chris redfield #sheva alomar #chris redfield x reader

[violetsoju]

destiny彡★

iwaoi · fluff? · 3.5k

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

“Iwaizumi-san, just this once, please? We’ll treat you to that shop that serves the amazing agedashi tofu you love. You’re the only one we can count on now.”

Iwaizumi peered at his fellow colleagues. It was rare for them to have such a desperate look plastered on their faces. The look where they would literally pluck the moon if you asked them to.

“As long as I get the job done?” he questioned, amused by their reactions.

“Yes!! As long as we get to mark this case as closed, unlimited refill of agedashi tofu at your service!”

Iwaizumi tilted his head at the thought of that agedashi tofu he couldn’t forget. Closing a case and having agedashi tofu? Sounded like a win-win situation for him.

“Yeah, whatever. Remember to keep your words. Now hand me the case file.” he shrugged, extending his hand out to grab the file.

“You’re the best Iwaizumi-san! We’re counting on you!”

What’s the big deal of this case anyway, Iwaizumi thought. There wasn’t a case where he couldn’t close throughout his career as a professional dog trainer.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Iwaizumi let out a heavy, long sigh. Clearly this was not what he signed up for. It had been 2 hours, but they were still at square one.

“No wonder they agreed on an unlimited refill of agedashi tofu so easily.” he muttered.

“Eh, Iwa-chan? What did you say? Let’s take a break, shall we? I’m in need for some iced coffee now. Hachi looks like she needs a break too.”

Looking up to see a mop of golden fur sprawled across the brunette boy, he heaved another long sigh. “Just half an hour. Get back here after half an hour.”

Man, this isn’t going as how he wanted it to be.

“Hachi has been here for two full programs but we just can’t seem to get her moving. We can’t even get her to sit. That’s how serious it is. It’s not like she has behaviour problems, but she’s just too engrossed in her own little world. Her owner has started to question us on her lack of progress, and we’re questioning ourselves and Hachi too. Only if Hachi could answer her owner about her progress on behalf of us.

“So we’re planning to take her back, tell her owner that we really tried our best but it seems that Hachi is beyond our means, and express our regret. Could you do that for us, Iwaizumi-san?”  

What his colleagues didn’t tell him that how headstrong Hachi’s owner was.

“Please, Iwaizumi-kun. I know she’s quite a handful to handle, but I just don’t have the time to train her myself. Could you stick with her until she completes her training successfully, please? She’ll get through it one day! I promise!” Hachi’s owner pleaded with a look Iwaizumi couldn’t possibly reject.

Most importantly, no one told Iwaizumi of where Hachi learnt her mischievous antics from.

And boy, having two balls of mischief to handle required more than two hands.

The first encounter with the master of mischief was undoubtedly, a mess.

Iwaizumi was on an evening stroll in the park with Hachi as promised with her owner, when a scream suddenly broke the peaceful atmosphere.

“HACHIIIIII OMG THERE YOU ARE!! MOM WAS NOT AT HOME AND NEITHER WERE YOU! I THOUGHT YOU WERE KIDNAPPED AND WAS READY TO CALL THE POLICE BUT THANK THE HEAVENS YOU’RE HERE!

“AND YOU! WHO ARE YOU? WHY ARE YOU WITH MY HACHI? MOVE IT! GIMME THE LEASH. HOW DARE YOU WALK ALONG WITH MY HACHI.”

Iwaizumi swore that if there was no one around them he would smack the shit out of the brunette in front of him. “Hold up, who are you? I wasn’t informed that Hachi had another owner,”

The brunette waved him away dismissively. “Oh shush. Get on your way and give me back my dog, would you? Oh Hachi, are you alright? Were you scared walking with a stranger? Don’t worry, Tooru is here now……” he said, while continuing to babytalk Hachi, ruffling her fur and ignoring Iwaizumi completely.

Iwaizumi had enough. This was not how he planned to wind down for the day.

He tugged on Hachi’s leash and continued walking, leaving the brunette stumbling on his steps. “As a professional dog trainer, I am not allowed to leave my client with a person I do not know, or whose identity was not informed of beforehand. So if you may, please leave my client and I alone as we carry on with our lovely evening stroll, Have a nice day.”

“If she isn’t my dog, how would I know her name?”

“How do I know? Maybe you looked at her collar. Maybe you mistook her for another dog.”

“Nonsense? It’s obvious Hachi knows who I am. Look at her! She’s so happy to see me.”

“She’s a golden retriever. They’re friendly and warm up to everyone.”

“Well, you got a point there. But- Hey! That’s not the main point!”

The both of them bickered their way back to Hachi’s house, where the misunderstanding was cleared by Hachi’s owner, aka the brunette’s mother.

“I’m so sorry for the misunderstanding, Iwaizumi-kun. I should’ve let you know about Tooru if I knew that he was coming back today,” the older woman sighed. “You little brat, why didn’t you inform me that you were coming home today? I could’ve picked up some unagi from the store just now,” she said, smacking the back of the brunette’s head as he yelped.

“Call me Oikawa.”

“Iwaizumi.”

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

As the sessions progressed, Iwaizumi got to know both Oikawa and Hachi better, which helped with the development. They were currently halfway through the program, much to Iwaizumi’s surprise. Even his colleagues were stunned by the steady progress made.

“You know, maybe it’s because Oikawa’s with Hachi during the program this round. Going through the program together with someone they’re close to really makes a difference as compared to completing it alone,” one of Iwaizumi’s colleague commented when they dropped by for an observation during one of the sessions. “See how Hachi’s eyes light up at the sight of him? Man, he should’ve been here from the first program. That would save us all the trouble.”

They were right. Hachi indeed seemed more enthusiastic with the brunette around. And definitely more cooperative.

They were like two peas in a pod: The unlimited amount of energy they emit, the glint of mischief in their eyes, the blinding shine they radiate, the puppy look they give to get away with something, the way they whine and laze around when they were tired. No wonder people say the dogs do resemble their owners.

“Well, hopefully he’ll be here until the end of the program. I do hear that models frequently fly around for shoots if they’re top in demand. He looks really familiar though, has he been on major ads before?”

Iwaizumi glanced at the two across the lawn. Oikawa was exhilarated as Hachi placed her paw in his palm for a handshake, showering her with treats. Iwaizumi groaned, burying his face into his palms. How many times has he told Oikawa not to overfeed Hachi with treats?

“No idea. And I don’t want to know either.”

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Iwaizumi wasn’t much of a coffee drinker. In fact, he preferred tea over coffee. So why was he on his fourth cup of iced coffee within a week?

“By the way, why did you name her Hachi? Don’t tell me you got the idea from watching Hachiko. She’s not even a Shiba Inu,” Iwaizumi asked, sipping on his iced coffee.

They were currently chilling at the terrace of a pet-friendly café after their session for the day. It had become a routine for them to grab coffee together after their sessions. Not that Iwaizumi was complaining.

“Duh, of course I know she isn’t a Shiba Inu,” Oikawa rolled his eyes. “I named her Hachi because if you turn the figure eight sideways, it represents the infinity sign. I wanted her to have endless possibilities, as well as an abundance of blessings in her life, and that our love towards her would be eternal, whatever it may be,”

Oikawa leaned to the side against his palms, looking far ahead. “Remember when you asked me why I got a golden retriever instead of a chihuahua because you thought chihuahuas reflected my sassiness? Well, that’s because we didn’t have a choice. She came to us first.

“We found her in a box by the roadside on the way home one winter. She was just a small blob of golden fur, trembling from the cold piercing weather, but still breathing. Seeing her fight with all her might to get through the freezing night reminded me of how I should persevere with what I love, although I’m not blessed with inborn talent for it. So, I want her to be blessed with nothing but good things from the day the bond between us was forged.

“Maybe it’s because I kinda see myself in her too, that’s why,” Oikawa’s fingers running gently through the golden sea of fur. “That glimmer of hope she showed me still serves as a constant reminder that as long as I keep on going, I’ll reach the end of the rainbow one day. Nothing is impossible, don’t you think?”

Iwaizumi was taken aback. For a moment his mind went blank, and all he could see was how Oikawa radiated with a soft warm glow, so warm it created a weird fuzzy feeling in his heart. He had always viewed Oikawa as someone simple-minded and carefree. Never would he thought that he would one day find Oikawa to be charming. Maybe his heart had started to bloom for Oikawa little by little without him realising it.

But would he let Oikawa know this new feeling he had? Absolutely not.

“Wow, Oikawa. I never expected you to be so eloquent in such a meaningful and deep topic,”

“So mean, Iwa-chan! What do you take me for? A dumb blonde?”

“Except you’re not blonde. You’re brunette,”

“Iwa-chan!!!”

“…But yeah, you take after a golden retriever more than a chihuahua now,”

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Iwaizumi tugged on his rolled-up sleeves unconsciously as he watched the scene unfold before him. It was his first time at a shoot, so the way the production crew scurried around with all sorts of equipment was new to him. Hachi seemed to be calmer than he was, sitting next to him unfazed.

He wasn’t sure if it was his nervousness or the lack of oxygen due to the number of people in such a small space that made him start to sweat. What exactly was he nervous for anyway? And why in the world did he choose to wear a dress shirt instead of a casual t-shirt? “It’s not like you’re gonna the one in front of the camera, you idiot.” he muttered to himself.

He would be relaxing with a cup of tea in hand while reading a book in his living room on his day off if it wasn’t for Oikawa.

“Iwa-chan! My manager just called me and said that the client wants Hachi to model with me for the new promotional ad! Sounds exciting, doesn’t it? Do you think she’ll be able to pull it off? I mean, I believe she will, but I just wanted your reassurance and-”

“One question at a time, Oikawa. I only have one mouth to answer per question.”

“Anyway, as Hachi’s professional and personal trainer, I was wondering if you could come by to my shoot to oversee the process with Hachi? I know that we don’t have any sessions scheduled on the day, but I would really appreciate it if you could be on set just in case anything happens midway. Also, as a source of support for me, maybe?”

It’s all for Hachi, nothing else, Iwaizumi repeatedly told himself. He hadn’t realised a figure walking towards him as he was absorbed in his mantra.

“Iwa-chan! You made it!”

Iwaizumi had seen angels in real life before. Well, anime angel character cosplayers count, right? Or during Halloween you could probably spot at least 5 girls dressing up as angels in Shibuya. Nothing particularly new, he would say.

The person standing before him wasn’t dressed in any fancy angel costume, but Iwaizumi swore that he saw luminous wings arching off his back, and a halo glow softly above his head. The comfort and cosiness radiated felt so much like home, and if he could, Iwaizumi wished to bask in this strangely familiar and soothing warmth, where he felt safe and snug in.

“Earth to Iwa? Hello?” Oikawa waved his hand in front of Iwaizumi’s face. “Why are you burning up red all of a sudden? Do you want me to get you a bottle of cold water?”

Iwaizumi rubbed his neck bashfully, hoping that the warm flush that was spreading to the tip of his ears would somehow manage to cease. “No, it’s fine. Maybe because it’s a little humid in here.”

“But it’s fully air-conditioned in here though? Anyway, thanks for being with Hachi while I was getting ready. I’ll take it from here! Allow me to show you how a top model works.”

Iwaizumi couldn’t quite remember what happened afterwards. Everything seemed to zoom by in a flash throughout the whole shoot.

The next thing he knew was the three of them back in Oikawa’s place, chilling in the living room.

“Kya, nothing beats a fresh shower and ice cream after a long shoot! Oh, and enjoying the perfectly timed sunset out there! Isn’t this just wonderful, Iwa-chan?”

“Shouldn’t you prepare your stomach for dinner at this time? Also, who eats ice cream right out of the tub? I thought models have diets to follow by.” Iwaizumi sipped on his cup of camomile tea he miraculously found in Oikawa’s pantry.

Oikawa waved his hand dismissively at Iwaizumi’s remarks. “You’re no fun, Iwa-chan. The best way to eat ice cream is eating it straight from the tub! Don’t tell me you haven’t tried this before. Also, this is just for starters. Dinner is the main course.”

“If ice cream is the appetizer, what about dessert? Milkshakes?”

“Hey, that’s actually a great idea!” Oikawa’s eyes sparkled. “We could make avocado milkshakes later, I still have some avocado left in the fridge. Or we could try that new place that serves pastries and milkshakes down the street. I heard they’re pet-friendly too, so Hachi can come along too! Sounds like a plan!”

Sometimes Iwaizumi questioned himself how he could get along with an alien like Oikawa, who was clearly from a different planet.

As both of their places were nearby, Iwaizumi found himself hanging out at Oikawa’s place more often, and the latter at his place too. Despite the difference in their personalities, they became closer over the sessions. Not on the instructor-client relationship level, but on a more intimate level. It may sound unprofessional, having the line between work and personal life blurred, but neither of them made the move to set it back in place.  

It was as if they forgot the eyes around them, from Iwaizumi’s colleagues and Oikawa’s agency. Will you both still continue seeing each other like this after the program ends, they would ask. Even the both of them were unsure of the answer. Or maybe they were afraid to let out the true answer hidden deep in their hearts; their innermost feelings too vulnerable to be revealed. They became too comfortable in each other’s presence. A sudden halt in this newfound bliss would lead them both hanging by a thread, ready to snap if the loose ends were not tied well together.

There was no turning back.

“Say, Oikawa. I was wondering, remember back when you said you were not blessed with inborn talent for modelling, what do you mean by that? From what I saw today, you were pretty good at your job. The shoot ended on a high note, didn’t it?” Although Iwaizumi forgot most of what happened earlier on, he still remembered how the photographer and production team sang praises about Oikawa throughout the shoot.

Oikawa’s eyes widened at the unexpected praise. “You think so? That’s a really nice thing to hear from you, Iwa-chan. You should shower me with more praises rather than shooting me with your snappy remarks. The more you say nice things, the lovelier you become. Same with growing plants.”

“Don’t change the topic and answer my question.”

Oikawa chuckled at Iwaizumi’s response. He looked at the tub of ice cream in his hands and was lost in thought for a moment. Iwaizumi had never seen Oikawa in such a manner. The twinkle in his eyes became clouded, his usual glow dimmed as though rain from the dark clouds casted in his eyes poured over it. He hated to see this version of him.

“I know it may sound ridiculous and absurd because it seems like I have everything in my hands, but that’s not necessary the case. Yes, I may be blessed with good looks that secures me a spot in the fashion and entertainment industry, but how far can I go with just that?

“I was offered opportunities in the acting and idol field before. I gave them a shot, but I found myself coming back to modelling eventually. But with my looks, I would often score jobs that were just limited to a specific category: being pretty. Not that I disliked it, but I didn’t want to be just a pretty boy. I want to expand my horizons, to try different genres and types. Because I believe I’m more than that.

“That’s why I stayed abroad for most of the time previously. I was fortunate enough to sign with a couple of international agencies and worked wherever opportunities led me to. The modelling scene is different from here, and I’ve grown a lot over the years and experience too. It was difficult at first, being in foreign lands, with different languages and work cultures, being jobless due to lack of experience and having no connections in the beginning stages. Heck, there was once where I was so close to being broke and wanting to give it all up. I even stepped on my pride to beg agencies and clients to accept me.

“But hey, here I am now. Climbing to the top was no easy feat, but I made it, and it’s all worth it. I’m sure you know what I mean. Runway, commercial, fitness, high fashion, I’ve done them all. I was able to fulfil my dreams and desires,” The dark clouds that were once looming around Oikawa cleared up, with a rainbow emerging to bring out the sparkle and glow that had been undeservingly hidden, which Iwaizumi loved.

“Many often ask why I decided to take on this path when I could have a smoother and secure path in the entertainment industry back here. I was more suited in the entertainment industry compared modelling, or I was born with a face to be on screen, they would say. I guess this worthless pride of mine got the better of me, and I don’t regret one bit.”

Oikawa turned to face Iwaizumi who had turned dead quiet after his long explanation. “An unexpectedly interesting and deep story, isn’t it? Come on, don’t be so serious. Were you expecting something more light-hearted? Or some over dramatic life-threatening story?”

It took a few seconds for Iwaizumi to regain back his composure. “You’re always a box of surprises, Oikawa.”

“And that’s what you love about me, don’t you?” Oikawa playfully winked at Iwaizumi, which was returned with Iwaizumi’s eyes rolled up to the celling.

Oikawa kept the now melted pool of ice cream back in the refrigerator and filled a glass of water to drink. “Anyway, I think I’ll be stationed back here for a while. I haven’t been back home for quite some time now, and it feels nice to be back again.”

“Are you sure you’re not staying back because you don’t have to worry about meals thanks to your mom?” Iwaizumi said, rubbing Hachi’s belly as she flipped over to enjoy the massage.

“Excuse you, I believe I can cook better than you. All these years of experience made me a fine man in all aspects, if you were unaware,”

“Besides, I think I found another reason to stay back longer this round.” Oikawa plopped down beside Iwaizumi, joining in Hachi’s belly rub session.

“And that is? To spend more time with Hachi?”

Oikawa looked up to meet Iwaizumi’s eyes. He could look into them all day if he could.

“That’s one reason, but there’s another.”

“What’s that then?”

“Not telling you.”

“Are you serious, Oikawa.”

“Think, Iwa-chan, think! It’s no fun if I tell you everything, right?”

If Hachi and Oikawa were destined to meet, then she would be the reason for Oikawa and Iwaizumi to be destined to cross paths. A destiny in a destiny.

#haikyuu #iwaizumi #iwaizumi hajime #oikawa #oikawa toru #iwaoi #iwaoi fluff #haikyū!! #haikyuu imagines #hq #hq imagines #can someone pls tell me what genre is this

[multiverseofmiracleshq]

1/3 of the Reality Stone fragments remained with its host, Ripley Ryan, in the hospital. Determined to finish what they started, the Black Widow and Winter Soldier headed to the Intensive Care Unit along with a team of mutants who were sent by Wanda Maximoff to cast a reality binding spell. Once their goal was achieved, there was nothing standing between them and Zemo at the Town Hall.

These events come AFTER the INN and MUSEUM and before the TOWN HALL.

THIS IS THE OFFICIAL CHAT LOG COVERAGE OF THE IC

BUCKY BARNES: Bucky pushed through the hospital doors with both hands, metal clinking against the acrylic outer shell and double paned panels. He was hot on Natasha's heels, having made a pitstop for the both of them at the museum before the rest of the crew could cause too much of an issue. When he caught up to her just before she hit the stairwell, he slid her a twin set of guns and then readjusted the strap to his AR. "Sure we can't just shoot first and ask questions later?"

NATASHA ROMANOFF: Although not in her suit, Natasha had clicked on the two Widow’s Bites that Barnes had taken from the Museum. The two guns were a gift from a poor S.H.I.E.L.D. agent who was now weaponless, but Natasha accepted them from James all the same. “You want to risk shooting the wrong person?” Checking how much ammo she had, the Widow shook her head. “Personal mission. Maybe bad form, but family first.” Knowing that Taskmaster was in the building - and still sore from their last run in  - Natasha quietly pushed the door open and raised her gun while she rounded the corner, coming face to face with a crying girl in scrubs. “Too easy.”

BUCKY BARNES: Bucky clicked his tongue at that. "Fuck form. I would've taken more, but I know how much Barton is attached to his bow." he was only mildly joking, using it as a way to fill the space so he didn't spiral into his own mind. "Think we should've accepted back up?" And now he really was joking, mirroring Nat with his own weapon. He stopped short when they came around the corner and he instinctively tightened his grip on his gun. "It's never that easy."

NATASHA ROMANOFF: Eyes rolling, Natasha quickly checked over her shoulder. “Easy to say when it fits the situation,” she hummed. “We do have back-up. Bobbi’s here and changing. She’s got the codes. Psylocke is somewhere looking for her friends. Apparently, Wanda is helping the mutants.” Whatever helped them through. Lowering her gun slightly, Natasha glanced from the sniffling young adult to the name tag she wore. “Hey, Astrid. Sad day at the hospital?”

YELENA BELOVA: Caught up in her own moping, ‘Astrid’ started at the sound of the woman’s voice and sat up as she quickly wiped at her eyes. “Oh my god, I’m so sorry. No. I mean -- yes. It’s a hospital. But our patients usually are cured. Just bad dating experiences. Dumb, I know.” She nudged her magazine closed. “Are you here to visit someone?”

BUCKY BARNES: "Bad dating experiences?" he couldn't keep the question out of his tone, the laughable disbelief. He cocked the gun single handedly before dropping it back in his grip. "In fact we are. Wanna tell me who it is you're crying over?"

YELENA BELOVA: Although his tone was a little snide, the brunette didn’t notice. It was lonely at the front desk if she wasn’t making rounds and her friends were fine but the recent dumping had taken a toll. “His name is Jim. He’s a nice guy. Was a nice guy. We went on a few dates and he went all two-faced. Completely ghosted me. That was three days ago.”

NATASHA ROMANOFF: Natasha wracked her brain. “Helmut,” she swore under her breath. “Astrid, have you talked to ‘Jim’ since?”

BUCKY BARNES: Bucky just...blinked at her. Then, all of a sudden he barked a laugh, shaking his head. "How mad would you be if I took out all of S.H.I.E.L.D.?" he asked, voice lower, only for Nat to hear. "Yeah, 'Strid, we just wanna talk to him. He's like family, you get it."

YELENA BELOVA: Finally really taking the guns in consideration, Astrid slowly stood and reached around her scrubs for her buzzer. “I should call Chris. He’s head of Hospital security and he can help you figure out where you’re headed.”

BUCKY BARNES: That wasn’t really part of the plan. “Yel-Astrid, Jim’s a little more important right now.” With a sigh, Bucky aimed the AR, barrel directed at ‘Astrid’. “We don’t need head of security.” A red dot appeared at the center of her scrubs, the buzz of the scope a sound only he could hear. “Just give Jim a call, yeah?”

YELENA BELOVA: “He’s not gonna answer,” she huffed as her eyes welled up again. “I just told you -- he’s not interested in me. I think it’s my thighs. It has to be.” Nearly crosseyed, she stared at the light on her scrubs and the demanding man. Fumbling for her phone, Astrid dialed with shaking fingers. Ring. Ring. Voicemail. “See? Thighs.”

BUCKY BARNES: Bucky clicked off the scope, the red light disappearing before he lowered his gun. ”I’m just gonna hit her. You good with that?” he asked Natasha.

NATASHA ROMANOFF: Watching the entire exchange, Natasha had shouldered past Yelena at one point to rummage through the cabinets behind the desk. They needed as much info about the Database as possible, and there a possibility some of Ripley’s medical records were there. At Bucky’s question, she glanced up. Yelena would be pissed, but the two of them had come for a reason. “Only if you’re done hearing about Jim.”

BUCKY BARNES: “Ha ha.” Bucky came over, keeping Astrid’s eyes on him as he came around the desk. “Hey, ‘Strid-“ he employed the same method he had used on the Wyngarde sister, slamming the side of his gun into her temple just hard enough to shake around some loose change. “You have great thighs.”

NATASHA ROMANOFF: “Oof.” Natasha exhaled as the gun connected with her sisters temple. Deftly moving to catch Yelena and ease her to the ground, the spy crouched down and inspected the welt that was already growing. It still didn’t look like Yelena, but she had stopped crying. “You could have been a little bit more graceful, but I’ll take it. Grab her.” Natasha rose. “We’re not leaving her for Taskmaster to find.” Best to let him think ‘Astrid’ had just abandoned her post or was doing her rounds. The S.H.I.EL.D. pager Bobbi had given her buzzed in her hand and Natasha pocketed it. “We’ve got a room. Intensive care unit, Room 8-1. You know, I always said Clint married up.” Grabbing Astrid’s badge for good measure, Natasha clicked the safety off on her gun. “Let’s go.”

KWANNON: Elsewhere, Psylocke and Laura had waited quietly in the shade of the building. The telepathic signal being emitted led the newly arrived X-Men to the hospital. Raven head tipped to the side, Psylocke held a hand out to gesture that Magik, Synch and Nico should enter the hospital. The door swung closed between them, faces flushing from recycled air. “Intensive Care Unit is the top floor. You know what to do?”

BUCKY BARNES: "Graceful?" it came out more as a scoff and Bucky crouched down, adjusting the AR to lay flat against his back again so he could sling Yelena's fake body over his shoulder. She hung limply, swaying back and forth when he stood. "When have you ever known me to be graceful." he said just as he twisted around, narrowly clipping Yelena's head on the edge of the counter. "ICU? What are the chances he'll be in a coma and I can just smother him."

EVERETT THOMAS: Synch followed Magik and the other witch into the hospital, trying his best not to let himself get too wrapped up in everything around him. This whole thing was pretty messed up of SHIELD, but his main focus was Laura. Even if she didn’t remember any of it, he still felt bonded to her in ways he could barely describe. And making sure she was safe was definitely high on his priorities. “Yeah, we’ve got it.” He responded to Kwannon, making sure to keep on high alert as he scanned their surroundings.

NATASHA ROMANOFF: The sneakers that she had worn as Lulu Gordon were more for show than actual practical use, and the treads were nearly nonexistent. Nat couldn’t actually remember working out in Pleasant Hill, just posing on her yoga mat for selfies instead. It was hard not to slide around with no traction but she pushed open a door to another stairwell and held it open for Bucky, watching to make sure he didn’t smack Yelena’s head into the wall. “You would have failed the Red Room,” she hummed. Presentation begets perfection, after all. Natasha had been the best. Yelena had been better. “Zemo’s at Town Hall. That’s not why we’re here. Ripley’s intubated upstairs. They’re making a play for the Infinity Stone. Did you read your file?” Stopping abruptly, Natasha flattened herself against the wall by the doorway of the next level. She could hear footsteps in the hall, and that felt deliberate in the quiet hospital. Gesturing with her chin towards the door, Nat pushed it open and raised her gun. She moved quickly to turn but still found her face connecting with a fist.

BUCKY BARNES: "I didn't care to read pages and pages of documents beyond who was who and what they were capable of." Which was a delicate way of saying, 'did you really think I would?'. Somewhere along the way of climbing flights, Bucky stashed Yelena's unconscious body in a medical supplies closet, knowing that she wouldn't wake up for a while and that he needed both hands. As soon as they both went into alert, hands moved too fast for Nat to dodge and him to barely skid to a stop and back up, gun immediately raising. He fired off a few rounds, the spray of bullets disoriented in the ambush.

NATASHA ROMANOFF: Wiping blood off her nose, Natasha dropped her gun and kicked it to the side. Bullets never tended to work with Taskmaster. She’d keep it for backup. He had his shield and a collapsed bow. Claws in his gloves. Basically, he was as tricked out as ever. “Still sore about last time?” The ( former ) redhead squared her shoulders back. “Zemo can’t be offering you enough for this.” But he was silent, like always, and a moment later the two were locked in hand to hand combat.

ILLYANA RASPUTINA: Sword pulled off of her back, Illyana cast a wary look around the hall. “I hate hospitals,” she muttered. Wanda’s spell was complicated but she had drilled it into the sorceress and witch. “It would be easier if we could teleport out after, but apparently we have to walk. No mutant left behind.” Lorna, Gabby, Rogue.

LAURA KINNEY: As the mutants made their way through the hospital, Laura paused and narrowed her eyes. There were more people in the hospital than their should have been. “Take the back.” She instructed Kwannon. “James Barnes is moving to the southern wing.”

BUCKY BARNES: Bucky dropped the gun, the strap catching on his shoulder before it banged against his hip. It was only Taskmaster, the asshole with the psuedo copycat style and a piss poor attitude. "Less talking-" he kicked at Taskmaster, just hard enough to diverge his attention and have him focused on both of them. "Glad I dropped our nice office secretary off, huh."

NATASHA ROMANOFF: He had got in three good hits but Natasha was at four. “Nursing student,” she huffed as she dodged a kick. “This is a dead end. He won’t quit. It’s called a distraction.”

EVERETT THOMAS: Everett followed closely behind, trying his best to keep close to Laura without making her feel like he was suffocating her. He didn’t want to make things weird in any way, but God was it hard. “Hey uh, are you okay?”

BUCKY BARNES: "So in all those times you've fought him, you never figured out a way to beat him?" They parried some more, moving this way and that. "I'm not going to leave you here to get your pretty yoga instructor face punched in."

BOBBI MORSE: One of the doctor’s personal offices had always been stocked for agents -- as a safety precaution. It was working well in their favor. Her locker held a spare uniform and set of staves that she gratefully hooked into their holsters before grabbing three disruptors. One went onto her own neck and her body shuddered in relief as her appearance twisted back to its regular self. She broke out in a sprint until she found Barnes and Romanoff, and Bobbi tossed them each a chip before kicking off the wall to strike Taskmaster with a baton. As she should have predicted, his bow separated into staves of his own. “What’re you guys still doing down here?”

NATASHA ROMANOFF: If she hadn’t been focused on not getting slashed in half with a sword, Natasha would have rolled her eyes. “It keeps evolving. More new heroes, more moves. We haven’t killed each other yet.” The elastic she had tied her hair up with was falling out, but then Bobbi was there. Nat caught the small chip and quickly fastened it on the back of her neck. There was a second before her body was her own once more, clothed in the uniform she had entered the town with. Even though she was lacking any of her weapons other than the Widow’s Bite, it felt good to see her own hands again. “How about my normal face getting punched in?”

BUCKY BARNES: "That isn't obvious?" Bucky said, arms coming up to cover his face when Taskmaster slammed a fist down. Jumping back, he caught the chip, using what he knew from the file to revert his appearance back into something a little bulkier, steadier, familiar. "It's not exactly easy to get to the reality stone harboring mad woman when there's 600 tons of body armor in the way."

LAURA KINNEY: Lips twitching, Laura pivoted on one heel. “I look like a cheerleader.” She had gone to pep rallies with pom-poms and enthusiasm. The whole nine yards. The worst part was that she had fun, on some level. That pretty much summed up how she was. “I want them to cast the spell so we can get out of here. No more Vaults, no more Pleasant Hill’s.”

BOBBI MORSE: “I have complete and total faith in this woman.” Bobbi held a hand to her temple to  stop her vision from swimming after a hit. “But we need to keep moving. Nat, you said you’re old friends. I don’t want to ruin the reunion.” When the redhead nodded, Bobbi arched a brow at Bucky before running into the nearest stairwell and taking the stairs two at a time.

EVERETT THOMAS: Everett couldn’t help his soft chuckle at the cheerleader comment as he nodded at her. “I mean, it’s not a bad look. Definitely not you, though.” He pointed out, nodding solemnly at her next words. But unfortunately, they were X-Men and this was probably not going to be the last Pleasant Hill. Or Vault. Before he could say much else, a scalpel flew through the air and stuck onto the wall next to them, revealing Bullseye standing down the hall. “Shit..”

VIVIAN VISION: Vivian followed alongside the mutants as they made their way through the hospital, careful to be attentive to their surroundings. As they all rounded the corner, a scalpel was flung through the air, nearly hitting Viv in the face as it struck the wall and they were face to face with Bullseye. “We need to divide. We can’t let him keep us from the stone. Magik, Nico, I can phase us into her room? I think we’re close.”

BUCKY BARNES: "Shitty reunion." he looked over at Nat, only falling back from Taskmaster when he saw the confirmation in her steady gaze. Breaking off, he followed Bobbi up the stairs, finding no other obstacles before hitting a floor with double doors that read: Authorized Personnel Only: Intensive Care Unit. He slowed, weapon coming back around to rest in his grip. "They powered a whole town by putting a girl into a coma." he said it with a mix of disbelief and frustration. "S.H.I.E.L.D. isn't exactly convincing me they shouldn't become a government section lost to time." The room was empty when they entered, the doors clattering behind them. He wasn't sure keeping quiet had any point anymore. Gun poised, he scanned the empty beds, not even noticing the low beep of the monitor and the occupied bed because his eyes landed on Yelena, seated and scanning through...something. "Didn't I leave you in a broom closet?" he said a little breathlessly, grip tightening on the weapon.

YELENA BELOVA: Was she mad? Yes. At Bucky and Natasha? No. At S.H.I.EL.D.? Of course. At Zemo, at the situation. Yelena had been pissed when she came to in a broom closet, tossed to the side like a basic cleaning supply. She remembered Astrid Massey, but her face wasn’t her own. Bullseye had met her in the hallway. He had given her the device Zemo was passing around to his teammates, the disrupter returning her to her former form. As Benjamin headed down the  hallway to meet the ‘heroes’, Yelena moved to the ICU and found the Database. The codes were already unlocked from whatever doctor had run away mid scan from the intruders, and when the door opened Yelena glanced back over her shoulder. “Seemed more fun out here. I saw Taskmaster downstairs, but this was a better opportunity. They never let me up here. Now I know why.”

BUCKY BARNES: “Natasha is handling it.” Bucky remarked, lowering his weapon just a little bit. “I know what you’re doing, and it sucks to say this, but it isn’t helping. We can handle the database later, we need to deal with Ripley now.” he spoke pointedly at her, knowing that any form of coddling or soft spoken words didn’t apply here. Not that it ever did. Bucky could never imagine babying Yelena in any situation. “Just trust me on this.”

VIVIAN VISION: Vivian quickly grabbed onto Magik and Nico, not wasting any time as she phased the three of them past Bullseye and through to Ripley’s hospital room.

LAURA KINNEY: At his comment, the arch of a brow broke Laura’s deadpan. “Debatable taste.” She commented offhandedly. At the sight of Bullseye she crouched, lunging towards him without claws. Kwannon could follow Viv and the spellcasters. Laura had no problem being a distraction.

YELENA BELOVA: “Natasha is getting her ass handed to her. Again.” The sisters had a messy history with Taskmaster. She hit a key and the code flashed red, the page turning to a simple box for an access code. “We have to shut down the Database.” Yelena straightened up to look at him, her own gun holstered. “We can’t let them do this anymore.”

BUCKY BARNES: Bucky worked through the tic in his jaw, leveling his voice. By now, his nerves were frayed. “Do you Yelena?” he lowered the gun even more until the barrel was pointed at the floor. “Do you trust me?”

YELENA BELOVA: For a long moment, she just stared. Did she? It wasn’t easily answered. “I want to.” Yelena replied honestly. A finger hovered above the key before she moved, body tightening and constricting as she fell.

BOBBI MORSE: Running behind due to having to disable to alarms on the floor, Bobbi skidded to a stop as she lowered her stun gun. “--She was going to hit the key, right?”

YELENA BELOVA: “Fuck. You.” Yelena hissed from the ground, fingers digging into the tile as she tried to pull herself up. She wasn’t going to hit the key.

BUCKY BARNES: “Seriously?” he hissed, the metal plates clamping into place audibly as he tightened his grip. “Seriously, Bobbi?” he was pissed, clearly. “No wonder you’re a fucking S.H.I.E.L.D. agent.” Bucky snatched the stun gun from Bobbi’s grip on his way past her, throwing it to the ground and stomping on it until it was in a bunch of little pieces before he finished his walk to Yelena. “She wasn’t going to hit the fucking key.” he crouched down, helping Yelena back to her feet. “What’s next? You want to hit Ripley too? Do you more good.”

BOBBI MORSE: “Oh, c’mon.” Bobbi muttered as she had the stun gun ripped away and trampled. It wasn’t like that would have been helpful for defense or anything. “Tell me she’s not a flight risk.” Dark eyes narrowed. “I’d love to hit Ripley. Hopefully wake her up. That goddamn stone is fragmenting and destabilizing the town. If it collapses we all may be written out off reality. No happy reunion with your girlfriend then, huh?”

YELENA BELOVA: Yelena just spit towards Bobbi’s feet as James help her up, holding on to his arm even when she was upright.

BUCKY BARNES: “You think you’re the one to call that?” he shot over his shoulder, fully standing now. “Being written out of reality wouldn’t be the worst thing to happen to me this year.” he turned his attention to Yelena, looking her over but he didn’t ask her if she were okay. “You make an awful nurse, you know that?”

ILLYANA RASPUTINA: Phasing in along with Viv and Nico, Illyana stepped around the broken black shards of a weapon. “Now this is where the party is.” She laughed slightly. Making her way to the bed, dark lined eyes narrowed at the woman. Tugging the hospital gown to the side, the red glow of the Stone was flickering under the white bandages. “They said you would have another fragment. We need two.”

BOBBI MORSE: “I think I’m deepest in the shit and have used the Database before, so I made a snap judgement call. It’s not like I shot her. We talked it out.” Bobbi didn’t flinch at the spit. “Maybe not for you, but there’s a lot of other people here.”

YELENA BELOVA: “Nursing student.” Yelena muttered. “The scrubs were ugly.”

RIRI WILLIAMS: She had smashed in the window of the wrong room during her entry, but Riri found the right one after checking for heat signatures. “You have a second fragment now.” The suit’s chamber opened to expose the Reality Stone shard. “Zemo’s got the third.”

BUCKY BARNES: “They were pretty ugly.” he agreed quietly, face pinched lightly at the edges. His head whipped sharply around at Riri’s entrance, completely ignoring Bobbi at this point. “So we go get Zemo.” he took a breath. “Finally.”

ILLYANA RASPUTIN: As the armored teen guided the Stone back to its host, Magik looked to Nico. “Are you ready?” It wasn’t really a question. With eyes glowing blue, she held a hand out over the chest of Ripley. “I’m going to be very unhappy if she chooses to smite us.”

NICO MINORU: Nico looked down at the incubated woman, trying her best not to be intimidated by the thought of all that could go wrong as she adjusted her grip on her staff and nodded. She looked towards Riri as she entered the room and smiled in relief at the sight of another stone. “Okay, yeah. Ready.” She agreed as she gripped her staff and held her other hand over Ripley to follow Magik. “Stabilize.” The staff emitted a glow as she focused herself onto the spell.

YELENA BELOVA: “Jim. What a nice young man.” Yelena scoffed. She paused, softening slightly as she turned to face Bucky fully. “Thank you.” Her tone was composed of genuine relief. Rising up to reach his face, Yelena pressed a chaste kiss to his lips. “I do trust you.”

BOBBI MORSE: Determined to focus on the spell, Bobbi’s face twitched at Yelena and Bucky. Worse than high schoolers.

ILLYANA RASPUTIN: Drawing on Limbo, Illyana closed her eyes when she heard Nico’s staff and began chanting. Confirma. Stabiliendum. Solidatur. Est una tribus, tribus fit unum. Dormammu limbo ex angulis eminebant de profundis et frugibus suis circum nos, ut tecum una. As she repeated Wanda’s words, the red began to glow and overtake the room. It burned so brightly that it overtook the space and ate everything else out entirely.

BUCKY BARNES: With his ungloved hand, bucky cupped the side of Yelena’s face. “I know.” he heard Illyana and Nico behind him but he didn’t look. He had a gut feeling where this was going and he was just…relieved to see Yelena again. It tugged somewhere deep in his chest, making him oddly angry all over again. He was exhausted, frustrated, but relieved. “Also, please don’t ever mention Jim again.” he said on what sounded like a breathy laugh. “C’mere.” Even though they didn’t do this, Bucky pulled Yelena in close, arms wrapping around her small frame.

NICO MINORU: Confirma. Stabiliendum. Solidatur. Est una tribus, tribus fit unum. Dormanmu limbo ex angulis emine ant de profundis et frugibus suis circum nos, ut tecum una. Nico repeated alongside Magik, closing her eyes as the red glow overtook the entire room. Based on that, she hoped it was working. And she also hoped that they wouldn’t kill Ripley in the process.

YELENA BELOVA: Folding into him, Yelena stared at the two spellcasters. She hated magic. She hated how small it made her feel. She didn’t like Ripley either, but they all deserved better than this. “He was a victim too, at first.” The light was too bright then and Yelena had no choice but to avert her eyes.

RIPLEY RYAN: Every memory. Every life. Every backstory. The Town Database was comprehensive and the woman whose energy fueled it remembered every detail. For the first time since they had managed to restrain her, the stirrings of magic gave way to an elevated form of consciousness. Eyes and mouth open, red poured from them until reality was rattled by a burst of energy. Across the town, those left reverted to how they had looked before being changed. Faces returned and scarlet gave way to familiar bodies and clothes. When the wave washed over the hospital, it faded to reveal a blonde in a hospital gown standing in front of the mangled computer system. “I’m going to kill someone.”

LAURA KINNEY: The fight with Bullseye had ended, but Laura followed the scent of blood towards where the Black Widow and Taskmaster had fought. Natasha was fine, her adversary fleeing towards Zemo and the Town hall. When the redhead said she would follow him, Laura had left her to get to the ICU. Without her claws the fight had been a little different than she preferred, but not all of the blood on her was her own. By the time she got there, the room was awash in red. The force of the energy impact threw Laura against the wall, but when she straightened and came to, her cheerleading uniform was gone. The yellow and blue of her Wolverine suit had returned and when she flexed her hands she felt the adamantium.

BOBBI MORSE: Ripley looked mad, but Bobbi couldn’t blame her. She had every right to be. “That’s valid.” She limbed to her feet. “But can we raincheck? Your Stone -- it fractured. From what was being done. We got you a piece on it, but Zemo has a shard at Town Hall. Do I need to tell you how badly this could go?”

RIPLEY RYAN: Of course she didn’t need to. Ripley could feel Pleasant Hill destabilizing and reality growing thin. It Zemo accomplished his goals, he’d be taking her down. It was hard to live with a stone in your chest. it would be impossible to be fragmented. Even then, she could feel the other part calling out. Raising a hand, Ripley looked at the group. TOWN HALL. With that, the hospital was empty as they vanished in a flash of crimson.

#momevents #event: pleasant hill #pleasant hill: finale #chatlog: pleasant hill hospital

[elisaphoenix13]

Conflict Ch.5

Peter hadn't said a word since the funeral and Stephen couldn't stand it. The teen was known to chatter endlessly about anything and everything, so the fact that he was completely silent was wrong. It also sent mixed signals because the sorcerer was pretty sure Peter blamed him for Tony's death, but his cub was glued to his side twenty-four seven. The only time Stephen got time to himself was bathroom trips and bedtime when he astral projected.

Yes, Peter even slept in the same bed as him. His fear of losing a sixth parent was probably winning over whatever blame Peter held over him. Of course, Stephen was only assuming the blame. There hadn't been any evidence to prove it or otherwise.

It was a coping mechanism for Peter and really, there were far worse ways the teen could deal with his grief. If he needed to cling, then Stephen would let him cling. It gave him an excuse to slowly drag the boy out back into the world after a couple of months even though he wanted to just wrap him up and protect him from the world for the rest of their lives (Peter's life really; Stephen no longer aged). He had to give his son some semblance of normalcy though. If he gave into his grief as well, he and Peter would fall apart. So any grieving he did was when he was astral projecting and Peter was asleep.

Like now.

Almost every night he projected, he would go down to the lab and replay the message Tony had recorded for him. A hologram message. The only way he could see his husband anymore. It hurt every time he watched it but he needed it.

"...never wanted him to go through it again. At least not for another twenty years." The hologram Tony chuckles sadly and Stephen turns his attention back to the message he's seen so many times already. "He still has you though. For as long as he lives...you know...unless someone manages to get you to croak." When Stephen first watched the message, his eyebrows shot up into his hairline at Tony's sentence. "Yeah, I know all about your immortality. Wong told on you. He's fun to pick on by the way. I can see why you keep him around."

Stephen snorts. Leave it to Tony to annoy the shit out of one of the sorcerer's very few friends (outside the Avengers of course). Wong never said anything though so either he didn't mind or he was respecting the fact that Tony was gone now and Stephen was suffering through his loss. He had actually taken over some of Stephen's duties as Sorcerer Supreme, ones that Masters could handle anyway, while Stephen took care of Peter, and never said anything when the doctor took his duties back on with the teen trailing behind him.

No one said anything. Not the masters or the apprentices, they all just carried on with their studies. Stephen was grateful the pitying looks were few and far between, and mostly directed at Peter.

"Just in case I don't get to say this when we bring you back..." Tony's hologram continues. "...I love you. You are one of the best things that ever happened to me. You and Peter. So you better take care of our kid. I left a message for him through Karen. Hopefully he's not too mad at me."

Stephen yells out in frustration, his astral form causing the power to fluctuate and the hologram of Tony disappears, ending the message halfway. Peter mad at Tony? Ludicrous. The boy was one wrong sentence away from completely shutting down and Stephen already felt like a failure. He had tried to get Peter to talk to him at the very least but he got nothing for his effort. He barely ate, and that was only because the sorcerer made him.

Stephen covers his tear-stricken face with his hands. "It should have been me. He wants you more, you stupid idiot. He blames me..."

"That's not true."

The doctor jumps at the unexpected whisper and he turns his head to find Peter by the door. The first words his son spoke in months were to comfort him. He really was a failure.

"Peter...what are you doing awake?"

"Had a dream...about Dad." The teen mumbles. "I couldn't go back to sleep and you wouldn't wake up. I thought..."

He thought what? That maybe he was in his astral form? If he didn't put himself in the physical realm, Peter wouldn't even be able to see him right now. The teen answered his question though and he swore he could feel his blood turn to ice.

"I thought you were gone too."

"Oh Peter..." He reaches out, momentarily forgetting he can't physically touch Peter right now, and sighs. "Come on. Back to bed."

He motions the teen toward the lab door before returning to the astral realm, and then back to his body, and sits up just as Peter returns to the bedroom. The teen returns to his side of the bed and when the sorcerer reaches out this time, he actually touches brown curls and gently threads his hand through them. It was a soothing motion for both of them.

"I'm sorry for scaring you. Do you think you can go back to sleep now?"

Peter shrugs. "As long as you don't leave again. Your heart slows down when you do."

"I'll stay. I promise."

His son nods and lays back down, and then curls himself into Stephen's chest when the elder makes himself comfortable. The sorcerer smiles when Peter tucks his head under his chin and then Stephen resumes his previous motion of petting the boy's hair. They were both quick to fall back asleep and managed to get their first decent nights sleep in weeks until they were rudely awoken by Sam slamming the door open.

"Get up. We're having a literal pity party and attendance is mandatory. Especially you Strange. You and Tic-tac are going on an adventure."

Stephen sits up slowly and levels Falcon with his Mama Bear glare and is mildly impressed when Sam only falters a little before countering with a look of indifference. Apparently he needed to step up his game.

"Wilson..."

"I'm serious. Wake up your cub. We got him donuts."

The sorcerer sighs after Sam grabs the door to close it behind him, and almost laughs when he hears his next words muffled beyond the door.

"Guys...I thought I was going to die."

So much for needing to step up his game. Mama Bear was still scary. Good.

Stephen reaches out and gently shakes Peter's shoulder. "Come on. I know you're awake."

"What did Sam mean by adventure?" Peter asks carefully.

"Who knows. He'll probably make me shrink or something."

"I'm not changing out of my pajamas."

"Oh good. I'm not either. Now, up. Comfort food awaits."

Peter sighs but rolls out of bed, following Stephen out of the guest room (neither could go into the master bedroom) and joins the team in the living room. For once, Stephen didn't have to make the teen eat, he dove into the donuts without needing to be prompted.

The sorcerer sits in a vacant armchair and rubs his eyes. "What kind of adventure are we talking about? Shrinking? Growing?"

"Time travel." Bucky states bluntly, causing Stephen to freeze.

"Why?" He asks suspiciously.

"We're getting Nat, Loki, and Tony back with your Time Stone." Clint says.

Peter is the next to freeze but Stephen narrows his eyes. "I don't have the Time Stone anymore you moron! It's been returned to its timeline!"

"Actually..." The sorcerer turns his glare onto Steve who coughs at the intensity of it. "I returned it to this timeline."

"I've been to Kamar-Taj. I never came across it."

"That's because Wong has it." Steve points out.

Stephen's gaze falters. "He never said anything."

"We wanted to make sure we had a plan that would work."

The sorcerer was almost afraid to ask. "What plan?"

He could see Peter looking between himself and the captain, and he had a look on his face that said the teen desperately wanted this to be real, but it also felt to good to be true. Stephen pretty much felt the same.

"Scott will take you through the quantum realm after you get the Time Stone from Wong, and to right before Tony snaps."

"Why not after?" Peter asks.

Everyone winces before Steve continues. "The snap still needs to happen, you just need to get your AI to send a message to Tony before he does. Tell him to ask for Nat and Loki back as well."

"What about Tony?" Stephen asks quietly.

"That's what the stone is for. You'll use it to turn back time on his wounds."

Stephen sighs heavily. "The damage was done by all six Infinity Stones. It won't help."

"Wong said it will be enough to get him out of a critical state. He'll have the scars, but he'll be alive."

Stephen's heart pounded in his chest. He never thought of that. It was definitely possible. While the Time Stone wouldn't be able to reverse all the effects caused by all six stones, it would pull him from Death's door. He would likely need to be hospitalized but he would be alive. He would have his husband back, and Peter would still have his father.

"How long have you been planning this?"

"A while." Clint answers. "It hurt us to see you two broken. You guys really suck at functioning when it isn't all three of you."

"I second that. Tony was a barely functioning pain in the ass when it was the two of you gone." Rhodey says.

"If this works," The sorcerer starts. "I will owe each if you a favor."

"Can that favor be collected in kiss form?" Scott jokes.

"Yes."

The ex-con's eyes widen and he grins. "If I wasn't excited before, I am now!" Peter gags and Scott rolls his eyes. "Not like that shortstack. What's Mama Bear teaching you?"

His question earned a head smack from both Rhodey and Sam.

#ironstrange #peter parker #mama bear stephen strange #supremefamily #bucky barnes #steve rogers #clint barton #rhodey #scott lang

[sian22redux]

Pretty Woman

For  @star-spangled-man-with-a-plan ‘s  Body Positivity Challenge.

Pairing:  Plus size reader x Steve Rogers x Bucky Barnes

Setting: Post Infinity War, the world has magically gone back to normal…

Rating: T

For the gorgeous @winters-beauty because she really likes this type of challenge.

 With a prompt like “your body is not ruined”  I know most folks are thinking of post-pregnancy or something but I’ve gone a different way, based on my own recent experiences.  This is post major illness where reader has to adjust to change. Hence some of her reactions here are based on loss of health of course, and control, and having to adjust to a new reality.  

 Fortunately her two guys have some experience with that.  

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

“Help!!”

The panicked cry that suddenly tumbles from your mouth brings your boyfriends running from the living room.

“Y/N?! Jarvis!?”  Steve is the first to skid to a halt at the bedroom door, blond brows creasing in anxiety and hands glued to the frame, ready to propel himself against whatever threat lurks inside.  His frown and tanned bulk take up all the open space, block the escape route as he quickly scans the room, reconning automatically for any one of several unpleasant situations.  

Intruder?  

Explosion? 

Lethal virus?

Nope.  

Nothing quite so deserving of an American hero’s skills.

Just your dumb rotten luck.  

“All is secure, Captain Rogers,” intones Jarvis mildly from above the massive closet door and you almost, almost laugh, because-- secure.   Great choice of verb.   Thanks.  Thanks so very much.  Now the AI is making jokes..

Bucky arrives a heartbeat behind and elbows Steve aside, squeezing through to stand worriedly at the cream carpet’s edge.  “Baby, what’s wrong?”

What’s wrong?!!!

James Buchanan Barnes allegedly has super-vision.   How can he not fricken’ see?!  

“I’m stuck!!!”

You stand poised in the middle of your bright and airy Tower bedroom wondering how life came to this.  There’s a tankini top caught about your chest and upper arms that’s mashing tender skin. The matching boxer briefs are wedged halfway up your ample thighs, their blue elastic pinching so hard it just might bruise.  

Secure.  

Yup.  

Impossibly. Hopelessly. Secure.

The frustration of this new reality makes you want to howl but it is the humiliation of standing there, inextricably pinned by two small scraps of cloth, that sends the tears silently coursing down your cheeks.   It was hopeless from the start.  There is no way you will get your one and only (and favourite) bathing suit on.  

Now, or possibly forever.  

The realization is truly sinking in.

“My body is ruined!”

Your plaintive wail jerks Bucky into action.  He leaps forward, slips both arms around your shoulders, braces you upright, murmuring “No doll, your body is not ruined,” softly against your hair, stroking your shuddering back as the dam bursts wide and months of pent up hurt flow out in a hiccupping, sobbing mess.  Steve, as always hyper focused on the mission, has figured out that rescue and extraction are the first priority and so he bends down and stretches the suit’s leg holes wide with his two strong hands, taking care not to tear the fabric.  Gingerly he shimmies the blue-aqua ikat print farther down-- the tugging is uncomfortable but eventually he helps you lift one foot and then the other, sets the bottoms on the bed and turns his attention to the top.  

Push, pull, wiggle—swear--- somehow he manages to remove it without tearing skin.  

You’re finally, finally free and he’s holding you, a wet and snotty, naked bundle of anxiety against his massive chest, crooning softly, “Shhh, baby, it’s ok. It’s ok.”

It’s really not.

“Here, sweetheart.”   A damp facecloth is pressed into your hand.   “Better?” Bucky’s eyes are blue green wells of hopefulness as he passes extra Kleenex for you to blow your nose and oh so delicately dabs aloe from a bottle onto the pad of his metal index finger.  

Oh god, he’s already retreated to the bathroom for supplies.   Each ensuing whisper light, achingly considerate touch of cool against the red welts upon your skin makes you want to tear up again.  Inside the chill, implacable shell of the Winter Soldier there had been trapped the world’s sweetest, gentlest man.  One who has a need to help, cannot stand to see anyone even slightly hurt, and the thought that he’s so tenderly helping you just slays you.  

Sniffing loudly, you dab your eyes and try to smile a little brokenly because you are beyond grateful but also, this is all so wrong.  “Thank you.”

Bucky nods.  Dark and gold, your boys rotate around and now Steve is at your back.  He sits on the one free bit of bed and pulls you down onto his lap with Bucky crouching down beside.  

Both are tense—and worried.  You’ve all been so looking forward to this break—to the Memorial day getaway that Tony is throwing at his Hampton house.  Laid back, weathered wood and chicly elegant white and grey, it is a sprawling haven. Rattan loungers surround an endless pool.  Acres of green lawn will host hilariously drunk croquet.  The beachside fire will glow below a vault of coruscating stars.  

Perfect and all perfectly organized by your boss, Miss Potts.  

Wheels up is at six.  

The sun is climbing quickly to its zenith, baking New York’s already heated streets and anyone who can is trying to find relief.  Bucky’s got on a linen shirt and dark boardshorts.  Steve is as dressy as he ever is in grey t-shirt and zip-off cargos.  You would have donned your sundress by now but around the three of you lie scattered a flurry of discarded summer clothes—like so much sediment rained out of a clear blue sea 

Not a single item fits.  

You’ve been sick for months.   Actually a year.   Have lost the permanent lines of pain and the wan pale skin of too much time indoors but still you are not yourself.  Eight months of steroid treatment have left you drained.  Bloated.   Living in your housecoat and nightclothes on a bad day and in sweats when it’s good.  

The fact that this is the first big event since you’ve been somewhat well stares you in the face.  Online you’d bought needed winter things but no warm weather items yet.  You’d been holding off in the faint hope you’d lose a little more.  But summer is arrived—early and abruptly--quite rudely without consideration of your schedule.  A drizzly week ago the mercury had barely climbed to sixty.   Now it’s a sweltering 82 

“I can’t go.”  

You hate yourself for saying it out loud but a little tendril of relief coils up.  You literally can’t get your suit on.  What will you do?  Hide in the house in jeans and rolled up sleeves?  Flounder in one of Steve’s fabled smedium T-shirts?  Wear one of Bucky’s as a dress??

Cocooning the whole time in the air conditioning feels as if it is giving in to debility once again.

“Steve, will you tell Tony that I’m sick?”

You twist round to catch his gaze but immediately you hear Bucky’s snarking response beside.  “Oh yeah, ask him to fib.  The one with experience lying on his forms.”

“Punk.”  

“Jerk.”   

“Hey!  I’m not the one who has the world bamboozled into thinking that I’m squeaky clean.”

“Fuck off, Buck.”

“Bingo!”

They’re quite the team---put on the squabbling couple act to try to cheer you up and you can’t help it, you shake your head in fond exasperation.  The thoughtfulness is sweet, but still, there’s a little hollow in your stomach.  They’ve done this so very much in the past few months the routine is pitch perfect every time.  

“You are meatballs, the both of you.”  

Bucky shrugs and gives a wry half smirk but Steve sighs heavily, running a soothing hand across your neck where the nerve pain has been worst.  “Your meatballs, Y/N.  But Baby, why?  You’re not hurting badly are you?”

Oh god.   Of course Steve’s going to worry about your symptoms.  Checking in, adjusting to their ups and downs, has become automatic.  You remember for a moment that first night of terror: the sudden jolt as if you’d been hit by a cattle prod, the fuzzy return to consciousness, speech slurred, left arm dead, a raging headache piercing through your skull and radiating down your neck.  Steve yelling at Jarvis to get the EMTs, all but certain it was a stroke. The week in hospital and months horizontal after that.  One night of terror turns into every night.  The seizures hit like clockwork.  Make you afraid to fall asleep because you’re going to get that same electrical shock to brain and the spreading flush of pain.   Every damn night.   Your arm, thankfully, comes back but that doesn’t stop it’s throbbing for a moment.  You feel guilty all the time because they are doing everything. Making meals. Cleaning.  Laundry.  Shopping. Shuttling you to doctors.  One of them insists on staying back from missions because you need so much help.  Neither will let anyone else but them take care of you most days, and so the Avengers do their best.  Run errands and make meals.  Read to you when the headache makes words slide across the page.  Distract Steve and Bucky with needed sparring bouts when all you can do is be still and quiet in a darkened room.  

While the medical team tries cocktails of different things, you all wait and hope.  Hoo boy is that fun.  There’s the one that makes you stoned.   The one that doesn’t work at all but gives you vertigo.  The one that works too well and makes you sleep twenty hours out of twenty-four.  The big gun intravenous med has Shield Medical quickly flushing you with ice water as you break out in hives and wheezing.   It’s supposed to slow the reaction down and so the intern stands frowning at the ensuing full body shaking, wondering if it’s progressed to an anaphylactic phase.

Buck speaks up right away when you can’t answer through chattering teeth. “It’s hypothermia.  You’ve cooled her down too fast.”

“Hypothermia?!”

“Trust me. I’ve seen it.”  

You’d all laughed grimly about that one afterward.  Finally, finally there came the med that worked.   The one that you’ll take forever.  It’s literally saved your life but this miraculous godsend is not without its downside.  

It’s number one side effect is weight gain.

Your gaze falls on the forlorn heap of lycra.  Pretty. Flattering to your curvy figure that both guys love.  It shows off your assets perfectly.  

But is now probably four sizes smaller than you need.

Would it be too much for life to not pile this on you too???   You take a deep breath and try to regain some equilibrium.  You don’t want either Steve or Buck to worry—to think that you aren’t well—but this particular problem isn’t one they’ll have not thought much on before.  “No,” you answer slowly. “It’s not that, I feel ok.” Two sets of shoulders droop, relieved. “But I can’t go in winter clothes. And I have nothing that will fit.”    

This not the cry of a spoiled pampered thing who just wants something new. Literally nothing fits.  Not shorts or skirts. Your favourite capris won’t go past your hips.  The dresses don’t do up.  Even the light evening sweater that doesn’t need to meet in front has arms so tight you’d had to peal it off inside out.  

Utterly humiliating.  

And absolutely a real and present problem.  The East coast has its first summer heat wave early.  When you asked Jarvis that morning what the temperature was outside he’d responded,  “Sir says it’s not fit for man or dog.”  

“I have to cancel going.”

Steve rises and sets you lightly on your feet.  His jaw is set, face intense and determined, and you know he’s thinking ‘no’.  That you shouldn’t give in to this disease.  Let it get in the way of life unless it’s really necessary.  

“I can’t.”   You’re pleading.  Still smarting from the too-tight straps and feeling totally demoralized. Bucky reaches out to grasp your hand while Steve pads silently over to the giant walk-in closet, rummages for the lightest weight sweats you own, holding them out hopefully. You know Tony will be so bummed. He’ll mope.  And pout.  But you can’t face it.  Hiding inside or broiling outside alongside everyone in bathing suits will only make you feel more pathetic than you already do 

You shake your head at the fuzzy mass of grey.  “You go. They’re used to me missing things.  What’s one more weekend?”

Steve sees the certainty in your eyes and does not try to argue on that point but neither does he back down.  

“We’ve just got you back.  Are so, so grateful you are ok.   We just want to see you enjoying yourself again.”  

His eyes are dark like a midnight sea.  Bucky is nodding, setting the sweats aside and handing you your undies and loose shirt and generous jeans from where they were flung across a chair.   When you take them and slowly begin to dress he crosses his arms, a shaft of sun winking off the metal.  

“Not without you, doll.”  

Not fair.  Those are words he knows will work, go straight to the heart of the little triad you have built, and then Steve of course piles it on.   “That’s right.  You don’t go, we don’t go.  We are a team.”  

Amazing, remarkable, wondrous stubborn idiots.  They are awfully hard to cross when they gang up.  

Nervously, you smooth down your dark ponytail and take a steadying breath. “I know.  It’s just…”  

What?   Too hard?

You look at the two gorgeous and true men you are all but married to. Never in your wildest dreams had you imagined you’d wind up here.   Assisting (and being a good friend to) Pepper Potts while she assists the world.  Living in Avengers Tower.   Smoothing out the rough between two lovers who have dared time and space to be together.   They need you so very much that they’ve taken a risk on something quite unorthodox, and though sometimes it makes you want to pinch yourself, lately you’ve just wanted wake up out of the nightmare.  Focusing on yourself.  And forgetting how much they sacrifice.  

Every day.  For everyone.

You swallow hard, trying to gather the shreds of your confidence and explain the lump that sits brooding on your chest.  “I didn’t anticipate this would happen.  Didn’t think ahead.”  

Steve smiles sadly, and you let him take you in his arms, kiss the top of your head and pull back to look sombrely down again.   “Y/N, you’ve been so strong.  So incredible.  And Buck and I have watched you wrestle with this thing, amazed.  Proud of your will to find a way.  It should have made you crazy long ago and I get it.  I do.  This feels like too much.  This one extra thing.”  

Your nodding, realizing that if anyone does understand it’s him. Steve lived with chronic illness.  Several of them in fact.  Asthma. Heart arrhythmia. Scoliosis. Anaemia.  Ulcers.  All of them had plagued him for most of the twenty-five years before the serum.

You’ve been in the fight for not even two.  

“But what am I going do?” you whisper a little mournfully.   If you have to you’ll wear your sweatpants.  Maybe you can cut them off?  Maybe you can cut the arms off your tops?  They’ll look hideous but you won’t broil like a lobster in a pot.  “Can we butcher something that already fits?”

“No, Y/N, not necessary.”  Steve checks his watch and glances to the lightweight packs stacked neatly by the door. “T minus six hours.  There’s lots of time.  I’m packed and so is Buck.  Betcha we can get you stuff and be back by two.”

“Stuff?”  Does he realize what he’s saying?  Four days worth of clothes?  When you need every little thing?

Bucky, curls in behind, chuckling at the incredulity in your tone. “We all can do it baby.  In record time.  And the one of us with taste will even help you pick outfits.”

“Hey!”  Steve, mock-affronted, swats him on the rear.  

From your safe spot in the middle of the sandwich you heave a sigh. Perhaps just a suit and top and shorts would be enough.  The weekend’s casual.  You can get away without a dress.  Survive being seen in the same clothes for days.  The guys do it on missions all the time and heck, Clint lives in black and purple. And Thor in red and silver.

Bucking up your courage, you scrub the wet from your cheeks and are about to acquiesce when something Steve said pings.  

It’s Bucky who is the clothes horse.  Knows his style.  Enjoys taking risks.  Steve is simpler.  He gravitates to clean lines, simple shirts and slacks.  Nothing flashy but he appreciates well made.

He’ll accept finer things that you bring him home but if it’s left to him—it’s online all the way.  

He loathes shopping.  

With the fiery passion of a hundred suns.  

“All?” you ask, incredulous.    

“Yup.  We are team. All three of us will help.”  Steve cocks his head and stares up to the ceiling. “Jarvis can you patch me through to Tony?”

“Right away Captain.”

From above, you catch Pepper’s clear, ringing tones behind Tony’s rapid-fire, just slightly high and excited baritone “Stark’s house of mojitos and margaritas. What’s up Rogers?  We’re pre-drinking here. I’m collecting the eye-watering Hawaiian shirts and Pepper’s making me put the new toys back.”  

“Anthony!”  Pepper is mortified.  You’re blushing and Bucky barks out a laugh.  Steve’s shaking his head and grinning ear to ear, but truthfully the thought of Tony Stark tinkering with items from Frisky Friday?  

Should make all of you a little scared.

“Tony do you still have that limo?”

“Of course I do, Captain Obvious.  Bentley’s Mulsanne for eight.  Tan leather.  Naim audio and bluetooth headphones.  Retrofitted with Stark screens of course.  Whhhyyyyyy?”  

The insatiably curious head of your group absolutely has to know.

Steve grins and pops a quick kiss on your nose.  “We need it.  We’re going on an emergency shopping trip.

The reaction from two floors up is immediate.  

“Holy shit!”

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

Of course Tony calls ahead.  

You stand in the bright but not too intimidating plus size boutique attended by the solicitous and friendly owner.  She is very nice. You force yourself not to apologize, to not make excuses for your size.  It’s ridiculous.  Being not thin is not a crime.  Or a tragedy. Or even actually a choice but it is so hard to go against the conditioning of thirty years.  

Why are you letting all that crap get inside your head? Ridiculous.  Time to be positive and so you force yourself to relax and let yourself be waited on.    

The owner brings armloads of practical and pretty and flattering styles that mix and match—can be a basis to add to later.  For two hours Steve and Bucky sit in the ‘boyfriend chairs’ and help.. Steve has a black-one sugar coffee, Bucky has a latte and his phone is in his hand. He’s helpfully checking for the latest styles..offering opinions as you come out and model each new thing.   They’re both laughing and joking, trash talking each other’s sense of style and seemingly enjoying the experience as you try on an entire wardrobe.  Two bathing suits, two shorts, navy capris, four tops, one light coverup and two sundresses.   In basic colours that all go together and will get you at least through a week with washing once.

“That’s enough,” you insist, feeling a bit tired and hot from all the changing, wondering what the damage to your credit card will be.  You haven’t worked since all this landed down.  And though Stark Industries has great disability insurance, you feel like you shouldn’t go too nuts.

“But you should have one tank, I think” the owner adds, frowning thoughtfully at all the cap-sleeved tees.  “In case there is a day that is very hot.”

Hmm. She has a point.  The weekend is slated to go from broiling to thermonuclear, but you’d steered away from thinner straps, a little worried at how they’d look.

“Go for it, Y/N!”  Bucky enthuses and Steve nods encouragingly and so you warily take a few wider banded versions into the dressing room.  Tug them down over your head, prepared for a pair of hastily stifled frowns.  

The reaction you get is not what you expect.    

Steve’s frowning, concentrating seriously like you’ve never seen, asessing the three different combinations like the fate of the world is riding on this choice. Finally he speaks up.  “I really like that one.”

You turn to give yourself a better view in the three way mirror.  The actually super comfortable white shorts have a broad waistband that flexes gently and doesn’t bind.  They’re topped by a just slightly flared, surprisingly flattering tank in black with grey overstitching.   Modern and sleek, it moves with you–and as you move Steve’s nodding.  

You glance back at Buck.  His head is tilted, long hair falling across his face as he peruses the combo with as much consideration as he gives a gun.  Which means serious consideration.  “The shape is great, Y/N, but the colour isn’t right.”  He rises up and heads unerringly for the rack it came from, picking out the same top in pale shell pink and walking back, holding it up against your shoulder.  “I think this is better against your colouring.“

You’re amazed.  Now that is getting into the spirit of the thing but still you bite your lip, thinking black is more neutral, but what do you have to lose? Why not try?

When you return and show it off, Steve smiles and the owner looks admiringly at Bucky and nods her head. “You are exactly right Mr. Barnes and pink is this summer’s colour.”

He is right, it’s a warmer tone and makes your skin look less sallow.  You feel better in it.  Surprisingly.  The top goes into the keep pile and Bucky grins, sitting down and stretching out, lacing his hands behind his head and making a face at Steve as if to say ‘I’m not the one to steer you wrong.’  

The gesture gets Steve’s dander up.  The game is on, and no one, no one, gets more competitive then Steve Rogers when he is the mood.  

“Try this…”  

Oh my god he’s actually picked up a sheerly pretty, ice blue strappy top from a rack, the dainty hanger looking hilariously tiny in his massive hands.   Can you wear something that—delicate?   Your brain had been kind of thinking of a heavier cover up….  

“Try it baby.”  He looks so sure of himself and Bucky’s nodding encouragingly and the owner is saying how the only rule is ‘do you like it?” and so you put it on.  The slightly ruffled asymmetric edges look sexy and cool against jean shorts and all of you agree---- it and the shorts are perfect.  

Both are to be kept but then Bucky will not be outdone.  He stalks around the shop, metal fingers quickly riffling through the wares, obviously searching for something exactly right.  

The owner hovers politely just behind.  “Mr. Barnes? Can I help.”

“Bucky,” he answers automatically.  “Nope. I will know it when I see it. 

Finally he pulls out a complicated looking fall of pale leaf green and holds it up.   It’s gorgeous.  And absolutely sexy.  A halter top that falls softly to a just slightly fuller base.   With an oval opening in the back and cut-out, slightly gathered sleeves that will leave your shoulders and upper arms quite spectacularly bare.  

You shake your head.  “I can’t.”  

“It will be perfect with your eyes.”  He’s right on that—it will bring the green highlights in your hazel eyes to life, but it’s seems waaay too revealing.  Your upper arms aren’t toned.  Your collarbones don’t show.  Your…

“Y/N?”  Steve rises and slides over to give your shoulders a quick reassuring squeeze.   His ocean eyes are pleading like a puppy dog’s.  “Please?  I’d love to see you in it.”

How can you resist both of them?

Cautiously you come back out and give a little twirl.  It’s flirty and sexy and both guys’ eyes light up right away.  

“Wow.”  

Their comment is in unison.  It is really, really nice, flirty and soft and it makes you even feel a little sexy.  Steve says he also loves the blocky heeled, buff sandals the owner has paired it with.  Bucky is raving about the stretch skinny jeans.  You frown at the size of the ‘keep’ pile.  

It’s growing.  The owner has suggested a really workable set of combinations and there is even a silky printed scarf to give one dress a little bling for evening.  

The thought of the bill is a little daunting but you do need longer pants if one evening turns out cool…

Bucky leans back in the chair and confidently crosses his arms across his chest.  “Buy it all, Y/N.”   Steve nods and gives you one of his precious sunrise smiles.   “We’re a team.  We’ll divide the bill up equally.  Don’t stint yourself.”  

That is so considerate and so very generous.  “You don’t need to…” you begin, but Steve cuts you off.   “We do.  We want you to feel comfortable and relaxed in what you wear, too feel confident.   We can afford it,” he adds and Bucky laughs. 

“Easily.  All he ever buys is paint and vinyl records.”

Steve rolls his eyes.  “And all he ever buys is knives and books.”  

True.  But not necessarily a reason for them to spoil you.  

Bucky turns and takes your hand in his metal one, raises it to his lips and plants a kiss, cementing the argument with one last, cajoling grin.  “After all you’ve been through don’t you think you deserve a treat?”  

Your heart melts a little bit.  Well. Then.  

The loot is packaged up and rung through while you change into a sundress and leave the baggy sweats behind.

Outside the limousine driver nods appreciatively when you climb into the butter soft back seats with what feels like a mountain of tissue-covered packages.  It’s Barry. The soft spoken, grey bearded gentleman who had taken you to the rare doctor visits neither Steve or Buck could attend.  

“Miss Y/N, you look lovely. So nice to see you looking well.”  

Wow.

“Did you pay him?” you hiss to Bucky as you follow a laden Steve up into to the steel cocoon of the private elevator.

“Nope, doll, I sure didn’t.”

-------

Once you are ensconced back in your room again, the guys go off to see if Pepper needs any help while you take another run at packing.  There’s no time to triage.  All the small things that don’t fit are unceremoniously bundled by the armload and stuffed into bags to store.  You set the small suitcase on the bed and start to transfer the new items in.  Dresses and pants on the bottom.  Tops and shorts and smalls rolled up to make up space.  Your toiletries go next.  And then your meds.  Six pills a day on top of the injection.  It comes with its own travel pack—freezer bag to keep it cool, mini disposal for the cartridges.  You tuck in your flip flops and eye the new sandals that Steve liked so much.  Should you bring them?  Will there be a chance to wear them?  Can you walk in heels for long after a year of bunny slippers 

Will anyone notice with Nat’s and Maria’s killer bodies in swimsuits?  

With Pepper in her perfect three inch heels?  

Who are you kidding?  They are all so gorgeous and thin and fit and you are white like a beluga whale. Of course all of them will be so nice, will go out of their way to make positive, encouraging remarks.  Of course Thor, oblivious, will make booming allusions to some obscure ancient goddess of fertility. Of course Tony, overcompensating, will ridiculously call you Marilyn, and Raquel and.. and…

Your courage throws a wobbly.  

You are wearing the new sundress with the yellow print.  It’s presentable and even pretty but turning now in front of the long length mirror that you’ve avoided looking in for months, you see it.  

The rolls that dip and dive along your back.  The bow outward of the bodice where your stomach sags.  Even with this being size XL. 

Dissolving onto the nearby bench, you place your hands across your face and struggle not to cry.  You love the Stark Beach House.  It was actually the place you first realized the months long flirtation with the Avengers’ supersoldiers was more than a bit of harmless fun.  Under hazy stars and moon, the softest of night breezes, you’d raised your cocktail to your lips and caught their eyes meet in glance.  Accept the truth.  Find the courage to admit.

They’d fallen.  For you, just as you had for them, and no matter how complicated, how messy it is to be three they wanted this.  The whole world knew Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes are an item.  Indivisible and forged like steel by the vicissitudes of life. It just didn’t know they felt incomplete without a third.  Someone softer.   Who could fill in the chips and hollows, let them focus on something other than themselves. 

One different man came out of Greenland’s ice.  

One different man came out of Siberia’s wastes.  

Both of them understand in their DNA how hard it is to start again. That you are mourning.  For a life that is irrevocably changed.   No one’s breathed a word of you returning to work as yet but you know it will be hard.  Some mornings you’ve staggered into the common room, dopey from the night time meds and poured coffee into your orange juice.   Some weeks doctor visits and movies dates are equally lost in fog.  

Steve says not to worry, take baby steps, understand that pain builds fatigue and fatigue leads to forgetfulness but then you think of the insanely together, curvy woman with the photographic memory and talent for keeping track of every tiny detail.

Gone.  

You will never be that woman again..

You hang your head and cry.

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

  “Y/N?!”  

It’s Bucky.  He’s walking in, probably coming to see how soon you will be done and it doesn’t help. “I’m sorry. Sorry..I just…”  

He’s leaning over your half-zipped bag, biting his lip, one tendril of sable hair sweeping across his cheek.  Perfect dimple and chiselled jaw darkened by just a day or so of stubble.  

The sight catches at your breath.  

How?  How could so gorgeous, sexy a man want me??   How could Steve?  Painted golden as a perfect sunrise.  Inside and out.

The tears leak out again.  

Confused, surprised, you think, at the waterworks. Bucky straightens up.  “Baby what’s wrong?”  

You wave your hands at your body.  “You can’t find me attractive like this!   You both are so perfect and I look so…“  

Fat.  

The word is clinically quite simple but in practise it is so complicated. All too often meant to demean.  Trolls on the internet toss it negligently when they want to put someone down. ‘Fat slob.’ “Cow.’  ‘Porky’ may be gentler but the message is the same.  Appearance is all.    As if weight happens because you’re slovenly.  Or stupid.  Or worth less than someone else.  

It is so wrong but thinking judgementally is very so hard to banish when you’ve been bombarded by it for almost thirty years 

“Different..?”   Bucky’s eyebrows crash together into a familiar line of hurt.  “Y/N is that what you think our love is about?”  

“No. No!!’ you exclaim, mortified.  “I know you love me. I just..”  A little voice inside your head says ‘be honest. It’s the only way this will work.’

“I don’t want you to want me any less.”  

There.  You’ve said it.  In a whisper because it feels so unworthy.  Insignificant, when they’ve fought so hard to be together.  

But this worry has been clawing like a rat at your brain since the day you stopped being in so much pain.

Before nothing mattered but relief.  Now you feel better.  Mostly. You should want your guys, and the days you don’t feel so crap you sort of do.  

But there has been no sign of anything other than care and concern from them.  

Bucky’s face is a kaleidoscope of emotions.  Unsure of what he’ll do, you hold your breath, watch him sigh and cross over to the door. “Stevie, pal, can you come here?”  

He walks back to you with the saddest smile.  Warm and cool fingers hold your cheeks as he leans down to place a kiss upon your brow.   Hands glide down to rest upon your shoulders--the metal one, thanks to Shuri’s tech, barely heavier than the right.  

“Nothing.  Nothing could ever make me love you or want you any less.  Nothing.”  Bucky punctuates each word with a little shake.  “Wasn’t I the one who first noticed that exuberant, sexy smile?  Convinced Steve to take a chance?”  

You nod hesitantly.  He had been, and flirted too.  Hilariously. Brazenly.  You’d been so shocked.  It wasn’t until Steve ‘my tongue ties when I have to talk to women’ Rogers was enthralled, quizzing you about your peripatetic upbringing as unofficial assistant to globe-trotting famous scientist parents that you accepted it might be real.  He had touched your arm so casually and easily, fingers brushing lingeringly as he passed over a new drink, smile quirking just a touch seductively.

Magic.  And utterly irresistible.

It felt a lifetime between then and now, but in truth it was just three years.  

Steve arrives, exchanges an almost telepathic glance with Buck and quickly picks up the gist, reads the situation like a book as only he can do.  He leans in to hold his hand against your cheek, while the other cradles loosely at Bucky’s waist.  “You look beautiful.  And edible…” The feather touch wills a little of his certainty to seep in.  “Y/N, what makes you think that only one size is sexy?”  The genuinely bewildered tone usually reserved for odd parts of disco culture comes out.  This is one of the things that gets Steve’s dander up.  Disappoints him that it hasn’t progressed after seventy years of nap.  “That is flat out wrong.   Bigger or smaller, anything outside the ‘norm’ is bad. It’s crap.”

“Girls don’t get criticized for being skinny,” you blurt, not quick enough to block it in.  You flush, but in your defense.. it is true.  “There is no such thing as too thin for the magazines.”

“Screw the magazines,” Mr. ‘fight me’ growls.  “No one should be criticized for their body shape.”  

Bucky’s nodding.  “It is so demeaning.  In our time girls were made to feel inadequate for not being built like Rita Hayworth.  Flat chested was considered a disaster.  Guys were ragged on if they weren’t built like George Atlas.”  His gaze turns serious and he pulls you little circle closer, prosthetic hand tight on Steve’s shoulder, hair swaying back and forth as he vigorously shakes his head.  “That just isn’t how attraction works.  I have loved and wanted Steve since he was tiny as a matchstick.  So emaciated his hip bones fucking hurt when we were fucking.”

You gasp at the explicitness of the imagery.  Oh lord.  Yes that paints a picture.  Bucky grins and looks adoringly up at his boyfriend.  “I wanted him anyway.”

Steve drops a searingly hot kiss onto Buck’s lips before tearing his own away.  “You did.   Every day and twice on Sundays.”

This is not an earth-shattering revelation.  Bucky is the one with the raging libido.  ‘Hair trigger’ describes pretty much every part of him and honestly, you’d been too.   Before.  It was Steve who sometimes had too much in his head to play. Could not let the day’s anxieties quite go.  Wound himself in strategy until it took two to pull him down—a lion and lioness on their prey.  

The pair of them sexy snarking once again feels so good.  It’s been on hard mute of late.  

Steve runs a thumb thoughtfully across your lower lip.   “He loved and wanted me.  As I was..  Just like I love him for him.  And love you for you.”  The thumb trails down and deliberately runs along your collarbone, leaving precious, welcome little shivers in its wake.  “Y/N you are so sexy.  In every way. Every bit of you.  There is nothing to be unsure about.  You— curvy as you are,   you are perfect.   If we’ve held back from showing you, it’s because we didn’t want to pressure you into something if you weren’t ready.”  

Of course he has it exactly right.  Before, the constant pain and migraines had demolished your libido.  Constant worrying about you had killed theirs.  Bucky takes a deeper breath, leans in to leave a trail of butterfly kisses on your shoulder.  “I’m sorry we didn’t speak up sooner.  There is no way that you could look that would stop us wanting you.”    

He is reading your mind again—seeing that you worry your condition will change with time.  Relapse. It’s hard to entirely banish that fear.   “I’m not gonna go back the way I was,” you say forlornly.  

Steve hums and buzzes a sympathetic kiss upon your neck.  “Mhmmm.  The drug’s changed your metabolism… My serum won’t change either. Or Buck’s.”

“Don’t be so sure with Hydra tech,” Bucky mutters below his breath and Steve rolls his eyes expressively.   “The point is our change is permanent too.”

“But that’s not the same!”  You’re trying to not let your mouth hang wide open.  “You are both perfect since your change.  You’re gorgeous!”  

“So are you.”  Steve punctuates each word with a kiss.  “I get it, sweetheart, I really do. I don’t always love this body either.  Sometimes it just feels like a freak show, but I’ve learned to accept it’s me.”  

Steve? A freak?  This is not an adjective you associate him with.  He’s gorgeous.  Stunning. A perfect specimen of masculinity and that he wouldn’t be utterly thrilled to step into a machine and come out magically a new man has never occurred to you.  You know it hurt.  That he suffered for it.  But the change was absolutely for the better.

“But you’re strong?  And healthy now?!” you exclaim.

“Yes, and god knows it’s better than being sick all of the damn time but it isn’t me. In my head I’m still the matchstick.  There are days when I get caught off guard.  Feel big and clumsy.  And it’s not always such a thrill.”  He pulls a pouty face.  “Can’t turn off the heat that makes you two cuddle on the other side of the bed without me.”  

Bucky bumps him in the hip.  “Awww.  Rogers, you are such a sap.”  

“Unh hunh, well I’m your sap, pal. Forever.”  Steve reaches across your shoulder to kiss Buck’s cheek but then his eyes darken seriously.  “I am hungry all the goddamn time.  And it’s a crazy waste of money to buy custom everything.  Even T-shirts for crissake.”

That makes you smile.  It’s hard to take the frugal Irish boy of the Depression out of the modern man. “I kinda like it when you don’t and wear them a little tight.”  

Bucky grins and nods.  “And your pants.”   It is Steve’s turn to bump playfully at his boyfriend’s hip. “What?” Bucky’s eyes are wide and innocent.  He turns to you and becomes more serious, letting go Steve’s waist, turning his metal hand and flexing the matt black plates.  “I get it, too.  It is not easy to become used to looking different.  Took me ages to accept my arm.”   You nod a little hesitantly. You were not there when he first came back, broke his conditioning to seek out the man he loved, beyond time and all the cycles of the world. “I wanted to hack this thing right off.  Felt as if it wasn’t me.  I still catch myself in the mirror, seeing that, despite Shuri’s good work, I’m half a cyborg with a mass of scars.”  His tone turns low and serious.  “Do you find my naked body unattractive?”  

You gasp, appalled, reaching to catch his hand.  “No! Oh god, Buck no! It’s sexy as hell.  And your scars, they’re badges of bravery!”  

His eyebrow quirks.  “Yeah, love you babe for saying so but let’s be real.  I am a mass of metal and red keloid scar tissue.  Lots of it.  It’s not exactly conventional beauty pitched in the papers or TV.”  His flesh fingers dig into the junction of the prosthesis with his pec. “The internal struts at one time went in here.  The Wakandan version is far lighter and easier but I feel it still.“  

“Buck.”   Steve’s reaches to squeeze his left bicep as Bucky sighs and then his eyes drop to catch your gaze. “It’s taken a lot of time for me to feel it’s a part of me. Accept that I am sexy with it.  Give yourself time.  You will feel it too.  There is no one size or shape for sexy.”

Steve is nodding.  “There sure isn’t.  You both look beautiful.  And I love you beyond reasoning.”  He holds your hand but leans toward Bucky, wanting to support him too.   There’s just a hint of mischevious glitter in blue eyes and his voice is rough with sudden desire. ’I remember the feel of your left arm.  But I love the one that is here right now. ”  

You watch them kiss.  Soft lips meet at first gently and then hungrily, deepening the kiss until it is a barely reigned flame of need.  So enticing. And arousing.  As always the sight leaves you breathless.  The black and gold of the prosthesis is cool below your fingertips and little arcs of light sparkle in the pale gold of Steve’s soft hair.    

They were first.  The foundation.  But you are here now, a solid point of the triangle, and you know it, yet sometimes, as now, you feel the need to let them be.   They’ve been holding off because of you, and you’re uncertain you feel ready for attention yet.  

As you start to slip below the circle of their arms, a hand snakes out.

“No, no, no. Don’t you go anywhere, Y/N.”  Bucky has broken off their kiss, moved lightening quick to cut you off.  He turns your shoulders to face Steve, runs a hand encouragingly along your arm, lacing your fingers in his own.  Steve is smiling, slow and sultry, right at you, a wall of blast-furnace warm and sexy muscle, wedged almost touching right in front.  

Your body sings.  It remembers this, being caught between dark fire and golden glow.  Celebrated.  Revered. Taken to dizzying heights and a now melting grows in your core that you haven’t felt for months.

Perhaps it is that they are right.  You can, in time, adjust.  

And they will show you every hour of every day how much they love all of the woman that you are.

You let yourself fall back upon the bed when a hand with freckled pushes gently on your chest.  So many hands.  Pale. Black-gold.  Irish fair and English tawny warm.  Somehow Bucky has caught you as you fall.  Your head is in his lap.  His blue-green eyes are sparkling just above and one hand is palming, lightly, gently, at the nipple peaked below your dress.  It feels right.  And good. Home, after too long away, and then Steve crawls up the bed, lays himself warm and pliant between your legs. Grinning broadly, excitement glowing in his gaze.  His hands lift the cotton of the hem, ruch the pale yellow flowers up to see a view of your new lemon thong.  

A blond eyebrow raises. “T-2 hours before we go.  Time enough to change into another pretty dress?”

Oh god.  

“Yes.”  

So yes.  

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

tags: @winters-beauty @star-spangled-man-with-a-plan  @theycallmebecca @mewsiex@emilyevanston @mycapt-ohcapt  @pegasusdragontiger  @badassbaker @heather-lynn @saffreelove @loricameback @nomadicpixel@missfirstavenger @prplprincez @marvel-lucy

#star’s full figured fantasy #body positivity #stucky #reader #sian22redux #writes

[daphnegeeksout]

If You Were Here (3/9) [Tony Stark x Reader]

Read it on AO3

By: daphnethewriter

It’s hard to live this way… to only see someone through the other side of a screen. Tony stumbles across a computer bug that’s more than just a bug. You need his help, but first you need to win his trust. Hopefully you can do it before time runs out.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

Words: 3,474 Chapters: 3/9 Language: English

Chapter 3

Tony wakes to the rhythmic beep of the heart monitor and the burning smell of hand sanitizer. Shit. The medical suite. Usually he can get there under his own power, so if he wakes up already there… must have been a bad fight. What was it this time? Aliens? Hydra? Some new hell?

His head pounds as he opens his eyes to the sterile, white walls and piercing lights. The pain that pierces his skull triggers something: a recollection of driving and… and someone yelling at him. He groans.  

"Here."

Tony steadies the glass that presses to his lips and gulps the contents. His stomach roils against the water. Such a familiar feeling. Not a battle, then. At least, not one against any new demons. When he finishes the water, he turns, squinting through crusty eyes at the man next to him. Steve. "What happened?"

"You had a blood alcohol level of .30." Tony jerks around at the sound of Rhodey's voice. He hadn't seen him on his first inspection of the room. His expression is as dark as his voice. "We had to pump your stomach."

"What were you doing driving?" Steve asks.

Oh god, a carousel of bad decision-making. The familiar pit of shame unfurls in his stomach. A thousand lectures roll through his mind. Tony shakes his head to clear the noise, then raises his palm to his temple when that hurts.

"That would be the concussion," Rhodey explains. "Still aren't sure how you got it. Care to enlighten us?"

He remembers the yelling. And the brakes pushing themselves. Then the steering wheel rushed at him and everything cut out. "How did you find me?"

"You showed up in the garage," Steve says, "passed out cold. How did you even make it back?"

Good question. The Lotus can drive itself no problem, but Tony hadn't set the autopilot. You. You must have taken over the car. Oh fuck, fuck, that's wrong in so many ways. Tony raises a hand to his throbbing head.

"Someone called for medical aid," Steve continues. "Don't know who."

For an AI, you're one hell of a busybody. "Must have been FRIDAY," Tony says.

<You are so full of shit, Stark.>

The room freezes as Rhodey and Cap look to each other.

"Trying out a new AI?" Rhodey asks.

"Blaire told me Tony was working on a new one," Steve answers. "She said he built a girlfriend."

Oh hell. For someone who can't speak, Blaire sure has a big mouth. "She is not my girlfriend," Tony snaps.

<He did not build me.> Your familiar hologram materializes at Tony's bedside.

"Go away, Cheshire," Tony says. "We'll talk about it later."

<Bullshit!> you snap. <We'll talk about it now. I don't take orders from you and, after last night, don't you think for a second that you're in a position to give me any.>

"Tony…" Steve's voice toes the thin line between confused and concerned.

You continue as if he hadn't interrupted, crowding into Tony's space. <You took a bath in whiskey and I had to knock your dumb ass out so I could drive you home.>

Tony's temper unravels, his anger at himself lashing out at you because you're a convenient target. "I didn't ask you to do that."

You match his bark for bite. <I wasn't fucking doing it for you. You can plow your car into the river for all I care.>

You seem to be on the road to a full-fledged tirade, one that Tony isn't in the mood to share with Steve and Rhodey. "FRIDAY, flush the system."

<FRIDAY, don't you fucking d—>

You vanish with a flicker, leaving Tony alone in the dark with Steve and Rhodey.

"What the hell is going on?" Steve asks.

#

By the time you reassemble yourself and break back through the Avengers' firewalls, Tony is out of the medical ward and the team has gathered in a conference room for a heated discussion.

"What is that thing?" Rhodey asks. You bristle at his tone.

Tony sits at the head of the table, his forehead resting against the wood.  "She—it… well, I don't know exactly."

<I'm a person.>

"Oh, great," Rhodey says. He throws his hands up. "It's back."

"Tony," Steve speaks this time. His eyebrows knit together. "What does it mean: it's 'a person'?"

<Same thing it means for you,> you say. Now that you've exposed yourself to the entire team (thanks, Tony), your chances of getting help are quickly diminishing. You don't have time for niceties anymore.

"Cheshire. Just"—Tony lets out a long breath through his nose—"stay out of this right now." He doesn't look up. It doesn't matter, there's nowhere for him to make eye contact.

<If you're going to be talking about me, I want to take part.>

He sits up and rubs the bridge of his nose. "Sure, whatever, but can you shut up for just a second?"

<I'm not just some AI that you can—>

A tingle on the extreme edges of your consciousness distracts you. Before you can investigate, an aggressive push rocks your hold on the system. You recognize the touch. Vision. You’ve never interacted with him directly, but you've tiptoed around him enough times to recognize the signature.

You push back with everything you have, overwhelming him and chasing him back into his own mind, maybe a little beyond. Physically, he flinches, dropping to one knee where he had stood. All eyes turn to him.

"Vis?"

He holds his hand up to reassure the woman—Wanda—who had rushed to his aid. "It is alright. I attempted to remove the intrusion from the system."

<Try it again,> you warn, <and I'll tear you apart.>

"Hey," Tony calls to the ceiling. "Knock it off."

<I'll keep my hands to myself if he does.>

"Let's just… figure out what's going on here first," Natasha says.

"What's there to figure out?" Rhodey asks. "Tony, that thing is a menace."

<Can you quit trying to kill me? I saved your life.>

"You what?"

Everyone starts talking at once, telling Tony what he should do. Prevailing opinion seems to lie with your destruction.

"I know!" Tony shouts. The other voices stop. "I know it doesn't make sense and it's dangerous and you want me to fix it. I get it. Just let me think for two seconds."

A ringing silence follows his outburst. For a few moments, only tension fills the air. Natasha is the first to speak again. "Tony, what happened?" Her voice is gentle, coaxing.

He takes a few moments to steady himself, then addresses the group again, his tone flat like he's giving a lecture. "There's a woman at a long term care facility in Albany. That's who she"—he gestures to the ceiling as if that's where you live—"claims she is."

"Is that true?" Steve asks.

"I don't know."

Rhodes chimes in, "This is crazy. People can't be computers."

"They can," Natasha says. "Steve and I saw it."

Steve meets her eyes. "Zola's lab. At the SHIELD facility. He transferred his mind to a computer bank before he died. They kept him there for decades."

<But I'm not dead. My body is still out there, I'm just not in it.>

"Yeah?" Rhodey asks. "And how did that happen?"

Tony answers before you can give a sharp retort. "She was at Helen Cho's facility. Ultron blasted her with the scepter."

"That's what gave me and… Pietro… our powers," Wanda says from the corner where she stands with her arms crossed. "Exposure to the staff."

"To the Infinity Stone," Vision says. Silence falls over the room.

"Are we actually considering this?" Rhodey seems scandalized.

"It would be an oversight to not do so," Vision answers.

"And what if it's another Ultron?"

Tony comes to your defense. "She's not like Ultron."

"How do you know?"

"I just"—he rubs his hand over his face—"She's not."

"She's dangerous!"

A sharp knock on the table stops the conversation. All eyes turn to the woman—Blaire—sitting next to Steve. [I was dangerous] she signs.

Steve lays his hand on her arm. "It's different."

Blaire looks to Tony, a combination of confusion and pleading. [she can't control her powers] she insists. [we should help her] The group exchanges uncomfortable glances. [what do you want to do?] Blaire asks Tony.

Tony raises an eyebrow at Steve. "You're really okay with me doing this?"

"If we said no, would you listen?"

Tony smirks, but doesn't answer immediately. He stares at Blaire's pleading face, his expression shifting my millimeters each second. You'd hold your breath if you had one. "Yeah," he says finally. "I want to help."

#

Tony arranges to have your body moved to the Avengers facility. It isn't hard getting permission—your grandmother is all too eager to jump at the chance Tony offers. Which is good, because no normal doctor on earth would sign off on what he's planning. You're braindead and he's going to perform experimental surgery so that a computer program can run a human body. And he's not sure that's possible. He has all of your paperwork, but that doesn’t tell the whole story. Tony doesn't even know what he's looking for, but knowing everything has to be a good start, right?

"Physically, she's in incredible shape," Bruce says after he finishes a thorough examination of your body. "Considering how long she's been in a coma, she should have experienced significant muscle atrophy."

"She didn't?" Tony asks.

"Not nearly as much as she should have. It's similar to—" Bruce cuts off, eyebrows knitting together.

"What?"

Bruce removes his glasses, fiddles with the frames. "Did you read the SHEILD files from when they revived Steve?" When he looks up from his hands, his eyes pierce through Tony.

Tony had perused most of SHEILD's files, and paid attention to the ones regarding Rogers in particular, but he didn't see how that was connected to you. "They aren't exactly springing to mind."

"He'd been in the ice for seventy years," Bruce says, as if that explains the connection. Tony lifts an eyebrow, inviting him to continue. "Not only did he survive, but he was in the same shape he was when he went under. No rehab required. Even under lab conditions, cryogenics wouldn't have worked that well."

"The serum?" Tony suggests, but his gut tells him no.

"I'm starting to think the super soldier serum gets more credit than it should." Bruce reaches for the supplies to draw blood. "I'm not sure about this, but I'll look into it. We might have more in common than I thought."

<Like what?> you ask. Bruce startles a little and looks around the room as if he could see you. You oblige by shimmering the hologram into view beside him. Tony smiles to himself. It's easy to forget that you're listening when you don't make yourself apparent.

"If Loki's scepter emitted high levels of gamma radiation," Bruce explains, "it's possible that you received your powers that way."

Which would be a common link in all the super-humans suddenly popping up. Steve, Bruce, Wanda, Pietro, Blaire, now you…

"So," Tony says, "gamma is the key to all this?"

"Maybe. I'll see what I get back from the blood sample."

In the meantime, they run the full gamut of exams. Tony has to remove all your piercings so he can run the MRI. There are… a lot. Every time he thinks he finally has them all, you remind him of another one. Not to mention the tattoos. Is there any part of you that isn't covered in ink? The MRI clicks and whirrs as the images flash on the screen.

"It's a normal brain, Tony," Bruce says, watching the monitor. "I don't know what you're looking for."

Tony didn't either. "It can't be normal," he says, leaning toward the screen. "Not completely. She's not in there." There had to be something the doctors missed. This wasn't a normal case.

"Right, that's why the scan shows no activity." Bruce waves at the screen. "Brain death."

<I'm not dead.>

"As far as your brain is considered, you are," Bruce corrects you.

"Yes, but is it healthy?" Tony asks. Dead or not, he can't put you back if your brain has turned to soup.

"How should I know?" Bruce shrugs. "In most cases, this is where they would contact the family about organ donation."

"But there aren't any injuries?"

"Not visible, no."

<So, I should be able to go back in.>

Bruce sighs. "There is no in. Consciousness doesn't just jump in and out of the brain."

<Mine did.>

"Even if you can," Bruce says, though his tone is skeptical, "How do you think this is going to work? Once you're in there?"

"The brain runs on electrical pulses," Tony says. "It's an organic computer setup, if you think about it. She should be capable of running it, assuming we can make the transfer of consciousness."

"Theoretically." Bruce pinches the bridge of his nose. "Not sure how you're planning on doing that, but I'm guessing it will be brain surgery. Massive brain surgery."

"Well, how else are we going to do it? She needs the connection. If I can create a fine enough mesh, actually integrate her into the cerebral cortex, then she can transfer from the electrical current of the mesh into her own neurons."

"Theoretically." Bruce sits down in what Tony now recognizes as a weary gesture. "Tony, this whole thing is a crapshoot. She's unique. There's no precedent for this sort of transfer. We can't go back on it. It's not like we can make a copy of her. We can't even test it beforehand. If this goes wrong, there's not a second chance. You could fry her brain and destroy both halves of her."

"We managed to stick Jarvis into Vision, didn't we?"

"Yeah, but Vision was an infinity stone. And the body was manufactured in the cradle. He's a synthetic life form. You're trying to shove something synthetic into an organic container. There's no way of knowing if it will preserve her existing consciousness. You could kill her." Bruce runs his hands through his hair. "Look, Tony. This kind of neuroscience is way beyond me. I think… I think you should consider this a little more."

Tony stays in your room long after Bruce leaves, just… staring at your body. He doesn't see it, per se. He's just thinking, running his thumb absently over the pulse in your wrist.  

<What's up, Doc?> Your hologram appears on the edge of your bed, wearing a hospital gown, just like your body.

"Doc?" Tony asks. His expertise is more mechanical than medical, even if he is stepping outside his comfort zone for this.

<You have three doctorates,> you say. <At least one of them should count.> Your hologram shifts, folding her hands in her lap. <Having second thoughts?> You ask. Your tone is nonchalant, even if the question isn't.

Tony stands. It's not… cold feet or anything like that. The challenge is exhilarating, but the consequences? Tony isn't used to consequences. At least, before the Avengers, he wasn't. Now it feels like every breath he takes is costing lives somewhere. He does something, someone dies. He sits out, someone dies. Buildings fall and democracy crumbles and he used to not worry about those things. Collateral damage. He makes a circuit of the room. "You're safer staying where you are." He runs his hands through his hair, mussing it. "Bruce is right. There won't be any second chances at this." Collateral damage. Numbers, statistics, death tolls. It's easier to gloss over that way. But you… you're personal. You're a living, breathing—no, not quite that. You exist and you care. And Tony hadn't realized how much he'd grown attached to you.

<You know,> you say, interrupting the vicious circle that his thoughts run, <I don't remember what bacon tastes like.> Your hologram smirks at him and your body remains still as ever. It's like watching a ghost. <Like, I know that's a stupid example, but can you imagine? Not remembering that? Or what sunlight feels like?> Tony looks down, not able to maintain eye contact, even if the image isn't really you. <This isn't living, Tony. I can't feel anything or touch anything. As far as I know, I won't die—not without help. I don't want to live forever like this.>

Live forever. You say it like it's a death sentence. Maybe it is. Tony's considered that, not in the same way, of course. But… what if he outlived everyone he loved? Yeah, he'd risk his life too.

#

It's amazing to watch Tony work. He goes into a trance, focusing so hard on his task that the rest of the world seems to shut off. His big hands do delicate work, creating the most amazing things out of nothing. Even so, even with his mind at full capacity, the mesh isn't an easy creation. There are too many variables, too many catches and tricks. The brain is sophisticated—hacking it seems to be giving Tony trouble. Days worth of trouble.

<You should go to bed, Tony,> you say when, once again, it's three in the morning. Tony is still working.

Tony jerks out of the daze he'd fallen into. "I'm fine."

<When was the last time you actually slept?> You know when that was, of course. You don't sleep and you have nothing better to do than watch him. It's been thirty-two hours and twenty-six minutes since he took a catnap in the lab. Tony needs sleep. Real sleep. In a bed.

"Don't worry about it. Don’t you want me to find a solution to your problem?"

<Yeah, but I don't see how running yourself into the ground is going to help things. Won't a little rest be better?> Ok, so your motives aren't purely practical, even if you phrase them that way. Sleep would help Tony think better, but you're more concerned with his wellbeing. He isn't a machine, even if the others often treat him that way. They seem to have grown so accustomed to his self-sacrifice that they take it for granted. That's just Tony. He'll do whatever it takes.

"I keep pushing until it comes to me. That's how I work."

Of course it is. That's the problem. He doesn't see himself as worth caring for. He thinks he's expendable. You cross in front of him and he pulls back instinctively, rolling his chair away so his hands don't pass through you. <Why did you decide to help me?> you ask. It's a distraction, one that might help your cause. But you're also curious. He'd been so adamant, but when someone else questioned you, threatened you, he became your greatest defender. <What changed your mind?>

Tony picks up a screwdriver, then puts it back down. "You're my responsibility."

Ok… not what you were expecting. 'A challenge' maybe or 'Because I felt like it'. But, you'd approached him for help. He didn't owe you anything. <How's that?>

"I made Ultron. If it weren't for me, this wouldn't have happened to you. Wanda would still have a brother. All those people in Sokovia—"

The way he cuts off, the way he looks down, the only direction where you can't see him directly in the cameras… he's… you process the image, searching for comparisons, but it isn't familiar. It's almost like he's ashamed. <You wanted to help people.>

Tony laughs, a dark, self-mocking sound. "Oh, yeah. That worked out great."

<You didn't know what would happen.>

"Really? Because I thought I did." He paces the edge of the lab. "I thought I had seen it. I thought that what Wanda put—what I saw—was where we were going. I knew. I knew if I didn't create Ultron, that that's where we would end up. So, I did. And I made something so much worse."

<Tony…> It's not pain—you can't feel pain—but, god, it's so close. You want to touch him. You want to reach through the circuits, the code, anything if it meant you could get to him. You settle for moving the hologram, lifting her hand to cup his cheek. He can't feel it, there's no way he could, but he leans into it just a little. In all your time in this disembodied state, never once have you felt such a powerful need to have your physical form back. You'd give anything—everything—if you could reach him. <You're so brave.> It's utterly inadequate. But how are you supposed to describe him? Everything he's sacrificed, everything he's endured—all the suspicious glances from those who are supposed to be his teammates, the accusations, the threats. And all he ever wanted was to keep people safe.

Tag List:

@abovethesmokestacks @netflixa @winterboobaerchen

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#tony stark #tony x reader #avengers #ironman #fanfic #mcu #if you were here

[galaxy-holland-blog]

You and I against the world. -2

pairing: Tom Holland x OC

AU: single dad!

summary: “I love you to infinity and beyond, no matter what, above all else”

warnings: teenage pregnancy, abortion, adoption, bad language, a truckload of fluff.

part 1

The pair got in to their seats and Tom looked across to his daughter. “Alright?” He asked, reaching over and tucking some hair behind her ear. She shook her head and began to cry once more. “No! I can’t do this, dad. I can’t do this” he leaned over to her seat and pulled her into his arms. “can’t do what?” He whispered, stroking her hair and kissing her head. “Any of it. I can’t have a baby, I can’t give up a baby...I just want it all to go away” she cried. 

“Sweet pea, you can make it stop. You have that choice, and nobody can take it away from you, but you have to say the words. No one is going to decide for you.” 

she whimpered into her fathers chest. “Daddy?” 

“Yes princess?” “Does it hurt them?” “What, princess?” “Will it hurt the baby, if I- if I...you know., like...get rid of it?” “No, darling. It won’t”

 “would it make me a bad person?” She squeaked, not even wanting to think about doing this.

 “Of course not, love.” She pulled away from her dad and nodded slowly. “Is that what you want to do?” He asked.

 “I’m not sure. I need to sleep on it” she replied. “Ok, little one. let me know if you’ve made a decision, yeah?” she nodded slowly, clearing her throat. “and I’ll get everything sorted out” Her father added, while she kept nodding. “Tell you what, let’s go and get ice cream and forget about all this, just for five minutes, eh?” He wiped the tears from her face, and gave a loving smile. She sniffed and nodded, rubbing her nose with her sleeve. “What do you think you’re gonna get?” Tom asked his daughter, in the queue for ice cream. There were dozens of flavors, all brightly colored, speckled with chocolate chips or pieces of fruit. Tom had his eye on the mango and coconut. “I think this one, with chocolate sauce” she said with a smile, pointing to the vanilla ice cream with smarties in it.

 “Ooh that looks nice. I think I’m gonna go for the mango one. Or maybe rum and raisin....Wait I can’t decide!” Tom gasped and bit his lip with mock dramatics. His daughters soft giggle rang through his ears and made his heart flutter. His sweet little girl who was his reason for living. His rock and his savior. He couldn’t quite believe that his baby was facing the same problems her mother had, seventeen years ago. 

He remembered the tears and the fighting. He didn’t want it to be like that for her. He swore, on the day she was born, that she would always be loved, protected and supported, unconditionally. He’d be damned if that was a promise he couldn’t keep.

 “Why are you staring at me?”

 She asked with a nervous chuckle. Tom smiled. “I just can’t believe I made something so perfect” he beamed and his daughter flushed. “I’m not perfect, dad” she mumbled, rolling her eyes. He kept smiling.

 “You are. You are so perfect, my darling.” Tom chuckled slightly as he spoke. “Dad! Stop!” She whined with embarrassment. Hiding her face again and shying away. “Why? I want to remind my beautiful girl that she is the most amazing human being on the planet” Tom grinned from ear to ear watching the smile creep on to his daughters face. 

“I’m so lucky to have you. you turned my life around, you know that?” 

“Dad! you’re embarrassing me” she whined, dragging her feet along the floor as they moved forward in the queue.

“Sorry. I love you, a lot, is all” He chuckled faintly and wrapped an arm around his daughters shoulders.

“I know, dad. I love you too.”

Mango ice cream dripped down Tom’s hand as it started to melt. he licked the stickiness off to deter the wasps from descending on to the small family. the sea breeze whipped through their hair as they both stared at the sea crashing onto the rocks a few meters away.

“when you were little, me and Nana used to bring you here. you would insist on strawberry ice cream, every time. but most of the time I’d end up giving you whatever I had, only for you to smear half on your face, and then fall asleep with it dripping down your clothes.”

the girl smiled, a faint memory of her father peeling off her ruined shirt and carrying her home in a sugar coma, replayed in her mind. “I’ve always been a diva, haven’t I?” she giggled.

“I wouldn’t say diva. spoiled brat, definitely.”

“oi! I am not spoiled!” she gasped in a sarcastic tone and stared, wide eyed, at her father.

“oh you totally are. but you’re my brat, so I’ll spoil you as much as I like” Tom stuck his tongue out at the love of his life, and went back to eating his ice cream. his daughter rolled her eyes and took a big bite out of the dessert.

“I don’t know how you can do that” her father taunted.

“do what?” she teased, knowing exactly what he meant.

“Eat it with your teeth! its freaky. is it not hurting you?”

“Not really” she smirked. Tom shook his head in disbelief 

“you weirdo”

she laughed almost manically and continued to chomp on her ice cream. 

one of the windsurfers caught the teens eye. the way she sped through the water, her board skipping over the waves while the sail flapped in the wind. she could feel her fathers gaze from next to her and chose to ignore it, afraid of what he might say if she acknowledged his questioning eyes. 

That evening, she went to bed as usual, her father following a few hours later.

He tip toed down the hallway, trying not to wake his daughter, or Tessa, who would surely bark like mad if her slumber was disturbed. a strange sound registered with Tom as he walked past the only other occupied bedroom in the house. he took a few steps back, towards the door and he instantly recognized the sniffling and high pitched cry of his little girl. Tom’s paternal instinct took over and he rushed into the room, to see his daughter wrapped up in her duvet and shaking as she sobbed. 

“sweet pea? what’s the matter darling?” he whispered in a soothing tone and crept towards her bed. “J-justin.. tex-texted m-me and-d he...he...knows the g-g-guy that I, I slept with. h-he...he...called me a sl-slut.” 

 “oh love...does he know about the baby?” Tom asked, carefully wrapping his arms around the girl. 

“No...” she squeaked and shook her head. “but he said its over... so I guess it doesn't matter anyway” she turned her head to look at her dad. “he called me”

 Tom furrowed his eyebrows in confusion. “who?”

“the father”

“Oh. what did he say?” Tom pulled her closer and she whimpered quietly in his arms.

“he asked if it was true. if I was pregnant. fucking Jessie. she was the only person who knew. she told the guy, Archie. anyway... I said yeah. and that it was his...and he told me he wanted nothing to do with it.”

“sweetheart I’m so sorry”  Tom whispered.

“It’s fine dad. I’m not keeping it anyway” she croaked.

Tom gave a sympathetic smile. “you sure?” he asked. she simply nodded and moved closer to her father. “Ok gorgeous. I’ll get you an appointment in the morning.” he left gentle kisses on her head and shed a few discreet tears for his little girl. 

“Miss Holland?” her name was called in to a waiting room once again and she followed a nurse to a small white room, that smelled of toothpaste. before the nurse shut the door, she turned briefly back to her dad, who was not allowed to accompany her during the procedure. he gave the same short smile he always gave, and mouthed “love you”. she smiled back and trudged in to the room.

“So, miss. this will be very quick and not too painful, and you should feel right as rain by Monday. if you could change into this please”  The over enthusiastic nurse handed her a white hospital gown. “I’ll be back in just a tick” she beamed, freaking the girl out a little. when the door swung shut,  she began undressing and neatly folding the clothes she took off.

in the waiting room, tom sat with his leg bouncing anxiously. he was annoyed that he couldn’t be with his daughter. he felt himself well up as he questioned if she would be in pain, or be scared, with no one there to hold her hand. he mentally cursed the boy who put his baby in this situation. vowing that if he ever had a son, he would teach them to be better.

she sat on the cold leather chair, wearing her white gown, shaking with anxiety and suddenly second guessing every decision that lead her here. there were three doctors in the room, all filling out forms and laying out scary looking instruments. the curtains of the room were still open, and she looked outside.

there was an older man walking his dog, and three boys around her age, sitting on the railings, blasting tinny rap music from their Iphones. in the corner of her eye, she spotted a young couple, pushing a purple pram, with a smiley little girl sitting in it. she smiled to herself, admiring the happiness of the family. 

as one of the fathers adjusted his coat, she noticed a tiny newborn, in a baby carrier. the slightly taller father leant over and kissed the baby's head, before breaking into a run with the pushchair.

“miss? are you ready?” the doctors voice shook her away from her distractions and suddenly filled her heart with regret.

“No....wait...no”

“miss?”

“I changed...I...I changed my mind. I don’t want to... I changed my mind”

“Would you like a few more minutes to think about it?”

“No! I want my dad! I want to go home!” 

the girl grew more panicked by the second and one of the doctors rushed out to retrieve tom.

“that’s ok, you can change your mind, that’s fine”

 the doctor tried to calm her down as Tom raced down the hallway to get to his daughter. 

“angel! are you ok? i’m here, baby, i’m here.” Tom rushed over to the girl and she broke down in his arms. 

“I wanna go home! I want my baby and I wanna go home!” she cried, and Tom held her tighter. 

“shh, darling. it’s alright. you’ve got your baby, sweetheart. we can go home if you want to”

 she wailed again, finally letting all the pressure out. “I wanna keep him! please let me keep him!” she begged her father, grasping at his shirt.

 “of course, sweetheart. you can keep him, love. you can keep him”

The actor and his daughter sat in fluffy pajamas, bingeing friends and eating popcorn. there had been no more discussions since leaving the clinic. he knew the girl needed to calm down before she confirmed her decision.

“Dad?”

“yes, baby?”

“will you teach me?”

“teach you what?”

“how to look after a baby”

“of course I will, princess. we’re gonna get through this. together”

#tom holland #tom holland fanfiction #tom holland imagine #dad!tom #single dad!au

[luthientinuviiels]

Starmora Week Day 2 - Hands

*finishes the prompt with 20 minutes left in the day* 

Nailed it.

Peter’s a tactile person - it’s not exactly a secret. He’s the kind of annoyingly touchy person who’ll poke people in the shoulder just because he can, who has to stop and pet whatever dog-like species he sees, who’ll inevitably curl all up on people if they sit next to him on the couch. It’s something Yondu and Kraglin and whoever else didn’t threaten-threaten to kill him on a daily basis on the Eclector learned the hard way, and it’s something his team learns even quicker.

The days spent recovering on Xandar were some long ones, okay?

But for all that Peter is a tactile person, hands, on the other hand (hah)-

The thing is, Peter has a bit of a bad track record with holding hands. Not taking his mother’s hand when it’s all she wanted to do before she died is right at number one on list of Top Ten Worst Things Peter’s Ever Done.

So yeah. Holding hands is a bit of a sore spot for Peter. For someone who’s as horribly clingy and touchy as he is (not his words, but accurate), he’s always been dodgy about taking someone else’s hand. It’s better to avoid the bad memories.

Gamora changes all of that. Drastically.

The first time Gamora and Peter hold hands, he’s fairly certain they’re both going to die. Peter hasn’t put much thought into it beyond the need to keep the stone away from Ronan, but writhing on the ground, his skin burning and charring and flaking away, blind from the all-consuming agony he’s in, it’s not really a question of whether or not he’ll survive, it’s how long it’ll take him to die. Whether he’ll go quickly in a burst of light like Carina did, or he’ll spend the last minutes of life screaming as his skin crumbles away into purple dust, slowly burning away to nothing.

Neither happens.

He’s made it to his feet, somehow, the world a swirling galaxy of nebulas and supernovas around him, and for a brief moment he thinks he’s somehow gotten lucky enough to get one last look at the stars before he goes, gets to spend the last seconds of his life among the glowing galaxies he’s come to call home.

He hears his mother’s voice, the same beloved tones that have haunted him for years, and god, it’s been so, so long since he’s heard her voice, and the thought of joining her takes the sting of dying away-

And then he hears Gamora, fire-forged and scarred but still strong enough to fight back against Thanos, to risk everything for a planet that’s done nothing for her but toss her in prison, Gamora, who makes him want to be different-

He hears his name on her voice, telling him to take her hand-

He does.

By some miracle, they all survive.

 “We’re alive,” Peter says, staring at his hand where he holds it in the air, the pristinely white ceiling of the Xandarian hospital they’ve all been herded into making his skin appear darker than it is.

“As we’ve established ten times now, yes, Peter, we are,” Gamora says, where she’s sitting cross-legged on another bed, examining her sword. Her hair is neatly braided to the side, her skin washed clean of the dirt and blood and practically glowing, her wounds having already healed neatly.

Peter glares at the ragged scrapes and burns covering his own arms, feels the twinge of bruises that litter the rest of his body. Unfair, that’s what this is. But still, for holding an infinity stone…it could be worse.

“Let me marvel at our victory in peace, Gamora,” he says, smiling. He feels Gamora watching him.

“What?” she finally says, after watching him smile like an idiot another minute.

“Nothing,” Peter says, smiling wider. “You just called me Peter.”

“Yes,” Gamora says, caught off guard. “I…did, I suppose. What of it?” she asks, defensively.

“Nothing,” Peter repeats. “It’s just nice.”

“Oh,” Gamora says, quietly. “Well, Quill is too short to adequately express my frustration, and Star-Lord is ridiculous,” she says, louder.

“Ouch,” Peter says, with a huff of laughter. “That’s cold.”

“Not as cold as space,” Gamora says. Peter only shudders at the mention, the memory of his skin turning to ice and lungs compressing an unpleasant one. “I never did thank you for that, did I,” Gamora says, softly.

“Well, I kind of ruined the moment by being a dick,” Peter says. “And you saved my life, so I’d say that covers it.”

“Hm,” Gamora says. She’s still looking at him, her eyes assessing, and Peter takes a moment to hold his hand up again, staring at the skin.

“Here,” Gamora finally says, sliding onto his bed next to him and taking his hand in hers. Peter only sputters, too caught off guard to react properly. “Look,” Gamora says, her fingers tracing lightly over his palm as she shows it too him. “No mark. No trace of purple in sight.”

“Oh,” Peter says, flushing. She’s more perceptive than he’s given her credit for. “Yeah, you’re right. Thanks.”

Gamora shrugs, looking down at their hands. She suddenly pulls hers away, as if she’s just realized what she was doing. “We’re alive,” she finally says, looking a little lost.

“Yeah,” Peter says, sitting up next to her, bumping her shoulder lightly. She rolls her eyes at the action, but seems to relax. “We are.”

 Gamora’s not used to holding people’s hands. She’s much more familiar with using her hands to flip them backwards and pin them on the floor, to send her fist splintering into their nose, and other things of such violent nature. She doesn’t do soft.

Well, she didn’t used to. She has friends now, and while she lacks experience with such, she knows that reacting toward them with violence isn’t the way to keep them. So she adjusts, trains herself not to react immediately with violence, not to hold with deadly force. She’s prepared for carrying Groot, tiny and helpless, around the Milano. She’s prepared for friendly sparring with Drax, sending him sprawling on the mat but not following through for the kill. She’s prepared for holding spare parts while Rocket grumbles about the state of their ship, handing him the pieces carefully when he asks.

She’s not prepared for Peter.

She’s not prepared for the casual way he touches people, once he’s gotten their permission - the way he leans over her shoulder to survey the holoscreen with her, how he pokes her lightly in the shoulder to get her attention, how gently he takes her hands in his as he swabs disinfectant over her bloodied knuckles.

She’s not prepared for how reverently he touches her, like she’s the most important thing in his world, instead of the assassin that just cut down well over twenty people in front of him.

But she tries. She learns how to curl her fingers into a fist and bump it lightly against his, how to adjust the wires in the Milano just so that they send out a harmless shock at Rocket when he tries to alter the speed controls. She learns not to dislocate Peter’s shoulder in jerk reaction when he surprises her, how to slide Terran bones back into place without shattering them.

Bit by bit, she re-learns how to trust. For people with a long list of criminal records, it’s not hard. They were all willing to die for each other, after all. So that helps.

The next time Peter and Gamora hold hands is, again, a situation of life or death – though this time it’s just Gamora’s, as opposed to the entire galaxy’s. It’s one of those horribly cliché things, where one person gets knocked off an unreasonably high structure, and the other person just barely manages to grab their hand last-second and stops them from an abrupt death.

Peter has the added bonus of rocket boots, so it’s a little easier.

He catches her ten feet down, grabbing her hand and pulling her up sharply, reaching desperately for her other arm. She doesn’t give it to him, and she looks up at him with a gleam in her eyes.

“Loop around at them!” she yells, pulling her sword out.

Realization dawning, Peter grins sharply, angling his feet so they’re flying straight back at the people that threw her off the cliff. Peter twists his body sharply, using the momentum to swing Gamora out, and she goes flying at them, sword flashing as she stomps one mercilessly into the ground. She backflips off him, almost floating over another’s head, before landing squarely on her feet, slashing him down.

Peter contributes very little, because he’s too busy gaping at her in awe.

He does, however, manage to catch her when she jumps off another’s head calling for him, his hand coming down again to catch hers and pull her up.

“That was awesome, you know that, right?” Peter says, a bit breathlessly.

Gamora smiles. “We make a good team,” she says.

“Hell yeah, we do,” Peter grins.

Gamora’s scared of her hands, sometimes. Her hands have done too much, wrought too much pain and destruction. She’s seen them bloodied, taking lives without flinching. They may not appear so, small and elegant as they are, but her hands are cold and cruel and dangerous. They don’t belong in other people’s hands, fingers soft and gentle.

Peter’s hand are so different than hers. Peter’s hands belong around a blaster, but they also belong on the Milano’s controls, pulling them higher and faster.

Peter’s hands dance on tabletops, tapping out the beat to music. They’re gentle around Groot and quick as they snatch at Rocket. They’re confident as they tinker with the Milano, well-practiced as they find songs on his mixtape. Peter’s hands are fast and dancing, well-practiced at snatching things that don’t belong to him.

Peter’s hands are scarred and littered with callouses, but they’re warm and firm and gentle around Gamora’s, soft against her own modified ones. They’re different in so many ways, the two of them, and that’s not even starting on the color of their skin.

They’re nice differences, though. Gamora likes how warm Peter’s hand are, how he’ll tap out a beat on the back of her hand with his fingers, how he’ll swing their arms when he’s happy. It makes her hands feel a little less dangerous, and a little more like hers.

The next time Peter and Gamora hold hands, it’s far more intimate.

 “It’s called the waltz,” Peter says. “It’s super easy, all you really have to do is count the beat. You can add fancy stuff in if you want, but we don’t have to right now.”

“This looks nothing like the dancing you do,” Gamora says, staring down at their feet, her fingers shifting in his.

“Well, yeah, that’s because this is a dance for two people,” Peter says. “It’s much more…refined, too, I guess. I though you would like that.”

“Maybe I like your ridiculous jumping,” Gamora says, squeezing his hand briefly and smirking.

“My pelvic sorcery?” Peter says, grinning at her.

Gamora rolls her eyes. “That is far too generous a term, in hindsight,” she mutters. Peter just laughs.

They’re in the ship’s small common area, safe from view as the others are asleep. Which is a good thing, because Peter’s attempts to teach Gamora dances he only half-remembers are…off to a rough start, at best. His mixtapes don’t necessarily include dances that are suited for the classic high ballroom dances his mother tried to show him once.

He gets why she preferred the slow, swaying dances to Sam Cooke now.

“I feel foolish,” Gamora finally says, looking mildly frustrated.

“Well, you don’t look foolish,” Peter says, spinning her out. She moves easily under his arm, pulling herself back in neatly. “See, you did that perfectly!”

“That was easy,” Gamora says. “Do you know any other dances?”

“Well,” Peter says, thoughtfully.  “This is the tango.” He abruptly pulls their arms out and shoves forward, changing their pace to a much quicker one. Gamora makes a noise of surprised amusement.

“A tango?” Gamora says, clearly at a loss.

“Uh, yeah, I actually have no idea how to dance that,” Peter says, laughing sheepishly as he pulls them around to a slower rhythm. “I just saw that move on TV once. It looked cool.”

“I’m not sure we achieved that,” Gamora says.

Peter snorts. “Yeah, that probably looked more stupid than anything,” he says. “But hey, those dancers couldn’t do backflips over the heads of their enemies.”

“What, kicking people in the heads is not a practiced dancing custom?” Gamora says, smiling.

“Only for people with sticks up their butts,” Peter replies.

Gamora sighs, her hand smoothing across Peter’s shoulder. “You and your terrible earth sayings,” she mutters.

Peter’s scared of his hands. It’s such a stupid thing, but after seeing the light of a celestial burning bright around his fingertips, feeling the earth itself shift with his hands, the universe at his fingertips, it’s terrifying. Peter can’t handle that kind of power. He can barely lead of team of five people, much less handle the powers of a god.

Hell, it’s risky to even let him hold Gamora’s sword. (Thought that’s more the lack of swordsmanship than it is him drunk with power, but the point still stands).

He’d never thought of his hands as particularly powerful. Good at patching things up, yes, fixing the Milano and placing bandages, fixing mixtapes and stuff like that. Never as powerful, though. So much of his life he’s been too weak, if anything. Unable to fight off the crueler Ravagers, unable to match pretty much every other race in combat if he’s not cheating, unable to protect the people he loves from people like Ronan-

It turns out being powerful isn’t much help on that last one, anyways. He still lost Yondu. Lot of help being half-god did him then.

Well, that’s not entirely true. It did save the rest of his family. It saved Gamora. After he got them in that mess, it’s the least he could do.

So it’s a double-edged sword, really. Because on the one hand, he could keep a lot of people safe with that power. But he could also destroy hundreds of lives in half a minute, and that’s…horrifying. And horrifying is an understatement.

It’s gone now, of course, but the reminder’s still there, that underlying fear that he’s going to wake up one day and all he’ll be able to see are galaxies.

Gamora doesn’t even flinch, though, when he tells her. Not at his powers, not at the destruction on other planets, not at the way he let his father crumble through his fingers. There’s a tight look on her face, an expression of mixed anger and sadness, but she still looks at him like he’s Peter, like he’s important to her, and that-

Is almost enough to make him cry, to be honest. He might get a little bit teary, at minimum, but he just – he loves her so much it’s actually baffling.

She’s angry at his father, heartbroken over Nebula, but Gamora doesn’t have a care to give that he’s half Celestial. She takes his hand and it’s normal, and Peter promises, swears, that he’ll never let anything as stupid as his parentage come between them again.

He’s an idiot, but Gamora’s still holding his hand, so that’s alright. He’s learning.

At this point, they’ve stopped counting.

“You hold hands like this, okay? So your thumbs are facing each other,” Peter says, arranging her hand around his. “Then you battle to the death. With thumbs.”

“Is this another joke?” Gamora says, staring at him, unimpressed.

“No, no, this is a real thing on earth, I promise,” Peter says, grinning. “It’s called a thumb war.”

“That is foolish,” Gamora says. “This is no war. What is the purpose? You only look like an idiot.”

“Yeah, okay, well, it’s not supposed to look dignified,” Peter says, rolling his eyes. Not as impressively as Gamora, but he’s getting better. “It’s just for fun. That’s the purpose.”

“It’s still ridiculous,” Gamora says, but she’s smiling. “Pinning thumbs for enjoyment.” She punctuates this by snapping his thumb beneath hers, holding firmly. “Ha. I win your foolish earth game.”

“That’s a surprise there,” Peter mutters. “Best two out of three, then – hey, let go!”

“No,” Gamora says, grinning, as she holds his thumb in place. “I won your war. What do I get?”

“The satisfaction of seeing me look like an idiot?” Peter says, struggling to yank his thumb free. He quickly gives up with a sigh of defeat. “Ugh. Fine. You win…” he spins side to side in the chair, sending them both sliding side to side as he glances round the ship. “Uh, you win – that.”

Gamora stares at Rocket’s latest half-finished gun, raising an eyebrow. “That is not yours to give,” she says, flatly. “How about…you let me have all your leftovers from the diner last night.”

“Hey, no!” Peter protests. “That stuff is to die for- mmph!”

Gamora silences him by leaning over and capturing his lips briefly, grinning as she pulls away, leaving him sputtering.

“We can share,” he manages weakly.

#starmoraweek2017 #starmora #this is HORRIBLY sappy asdfsgjk #how many different ways can i write about holding hands? #too many apparently

[tatooedlaura-blog]

Bacon

the series read as follows:

Superman … Monday ... Cheezy Pouffs

He woke to some sort of liquid running down his arm. Opening first left, then right eye, he saw flop of red hair dangerously close to his nose, threatening an epic sneeze into peaceful Sunday morning. Blowing ever so gently, he moved the most sinister of hairs, then caught sight of Scully’s open mouth against his arm, the telltale glisten of drool hovering at the corners. Now, she’d drooled on him plenty, in cars, on planes, in lobbies, waiting rooms, vinyl chairs and cloth covered couches but never and he repeated the word ‘never’ in his head a second then third time, NEVER while she was completely and totally, utterly and beguilingly bare ass naked under plaid sheets in his bedroom.

NEVER.

That was more than enough to fuel his partial erection but he also realized that regardless of how naked she was beside him, he still had to pee.

Extraction from Scully proved more difficult than he imagined, however, his trapped arm holding not only her head upright but his hand was also wedged neatly under her belly, finger resting in what he assumed was most likely her belly button but possibly also her bullet wound scar. Damn him and his fingers being only four inches above the starting line to early morning fun and his full bladder forcing its way front and center.

“Scully?”

Nothing.

“Scully?” Moving his neck enough to bump into her forehead, “hey, woman, wake up or I’m gonna pee all over this bed.”

With a low growl and a grunt that made him grin, she dragged her face off him, dropping straight to the mattress, nose bent and eye smushed into soft cotton.

Taking what he could get, he slid from the bed, skirted the footboard and made a beeline for the bathroom, feeling as if he had mere seconds to spare before full-on bladder explosion. Finally emerging a few minutes later, he met Scully’s blinking gaze, her hair a mess and sheets haphazardly pulled to barely her waist, “you got Guinness in there with you? Going for a record?”

“Yup. Missed it by .25 seconds and a shaking drop.”

“You looked kind of hot right there, with that cast and bright white butt shining in the morning sun but I gotta say, once you start talking about pee and a shaking drop, I just … you are damn near irresistible.”

“Such big words for such a tiny, drooling creature.”

Patting sheets, she nodded at him, “have you seen any of my clothes? I’m hungry and can’t go buy breakfast without them.”

Clomping back to her, “what? You don’t want to spend the day in bed with me, unclothed, while I eat ham and eggs from your belly?”

The look she shot him was priceless but he could see the twinkle in her semi-awake eyes, “you’d have had me with bacon and waffles.”

Pointing at her, motioning his finger in circles to indicate a small area, namely the bed, “you give me a half-hour and I will have waffles and bacon here and we will not leave this apartment until absolutely, God damned necessary.”

Scully ran a hand through her tangles, “in the meantime, am I allowed to shower?”

“Do whatever, just make sure you are back in that bed in 20 minutes. I’ll slip Jimmy a $50 and see if he can’t cook my order faster.”

He already had on his boxers and was struggling with a pair of shorts, eagerness overwhelming balance, “think you’ll make it there, Sparky, without breaking the other leg?”

Shorts successfully hanging on hips, he pulled a tshirt on, inside out and jammed his one bare foot in his sneaker, “20 minutes.”

&&&&&&&&&&

Jimmy refused the money, giving him his food quickly and efficiently, Mulder’s face clearly broadcasting that he had a woman in his apartment who needed food and she was naked so move your ass with her breakfast.

Once back in the apartment, he carried the food to the bedroom, expecting to find it empty with Scully still in the shower but instead, found her fast asleep, curled on her side of the bed – holy hell, she had a side of the bed. Wet hair spread across a towel on top of the pillow, he simply shook his head. Today was a Scully, super-fast out of control, five-minute shower kind of day. She could do that kind of thing … wake up, get in the shower, wash clean, get out, get dressed, get going, before he had a chance to do more than yawn and scratched parts. Her five-minute showers were usually sans leg shaving but as she put it once, her skirted legs wrapped tightly around the neck of a suspect on someone’s front lawn at 2:30 in the afternoon, who really gave a shit about a little bit of stubble when you could give a potential serial killer Indian rub burn with your calves.

That was one of the first times he seriously debated just banging her for all he was worth in the backseat of their rental in the shade of a rest stop down the aimless highway.

And speaking of such rituals, he didn’t have a rental, a rest stop or a highway but he had bacon and waffles per request and they were not going to waste if he had anything to do with it.

&&&&&&&&&&&&

“Mulder, I really, really need to get back to my apartment. I have a suitcase full of dirty clothes and a mother to call to let know I’m home and alive and she can stop watering my plant.”

“You can’t call her from here?”

The look she gave him could have been bottled and sold as ‘what the fuck is wrong with you?’ spray, “I cannot call my mother the day I ditch churchgoing to have bacon and waffle sex from said associated sinner’s home … she’ll know and just …” knowing she sounded stupid as hell and grinning slowly because Mulder was mirroring her look, Scully gave up, “oh my God, I’m twelve again and lifting a dollar from my mom’s purse for ice cream.”

Mulder leaned over, grabbing his phone from the nightstand and never taking his eyes off her, dialed Maggie, his wicked smile keeping her still, a perverse wonder at just what he was going to tell her, “Maggie? … It’s Fox … yeah, she’s home and wanted to let you know that you don’t have to water anything today … um, last night actually … yeah, I invited her to have breakfast this morning then she fell asleep so … I’ll have her call you later … thanks … um, yeah, we’ll be there … okay … bye.” Hanging up, “so now we just do laundry here and you can take your pants back off.”

“Why do I keep you again?”

“Because you red M&M me to Jupiter and back?”

Pulling him up by the hand, she kissed him before scooting his shoes towards his feet, “I think it was to infinity and beyond.”

The prospect of Scully and infinity pulsed unbelievably through his veins, “is this your subtle way of inviting me back to your place so I can watch you wash your unmentionables?”

“Pretty much.”

Tightening his grip on her hand, he locked his door behind him, “you know I’m going to mention them, right? And by mention, I mean, ogle and possibly practice unhooking your bras so I’ll be proficient at it next time, meaning tonight, when I go to do it while sitting next to you on the couch.”

She made out with him for two floors of bliss against the side of the elevator and left him leaning on the wall while she slipped out the doors into the lobby.

He rode the elevator to the third floor and back down with his neighbor Mr. Chavez because his brain didn’t have enough blood to follow her off in the first place.

Scully approved, walking just a little closer to him as he guided her to her car.

#Life part 2 series #msr #unmentionables #bacon and waffles #xfiles fanfic #xf fanfic #My writing

[xperimentalranger]

@mechanicalmaniac cont. here

“Uh-huh. Newsflash, pal. I’m the only experimental ranger around the galaxy.”

A title the robot ranger was proud of. To say there are others ‘just like him’ was offensive, as well as a shot at his ego and pride. Galactic robot rangers. Yeah right. He was unique. That’s why the LGM built him.

Well.

He was built to be a replacement for his brother and Warp. His charming personality came later when they didn’t know what they were doing. But this guy did not need to know that. His origin story was for Buzz, the LGM and his dad. Something XR would like to keep it that way.

The way he talks about organics really keeps reminding him of Flint.

Expendable.

How he loathes that word. Mainly because his job seems to think that’s what the ‘X’ in his name stands for. Sometimes, he even gets the feeling his friends think so as well. Booster even admitted it once.

But the robot ranger tries hard not to show his doubts. In fact, there was the sudden ego boost.

“Hah! Obviously. I am the most valued member of Team Lightyear. They would be lost without my awesome robot strength. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve saved the da- hey wait.“

XR squints. Now he is one of a kind when he said before there are others like him? That does not add up.

“Flattery will get you nowhere, villain. Though, do go on.“

So much to flattery will get you nowhere.

#mechanicalmaniac #;to infinity and...whatever. oh yeah. beyond. right. (ic) #fjhfhd #tbh Flint only appeared in one episode so he is not #well known #and the plot with him could have been handled a little bit better #so he is not as popular as the other villains #also i know nothing about Nefarious #but I read up some stuff about him #he seems interesting!

[shangyang]

et el soleil dit a la lune

second movement: saint saens’ introduction and rondo capriccioso 

for @victuuri-week​ day two; prompt: competition (shigatsu wa kimi no uso au)  word count: 3,897  chapter: 2/7 ( previous ) ao3 link tba! please enjoy. 

Yuuri stands still, the sound of the final note still ringing in his ears as his accompanist scolds him. She’s so needlessly angry, he thinks, flexing his fingers around his violin and bow.

Diverging off from the score! Reckless and unruly, this early in a competition! In a competition, nonetheless! Yuuri!

He knows she’s going to quit. She can’t keep up with him, and how he recklessly chases after whatever emotion is ruling him that day, can’t even begin to fathom why he does what he does.

Taking a knife - no, a wrecking ball - to the script and tearing it apart! Blatantly disrespectful and reckless!

Reckless, reckless, reckless. His accompanist says those words, over and over again, but Yuuri doesn’t hear them.

One more time. One more time, he thinks, flexing his fingers. I want that again and again and again. I want to play that again.

He’s always been a little bit of a junkie, he supposes, chasing full speed after his next hit. He doesn’t take the time to stop and think anymore, he just goes and goes, running, one foot after the other. Reckless and foolhardy.

“aetas: carpe diem, quam minimum credula postero.”

He will only ever have days, stretching on and on before the inevitable comes for him.

Seize the day, trust tomorrow e’en as little as you may.

Yuuri stares unblinking at his accompanist, and slowly, bends at the waist in a short bow. Another goodbye.

He begins to put his violin away, and hopes for that new hello.

They greet Yuuri in the front hall. His cheeks are flushed, and a pair of blue frames sits low on the bridge of his nose. He looks satisfied, and Viktor can only wonder why - surely, he must realize that he won’t win?

“Oh - Yuuri!” Phichit waves to Yuuri from their little dust-scented corner, and Yuuri turns, and smiles as them.

Viktor takes a step forwards at the same instant that Chris does, and stops. Takes a step back.

Friend A, remember? A voice murmurs in the back of his mind. Today, with them, you are Friend A.

“You - you’re the performer from before!” A little boy is running up to Yuuri, and his hair is bright. Blond and red, like the comb of a rooster, and a bouquet of flowers the same shade.

Yuuri spins around, and crouches to eye-level with the little boy. “Mhm. I am.”

Flowers, for a violinist who enthralled an entire audience with his music. Flowers, vivdly red, for a violinist who matches them, petal for petal in vibrance. Viktor does not think that he can forget this sight.

“These are for you. I really, really liked your performance, and, and I - I’m going to be a violinist too! Just wait!” Blushing bright, the little rooster boy shoves the flowers into Yuuri’s arms and runs away, footfalls loud against the carpet and hardwood.

Chris saunters up to Yuuri, draping himself over him like before. “Wasn’t he something?”

“Yeah…” Yuuri sounds almost dazed, staring down at the flowers in his hands, fiddling quietly with one scarlet petal. “A whirlwind…”

A violinist finishes his performance, sweat dripping from his brow, the apples of his cheeks burning bright underneath the blinding light, to the thunderous applause of the audience, and the sweet scent of flowers amidst dry air and dust. One hand is in the air, triumphant, like a facsimile of victory bright and beautiful, holding the bow aloft. The other is tight around the neck of the violin, clutching it as if it were a lifeline.

That is not what this is. But looking at Yuuri now, and feeling his music sing through his blood and bones, Viktor can almost taste that image. Almost as if it were real.

To think, Viktor muses, plodding after Yuuri and Chris, Phichit and Yuri by his side, that all of this happened and I...I only played Friend A.

I am only Friend A.

Viktor runs into Yuuri again on a Tuesday.

Their eyes catch, and it’s almost like being born again.

“Hey!” Yuuri pulls down the edge of his button down, and Viktor eyes the crest of their school, golden and blue against the gray of his uniform blazer. “I’m waiting for Chris. Think I’ll surprise him at Language club.” He smiles, and it’s bright and blinding. “Do you think I can scare him?”

Viktor’s heart drops somewhere in his left shoe. Chris is with another of his many, many conquests, and Viktor can only remember that musicians have hearts as fragile as glass. He doesn’t want to shatter Yuuri’s.

“Oh, uh...Chris has a long practice today. He didn’t want to tell you, but...well...y’know.” He trails off halfheartedly, and scratches the nape of his neck.

“Huh.” Yuuri blinks, and turns his head to look off at their school in the distance. The sky is still bright blue, having not yet bled into the mixture of scarlets and violets that the springtime sunset always brings.

“Well.” They’re so close now, and Yuuri’s finger is centimeters, millimeters, nanometers away from the bare space between Viktor’s eyes. “I guess I’ll just appoint you as his substitute today,”

His mouth shapes the words, but no sound comes out, but Viktor already knows what he’s about to say.

“Friend A.”

Friend A, Friend A. A background character.

Friend A.

“Okay. Where are we headed?” Yuri can stand to wait at home with Uncle Viktor for a few hours more.

They’re at a small bakery a few blocks away from the school. It’s quaint and quiet, in the way Mom and Pop bakeries seem to be, with the ambience of soft chatter, and the sound of the coffee makers and ovens muted in the background.

There are fresh flowers in pots, perched on windowsills, tabletops, and one large, overflowing pot on a small white piano. Sad, Viktor thinks. You’re not supposed to put water on a piano...but there it is, I suppose.

A waiter comes, and sets a small plate down in front of them. Matcha toast, Viktor notes, watching as Yuuri’s eyes light up at the sight of it.

“Wow! I’ve been wanting to eat this for such a long time!” He pulls out his phone, and snaps a photo of it, and sighs, content. “It’s so pretty, it almost feels like a shame to eat it, huh?”

It is pretty. Fluffy pieces of toast, stacked one on top of another, slathered in a pale green sauce - matcha, bittersweet - dripping down the sides, complete with vanilla ice cream on top, and crumbled chocolate wafers to match. It’s almost disgustingly unhealthy.

Viktor laughs. “Maybe. But you ordered it, didn’t you?”

“Ah. You’re right.” Yuuri stops, frowning slightly. “Well, we are sharing it, aren’t we?” He picks up a fork, sliding the other towards Viktor. “Come on. Eat up.”

The toast is light, despite how thick it is, and the sauce is so bittersweet to the taste. The ice cream doesn’t help much either. Yuuri makes a delighted noise across the table, quiet and sweet, and sighs, before setting down his fork. He is content, full of a vibrancy that leaks out, quiet and unassuming, but no less bright for all that it is.

Viktor wants to drown in it.

The little white piano, in it’s small solitary corner of the shop begins to ring out, a child’s version of Mozart’s beloved Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star. It’s clumsy and faltering, but honest and innocent all the same.

“What a happy piano,” Yuuri muses, quietly, propping his head up with one hand. “Can you hear it?” He hums along, conducting with his fingers. The toast is forgotten.

Viktor breathes out through his nose, sharp and short. “It’s not,” he murmurs. “Everyone knows you’re not supposed to put a piano near water, but yet,” he gestures at the blooming flowers in their pot, greenery spilling out and over the top of the white piano.

“How can you say that?” Yuuri scowls, standing abruptly. “Listen to them, and tell me that piano is sad.”

Viktor watches as Yuuri traipses over to the two children playing the piano. “Hey, do you see that guy over there?” He points a slender finger Viktor’s way, and for a moment, Viktor can feel goosebumps running up and down his arms and back. This does not bode well. “He’s a really, really good pianist.”

“What, really?” The little girl seated by the piano turns around, and her eyes are glittering, sparkling vibrantly as joy lights her face up. “Mister, mister, come play with us!” Her friend beside her nods as well, and when Viktor looks at Yuuri, he can see the smug satisfaction across his face.

Clever, clever, he thinks, slowly standing. The silent challenge is written across Yuuri’s face, in the glitter in his too dark eyes, the small smile pulling at the apples of his cheeks.

Meet me where I am, it says, meet me where I am, join me on the stage. Come here, come closer.

Viktor takes a step closer.

The little girl’s quiet, childish song - Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star. Viktor sets his hand to the small, white piano, and picks out the melody. Yuuri sings along, slightly off tune, too husky to be truly delicate, but they had been an odd gathering to begin with. They make an odd combination, a girl who can be no older than eight, a seventeen year old boy, whose fingers have itched for a piano for six years, and a sixteen year old violinist, quietly singing along, in a voice that is slightly off key.

The more commonly known melody comes to an end, and Viktor’s hands move on their own, making a melody that he hasn’t played - hasn’t heard - in six years. His fingers are light atop the keys, and it feels, for mere moments, for seconds that stretch out into minutes, into weeks, into months, then infinities that stretch out long and far beyond what Viktor can remember, or even humanly begin to express.

Then the darkness comes. The world is awash in water, and he finds himself sinking into depths so dark, that not even light can reach where he is. The music is running away on fleet feet, the Daphne to his Apollo, fading, flying - Mamotchka, Mamotchka, something is wrong with me. I can’t hear the notes anymore! Mamotchka, where are you?

I’m scared. Where are you?

Viktor picks his hands up from the piano. He tries to breathe, tries to speak, tries to apologize for stopping, for failing at even something as small as this, but the words are stuck in his throat, clogging up his lungs, filling them with tar and dead stardust.

He turns away from the piano and runs, out the door of the cafe, away from the piano, away from the two little girls, away from Yuuri.

The jingle of the bell echoes after him, but all that resonates in Viktor’s ears is the dull sound of the piano keys striking without any sound to follow.

“Why’d you run?” Yuuri crouches beside him, a soothing presence that tints the world in blue. He never pushes, a presence that urges Viktor to speak, but is never insistent. “What happened back there?”

“I…” Viktor chokes on the words. They’re so, so bitter. ”I can’t hear the notes.”

Yuuri blinks. “But you were, you were - you were playing, back in the cafe!”

“Not literally.” Viktor wants to laugh, but it’s really more of a harsh, grating bark, a cry for something he doesn’t have, something he can no longer find. Something lost to time and grief. “I freeze up. Can’t hear the notes, and it’s almost...almost like I’m drowning, underwater.” He shakes his head and pokes at a stray pebble on the ground. “Funny, huh? They call - well, called - me the greatest pianist of our generation. Look at me,” he mutters. “I can’t even play the piano anymore. It’s no use.” I am as good as dead is left unsaid, but by the malcontent look on Yuuri’s face, he hears it nonetheless.

“You’re Viktor Nikiforov,” Yuuri says, standing up. His hands are on his hips, and his face is scrunched up, determined. “You are the one every person in our generation is chasing after. You are the end, the beginning. You are the stick by which we measure ourselves, the chain by which we tether ourselves to the ground with. How dare you say that you’re dead!” He jabs a finger into Viktor’s chest.

“If you can’t play with your fingers, play with your toes! And if you don’t have enough toes, put your nose in there too.” Viktor takes a shaky step back. “This is the path we are on, and this is what you chose, that day you played your first note on that piano. Don’t you think, for a single second that it has let you go.”  

The what to do, what to do flashes across Yuuri’s face.

“I’ve got it. Friend A,” Yuuri declares, arms crossed over his chest. “I’m going to need an accompanist. I guess, starting today, that’s you. Let’s work well together, okay?”

What.

“I’m not doing it!” Viktor slams a hand down on his desk, and whirls around to face Chris. “He’s asked, and you’ve asked, and literally everybody and their damn uncle has too. I can’t play anymore. I’m done.” It pains him, to ekk out these words, to yell until his throat is sore, and his voice is hoarse, because Viktor would rather think about everything but the damn piano.

He wants to think about art class, and the choice novel for the essay in English. He wants to think about the amusement park on the weekends, about Uncle Yakov’s borscht, Yuri’s ever flaring temper. He wants to forget about the piano, go back to being carefree and ditzy.

(Maybe, just a little bit, he wants to go back to a time where he could hear every note on the piano, where it didn’t matter if he played to the audience, a time when it wasn’t just about awards, awards, awards. A time where he played the piano because Mother would smile when he played, and the sallow hollows in her cheeks seemed to brighten like the rosy dawn.)

Chris sets down his phone, and looks at Viktor, pensive and searching. Is he looking for that boy he grew up alongside? Is he looking for the time when music didn’t hurt as much as it does now, when every turn he took, every breath he let out wasn’t a desperate plea for a reason to cling to the piano?

(Viktor is too.)

He turns away from Chris, and looks down at the novel on his desk. Their set piece is Saint Saens’ Introduction and Rondo Capriccioso. Written by Camille Saint Saens for the virtuoso violinist Sarasate. Yuuri had shown him the score earlier today, setting it down on his desk first thing in the morning.

Viktor cracks open his novel. He has to bullshit half the annotations if he doesn’t want to get yelled at by the teacher for not having his homework again.

Yuuri is, if nothing else, persistent to the point where it could be considered insanity. Add Chris and Phichit to the mixture, and honestly, Viktor is fairly certain that at this point, he could play the piece in his sleep.

He lies on his back, fingers coming to a stop as the crackly recording fades out. In the distance, other students are complaining about the continuous onslaught of classical music. Viktor would agree, but he knows, that no matter what he says, music - especially this kind - runs and sings through his blood and breath. It is in every atom and molecule that makes up him, and Viktor cannot ever bring himself to hate music.  

He’s in the second gym, in the storage area that has long since been abandoned to time and lack of supplies to put in the storage area. The music is pouring in through a crack in the solitary window in the storage room, and with it, is a puff of dry, warm air.

Outside, there is the stomping echo of running footsteps, and then Yuuri flings the sliding doors to the storage area open. His face is red and flushed, hair a mess and flying every which way, and he stalks over to Viktor.

“Are you going to play?” He’s panting, doubled over, but his eyes, deep brown and simmering, pin Viktor in place. There’s an intensity that burns in them that is oh, so familiar, and Viktor thinks, once upon a time, i was like this too.

“I told you.” He sounds weary and tired, even to his own ears. “I can’t hear the notes. I can’t play. And I won’t - I won’t play.”

Yuuri clutches at the grip of his violin case, and Viktor blinks as a spatter of tears darkens the ground. “I...please. You’re the only hope I have, Viktor. I don’t have another accompanist. Please, help me.”

Viktor lets out a breath. Reaches out to brush Yuuri’s hair away, but stops, and instead, runs a hand through his hair, pushing his bangs out from his eyes. Whether or not it’s possible, your partner will let you know.

“I’ll do it.”

Looking up, Yuuri smiles, hastily wiping away tears. Relief is painted over every inch of his face, and it sets a melancholy look in his eyes. “Thank you, Viktor.”

“Found you!” Phichit rushes in, out of breath, school uniform rumpled beyond comprehension. “If you two don’t hurry, you’re going to miss it!”

Yuuri looks down at his watch, and his eyes widen in horror. His hands begin to tremble around the grip of his violin case, and Viktor reaches out, and takes him by the wrist.

“If we run, we can make it in twenty minutes.”

“Wait, wait, I have a better idea. Come on! Chris is waiting by the front gates. Go, go, go!”

Yuuri rushes on ahead, and the world bursts into color behind him.

“How did you know that I would say yes?” Viktor asks, sprinting alongside Phichit.

Phichit rolls his eyes. “It’s you, Viktor. You’re always looking for a way to cling to your piano. I figured you would have to take the final step sooner or later.” He shoves Viktor lightly. “Now, come on. We’ve got illegal transportation methods to take part in.”

They’re hurtling down a hill, and Viktor is seated just behind Phichit on a rickety bike - which was also stolen from whatever poor soul decided to leave their bike unlocked - desperately studying the piano score in front of him. He can’t remember ever stressing this much over a piano score, over a performance.

(He’s Viktor Nikiforov, of course. Winning came as easy to him as breathing. Breathe, in and out. Another certificate, another trophy on the shelf.)

“Who’s bike is this - oh my god, Chris that’s a tree!” Yuuri shrieks from his seat behind Chris. He’s hanging on for dear life as Christ hurtles as fast as possible down the steep hill to Carle Hall, the material of his blazer flying out behind him like a cape.

“Doesn’t matter,” Phichit calls back, swerving around a trash can. “Will you guys be alright? You never even practiced together!”

Viktor breathes in. Breathes out. “We’ll be fine,” he promises, and he can barely hear the tremors in his own voice. He smiles at Yuuri, and Yuuri smiles back, a watery, shaky thing.

Yuuri turns to face him in the wings. Viktor is in his school uniform, gray blazer and brown loafers, and his grip creates wrinkles in the sheet music. Yuuri’s face is pallid, and his eyes tremble as if they are made of liquid. His hands shake on the neck of his violin, and the grip of his bow.

“Let’s go on a journey,” Yuuri whispers, and it feels as if this moment is an infinity in it’s own. “Let’s take them all on a journey with us, Viktor.”

He strides onto the stage, and Viktor finds that, in the end, all he can do is follow.

Yuuri starts soft, like trying to croon out a ballad to a baby, or to a lover he wishes to woo. He starts soft, and Viktor follows, fingers striking the keys.

I can hear the notes. Alright.

It starts out well. The notes are in his ears, trying to sink into his breath and fingers as well, but they’re not there. Not yet.

But Yuuri flicks his gaze towards them, and for a split second, their eyes meet, and it’s like a bolt of lightning passes through Viktor.

Yuuri raises his bow and strikes, moving faster and faster, picking up the pace, and Viktor hurries to catch up.

Meet me where I am, Yuuri calls. Meet me where I am. I’m waiting. Come.

Viktor strikes the keys, and lets his fingers stroke out familiar patterns across the black and the white.

He stops. The world grows watery around him, and desperate, Viktor strikes the keys harder.

No, no! No, no, no! The music, where is the music? I can’t hear it, it’s gone!

Harder and harder, he pounds into the keys with a desperate fervor, fingers trembling and breaths caught in his throat. He has to find the music. He has to return to it, can’t let it end here, he needs to hear this song sing through him, until it dances through every moment, waking or not. Viktor needs this. Again and again and again.

His fingers tremble, and weary, Viktor stops, drawing his hands into his lap. What a disaster, he thinks, choking on bitterness. I’ve ruined it.

Viktor stares at his trembling hands, and closes his eyes, and listens. To the sound of Yuuri, his bow being drawn over the string. Again and again and again.

And then, Yuuri stops. He sets down his bow, lets his arms hang loose at his sides, and breathes. He tilts his head up to the ceiling, and stares into the blindingly bright stage lights, and then, back at Viktor.

Let’s go on a journey, Viktor.

He raises his violin and bow.

I am here! I am calling for you, where are you? Will you meet me where I am? Please, I beg you, meet me where I am. I am here, I am here, I am here.

Viktor stills. In this moment, there is only Yuuri and his violin, and the music. He hears the question in the notes, sees every plea in the way Yuuri sways, back and forth, in time with the beginning of his stolen tune.

I am here.

He lifts his hands to the piano, and begins to play. It is not pretty - it is a war between them, a push and pull, a back and forth. Violent clashing, a battle for dominance, a question and it’s response. Viktor closes his eyes, and decides to push.

Yuuri grins, exalted, brilliant, beautiful, and shoves Viktor back, his violin growing louder and louder in response to Viktor.

Don’t you dare steal my thunder, Friend A!

Viktor smiles, if only to the piano and himself, and pounds out his response. It is ugly, loud, and not at all graceful, but it is enough.

an: do not ride on a bicycle made for one person with two people, especially not down a massive hill. please. and if you do, remember that i am in no way responsible for this. 

#victuuriweek #my writing #yuri!!! on ice #yoi #yuri on ice #viktor nikiforov #victor nikiforov #yuuri katsuki #yuri katsuki #phichit chulanont #christophe giacometti #chris giacometti #minami kenjiro #shigatsu wa kimi no uso #shigatsu wa kimi no uso au #your lie in april #your lie in april au #et el soleil dit a la lune #w o w ok #writing is hard and i want to die #but fuck im going to finish this fi c #viktuuri #victuuri

[lunaticboss-blog]

Today is Fergal's surgery for his shoulder. I'm on Fergal's left side of the bed, holding his hand. I'm nervous, but I'm trying my best to hide it. He let's out a shaky breath. I guide my hand over his hair, kissing him on the forehead. "It'll be over before you know it, honey." His ocean eyes say it all, and unfortunately, my eyes do too. His thumb rubs my hand in an up and down motion. "Are ya tellin' dat for me, or for yourself?" "Fergal, you're the one going into surgery." "Dis affects you too, (y/n). Dis is gonna feel like forever when you're out in da waitin' room, you're gonna be stressin' out da whole time." I sigh, lifting my head, looking at the hospital ceiling. Warm tears start to form in my eyes. "Hey," he says quietly. I look down, wiping my tears. "(y/n), sweetie." "It's just hard seeing you in pain, mentally, emotionally, physically and I can't do anything to fix it," I say with a shaky voice. "All ya have to do to fix it, is to be dere for me." A nurse walks in, informing us that it's time. I squeeze his hand, sliding my hand through his soft hair, kissing him on his cheek. "I love you, Fergal." "I love ya, (y/n)." His mom comes over to the bed, kissing him on the forehead. His dad pecks him on top of his head. "And (y/n)..." "Yeah?" "It'll be over before ya know it." He pats my hand, smiling, before being rolled off for surgery. His mom, dad, and I make our way to the waiting room. It's quiet. We're all nervous. "Do you want any coffee?" I ask them. "No thank you, sweetie," she responds. "No, but thank you," he says. "Alright, I'll be back in a few minutes." As I'm walking towards the elevator, I hear my name escape from a small child's mouth. I turn around towards the voice. It's a young girl, who's arms are wrapped around her mother's neck. "Hi, sweetheart. What's your name?" "Riley." "Aw, well hi, Riley. How are you?" "Good." She has a huge smile across her face. "I'm sorry to bother you, but she's a really big fan of you," the mother tells me. "Oh, don't worry about it. Do you wanna take a picture, Riley?" She shakes her head up and down. Her mother sits her down as she walks over to me. I squat down next to her and take some pictures with the young fan. I grab a pen from my back pocket and sign a piece of paper for her. She's all giddy in excitement. Before we go our separate ways, the mother puts her hand on my arm. "I just wanted to say sorry about Finn." "Oh, thank you. I appreciate it." I wave to Riley as she disappears around a corner. I finally make my way to the first floor to the small coffee shop. My coffee is quickly served and before I head back up, I go outside for a minute to get some fresh air. The breeze of the wind is relaxing. I sit on a bench that's under the shade. Why am I crying? I'm not the one who's going to be out from wrestling. I'm not the one who's going to be in pain. I hear the sliding of the doors of the entrance; it's Mrs. Devitt. "I figured ya would be out here." She sits by me, her hand goes on my back. "I don't know what the deal is. Like, I-I don't know." "Honey, you feel his pain. You would take his position in a heartbeat. And if dat were you in da operating room, Fergal would take your place at a drop of a hat. Ya love each other. Dat's what happens when you're in love. Dis is going to be tough on both of ya. You guys love each other. Dat's why, sweetheart." I rest my head on my hands, taking all of her words in. "C'mon, sweetie, he'll be waiting for us." We head back in, up to the third floor. It's a waiting game. Two hours pass. "Fergal Devitt's family," a nurse speaks. His mother, father, and I immediately stand, walking towards the nurse. "Surgery has been a success. Just come with me." We follow her until she stops in front of the door. "He's still asleep, and the anesthesia will still be in the works when he wakes up." She opens the door for us and makes her way down the hall. I stand at the foot of the bed. His eyes are shut, his arm wrapped up, a sling holding his arm, and a pack of ice covers his shoulder. I walk to the left side, putting my hand on his head as I kiss his forehead. As I lean back, I notice a small smile has formed across his lips. I slide my fingers through his short hair before sitting in a rocking chair next to him. My eyes open and close, until they finally close. I've been up with Fergal since Sunday night, so I haven't had much sleep. After a few minutes, I hear the sheets move. His face scrunches up before he opens his eyes. "Hey," I say quietly as I stand up. "(y/n), da greatest gal in da whole wide world." He grabs a hold of my hand and lays it on his chest. "You're really, really, really, really beautiful. Wooow, I'm a lucky man." His parents stand off in the right, smiling as his full focus is on me. "Are ya really mine?" "Yes, Fergal." "I can't believe dat a girl like you is wit me." "Fergal," I say with a small chuckle. He looks at me with sweetness in his eyes. I break the gaze as I feel a sneeze coming. Once I sneeze, Fergal starts to laugh uncontrollably. His laugh causes me to laugh. "What?" "Your sneeze, da cutest ting ever." Then he starts to ramble on. "Your (southern/New York/whatever your accent is) accent is so adorable. Say butter." "Butter." "Say car." "Car." "Say water." "Water." He bursts out laughing. "It's da cutest ting. We're never gonna break up. Wanna know why?" "Why's that?" "Because you're cute. You're too darn adorable, (y/n). Have ya tried your cooking? I could get fat off ya cooking if I let myself. Alsooo, ya got a greeeeat arse." "Fergal," my voice shocked. "Booty!" "Fergal, shh." I look over at his parents and they're losing it. I'm so embarrassed. "Woooo!" "Oh my god, Fergal." "Do ya wanna know anoter ting?" "What?" "I love ya to infinity and beyond." "I love you too." "(y/n)?" "Yes?" "I can't wait for ya to be the mother of our children. I really want kids." "Marriage is gonna have to come first." "We're gonna get married and den you'll be gettin' pregnant." I let out a small chuckle. "Ya really are gonna be a great mom, (y/n)." His eyes shut and he falls asleep. I look over at his parents before sitting back down and falling asleep while me and Fergal's hands are still connected. Time passes and I hear my name being whispered. I slowly open my eyes and see Fergal looking in my direction. "C'mon," he says as he pats the bed. The anesthesia has worn off. "No, I don't want to take up your space," I mumble. "I don't want ya to sleep in a boney chair when you're on zero hours of sleep." "Fergal, I'm fine." "(y/n), c'mon." I sit on the side of the bed, my eyes heavy. "Get comfortable." I lay on my side as I lay my head on his right shoulder. His fingers are tracing shapes on my back. "Tank ya, (y/n)." "For what?" "For being here for me." "That's what I'm supposed to do. That's what you do when you're in love." He smiles and kisses me on the top of my head. "And, (y/n)?" "Yeah?" "Did I say anyting embarrassing?" "Do you really wanna know?" "Yes?" "That I've got a great ass; in front of your parents. His face turns red. "Oh, no." "You get a pass on this one." "I'm sorry, babe." "It's okay." "Did I say anyting else?" "You said how I'm gonna be a great mom." "You are," he whispers. "I love you, Fergal." "I love ya, (y/n)." The second I close my eyes, I'm fast asleep.

#finn balor #finn balor imagine

[xperimentalranger]

Screams for five hours.

#;Goof off city (open) #;to infinity and...whatever. oh yeah. beyond. right. (ic) #;at cosmo (queue)

[xperimentalranger]

@warncdandwiles cont. here

“Oh, will you?” came the dry response of the robot ranger as he crosses his arms, keeping an eye on his enemy.

“How generous of you. What’s the occasion? Since when did you start caring about my personal space?”

His eyes turned away from his worst nightmare, scanning the hallway of darkness, resisting the urge to shudder at the sight of the torn apart robots.

No way is he going to walk willingly to his doom.

“Eager to show me how much you redecorated your new hideout? I mean, I like your style, really, but aaaah - my schedule is kinda full tonight. Perhaps another time?“

#warncdandwiles #;to infinity and...whatever. oh yeah. beyond. right. (ic) #;at cosmo (queue)

[xperimentalranger]

@buddymuses cont. here.

“Incredibly enthusiastic, much appreciated.” X spoke with playful sarcasm, nudging his arm in a friendly manner.

Hey, if J got mad regarding their latest failure the former ranger saw no reason to pout about it. Oh sure - whatever he has planned will probably make her want to blast him into pieces but that’s a problem X will worry about later! It’s a future problem that doesn’t affect the present in any way.

Now? He wants to have some fun.

“If I tell you now, it wouldn’t be a surprise, would it?”

#buddymuses #;to infinity and...whatever. oh yeah. beyond. right. (ic) #v: serial designation x #X vc: buddy boy no spoilers