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neutron-stars-collision · 3 years

Text

The Art of Inversion

Neil x Reader

Chapter 29 - No Sound but the Wind

Masterlist; Chapter 28

Summary: Stalsk-12.

Warnings: Angst™️, swearing.

Author's Notes: Here we are... at the end of all things. My take on Stalsk took a lot of pain and time to figure out and actually write down so I hope it will be satisfactory. As usual, thank you Shet, for life saving diagrams and patience, as this wouldn't be possible without you.

Still probably 2-3 chapters to go so we're not quite at the end end just yet 😅 With that said, this chapter is as much a finale is it could be. Do hope you'll enjoy and feedback is greatly appreciated!

Waking up on the morning of the battle was strange. After the group conversation on the bridge, you and Neil collapsed into the bed, falling asleep instantly. The dreamless night was a welcomed surprise, and so, when you finally resurfaced on the side of consciousness again with the phone alarm ringing in your ears, you felt kind of rested. With the tight schedule, you took no liberty in wasting minutes cuddling and promptly got up, with Neil asking you to join him in his cabin in a quarter for the suiting up. There was no chance in hell you would refuse that.

It was once he left, after a kiss and quick reassurance that somehow it would be alright, the reality dawned with full force. Anxiety settled in your stomach, the nauseous feeling growing with every minute. A strange ache in your right shoulder, radiating down the arm, adding to the rising pile of questions. And doubts. At the edge of your consciousness, a festering thought that would not disappear. What if… what if? The question too terrifying to name, let alone answer.

Desperate for a distraction, you looked outside at the blue skies dotted with clouds, painting a contradictory image to the inside of your mind. At least you didn’t have to worry about the inverted rain… Sighing, you took one last look at the right shoulder and massaged the area with a frown permanently etched onto your face. Maybe it was nothing. With the time nearly running out, you quickly grabbed the battle gear and left the room.

As expected, the suiting up with Neil proved to be the distraction you needed. The moment he opened the door for you, wearing nothing but dark green combat trousers and a matching fitting long-sleeved shirt, your jaw fell slack. Somehow, out of the mess in your head, the only thought that survived was the attraction towards him. Because he looked very good. The shirt complimented his upper body in all the right places, making your eyes widen, overwhelmed with thoughts and feelings. The unbelievable luck and the gravitational pull that always pushed you towards him. And not without reason. Neil instantly caught your wandering gaze, took your hand in his, and pulled you inside the room, letting the door close behind you. The clueless look, checking your sanity from up close, before he asked:

“Why are you staring at me like that?” running a hand through his hair, making the strands stick up in every direction.

Adding to the charm. Stifling a groan building up in your throat, you placed the clothes on the empty chair before turning to face Neil again. Utterly perplexed in his dark green outfit. Stupidly hot. Just… fuck it.

“Because I can’t believe how attractive you are,” stating the truth felt relieving, but still like an understatement, “Like- my god, I-” you huffed, annoyed at both him and yourself.

Passive aggressively, you took off the shirt and pants, taking fleeting pride in how Neil seemed transfixed as well, watching your every move with fascination. Yet, it was much easier for him to shake off the mood and grab the holster. The brow furrowed; coherence lost:

“Seriously?” he was looking at you as though you have lost your mind, thoughtlessly fiddling with the thigh holster.

It was the glimmer of uncertainty that you noticed in his gaze that made you push forward. In any other moment, you would have backed off, pretended the exchange never happened, or responded with a joke to change the subject. But faced with the slightest potential that Neil could be genuinely doubting your claim, embarrassment and pride had to be abandoned. You quickly buckled up the trousers and took a step closer, taking a long look over his body. Your eyes were instantly drawn to all the details that never failed to make you want him. Placing your hands on his shoulders, you nodded:

“Yes. Being this fit is unprecedented,” grinning, you took in his stunned face, letting the frustrations and feelings lead the speech “It’s those broad shoulders and the narrow hips that always distract me when you’re wearing shirts,” letting your fingers skim over his chest and down the stomach in appreciating strokes “Long legs with those thighs… Darling, you’re making that holster look almost illicit” you eyed the accessory encircling his upper thigh with unhidden hunger, the tip of your tongue poking out to deliver the punchline “And let’s not even get to the best part because you know what I think about it” settling your palms on his hips, you grinned wickedly, meeting his gaze.

“What?” Neil swallowed hard, his hands instinctively wrapping around your waist.

Still so adorably confused. But now, you could notice the faint flicker of gratitude. And amusement. Might drive the point home then…

“Always knew you’d be a spectacular lover, but Jesus Christ… you’re making me regret half the times when I said no to you before” brushing over his backside and pulling your lower bodies flush together, you teasingly slipped your thumb underneath his shirt.

Taking immeasurable joy in the shallow gasp, he let out upon the simple action. You observed as he slowly shook himself awake, blue eyes searching yours, and then a hand raising to cup your cheek, tenderly brushing over the skin:

“What’s gotten into you?” the outpouring of affection waking up the butterflies in your stomach “Not that I’m complaining, though,” he shrugged, the slight concern tinted with happiness.

With your brain eager to remind you about the terrifying reality and the spikes of pain pulsing through your right shoulder, you chose to dive headfirst into the feelings warming up your chest. You shrugged and covered his hand with yours:

“Adrenaline fucked up and activated the wrong part of my brain. I’ve no clue,” your lips twisted in a hesitant smile, “But I want you, and that’s that” with the free hand, you traced the outline of his jaw.

Running over the stubble on his chin and the fading bruise underneath his ear, light blush spreading over your cheeks at the memory connected to it. It still felt strange sometimes to be this open with him. To speak your mind without fearing rejection or ridicule. To know that the sentiments were reciprocated with equal strength.

“Can we move that to after the battle?” Neil wrapped his arm around your waist, searching your face for clues, “Because now… now I just want to hold you. Kiss you, maybe” the timid whisper tugged at your heartstrings as he ran the pad of his thumb over your lower lip.

A familiar gesture, sparking up the fire and asking for consent. As if he still needed to.

“Maybe?” you arched an eyebrow, latching onto the word if only to make him smile.

Neil grinned, happiness radiating from his gaze as he tipped your chin upwards, syncing up with how you rose on your feet to meet him halfway.

“Certainly,” the murmur laid to rest on your lips.

The slow, gentle kiss, beginning with the tenderest of touches, his lips gliding over yours, carefully igniting the flame. It was as though he wanted to commit it to memory, softly drawing out sighs from your throat with the delicate pecks and ghostly brushes. The texture of his lips getting imprinted on yours, the taste of his kisses becoming a permanent memory. The hints of Earl Grey tinting the tip of his tongue as he finally deepened the kiss, trailing along the outline of your mouth and slipping inside to give you the necessary fix. You tangled your hand in his hair to bring him closer and to feel the strands between your fingers. Running out of air, at last, you withdrew by a millimetre and smiled against his mouth, giving in to the chaste pecks, extending the contact even if for a second. Neil grinned back, his thumb caressing your cheek in soft strokes, eyes showing everything you should need to know. The intimate moment awash with affection, adding meaning to the scene. Holding his gaze, you made sure to return the sentiments with equal strength before you leaned back and took in his lovesick expression.

“Don’t worry, I’ll address all of what you said later… Because I’m flattered” Neil broke the silence at last with a glimmer of gratefulness shining through the blue irises.

You grinned, allowing yourself a rare dose of hope for that later. May it come. Sending silent prayer to whatever god could be listening, you brushed away the hair from his eyes before responding:

“Good, because I meant it,” your eyes roaming over his face, admiring the striking features, “You handsome bastard,” the nickname coming out without hesitation.

How very fitting. Your grin only getting brighter when you saw Neil’s double-take, eyebrows scrunching up in confusion once more, only to be replaced with an uncertain head tilt and a thoughtful pause.

“… that sounded way too enticing than it should’ve,” he admitted finally, drawing you closer with his hands on your hips.

Confirming the sentiment, he licked his lips thoroughly with the gaze focused on your mouth. Bingo. Unable to stop the smug smile from spreading on your lips, you suggested an answer to his predicament:

“Maybe that’s just because I said it,” the rare rush of confidence and pride spreading blush on your cheeks.

Once more, you were separated by a breath of space with your lower bodies flush together. That impeccable pull, doing its work as usual as you felt his breath ghost over your lips. Then Neil smiled, confirming the beliefs with a simple statement:

“Yes, that too,” another kiss shutting down the worries and strengthening the feelings.

It only took three more before you continued with the suit up. To prevent distractions, you settled on the opposite side of the cabin, slowly assembling the military outfit, the silence occasionally interrupted with comments. It was once you have adjusted your thigh holster and slipped in the faithful Glock that the reality has once more dawned on you. You were about to head into a battle. An actual, large-scale battle, on the Siberian steppes, armed with nothing but a handgun and rifle. And Neil, both the protector and the protected. Not that it made any sense.

Sighing at the mess of thoughts in your head, you turned back to the man in question, observing him for a moment. He was busy packing the military backpack with the needed supplies, half-dressed in the top layer of the suit. With the hair grown out and the slight stubble on his chin, the outfit gave him the ‘rough mercenary’ look that could not help but quirk your lips in a tiny grin. Luck, and all that. As your gaze fell on the dark green backpack, your eyes got caught by a pendant attached to the zipper. With the curiosity piqued, you crossed the space to see the trinket, asking the question in the process:

“What’s that?” tenderly, you reached out to touch the pendant.

It was a vintage coin from India, attached to the zipper with a red and orange piece of yarn, washed with the years of use. Upon your innocent question, Neil let out a long exhale. Nervous. Perplexed, you glanced at him, immediately noticing the shy smile and hesitant gestures. Running a hand through his hair, he finally strung together a sentence:

“I… uh, that’s something Alex gave me and I- I can take it off if you-” stopping the panicked ramblings, you placed your finger upon his lips.

Idiot. Smiling gently, you let go of the trinket and took Neil’s hand in yours, slowly rubbing out the tension and cherishing the feel of his palm in yours. There were no doubts as towards what you had to tell him in response to something this outrageous.

“Neil, why do you think I’d want you to get rid of that?” you watched as he struggled for an answer, the adorable pinkish tint darkening his cheeks, “I’m glad you had him. And that he was lucky to have you” as his eyes turned glossy, you swallowed the sudden rush of tears and added “I can only hope I’ll be fortunate enough to have you for the rest of however much have we got” the uncertainty creeping in, forcing to add the necessary disclaimer “If you’ll-”

If you’ll want me for that long. But you never got as far as telling that. Neil closed the gap, pulling you close with cheeks wet with tears and eyes full of inexplicable emotions:

“Shut up” he brushed his nose over yours as a prelude before covering your lips with his in a kiss.

A hungrier one this time, a way of returning the feelings you have poured into your words. His teeth grazed over your lower lip in a familiar expression of passion. In response, you could only draw him closer, sighing when the salty tears tinged the contact with boundless weight. Somehow you knew that whatever would happen beyond this moment, the love you had was real. Probably the only genuine feeling you ever had the luck of experiencing. With the realisation fresh on your mind, you could only whimper quietly when Neil broke the kiss at last and pressed another to your forehead. He kept on holding you close as though worried your time was running out. Overwhelmed with the conflicting emotions, you reached out to brush away the evidence of his tears, caressing his face in a dream-like daze. Finally, he broke the silence:

“Never thought I could love someone that much again, but there we are. And you know what?” the happy smile contrasted how his eyes glistened with melancholy, “I like it,” you mirrored the grin, letting the blue of his eyes pull you under “Emotional compromise has never been this tempting” reference to the nightly conversation making you giggle.

A perfect opportunity to lighten up the moment and shake off the premonition shadowing your every gesture and word. Distractedly, you placed your hand over his beating heart, glancing up at him with a playful smirk:

“Does your gob just like… never run out?” Neil’s grin widened, your interference doing its magic, “I’m impressed,” as a confirmation, you patted his shoulder humoredly.

Neil shrugged, the look in his eyes clear: you knew what you’re signing up for. And you did. Frankly, you would not have it any other way. No matter the consequences or the future. Love is merely a madness, after all.

“And I-” when Neil spoke again, you could tell what was coming.

Getting into the temptation (and because you haven’t said it in an hour), you interrupted him with your confession:

“I love you. I know,” a smug smile splitting your face once more upon seeing his reaction.

The eyes widened for a split second, furrowed brow and lips open in a gasp. Before Neil somehow became even more beautiful as the morning light lit up the joyful glimmer in his eyes. The hair caught on the golden fire, giving him the look of an angel that has fallen straight from heaven. And was yours, for some unknown reason. Your affirmation added a spark of confidence to his expression as he thanked you for it with another breathless kiss.

The rest of the dress-up continued in that manner, often interrupted with kissing, hugs, and banter that seemed to wash away the fears. Even if only for the moment. As you adjusted the bulletproof vest and made sure the front pocket was full of the extra magazines, you checked the time. A little too tight, considering you were yet to assemble the oxygen tank and prepare the rifle. Looking up, you met Neil’s attentive gaze as he was shamelessly staring at you. For a second, you could tell that you were both considering never leaving the room and ignoring the reality. Just saying ‘fuck it’ to the universe and abandoning the post for whatever cost to never let this moment end. But it had to. The mirroring mournful smiles on your faces contrasted with the desperate hope you tried to hold on to. Finally, without breaching the gap, you remarked quietly:

“We should move, or else they’ll leave without us” a meaningful look at the window.

Yet without urgency present in your heart. Because you did not want to go. Not at all.

Neil could easily read the sentiment from your face, for he picked up the remaining parts of the equipment and asked:

“Do you think there’ll be bears?” the innocuous question dropped with the needed effect.

A distraction. A way of making the exit easier for you.

“… what?” staring at him with confusion written all over your face, you gaped.

Beloved idiot. He grinned, taking that one step closer to brush away the hair from your eyes with extra care.

“You know, bears, Siberia… Rasputin?” his lopsided smile adding the punch to the ridiculous statement.

And then, just as you were sure the situation would not get stranger, he started humming. Boney M. Rasputin, naturally. You groaned, pondering life decisions. Seduction through talking absolute nonsense and humming Boney M? Sure, why not. Ignoring the urge to facepalm, you let the amusement and bewilderment spill through the glare you gave him. He shrugged in response. Another message easy to understand: your idiot. Taking his hand in yours, you decided to play along:

“I don’t think it’s that sort of Siberia,” you frowned, looking for the correct metaphor, “Think more like… Chernobyl, graphite, and radiation poisoning. Inverted, at that” wincing at the mental image, you squeezed his palm.

The quiet reassurance complementing the silent conversation. All that you did not need to say but knew anyway.

“Inverted Chernobyl?” Neil met your absent gaze with a laugh reflected in the blue irises.

The laughter never felt this important before. Clutching his hand tightly, you collapsed into his arms. A few minutes of delay wouldn’t hurt anyone.

***

If anyone later were to ask you how the briefing looked like or about the specifics of what you did before boarding the container attached to the chinook, you would not know what to tell them. As though in a dream, you attended the meeting led by Wheeler and crafted to fit the needs of the Blue team, registering half of what was said. You had the plan for your unit memorised, and that had to be enough. Rest was up to fate. With the pain resonating through the shoulder and the suffocating anxiety making a home in the pit of your stomach, Neil’s presence right next to you and his hand resting on your thigh mattered more than usually. You had a feeling he knew, shooting you worried looks now and then and focusing intently on Wheeler at the same time. As though he knew that he had to be the strong one. The leader. You could only hope that you would not disappoint him or fuck it up. After all, the fate of the world was a pretty crucial cause to fight for. Even if your world has shrunk to that 1,85m, blue eyes, and dyed blonde hair. Fighting for your future together was good enough, too.

You settled on the bench in the blue container, struggling to find the air to breathe in the cramped space, weighted with the fears and the suit covering every inch of your skin. As the chinook rose and the wind shook the container with force, you strengthened the hold over the helmet resting on your lap and screw your eyes shut. The throbbing sensation in your arm only seemed to get more prominent with every passing minute as though sensing that Stalsk (and whatever awaited there) was getting sooner for you. Trying to keep the mind at bay, you went over the plan once more. The bullet points straightforward enough to be recited like a prayer: upon the landing, exit the container and run towards the epicentre, following Neil; stay out of trouble; enter the dead-drop chamber with 5 minutes to spare (ideally); cover Neil as he deals with the lock; leave and arrive at the drop off zone in time to come back. Simple, right? You glanced at the watch on your wrist. It already felt like ten minutes from the explosion will not be enough. Because what if you were stopped? What if something went wrong, and you will never make it to the lock? What if you mess it up by letting nerves take over everything else? What if something goes wrong?

With the questions multiplying at an alarming speed, you quickly found yourself struggling for breath. The mask and the constant rattling of the packed container were not helping. Shit. A louder gasp was unnoticed by everyone but the man to your right. Neil turned on the bench in a second, scanning your face for the obvious signs. As your wild, panicked gaze met his, he tilted your chin firmly:

“Hey, hey,” the gentle whisper urging you to focus on him only “Look at me” he searched your eyes for something and then asked, “What’s wrong?”

It was that patience and kindness that always got you. No matter the circumstances or the advancement of your relationship, Neil always reacted with the same gentleness. And that was both the reason to love him and to be disappointed by your inability to keep it together.

“Sorry, it’s just nerves… and… fuck, I’m sorry” stumbling over the words, you could feel the tears welling up in your eyes, betraying you “You need me, and I’m already fucking it all up by being too weak-” your rant was gathering speed, stopped only by Neil.

“If it wasn’t for the bloody oxygen masks, I’d make you shut up now,” he sighed with exasperation, eyes glancing at your mouth to point out the true meaning of the sentence “Stop it, give me your hand” obediently, you let him entwine your fingers “Actually, I’d be a little worried if you weren’t scared. But we’ll manage because it’s us. And there’s nothing we can’t do” the words spoken with confidence you could only dream of having “Do you trust me?” he asked the question with startling resolve in the blue eyes.

Despite the mess of thoughts, the answer was too easy.

“With my life,” you squeezed his palm for comfort and added, “And heart too, apparently” a sheepish shrug to complete the confession.

But is it still a confession when it’s glaringly evident? Talking with Neil like this with the troops all around and the chinook’s rattle overhead, everything felt surreal. But it did not seem like anyone noticed your ‘heart-to-heart’. Thank fuck.

Neil did not seem to mind, staring at you with that familiar affectionate glimmer in his eyes. He brushed his thumb over your knuckles, soothing the anxiety and reasserting his presence.

“I’m glad because I kind of need your heart to pull this off,” he grinned, the sudden tentativeness endearing and distracting you successfully “Because this way I know that it’s all worth fighting for” locking your eyes with his, you somehow knew what was coming “Do you remember the promise?”

Of course. It was not as if you spent many hours thinking about it. And praying that you will never have to break it.

“Yeah, I… I hope it won’t come to that” the careful answer to make sure he would not catch on to your doubts.

And the countless plans you have made in the quiet of your mind. Just in case.

“Me too, but if- If it’s me, or you, I’ll always choose you,” the simple statement made the breath hitch in your throat.

As did the look in his eyes, assuring you that he meant it. Boundless love, pouring out of every glance and expressed through the firm hold over your hand. There was no escaping it.

And I, you. The answer unspoken; whispered only to yourself. And that had to be enough.

***

The moment of quiet did not last long. Soon after your conversation ended, the wind picked up, increasing the shaking of the container. Even without windows, you could tell that you were getting closer. After another violent jolt, Wheeler stood up, holding on tightly to the railing overhead:

“We’re coming in on the shock wave,” her voice rang out loud and clear, “Hold on, people!” with the warning, you strengthened the hold over Neil’s palm and used the other to tighten the seatbelt.

You tensed, body preparing for the impact and everything else that could come after. As though following your instincts, you turned to Neil at the exact moment he glanced at you. Your gazes locked as the chinook flew through the explosion shock wave, eliciting gasps from the troops and increasing the feeling of doom. The only anchor, the blue eyes gazing back at you with love and determination, were a perfect place to wait for the landing. You kept on staring, letting yourself find a piece of hope in his face and knew Neil was doing the same. But the time was already running out.

Two minutes later, the blue container touched the ground with a thud giving you the signal to stand up and prepare for the charge down the ridge. You fastened the helmet and prepared the rifle, ready for the strike. As the doors opened, you got struck with the piercing light outside. The area was covered in the sandy steppe, the ruins of the city littered with crumbled grey buildings and blocks. The blue skies, giving nothing but a contrast to the scene with its startling serenity. As Wheeler gave the Blues signal to begin, you followed the troops, running out of the container and down the steep ridgeway, instantly noticing the hundreds of mercs in your way. Inverted, normal. Everything the hell had to offer. You could see the Reds fighting them off, trying to create a safe passage for the splinter unit. Before it began, one final thought resonating through your head – you never even got to say goodbye to TP. It felt strange. And yet.

You did not have much time to process the realisation as Neil tugged at your hand in a clear signal: C’mon. You followed him down the hill, rifle comfortably placed on your shoulder to allow easy aim if needed. 9:35. The bullets were wheezing past, inverted, and normal. An additional level of chaos was introduced by the crumbled buildings, flying upwards in denial of physics. That’s what the training was for. Focusing on staying alive and relatively unharmed, you swerved between the rocks and walls, eyes open on those that behaved differently. Rounding up the corner of one derelict building, Neil pulled you to crouch as he scouted the horizon for obvious traps. The construction acted as a hideaway, giving you a moment to catch the breath burning your lungs and give the legs a millisecond-long rest. The ringing in your ears seemed permanent as you stared at Neil, awaiting instructions. 8:00. The blue digits on the watch speeding up the pounding heart. After too long a pause, you asked:

“Are we clear?” your voice wavered, showing the anxiety brewing underneath.

“One second” Neil glanced at you before going back to risk assessment.

You tensed, closing your eyes for a split second to ground within the moment. To find clarity in the chaos of the battlefield. A breath in and out. Hand tightening the hold on the rifle. The other was squeezed by Neil. The sign to sober up.

“Go” your eyes shot open as he whispered the command.

Without a second of hesitation, you leapt up, turning around the corner and running straight towards the bunker. You could hear Neil following close, the sounds of your footfall the only noise you allowed in. And then the third one joined. Startled by an explosion nearby, you looked to the right in time to see a merc running in your direction. Inversed, luckily. He was too close to use the rifle, and so you faced him for combat. A kick there. A backhand to weaken the enemy. Adrenaline rushing in your veins as you successfully brought him to his knees. Now it was just the question of pulling the trigger. The shot echoed in the space as he fell on the ground with a thud. It never got too easy. Stifling a heavy sigh, you only managed to turn on your heel when Neil’s yell broke the silence:

“Watch out!” you saw the worry in the blue eyes before the world turned upside down.

In a flash, you heard strange noises coming from the rumble laying all around. There was no time to jump to the side as the stones flew up. A piece of rock hit you in the shoulder as another large boulder made you trip, landing face down on the ground. Fucking physics. The breath knocked out of your lungs as you groaned:

“Fuck,” the curse coming out as you tried to pick yourself back to standing.

The time was still running out. You winced as the pain radiating from the right shoulder increased by a notch.

“Are you alright?” Neil pulled you up with a frown etched onto his face.

No.

“Yeah, let’s go. It’s close now” you offered him an unconvincing smile and looked towards the buildings.

From the distance, it looked like a barrow or a war-time bunker with the top covered with soil and the entrance through a dark tunnel. The main way in was not yours, however. Projecting the mental map of the compound, you searched the terrain for your entryway. Soon, just where you expected it to be, you noticed a metal trapdoor in the ground, partially hidden by the shadow of a crumbled building. You knew Neil noticed it too, for he gently pushed you in the direction without a word. 6:02. On time. Sort of.

The rusted padlock keeping the door shut gave way after a forceful kick. You stood on the lookout as Neil opened the flap with a creak of the old hinges. Making sure no one was on the horizon, you looked over your shoulder to see the progress. It seemed like your way in was a vertical tunnel with ladder steps ending in eerie darkness. And beyond? God knows what. Fantastic. As Neil peered down the hole with a small torchlight, you frowned:

“A dark hole in the ground… brilliant” letting out a small sigh, you met Neil’s eyes as he looked up at you.

A glimmer in the blue irises told you he was up for no good. And you were right.

“… there lived a Hobbit?” Neil completed the quotation in an innocent tone.

Just as if you were not in the middle of the battle with bullets wheezing past and explosions punctuating every heartbeat.

“… Neil, what the actual fuck?” gaping at him, you almost forgot the reality.

For a split second, there was no ticking clock and worry of death waiting around the corner. Only you and Neil, entangled in yet another dialogue of nonsense. As it was supposed to be. You knew he understood, for he squeezed your hand once more before responding:

“Sometimes I ask myself that too,” a perfect punchline to elicit a sharp gust of laughter.

But there was no time. You both checked the horizon one more time before Neil pushed you in the direction of the entrance:

“Go, I’ll follow,” a whisper, giving the necessary support.

No chance of backing out. With a final sigh, you secured the rifle on your shoulder and took the first step down the ladder. The railings were cold and corroded by time and elements, giving that additional spark of anxiety you did not need.

Looking down, you could make out the end, and so, making sure to ignore the aching body and screaming mind, you began the descend without a second of hesitation. There was no time. With only the light from the world above, you soon lost the count and the ability to see, relying only on your instincts not to slip and fall.

After what felt like hours, your feet touched the ground with a shallow thump, resonating through the cavern. The tunnel was lit by a single fluorescent, giving out its swan song underneath the Siberian ruins. As you took a step to the side to let Neil join you, you scanned the surroundings. The dark cave with rusted pipelines lining up the ceiling and the metal crate and railings covering the ground. You exchanged a glance, similar reactions mirrored on your faces. It was easy to feel unwelcomed.

You turned to the right, as the maps indicated, following the tunnel towards the epicentre. With each step, the anxiety rose, manifesting itself through the shaking fingers and shallow breaths. You could feel the inexplicable feeling of dread fill your heart with nothing to blame it on. Until you finally turned the last corner and found yourselves at your destination.

The dead drop chamber had a high dome with the entrance at the top and a cage-like construction underneath, edging a dark cavern. In the poorly lit space, your eyes took a second to adjust and take in the necessary details. Inside the cage, you could see TP and Ives, hunched over a mysterious, steel object, shaped like a coffin. The Algorithm. A shudder ran through your body as you noticed the yellow countdown clock attached to the item. Next to them, there was a body. A man lying flat on his back with a gunshot wound in his head. You immediately recognised the face from the folder given to you long before the mission took off. Volkov, Sator’s right hand. Your blood turned cold as though anticipating something that was yet to happen. The pain in your shoulder has reached the levels of tolerance, increasingly growing to make sure you could not ignore it. Tough luck.

“Neil… something’s wrong,” you whispered, grasping his hand in yours, seeking comfort.

Even though he could not offer anything beyond his presence. You knew that whatever would happen, you had to face it alone.

“I know,” the low murmur bringing you back to the present moment.

As you locked eyes with Neil, you could see the worries confirmed. He was tense as if anticipating the worst yet not knowing when or how it would come. On the periphery of your vision, you could see Ives and TP stare at both of you, seemingly unsure of how they should act or which part to play. The body language, showing nothing but unease and confusion. You knew Neil noticed it too, for he quickly closed the space to the lock and rummaged in the front pocket of his vest for the tools.

“Let’s…” throwing a look at you with the necessary determination.

No time to waste. You nodded, blocking out the pain, if even for a second longer. Job to be done.

“I’ll watch your back,” the assurance he did not need, but you gave anyway.

As Neil began the lockpicking, you positioned yourself sideways, hoping to have a good vantage point to observe the inside of the cage and the tunnel leading to the epicentre. A glance at the watch picked up the heart rate. 03:27. With the muffled sounds of the battle above the cavern, you could hear your heavy breaths filling the silence, sometimes interrupted with backwards gibberish coming from the splinter unit and Neil’s curses. The time was both suspended and was ticking away mercilessly.

Upon a louder sigh, you glanced in his direction. The question died on your tongue as you perceived movement through the bars of the chamber. A gasp pierced the silence as your eyes landed on Volkov raising from the ground. No bullet hole in his head. Fuck. Before you could utter a word, a gunshot resonated through the space. Ives lowered the gun, staring at you with a strange emotion. Neil glanced up, a shaky breath the only sound on the comms.

It was easy to put together the pieces. And make the decision. Ignoring Neil’s startled look, you crossed the remaining gap to the cage. The gate was almost open, needing a few seconds more, at most. And after… It made so much sense. Easy. No need to think or analyse. Shield Neil, keeping your gaze fixed on Volkov. The pulse, pounding in your ears. The backward gibberish, coming from the splinter unit, talking to the henchman. It all did not matter. You awaited that faithful sound of the lock opening. A breath in and out. It would be alright. It would be worth it.

The click came both sooner and later than you expected. A jolt of adrenaline ran through your body, elevating the heart rate, making your reactions fluent. Fear is your companion. As the gate creaked, Neil’s tools clattered to the ground. He looked up at you, questions and worries multiplying in the blue eyes. He didn’t know yet. Taking comfort in the realisation, you smiled at him. For reassurance. I got you.

And then swiftly threw yourself between him and the now open door as the second gunshot echoed in the chamber. A flash of pain ripped through your shoulder; the inverted bullet tore through the tissue before you could perceive it. Of course. Everything made sense now.

Volkov lowered the gun and retracted through the tunnel in the dome. With a strangled yell, you fell onto the ground. Your knees hit the crate as you toppled onto your side. The edges of your vision darkened; your brain overwhelmed with the increasing agony. As though through the glass, you could hear Neil scream your name before he gathered you in his arms. Through the tears, you could see his furrowed brow. The eyes glossy with unshed tears of his own. You wanted to brush them away. To tell him that you are going to be alright. That you love him. But no sound could come out through the tightened throat.

The warm liquid was pooling inside the suit and spilling through the gaping hole. Pain flooded your vision as you fought to keep your eyes open. Through the ascending fog, you could hear Neil’s whispers, begging you to stay with him. To stay awake. Easier said than done.

Slowly, he stood up, cradling you in his arms. Horror and determination etched onto his face. You laced your hands on his neck, following the instincts that played out their roles without your actions.

The tunnel. Please, don’t cry. Bright light, hurting your eyes. Explosions in the distance. The boundless blue cast with fear. I love you. Burning agony radiating through the body. I don’t regret it. Neil’s panicked screams. I’ll do everything for you. The soil underneath your fingertips. You’re my everything. Scarlet hands. Pain.

No sound but the wind.

#tenet #neil tenet #neil x reader #neil tenet x reader #neil tenet fanfic #neil tenet imagine #tenet fanfic #robert pattinson #the art of inversion

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cherienymphe · 4 years

Text

Til Death Do Us Part (Bucky x Reader)

WARNINGS: NON-CON, loss of virginity, alluded to Mafia!Bucky, arranged marriage

DNI IF THIS OFFENDS YOU

➥ {page breaks done by @whimsicalrogers}

summary: after your arranged marriage has served its purpose, you bring up the inevitable topic of divorce. It is only then do you realize that you and your husband might not be on the same page.

You hummed as the Keurig made that annoying almost growling noise you hated, but it signaled that your coffee was done so you supposed you couldn’t hate it too much. When you turned it off, the only noise in the otherwise quiet kitchen was the sound of your spoon hitting the mug as you stirred. Truth be told, it was the only sound in the entire mansion.

Bucky was upstairs, in his office, doing God knows what. You didn’t make it your business to put your nose in the details of his business. At one point it might have mattered to you, in the beginning – like the first week of your marriage beginning– but you had long moved past that. You pursed your lips as your thoughts ran rampant, confusion and impatience starring in them.

You took a sip of your coffee and glanced upwards towards the ceiling. The inevitable conversation to be had had been weighing on your mind for weeks. You and Bucky hardly talked, husband and wife in name only, but you figured that now was as good a time as any. With a sigh, you glided out of the kitchen and made your way upstairs.

The house you lived in was obnoxiously grand and much too ostentatious for your tastes, but you’d known what kind of life you were marrying into when you walked down the aisle. You’d known when your parents had told you his name, it all having been arranged for you without your consent or knowledge. For a year you’d lived a life that made you just a bit uncomfortable. Jewels, fancy parties, private jets, etc. It just wasn’t for you, never had been despite growing up around that. It didn’t matter now though. Soon you’d be free of it.

You knocked on his office door without hesitation. Despite your loveless marriage, Bucky was never cruel to you, just indifferent, and you were the same. Anyone else would have been worried to disturb him but considering the two of you talked maybe once a week, you knew he’d be more curious than anything else as to why you were seeking him out. Although, there was really only one reason and you were positive he’d been expecting you at some point.

“Come in,” his gruff voice carried through the wood.

You strode inside with a small smile. He didn’t return it, but that wasn’t unusual. He hardly ever smiled. You found yourself frowning a bit as you registered the slight confusion on his face.

“Hey. Sorry to disturb you…”

“No, it’s fine. Sit down,” he softly replied, gesturing to the chair in front of his desk.

You settled in, fingers trailing over your mug.

“I didn’t think to bring you a cup,” you suddenly said, apologetic.

“It’s fine,” he waved you off, pushing whatever he was working on to the side. “What’s the matter?”

You cleared your throat, sitting up straight, and his eyes narrowed at you.

“I… I just thought I’d-we’d address the elephant in the room.”

His brows furrowed, and he dropped his pen on the desk before leaning back in his chair, hands folded in his lap.

“What are you talking about?”

You rolled your eyes.

“Come on, Bucky. I’m talking about the ‘D’ word here,” you chuckled.

His expression did not change, and you found yourself getting irritated with him, something you hardly ever did. You didn’t hold in your scoff, and you took a sip of coffee before continuing.

“Divorce,” you deadpanned.

His blue eyes widened, and his face fell as he registered your response. You were confused yourself now as you watched him hastily sit up, leaning on his desk as he stared you down.

“What the hell are you talking about?”

A sinking feeling festered in your gut, and it was beginning to hit you that maybe you two weren’t on the same page after all.

“Oh,” you quietly murmured as you looked down.

“Y/N, what the hell are you talking about?”

Your eyes met his as your shoulders sagged.

“Bucky, this marriage was arranged in every way a marriage could be, purely so you could inherit your grandfather’s money. He passed two months ago, so I thought the topic of divorce was coming any day now,” you told him, speaking as if you were talking to a child.

He merely blinked at you, so you continued.

“From the beginning I knew that this marriage had a purpose, and while I might have hoped it would be something more, I learned fairly quickly that we were both just…waiting it out…”

He finally moved, rising to step around his desk and sit on the edge of it, facing you. He pressed his hands into the mahogany as he shook his head.

“That’s…that’s not…,” his words died off as his frown deepened, something in his eyes that you couldn’t name yet.

“We’re husband and wife in name only. Its only true on paper,” you chuckled. “In the entire year that we’ve been married, we have never slept together. The only time you kiss or even touch me is when we’re at some event with hundreds of eyes watching our every move.”

His shoulders sagged too as he looked at you. You smiled at him.

“I don’t blame you for anything you may have done outside of our marriage. I don’t care,” you honestly told him with a shrug.

His face pinched at that, and you watched his jaw tick as his eyes narrowed.

“Why not? Have you been doing anything outside of our marriage?” he demanded.

You reared back at his harsh tone, never having been on the receiving end of it.

“No,” you scoffed. “…because our marriage is a farce. I don’t feel like your wife in any way, shape, or form. Not even close! I don’t feel like you’re mine just as I’m sure you don’t feel like I’m yours. We’re two strangers who live together, so I couldn’t care less about what you do and who you’re doing it with.”

You stood.

“We were both just biding our time. Besides, your family went through a great deal of trouble to make sure you married a virgin, so I wasn’t just going to sleep with any man that smiled at me if that’s what you were thinking. It never mattered much to me before, but I do still at least have the chance to make sure it’s with someone I love. I suppose I can thank you for that,” you whispered.

He was quiet, and while this wasn’t out of character for him, this silence felt different. You sighed, crossing your arms over your chest.

“I…I really thought we were on the same page-.”

“No…we are. We are,” he said with a nod.

He held your gaze, and you finally placed that look in his eyes. It was a look of realization, as if you were pointing something out to him that he’d never noticed before.

“You…are absolutely right. About everything,” he breathed.

“I really am sorry for springing this on you-.”

“You didn’t,” he quietly interrupted. “You’re right. It was a conversation that needed to be had.”

You nodded, and an awkward silence descended over his office as you two eyed each other.

“If it’s any consolation, you were a good husband,” you told him.

The corner of his lips curved upwards ever so slightly.

“I mean it. You were always nice to me, and I mean, look where I am,” you gestured around. “I’ve never had to want for anything, and you never demanded of me what husbands expect from their wives. Not once in an entire year, and I’m grateful for that.”

He swallowed, nodding.

“I’ll draw up the paperwork,” he said as you turned away.

“Alright.”

He called your name when your hand was on the door, and you looked over your shoulder at him.

“There’s an event I need to attend tonight,” he suddenly said.

“Okay,” you sighed. “What’s the attire? Anything I should wear in particular?”

He eyed you, blue eyes darkening in a way you’d never seen before.

“Wear the green one,” he eventually murmured. “You always look great in that.”

You eyed him for a bit with a frown before eventually throwing him a small smile.

“Will do,” you chirped before closing the door behind you.

The expensive emerald fabric clung to you like a second skin, and you smoothed your hand down it for what felt like the hundredth time that evening. Bucky pressed his fingers into your waist, pulling you closer as his lips grazed your ear.

“You look wonderful. Stop it,” he quietly admonished.

“You know I’m not fond of these soirees. Nothing more than a dick measuring contest,” you scoffed.

You felt his eyes on you, but you were busy looking around. The only upside to these events was reuniting with Nakia and Pepper. Occasionally Nat would be here too, but that was rare. Nat never did anything she didn’t want to do, and this wasn’t really her thing either.

“Looking for someone?”

You turned towards your husband, finding his blue eyes entirely focused on you. His tone was…odd, but you shrugged it off.

“Just Pepper or Nakia. I usually meet up with them whenever you’re off with Steve and Thor and whomever else,” you distractedly answered, smiling over his shoulder as you spotted familiar auburn hair.

You pulled away from him and briefly laid your hand on his arm as you moved to go around him, but you were halted when he reached out to grip your wrist. Confused, you turned to look at him and watched as he sent you a small smile, a rare sight.

“Why don’t we stick together for the evening…”

Your brows rose in surprise as your lips parted, at a loss for words.

“Uh…sure. Okay,” you slowly replied.

He pulled you closer, and your eyes widened. You glanced down when he started to rub circles into your wrist with his thumb.

“I just…really want to enjoy your company tonight,” he explained.

You finally shook yourself out of your stupor, chuckling.

“You don’t have to explain yourself, Bucky. I was just…a little surprised is all,” you said, allowing him to pull you along.

The grand building was full of people with money and impure intentions, networking, scheming, or looking for a bedfellow for the night. You smiled politely whenever your eyes connected with someone else’s, unsure if you’d ever get used to the constant stares that always followed your husband, and for the past year, you as well.

However, you felt a genuine smile creep along your lips when you spotted familiar blond hair. An equally familiar blond was standing next to him, his booming laughter reaching your ears. They were chatting amongst themselves, waiting for Bucky no doubt. Steve was facing the two of you, and his smile widened when his eyes met yours. Thor followed his gaze and jumped to action before Steve did.

“Y/N!”

“Thor,” you greeted when he pulled you into a hug.

“I feel as if it has been ages since I’ve last seen you,” he said as you pulled away.

“I’m pretty sure this is the first time she’s remained at Bucky’s side after getting through the door,” Steve teased as he pulled you into his arms.

You laughed and heard your husband grumble behind you.

“That’s hardly true,” Bucky defended.

His arm returned to its place around your waist when Steve finally let you go. A server passed you carrying a tray of flute glasses, and Bucky reached out to grab two. You sent him a grateful smile as you took it from him, turning away to listen to Thor before he had a chance to return it.

As the night wore on, you found yourself lost in thought more often than not. It wasn’t that Thor or Steve were boring, far from it in fact. Occasionally, you added something of substance to the conversation, pulling laughter from the three men, but all too soon you felt yourself drifting away again.

It was the first time you and Bucky were ever together during one of these soirees, and you wondered what had changed. You felt yourself growing uncomfortable with his close proximity, his body heat mingling with yours, the tightening of his arm around your waist. Downing the rest of your drink, you gradually pulled away. Bucky’s eyes were inquiring when they met yours.

“I just need some air,” you quietly told him, handing him your empty glass before walking away.

It was a warm night, but the air inside felt hotter and stuffier than that of the balcony for some reason. You took a deep breath, placing your hands on the railing as you looked out over the city. You’d grown up here, but the city life was never for you. You hated the noise and the fact that you couldn’t see the stars at night.

After the divorce, you’d move somewhere more remote. Not a backwoods town straight out of a horror movie, but somewhere quaint. Somewhere far away from Bucky’s, and your parents’, lifestyle. You’d probably meet some nice guy with a boring job, but it was what you wanted. You had nothing against your husband, but you didn’t want to end up with someone like him.

You glanced over your shoulder as the noise from inside briefly reached your ears. You smiled at Steve as he closed the door behind him. He had two drinks in his hand, and you shook your head when he offered you one.

“No, thanks. I’m not much of a drinker, and I’ve already had one,” you told him.

He chuckled.

“You and Buck are so different,” he said, standing beside you.

“Well, you know what they say. Opposites attract,” you sarcastically replied.

He didn’t respond right away, but when he did, he took you by surprise.

“Bucky told me about the divorce.”

You looked at him, blinking.

“I’m sorry,” he eventually said, looking at you.

You let out a soft chuckle.

“I always knew you two gossiped like school children,” you joked before waving him off. “Trust me, there isn’t anything to be sorry about. I’m sure you know by now that our marriage was hardly real anyway.”

Steve frowned at you, leaning against the railing now.

“How do you mean? I mean, I know it was arranged, but…”

“Then I’m sure you know it was only so he could inherit his grandfather’s money,” you told him.

“Well…yeah, but I’m sure that’s not the only reason,” Steve tried to argue.

You almost pitied Steve. He was such a romantic and was clearly struggling with the knowledge that his best friend’s marriage was a sham.

“Steve,” you spoke like you were talking to a child. “Bucky and I are practically strangers…”

He blinked at you, shoulders sagging a bit.

“You’re kidding,” he whispered.

“No,” you sadly replied, shaking your head. “We’re husband and wife in name only. There’s literally nothing about our relationship that would indicate we’re married.”

“Nothing?” Steve wondered in disbelief.

You shook your head with a small laugh.

“I figured you knew all of the details. Bucky tells you everything…”

“Apparently not,” he mumbled, taking a sip from one of the glasses. “…and you’re…okay?”

There was concern in his eyes when they met yours again, and you threw him a reassuring smile.

“I promise. Since the beginning it was obvious what this really was. His grandfather has passed, and Bucky has his millions,” you said with a shrug. “There’s no reason for us to stay together.”

“This is a lot for me to process,” he whispered, looking dazed. “So…you’re just going to do what? Leave?”

“Yeah,” you breathed. “This lifestyle was never for me. I’m not sure where I’ll go yet, but…it’ll be somewhere quiet, I know that.”

“It’s a shame. You grew on me,” he said.

You glanced at him.

“You too…and Thor, and…as much as I hate to admit it…even Loki,” you reluctantly confessed.

Steve laughed.

“He’s such an ass, but he’s the funny kind.”

“Depends on your taste in comedy,” Steve argued.

“Well, I think he’s funny,” you defended.

Steve chuckled into his glass.

“Better not let Buck hear that,” he whispered with a teasing grin.

“What? Why?” you questioned, leaning in.

Before Steve could answer, the noise from inside traveled to you, and you both turned to see Bucky standing in the doorway. His blue eyes flickered between you two before he threw you a smile. It didn’t reach his eyes.

“Ready to go?”

You straightened up.

“Sure,” you said, glancing at Steve. “I’ll see you around, Steve.”

“You guys drive safe,” he said. “You should probably let Y/N drive, Buck.”

“Like that will ever happen,” you threw over your shoulder. “Bye!”

Bucky was quiet when you both made it back inside. That wasn’t unusual, but his silence tonight was stifling. It put your nerves on end. Before you could even think to question him, his hand was on your arm. You almost stumbled in your heels as he pulled you along.

“Hey,” you protested, but it was as if he didn’t hear you.

He didn’t wave anyone goodbye on the way out, and he was incredibly short with the valet as soon as you made it outside. When you finally stopped, you attempted to pull away from him, but his grip only tightened. You winced and glared at him.

“Bucky,” you called, but he ignored you.

With a huff, you looked away from him as you both waited for his car to be pulled around. It had started to grow cooler, and Bucky’s hand on your arm felt like a heating pad. When the boy finally pulled the car around, your husband wasted no time in dragging you towards the passenger seat. His haste caused you to stumble, and you gasped when your heel broke.

“Bucky-!”

“Get. In,” he harshly interrupted, practically shoving you into the car.

You barely slid your foot inside before he slammed the door. You blinked at it in shock, eventually moving to pull your seatbelt over you. You glared at him when he slid into the driver’s seat, yanking the door out of the valet’s grip to slam it shut.

“What the hell is your problem?” you demanded just as he sped off.

He didn’t reply, knuckles white as he gripped the steering wheel. You stared at him, waiting for an answer, and when it was apparent you weren’t going to get one, you looked away with a huff. The silence in the sporty car was thick and filled with tension. Only, you didn’t know why.

You knew that in a line of work like his, it required Bucky to do certain things or act a certain way. You knew that he wasn’t as docile as he seemed with you, but that was just the thing. You’d never been on the receiving end of it. Not once in your entire year of marriage.

You were the first out of the car when he pulled into your driveway. You clutched your heels in your hand as you stomped into the house, not even bothering to look back. You didn’t hear the door open and close until you were in the kitchen, staring sadly at your ruined shoes. You would love to get them fixed, but Bucky was so wasteful. He’d tell you to toss them and then get you a new pair.

They hit the bottom of the trashcan just as he strode into the kitchen. You barely spared him a glance as you made your way to the fridge. As much money that goes into those useless black-tie events, you’d think they’d be able to provide decent food.

“What…”

You paused at the sound of his voice, turning and looking at him from beneath your lashes.

“Nothing to say for yourself?”

You frowned at him before straightening, slamming the fridge shut. His jaw was clenched, arms crossed over his chest as he glared at you, blue eyes the coldest you’d ever seen them.

“Excuse me?”

You were positive you’d heard him wrong. He walked towards you, pressing a hand into the island in the center of the kitchen, staring you down.

“The divorce papers haven’t even been written up yet, and you’re already batting those long lashes at Steve,” he quietly spat.

You reared back in shock, mouth parting as you registered his words and the fact that he was entirely serious. You raised your hands in surrender with a humorless chuckle.

“You’re drunk, and I am not entertaining this,” you said, moving to walk past him.

He yanked you to a stop, and you pushed your arm against his hold, but he wouldn’t budge.

“Let go of me,” you demanded.

“Am I wrong?” he sneered, breath reeking of alcohol.

You finally escaped his hold, stumbling into the fridge from the force. Your eyes were wide and filled with confusion as you glared at him.

“What is wrong with you?”

Bucky slammed his mouth shut, staring at you for a painful amount of time before glancing away. He swallowed, jaw ticking as his eyes met yours again.

“I don’t want a divorce,” he quietly admitted.

Your heart skipped a beat, and you stared at him in shock. You must have heard him wrong…you had to… You opened your mouth to speak, but no words came out. You couldn’t believe what you were hearing, and you let out a soft disbelieving scoff. You blinked a few times.

“I’m…sorry… What?”

Bucky’s eyes softened.

“I don’t want a divorce,” he repeated with more confidence this time.

Again, you stared at him in shock, mouth gaping like a fish before shaking yourself out of it. You frowned at him, looking at him as if he’d just grown two heads.

“No,” you cried, shock coloring your tone at his audacity.

He blinked, clearly taken aback.

“What?”

“No,” you firmly repeated, moving to leave the kitchen.

He was suddenly there, hand on your arm and blocking your path.

“What do you mean ‘no’?”

You stared at him as if he were crazy before eventually crossing your arms over your chest. Your face was entirely serious.

“Bucky…I’ve wasted an entire year on you,” you deadpanned.

He flinched as if you’d slapped him, brows furrowing.

“I’m sorry if that hurt your feelings or offends you, but…just because I haven’t been miserable, it doesn’t mean that I want to continue with this.”

He didn’t respond so you continued.

“You have what you want. We did our part, and you have your money.”

“I know that…”

“Well then…what is this? What’s happening, right now, because I am extremely confused?”

He reached for you before thinking better of it and pulling his hand back. He looked you over, blue eyes the most emotional you’d ever seen them. He ran his tongue over his bottom lip before speaking.

“I… I want to know you. I mean, we’re married, and…I don’t even know you-.”

“You’ve had an entire year to get to know me. An entire year!”

“I know that,” he whispered, looking away.

“Then where the hell is this coming from?”

He opened and closed his mouth, eyes almost desperate as you shook your head at him.

“God, you’re drunk. You are so drunk, right now, and had I known, I never would’ve let you drive home,” you whispered, moving past him. “You could’ve killed someone!”

He followed.

“See, this, this is why you can’t leave,” he frantically whispered, grabbing your hand, and turning you to face him.

You frowned at him.

“You’re nothing like me. You’re not selfish and you care about people and…”

He reached up to cup your face, and you swatted his hands away as you stumbled back.

“Bucky, you’re drunk!”

“That doesn’t change anything! You are still my wife!”

“In name only! In the entire 13 months that we have been married, you’ve hardly looked at me, acknowledged me, hell, you have never even touched me, given any indication that we are a couple! N-now all of a sudden you don’t want me to leave? Are you kidding me?”

He placed his hands on his hips, staring you down with tears in his eyes, nostrils flaring.

“So…so what? You’re just going to leave me, and then run off with Steve?”

“Oh, my God, not this again,” you groaned, placing your hand on your forehead. “I can’t believe this right now…”

He pointed a finger at you, a dark strand kissing his forehead.

“I saw how he was looking at you! The minute you told him that our marriage wasn’t really a marriage, at all-.”

“You were listening?”

“The minute you told him that, he looked at you entirely different! You are his dream girl,” he mockingly whispered. “You want a nice picket fence in the country with a dog and a cat…”

“Stop it. That is your friend,” you reminded him.

“Who apparently has been eyeing you for a while if it took almost nothing for him to start eye fucking you the minute he realized you were never really mine!”

You reared back, realization hitting you square in the chest.

“Oh my God,” you whispered. “That’s what this is about…isn’t it?”

“No-.”

“It is,” you sneered. “You don’t want me…but…you don’t want anyone else to have me.”

He reached for you, and you stepped back.

“That’s not it. I do want you,” he slowly said.

“Yeah, now,” you scoffed.

“No,” he shook his head. “That’s not…”

“When I came into your office, you were completely taken by surprise… You had never even thought about divorce. Not once,” you said, more to yourself than him.

“Y/N…”

“Did…did you just expect us to continue like this forever?”

You stared at him in disbelief.

“No! Never,” he said, resting his hand on your arm.

“Are you sure? Because that’s…that’s what it’s looking like,” you tearfully said.

Bucky’s eyes were pleading.

“Everything you said to me that day was true. All of it was completely true, but the worst part was that...I had never noticed. I had never paid any attention, but the more you talked, and the more I thought, I realized that you were right, and that somehow, I’d let an entire year just slip by. Hell, even tonight, Steve noticed that we never stick together at those stupid events!”

You rolled your eyes at him.

“How does an entire year just slip by?”

“Y/N…I want us to stay married. I want us to be husband and wife in every sense of the words-.”

“Yeah, now that I want to leave,” you scoffed, pulling away from him. “Now that you’ve run around with God knows who.”

“I never-! Y/N, it isn’t like that,” he said, following you as you made your way towards the stairs.

“Isn’t it?” you threw over your shoulder. “An entire year, you’ve done whatever you want and acted like I don’t exist, and now that divorce is on the table, suddenly, clarity hits you and you want to pay attention to your handy dandy little wife whom you realize has been perfectly waiting around just for you.”

“Y/N!”

“It’s the perfect situation for you.”

You gasped in shock when he gripped your dress, and the sound of tearing fabric hit your ears. You turned to look down at him, eyes meeting his own wide ones before he stared at the fabric in his hand in shock. You looked down at the ruined dress and sighed.

“Y/N,” he whispered, apologetic.

You held your dress together as you turned away from him, ascending the stairs.

“Sleep it off, Bucky.”

“No, not until we resolve this,” he spat, following you.

“There’s nothing to resolve. We’re getting divorced and that’s that,” you said, heading towards your room.

“Y/N!”

“Leave me alone, and go to bed,” you yelled, picking up your pace.

He did the same, and soon you both were running through the hall of the large mansion. He reached out to grip your hair just as you went to turn the corner, and you yelped in pain as he pulled you towards him. He turned you to face him, and you pushed against him.

“Bucky, this isn’t funny,” you cried, pushing him away from you.

He stumbled, but he righted himself with a vengeance, slamming you into the wall. You winced, opening your mouth to talk sense into him when his lips met yours. You yelped against them, eyes wide as he ran his hands over your trembling frame.

“Stop! Bucky, stop,” you begged against his mouth.

He wrapped one arm around you while his other hand gripped your neck.

“I know I never paid attention to you…touched you, and I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, but let me touch you now,” he whispered against your lips. “Let me touch you like a husband should.”

His words sparked fear in you, and with reluctance, you bit down on his lip. Hard. He pulled away with a yelp, and you slipped from in between him and the wall, rounding the corner to get to your room. You were in the process of closing the door when he slammed against it. You knew you were no match for him, even while drunk, so you pulled away from the door and let him fall inside.

You ran to the phone as he pushed himself to his feet. You were on the first 1 when he snatched it out of your hand, his other hand gripping the back of your neck. You winced as his fingers dug into the tendons, hurting you.

“Bucky,” you brokenly pleaded.

He walked you towards your bed, and you had no choice but to let him. Your feet knocked into each other, tears skipping down your face, but he didn’t care. He shushed you when you started to sob, shoving you onto the bed. You struggled to catch your breath as you bounced against it. You sat up as he joined you, pushing against him, but he slapped your hands away and pushed you back down.

As drunk as he was, he was quick in getting his pants undone, his free hand dragging up your leg, sliding under your torn dress. You tried to pull his hand away, but he was determined. You pushed against his chest again, but one hand was suddenly tightening around your neck as he settled himself in between your legs.

You were shaking now, sobs wracking your frame as he pressed his lips against yours. He slid his knees underneath your thighs, forcing your legs apart as you felt him grip your underwear, yanking them to the side.

“Bucky-.”

Your last plea was interrupted by your shriek as he forced himself inside of you. He let out a choked moan against your lips, breath shaky as he sheathed himself to the hilt. Pain filled you, and more tears fell. He let go of your neck, one hand pinning a wrist down while the other reached up to brush his thumb over your cheek. His forearm rested beside your head, and he gently shushed you, wiping your face as he stared down at you.

“It’ll pass,” he murmured, chest heaving.

“I h-h-hate you,” you tearfully spat at him.

He sighed, eyes softening, looking as if you’d hurt him.

“That’ll pass too,” he whispered.

You pushed your free hand against his chest, but he simply pressed his forehead into the mattress, completely caging you in before pulling his hips back. It stung, and you whimpered, fingers pressing into his button down as he began to thrust into you. His groans filled your ears, and you turned your head away to stare at the wall.

Bucky didn’t like that.

He let go of your wrist and gripped your chin. Your terrified eyes met his calmer ones as he hovered over you, and he seemed more sober now. He brushed his thumb along your skin as he curled his hips into yours again and again.

“Eyes on me, honey,” he whispered.

You squeezed them shut, and he huffed.

“Come on, doll. Don’t be like that,” he quietly pleaded, picking up his pace.

You refused to open them, more tears slipping out. You heard him sigh and felt his lips brush over your cheek.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry…”

You felt like someone was pressing a heating pad in between your legs, and you hated that you liked it.

“I haven’t been treating you right…have I?”

It was taking more effort to keep your eyes shut, and they slowly peeled open. Your vision was blurry, but you could see that his dark hair was brushing along his forehead now, no longer so neat. He kissed you, and your lips trembled.

“I’ve been such a horrible husband. I neglected you,” he whispered, and he sounded pained. “…but all of that’s going to change.”

You didn’t like that you could feel every inch of him as he slid into you, your own body making it easier for him. Although, you suspected that all of it wasn’t just arousal. There was still a dull ache that mingled with the pleasure. His hips stuttered, breath hitching, and your eyes widened. You pressed your hand to his stomach, in hopes to stop him.

“Bucky, you can’t-.”

He swallowed your protests with a kiss, and you grew panicked. You weren’t on anything. You’d never had a reason to be. You were a virgin with regular and bearable periods. There was no need for you to be on any type of birth control. You turned your head away, catching your breath.

“Bucky, stop,” you pleaded, pushing against him. “Please…”

He gripped your hands, pinning them beside your head just as he came inside of you with a groan. You threw your head back, more tears spilling over as he panted above you. He buried his nose into the crook of your neck, inhaling.

“You’re mine, and I promise, I’m going to start acting like it.”

tags: @xoxabs88xox @darkficreposter @mcudarklibrary @sebabestianstan101 @villanellevi @readermia @jtargaryen18 @notyourtypicalrose @nickyl316h @opheliadawnwalker3 @captainchrisstan @coconutqueen21 @nerdygirl8203 @hurricanerin

#dark!bucky #dark!bucky barnes #dark!bucky x reader #mafia!bucky #Dark Fic #Bucky Barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #marvel fanfiction

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aereres · 3 years

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Stuck On You - Cale Makar

Summary: What started as a friendship between you and Cale takes a turn during one of the best summer vacations of your life - a week in a campsite with your new friends from Colorado.

A/N: A self-indulgent Cale fic, who would have thought lmao. Definitely not my best work but I hope you enjoy!

Word Count: 5k

Warnings: a couple swear words, mentions of break-up

Summer. Summer held something you couldn’t quite place. Maybe it was the road trips with music blasting from your car’s speakers, or the endless nights spent drinking cheap beers with strangers while sitting on docks. Maybe it was the seasonal loves, the ones you’d talk about with your friends after coming home, or maybe it was the memories.

Summer had always been something you had never missed, no matter how hard school got, or how good your job paid people to stay during the hottest months of the year; and, in Colorado, it wasn’t any different.

You were gasping for breath when you finally reached the perfect spot for camping, your backpack heavy on your shoulders as your friends walked past you. The excited giggles that left their lips joined the sound of birds chirping as they pushed their own belongings on the ground.

“Oh my God,” Johanna laughed, Andre’s arm wrapped around her shoulders as she looked around the empty side of the forest your getaway was going to take place in. “This place is beautiful,”

“It is,” Sydney said from beside her, eyes cast on her bag as she started to take some stuff out.

You were still taking the beautiful view in, a smile on your lips as you realized that summer was finally starting. A new summer, you thought, with new friends and a new spot.

“Y/N, just come here already!” Andre yelled from the distance, pushing you out of your trance. “Your tent is not gonna build itself,”

“I’m coming,” you giggled, jokingly rolling your eyes your friend’s way as you pushed your backpack down your shoulders, looking around for an empty space for yourself.

“I’m here-”

The breathless words were mumbled behind you, making you turn around quickly to find a flushed face. Cale’s cheeks were their usual dark shade of red, sweat lining his forehead as he tried to gain back his breathing.

“Oh- hi, Cale,” you smiled, heart fluttering when your eyes met his face. “You doing okay?”

“I was a little late,” he mumbled, waving JT’s way before his eyes gently settled on you. It seemed like he had realized you were there in front of him just then, his body tensing as a small smile formed on his lips. “Hi, Y/N,”

“Oh my God,” Nate huffed. “I’ll literally let the two of you sleep with the bears if you don’t start with the tents,”

“Fine, fine. You guys are annoying as hell,” you mumbled, brushing past him to reach one of the last two empty spots, throwing the bag that held your tent on the ground. The paper that slipped out of the opened zipper was filled with instructions, the words so small you almost struggled to read through them. If it wasn’t already difficult enough, the drawings explaining how to set up the tent weren’t helping, either.

You were just starting to understand something when your friends’ loud laughter filled your ears, along with the sound of bottles of beer being opened. You laughed to yourself, taking one of the many thin poles in your hands as you tried to figure out where it was supposed to go, one of your palms burying itself in your hair.

You had never been the greatest at building things, and you weren’t surprised when you grew close to calling one of the guys and ask for their help. Their tents had been built in less than half an hour, helping you prop up yours wasn’t going to be too difficult. Right?

“Here, give it to me. I’ll help you,” the familiar voice snapped you out of your thoughts, as deep as you remembered it to be. Cale was standing beside you, arms folded over his chest as he gave your work a quick look, a teasing smirk on his lips. “Never been camping?”

“Not really,” you giggled awkwardly, handing him the item in your hand as he figured the mess out. His feet carried him to the left side of the tent, sliding the first part of the tube in its place.

“Alright, go on the other side,”

With Cale’s help, building a tent had never been easier. He knew what to do and where to start, he honestly made it look easy. Your shelter was ready after just a couple of minutes, and you found yourself smiling Cale’s way as soon as he mumbled a quick ‘we’re done’.

“Really?!”

“Yeah,” he chuckled, taking his place by your side again as the two of you gave the results one last look. “Looks better than mine down there,”

You giggled, turning around to wrap an arm around him, pulling him in a quick hug. “Thank you so much,” you said, pushing a stray hair out of your eyesight. “Wouldn’t have made it, without you,”

“You’re welcome,” Cale said rather rushedly, his cheeks blushing slightly. You weren’t able to see the way he flushed, though, turning around way too quickly to unpack your bag and getting the last few things for your shelter out.

As you pushed your phone out of your pocket, you realized just then how messily the butterflies in your stomach were dancing. And it was all because of Cale.

The sounds of the fireplace were comforting you as everyone enjoyed the first night of the summer together with a beer in hand. Loud laughter was coming from the Avalanche players, and you could hear a few laughs and giggles coming from your own friends, too.

“I can’t believe they gave you a penalty, man,” Tyson admitted, referring to Nathan’s last call on the ice that cost the team a power-play goal. “It was a clean hit and we all saw that,”

“Yeah, man,” EJ agreed, tipping his head back as he finished his beer.

“Call was ridiculous,” Nate agreed, shrugging slightly to signal the end of the conversation before letting an arm wrap around his girlfriend. “What have you been up to, Y/N? You’re the only one we don’t see too often,”

You chuckled at his words, shaking your head as you swallowed the last piece of s’more in your mouth. “Just been working, trying to get a promotion,”

“You go, girl,” Johanna cheered, making you laugh. “And Christian?”

The laughter left your body as soon as your ex was mentioned, the last words of your final argument repeating themselves in your mind. “Christian?” Was all you were able to mumble, eyes cast on the fire as you buried your hands in the pockets of your hoodie.

“Your boyfriend,” Susanna stated, making you chuckle out bitterly.

“Well, ex-boyfriend,” you sighed, shrugging when you looked up to see a few shocked faces. “Broke up a few months ago, now,”

“And you didn’t tell us?!” Mikko yelled, his voice loud over the mixed words of shock from your friends.

“Sorry,” you mumbled, casting your eyes to your lap as everyone kept talking, slowly starting to express the way they all almost despised your ex. Nathan - and his girlfriend agreed with him - said something about Christian hitting on his girl, Tyson complained about the fact that he had never seemed to treat you good, and all the girls agreed with him.

Thinking about your break-up on the first day of your summer vacation wasn’t something you had planned, so you silently kept to yourself, hoping the conversation would drop quickly. Your eyes lifted up from the orange flames of the fire, finding the stars illuminating the dark sky, so subtle yet so beautiful. All the voices of your friends were silenced as you admired the beauty of the night, a breath you didn’t realize you were holding in finally leaving your lips.

A gentle hand nudged your elbow, your attention snapping towards the person to your right in a quick second. Staring back at you was Cale, a soft smile on his lips as he held a stick with a roasted marshmallow between the two of you. “For you,”

“For me?”

“I know you love roasted marshmallows,” he mumbled, sheepishly scratching the back of his head. “Just thought of making one for you, I guess,”

A small smile formed on your lips at his kindness, cheeks burning as you accepted the stick. “You’re too sweet, Cale,” you mumbled, your shoulder leaning against his as you grabbed the candy from the top of the branch, pushing it in your mouth.

He grabbed his own marshmallow and slid it in his mouth, your eyes meeting as you silently looked at each other. His cheeks grew bigger from the size of the candy, a small piece of it coloring the side of his mouth.

You giggled, his own laughter following yours as you swallowed. “Hang on, Cale,” you mumbled, coming closer to him as you tried to ignore your heartbeat picking up its pace. “You’ve got something-”

Your palm cupped his scarlet cheek, warm against your skin as your thumb smoothed the sticky substance away, your eyes barely leaving his as the two of you sat back in place. Both of your heartbeats were loud, cheeks burning as you acted as if the closeness hadn’t affected you in any kind of way.

You silently hoped nobody had paid attention to the two of you, knowing the guys wouldn’t hold down the chirping; but when you looked back at the team and wags, they all seemed to be too focused on their conversation to even notice Cale’s burning cheeks, or your fingers slightly touching.

You were the first one to wish everyone a good night, that day, to retrieve in your tent and listen to your heart beat loudly. You felt like a teenager again, feeling just so jittery after the interaction with the man you had always spent too much time looking at, and had always looked for whenever you’d join the group at any kind of event.

You had always repressed whatever you had been feeling for Cale, pushed it to the side to avoid any kind of rejection. But the way Cale smiled your way, the way he helped you out whenever he could, the way he tried to find subtle ways to gently touch you.

Something in you, that night, was guessing that your feelings might have been mutual.

-----

“Does this happen every time you guys go camping?” You asked Sydney breathlessly as you took a look at the hiking path in front of you. You were already two hours into the hike, the guys all walking ahead of you as if the uphill path wasn’t tiring them, at all. “Like, do you ever get a break when hiking with the boys?”

“Nope,” Sydney giggled from beside you, stopping in her tracks to take a sip of her water. “You’re a newbie to our camping trips, you’ll get used to it,”

You laughed along with her, looping your arm around hers as you followed the rest of the group through the sunrays-lit forest, sweat threatening to line your forehead. Walking in front of everyone was Cale, laughing along with Nate as you watched him, a smile of your own forming on your lips.

The moments of the previous night kept repeating in your mind as you silently walked, hoping the man living in your mind wouldn’t notice the fondness in your eyes whenever he looked your way.

“So, you and Cale?”

The words leaving Sydney’s mouth had your cheeks burning, the smile on your face quickly turning sheepish as you kept walking. “What about me and Cale?”

“C’mon,” she laughed, looking at you with an eyebrow raised. “Last night?”

You rolled your eyes with a chuckle, shaking your head slowly as you looked at the path in front of you. “That was nothing,”

“Nothing?!” She cried exasperatedly, pushing your shoulder as she kept walking. “You looked like you were going to make-out on the spot,”

“That’s not true,”

“That’s more than true, Y/N,” she laughed, silence settling between the two of you after her teasing words. Maybe you and Cale hadn’t been that smooth, you thought. Her elbow was quick to hit your ribcage after a few minutes, her eyes finding yours again as a small smirk formed on her lips. “He’s single, you’re finally single. You should give it a thought,”

“It’s just a stupid, small crush,” you admitted. “Nothing more,”

“Then why not try and see where things would lead?” She stated, knowing she was right. “I’ve never seen Cale act like that,”

“Like what?”

“Like a smitten teenager,” her honesty had you laughing, your head shaking as you were the one to push her shoulder, that time. When your laughter died down, her voice made its way inside your ears. “But really, you should try,”

She didn’t give you time to give her a response, slipping away from you to reach her boyfriend’s side, who had called her name. You were left on your own once again, staring ahead of you, your eyes focused on the back of Cale’s head as you struggled to keep up with the group.

Was it so easy to notice? The way your cheeks would heat up, or the way your smile would turn giddy as soon as he’d be close enough to have your fingers brushing against his. Was it that easy?

“C’mon, Y/N! We’re almost there!” EJ yelled from the front, his toothless smile shining from the distance as he walked backward. You laughed, throwing your head back for a quick second before meeting eyes with a smiley Cale standing by his side.

His cheeks were their usual scarlet color, hair slightly tousled from being pushed back too many times, but he still looked like the kind of person who would steal your heart in no time.

“Good night, Y/N,” Tyson was the last person to leave the fireplace, a smile on his face as he walked towards his tent, the silence of the night engulfing you in a warm embrace.

Your eyes drifted up towards the sky - as they always did - and found the patterns of stars painting it. The moon was shining brightly that night, its rays illuminating your face as you silently thought about your day. And Cale.

The hike had gone surprisingly well: the various hours under the hot sun had been worth it, the view from the top of the mountains so beautiful you could never forget it. But you couldn’t just forget Cale, his lingering touches, and the way his eyes would be staring deeply at you whenever they could.

When he had helped you down a particularly high, rocky step, your breath had hitched, the feeling of his rough yet gentle hands on your waist pushing the butterflies in your stomach back to life. You were sure you had never felt so deeply connected to someone, the way Cale was making you feel just so unknown to you. You didn’t want things to end.

“You sure you’ll be okay out here on your own?”

Your head snapped towards the source of sound, the nest of tousled blond hair you knew too well finding your eyes in less than a second. “Yeah, don’t worry, Cale,”

Your gaze fell back on the stars, ignoring the sound of his footsteps until the shuffling of his body next to yours snapped you out of your thoughts again. “The stars are beautiful, tonight,” was all Cale mumbled as your shoulders touched.

“City pollution doesn’t do them much justice,” you chuckled, wrapping your arms around your folded legs as you sent him a quick glance. “I should probably come here more often,”

“It’s such a nice place,” Cale stated, a layer of comfortable silence settling between the two of you. Your body leaned against his on its own command, your head almost resting on his shoulder as the sounds of the crickets surrounding you pushed you into a state of calmness.

His body seemed to tense for a second, but his arm wrapped around your middle when he realized there was nothing you wanted more than to feel him close to you. He was silent for a few minutes - just enjoying your closeness and the warmth your body held - before letting his eyes close.

You didn’t recall walking back to your tent, the next morning when you woke up, but his hoodie still covering your body was a tell-tale sign Cale had brought you back after a while. You buried your flushed face in your pillow, that morning, the sun warming up your tent as you still felt Cale close to you.

Did he feel the same way?

-----

“Oh. My. God. Y/N!” Johanna yelled, trembling as the chilly water of the lake hit her back, all thanks to your splashing. You giggled at her exaggerated reaction, dipping underwater to escape any of her splashes as she tried to look for revenge.

The sun was setting after another long hike, its reflection painting the lake an orange shade as you cooled down, enjoying the last day of the vacation with the team. It was a summer you were going to remember, but you felt stressed, in some kind of way.

Your heart was beating for someone, and that someone was Cale. You had never felt as close to him as you did on the trip, and you felt like something was going to happen. Eventually.

But the trip was coming to its end: you’d have to go home and get back to your schedule, the guys would go back in full swing to their own jobs, and you weren’t ready to give up on the progress you and Cale had made, not yet. It felt as if the universe wanted you to be happy, giving you Cale and feelings you just couldn’t hold back, and just a small time to find your happiness.

The water had stopped moving around you, and you realized just then that Johanna had left, and you were - yet again - on your own. The water had started to cool down even more due to the dark clouds already painting the sky, pushing you to sit on the dock with a towel wrapped around your shoulders to warm up.

The world seemed to grow quiet as you watched the clouds move, reminding you of the sleepless night you were going to spend in your lonely tent due to the upcoming rainstorm. You smiled, though, taking a deep breath as the sound of laughter from the distance slowly put your world back into motion.

“You’re going to get a cold,”

“Would be worth it,” you giggled, watching Cale move until he was sitting next to you on the dock. “What are you doing here?”

“I was looking for you, dinner’s almost ready,” he mumbled, his own eyes falling on the sky. You hummed, wrapping the towel tighter around your shoulders as you scooted closer to him.

“I’m going to miss this,” you whispered truthfully, your cold fingers busy on the strings of your bikini. “Camping, nights in front of the fireplace, you guys,”

“Same,” Cale admitted. “I don’t want it to end, you know? I’m going to miss you,”

Your heart fluttered at his words, sending the butterflies in your stomach in a spiral for a quick second as he kept talking. “And it’s stupid to say, because I see you just so often,” he muttered, running a hand through his hair. “But I’m going to miss you, and what happened between us here,”

You took a second to let his words sink in, just how quickly they made your body feel warm and how they made you feel like a teenager in love all over again. “It doesn’t have to end, Cale,” was all you whispered, your eyes meeting his as you let your heart beat loudly, not caring if anyone heard it.

“I didn’t think you’d feel the same way,” he said, honesty slipping from his lips as he let a hand cup your cheek tenderly.

“And I didn’t think you’d feel the same way, either,” you giggled, your chest warming up unexpectedly when his lips brushed up in a smile. You admired him, letting your eyes rake across his eyes, then his nose, his rosy cheeks, and - soon after - his lips. “Promise me we won’t let this go to waste,”

“We won’t,” he whispered back, his free hand lacing with yours as your lips finally met. Your world felt complete, at least, it seemed like it. With his hands on you and his gentle kisses, you felt alive, you felt like you were finally home.

One of his kisses turned into two, and two turned into three. As warm as he made you feel, your body heat was lowering and you had to pull away with clattering teeth before you bit his lip a little too hard. Your foreheads met for a moment, your eyes closing as you spent one last moment with him, the closeness having you weak.

“You’re freezing,” he stated, eyes carefully taking notice of your purple lips and shaking limbs. “Let’s go, you need to get changed before you die on me,”

“I’m fine, Cale,” you giggled, taking his hand to stand up with him before you started to head towards your camping spot, where the rest of the team was making dinner. His hand stayed in yours as he led you towards your tent, not caring - or worrying - if your friends saw.

Dinner was quite uneventful after that. You ate in silence as you missed Cale’s touch, a smile on your lips as you caught him staring your way from the distance. You didn’t set up the fireplace, that night. Rain started to hit your skin by ten, and everyone pretty much understood your last night had come to an end.

You had wished Cale goodnight with a subtle squeeze of his hand before heading towards your tent, sliding under your covers as you thought about the events of the day. Your mind went back to the man that stole your heart, thinking about the way your heart would stutter every time he’d look your way, or just how quickly your mood could change when his skin touched yours.

Saying you were stuck on him was an understatement.

The tiredness from the activities started to kick in - your eyes feeling quite heavy as you pushed your phone away from you - but the sounds the rain made, the fear of a storm and just what it could cause, they were keeping you up.

The raindrops were hitting the fabric of the tent harshly, and as much as you tried to relax, you just couldn’t. It was well past midnight when an idea popped in your mind, but you just couldn’t. It was too much, and too early.

You rolled to your side, your air mattress making a squeaking noise as you did so. It was too early. Your phone vibrated, pushing you out of your thoughts as the screen lit up, a new message waiting to be read.

I’m outside your tent.

Your brows furrowed at Cale’s text, looking up to see that, in fact, someone was standing outside your tent. You crawled towards the entrance, pushing the zipper down until the cold hair of the night hit your face, and your eyes met Cale’s frame.

“What the hell are you doing here? You’re going to catch a cold!”

“Would be worth it,” he repeated the words you had used earlier that day. “Can I come in?”

“Of course,” you whisper-yelled, almost dragging him inside before you closed the tent back up. “What are you doing here, Cale?”

“I noticed you couldn’t sleep,” he mumbled, sitting on the edge of your mattress as his eyes stayed on your features even in the darkness of the night. “And I couldn’t sleep either,”

You giggled, shaking your head when you had realized you had had the same idea at the same time. You had been so close to joining Cale in his tent to relax and let all your worries leave your body, but he had beaten you at your own game.

With your last ounce of courage, you pressed a quick kiss to his blushing cheek, pulling him along with you to lay on the mattress. “Just come here,”

You were facing each other after you slipped under the covers again, his eyes staring into yours as you felt your body snuggle closer to his at its own command. One of his arms wrapped itself around your body, pulling you even closer as you felt a tender kiss being pressed to the crown of your head.

“Get some rest,” he whispered in your hair, your face buried in the crook of his neck as he talked. “I’ll be here in the morning,”

“Good night, Cale,”

“Good night, Y/N,”

Morning came quickly, too quickly for your liking. The sun was weakly lighting up your tent, its rays shining against Cale’s skin just right. He was still with you - as he had promised - and you were sure there was no better way to wake up than to open your eyes and see Cale, before anyone else.

He was breathing shallowly, eyes still closed as his arms kept tight around your waist, no sign of him waking up just yet. Your heart was a fluttering mess: you’d gone from complete strangers, to friends, to what seemed like lovers. And, God- you didn’t want it to end.

One single digit of yours ghosted over his soft cheek, starting to trace his features as lightly as it could as you admired him with all you had, hoping he wouldn’t wake up from your motions. A long sigh left his lips at your touch, eyelids squeezing for a quick second before he let them open.

“Good morning,” he grumbled, voice gravelly as he closed his eyes for another moment.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to wake you,” you whispered, retrieving your hand as he pulled you closer. “Slept well?”

“Yes,” he dragged the last letter, the smile on his lips making you giggle. “You?”

“Like a baby,”

“That’s good,”

Silence settled between you as you enjoyed his warmth, brain running way too quickly at just eight in the morning while you traced shapes on his clothed chest. “They’re gonna chirp the hell out of us,” you giggled.

“Oh, God,” Cale chuckled, his palm landing on his face as he remembered about his restless teammates. “Might as well just die in here,”

You giggled, tugging the tent’s zipper open and grabbing his hand to get him out of your bed. “Just let them talk,” you whispered in his ear before stepping outside, stretching your limbs. His quite taller frame struggled to exit the tent, but when he did, a chorus of gasps surrounded you.

“I knew it!” Johanna yelled, receiving a slap from a sleepy Sydney when her loud voice scared her. “I fucking knew it!”

“Cale is getting it, guys!” Tyson said loudly, making Cale’s cheeks heat up.

“Shut the fuck up, Josty,” you spat out jokingly, pushing his shoulder as you found an empty spot to sit on. “Don’t chirp my boyfriend,”

The weight of Cale’s body sitting next to you was enough to distract you for a second, but his thick voice in your ear really took your breath away. “Boyfriend?”

You bit your lip, looking up at him innocently before sending him a quick smile. “Only if you want to,”

He hummed, jokingly leaning down to press a kiss on your cheek, your heart beating loudly against your ribcage. “I’ll think about it,”

Breakfast was over in a rush, and you found yourself packing your belongings with sad sighs leaving your lips every now and then. Even though summer had barely just reached its peak, you weren’t ready to leave the memories of the camping trip behind just yet.

On the hike back to the parking lot, your hand stayed in Cale’s. It fit in his palm so easily you couldn’t help but think you were never going to stop holding his hand, as pathetic as it sounded. The air was chilly, and it held sadness as you two and the rest of the group walked back to your cars.

“I don’t want this to end,” Susanna said, hugging you tightly as you all said goodbye. “I’m going to miss you girls,”

“We’ll find a way to see each other, babe,” Sydney reassured her as they embraced each other.

“Y/N,” Nate greeted you with a smile, a smirk on his lips as he hugged you. “I’m hoping to see you at our next game with an eight on your back,”

You punched his shoulder jokingly when you parted ways, laughing along with him. “I’ll miss you too, Nate,”

Your last goodbyes were sad, numerous people piling in cars as you waved their way, your back resting against your car as you sighed softly.

“So,” Cale mumbled from behind you, stepping closer to your frame as he looked down at you. “Would be interested in our next game’s ticket and my personal jersey, as Nate suggested?”

You giggled, shaking your head as you wrapped your arms around his neck. “I mean, maybe,” you joked, biting on your lip as you let your eyes meet.

“As my girlfriend, you should probably say yes,” he said, looking down at you with a smirk as he gave you no time to respond, his lips meeting yours in a kiss.

“Girlfriend?”

He matched the smile on your face, leaning down to press another kiss before mocking your words from that morning. His voice was smooth, making your heart beat faster than usual, the butterflies in your stomach so crazy you were worried he could feel them.

“Only if you want to,”

Taglist: @thirstyybitch @bellaguarneri @boqvistsbabe @trashforbarzal @captaindaddies @keithseabrook27 @heatherawoowoo @sidscrosbyy @laurenairay @nathan-baelieu

#cale makar #cale makar x reader #cale makar imagine #nhl #nhl x reader #colorado avalanche #hockey imagine

265 notes · View notes

someone1348 · 3 years

Text

Another one *mind blown!*

Haha anyways enough of me being werid here is a small fic because i feel soft today and its been a good day! Let's goooo!

People in this: Ler!Techno and Lee!Tommy

(PLATONIC!!!)

Plot: Baby Tommyint was left alone for Techno to babysit while phil and will went out to the store, what could go wrong

Tw: None this is so soft and adorable i can't

With that being said enjoyyyy :]

___________~☆°♡°☆°♡°☆~______________

Munchkin

It felt like a normal afternoon, wasting the day in his room, punching things, ploting ideas on how to over throw the government. You know the normal Techno things when,

"Tech! Im going out to the grocery store and im taking Will with me! You're in charge of Tommy while we're out! No killing him, hurting him, handing him dangrous objects or burning down the house while we're gone! K'?!"

No! This can't be happening! Technoblade jumped out of his bed rushing down the stairs to confront his dad and slightly younger brother.

"Woahwoahwoahwoah! You can't do this to me! You know how i am with kids! Me and children do not mix! Why can't you take him with you? Or Will stays and watches him while i go with you"

"Sorry Tech my mind is made up, we are leaving, now be nice and no murder got it"

"But-"

"Techhh"

"Ughhhhh fine! Fine! I wont punt the kid"

"Good, let's go will"

"Coming!" Will smirked at techo sticking out his tongue

Techno glared at him before waving the two off turning around to see the younger who had already reached out to touch Techno's long hair before retracting his hand back.

"No touch"

"Lame" the tiny blonde went to his room getting a cheese stick while techno rolled his eyes going to his own room down the hall

'This is going to be a long night'

Its not that Techno hated kids he just didn't know how to take care of them and that didn't sit well with him there was just something about em' he couldn't ever figure it out.

Not even two minutes later a small knock was placed on his door.

He sighed "yesssss"

"You're supposed to take care of me"

"And?" Techno said opening up the door

"And im bored so fix it, play with me!" the young one said staring up at the pink haired male

"Yeah no, fix it yourself bud im not playing with you"

Tommy rolled his eyes going downstairs hoisting himself with all his might onto the big couch rolling over onto one of the cushions just barley making it, catching his breath before turning on the tv to some cartoon he liked.

Tommy groaned annoyed from boredom and a bit sad that his big brother didn't wanna play with him.

Soon enough he began to cry a bit quickly whiping them away, he's a big man afterall he doesn't cry! But he just wants to play with his big brother.

Light footsteps approached the kid

"You cryin'?"

"N-no! I dont cry! Im a big man!"

"Mhm, come here" Techno sat next to the blonde pulling him into a hug

Techno didn't understand what was happening or what he just did but something in him was different, Tommy was family and no way in hell was he gonna let him cry.

He lightly sighed turning off the Tv "What do you wanna play butthead"

"PIRATES!!!"

The pinkette couldn't stop the growing smile on his face and he let this new found playful attitude take over him

'Ah what the hell what did he have to lose'

"Arggggg!" Techno said with his deep/raspy voice "prepare to walk the plank matey!"

"Argg no! Its you who walks the plank!" Tommy stood up pointing a pencil at techo

"Ah ha but that's were you're wrong see i also have defense!" He grabbed another pencil from the nearby coffee table pointing it eraser end at the kid as to not harm him with the sharp side

"Uhh whats the word? I dont know how to say it"

"On gaurd!"

"Yeahh!! Ha!" Baby Tommy said taking a swing at his older brother as the two slapped there pencils together like swords

"Boop! I win!!" Tommy said as he poked the pencil into Techno's chest

"Ahh nooo you got me!" Techno flopped down on his back snatching Tommy up in the process lifting him in the air and back down as he giggled up a storm.

Techno safely put the pencils back, drawing his attention back to his younger brother.

"You know stabbing me was not cool Tommy" Techno joked with the kid as Tommy's smile turned into a frown

"Sorry! I- i didn't-"

"You need to be careful who you mess with Tom's because they might come back to bite you!"

He swiftly picked up the kid again, as he squeaked, digging into his stomach soft enough to not hurt him of course but definitely enough to tickle alot

"EE! NAHAHAHAHA TEHEHEHE" the kid tried to say his name but couldn't which to that Techno smirked and continued his tickle attack.

"This is what happens when you mess with the wrong person kid" He lightly giggled and tickled the boys sides

"Eee! HAHAaha tehehechnoho! Stahahap!"

"Hmmmm nope! Tickletickletickletickle"

He teased the boy switching between his sides and stomach occasionally dipping quickly into his bellybutton to watch him squeak every so often.

"nahahAHAhahAH! tehe-HEHEheHEY!"

"Im gonna getcha'!"

"Nohohoho!"

The older squeezed his knee earning a quick kick before using the end of his long braided pink hair to tickle his neck

"Pfft ehehew get awahahay"

Techno laughed and wiggled the pink hair all over his face to keep him giggling

"Ehehewww it got in my mouth! Haha"

"Thats what you get punk" He ruffled the blonde's hair and sat him up straight.

"You want ice cream?"

The boy's eyes lit up and he nodded rapidly

"Okay okahay let's go" he carried the boy with one hand to the kitchen making a small bowl of ice cream with whipped cream and a cherry.

"Thank you Technooo!"

"Anytime Munchkin, but you can't tell Phil or Will about this Okay?"

The boy nodded shoving a spoonful into his mouth.

As the boy finished techno put the bowl in the sink filling it with water.

The door opened

"We're home!!"

"DAD! WILL!!" the youngest ran out to greet his family hugging their legs tightly

"Welcome back"

"How was it?"

"Really good actually"

"Yeahh!" The kid agreed jumping up and down.

"Good im glad that's great news, maybe i should leave you two alone more often"

"Sounds good to me"

"Im shocked" Will said laughing a bit

"Ha ha you're hilarious" Techno said in his usual sarcastic tone

"Tech Tech can we play again pleaseeeeeee"

"Its getting late we will play tomorrow yeah?"

"Ughhh willlll can we please play piano gameee pleaseee"

"You heard the man it's getting late go to bed Champ"

"Okayyyyy G'night Techno! G'night Dadza! G'night Willl!"

"Goodnight Munchkin'" Techno ruffled the boy's hair before pushing him lightly making him giggle and ran to his room.

"Munchkin?" Phil said smirking

"Oh shut your mouth old man"

"You wanna go tech"

"Uhhhhh ha ha ill be in my room it was nice! Goodnight everyone ha ha ha-ZOOM!" he ran out and nervously laughed as Phil laughed and and smiled

"You'll get him one day dadza"

"Oh i plan on it as soon as the fucker wakes up"

"Hahaha"

"You're not safe either will" he smirked at him as will booked it to his room too

"Hahaha"

Phil smiled and walked to his room leaving on the bathroom light for Tommy.

"Goodnight boys!"

"Night dad!!"

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

Please! This was so adorable to make im definitely making a part two! I hope y'all enjoyed :]

#ler!technoblade #ler!techno #lee!tommyinnit #lee!Tommy #sbi tickle fic #dreamsmp tickle fic #dream smp tickle #mcyt tickle #k writes tk things

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vanserraseris · 3 years

Note

END OF PART XI - Ok, so Eris finds out about Jesminda and confronts Lucien about it. He says some pretty not nice things to his younger brother (he gets pretty mean), things couldn’t stay great between them forever. Thanks for reading!!!

oooooh boy we’re getting into it now

Prince of Ashes. Part XI.

masterlist.

Eris stumbled when someone slammed a large hand onto his shoulder, reaching for the knife at his side as he whirled on whoever it was.

“Easy, brother,” rumbled Owain, his red hair a mess and his brown eyes on the snake-head knife hilt in Eris’s hand. Eris had to admit that he’d gotten very used to no one approaching him, let alone having someone lay a hand on him, especially if he wasn't expecting it.

Eris also figured it wouldn’t be good for anyone if he accidentally killed a new servant, and that perhaps his first instinct shouldn’t be to reach for his weapon. Eris returned the dagger to its place on the sheath at his side. “I didn't know it was you.” Owain looked troubled as he opened his mouth to speak, closing it and opening it once more as his eyes looked at anything but his oldest brother.

This sort of behaviour from Owain was unexpected, and Eris’s first thought was that something had happened to their mother. “What’s happened,” Eris demanded. The dominance in his tone suggesting it was best to just spit it out.

“Lucien,” was Owain’s response.

That one word had Eris freezing. “What’s happened,” he repeated, voice low.

“I would have just said — I would have spoken to him, but… He doesn’t,” Owain ran a hand through his hair, “He might listen to you.” Owain was usually stoic, composed. Eris was panicking slightly to see that he looked worried.

“Owain,” Eris snapped, “I haven’t a clue what you’re talking about.”

“Yes, yes, alright, sorry,” Owain lifted his chin just slightly, he was taller than Eris by a lot, but he was looking Eris straight in the eyes. “I saw Lucien in Calchas with a female.”

Eris paused, blinking once before he grinned. “I don’t really see the problem.”

Owain licked his lips, “Right, no, it wouldn’t be, not normally.”

Eris’s grin shifted, turned more into a bare of teeth, “Then why are you bothering me with this.” Eris had countless things to do, a territory to run, prisoners to deal with. He didn’t have time for whatever this was.

“The female is a lesser faerie, Eris,” there was a hint of desperation in his usually calm tone. “And he’s with her … constantly. You know how father feels about this sort of thing. If it was one time, I wouldn’t have bothered coming to you,” he awkwardly waved one of his large hands, “If someone loyal to father had seen him…” Owain trailed off. Owain hadn’t needed to finish his sentence, Eris knew very well what Beron would do if his youngest son was with a lesser faerie.

Cato’s warning from nearly two decades ago rang clear in his head — Beron wanted to make Lucien’s life as miserable as possible. Eris moved closer to Owain, his hand gripping his younger brother’s thick arm, “What do you know?”

Owain shook his head, “Not much.”

“Tell me everything.” Eris would rather know what little Owain had discovered than nothing at all.

“She’s a farm girl, works in the orchards with her family, can’t be older than three decades.”

Owain sounded like he was giving Eris a report, “Priam and Maddox have seen them as well, usually out in the fields, by the rivers, they don’t go to the city often, but knowing this court, they go enough that commoners have noticed.”

“What are the rumours?”

“Amongst the High Fae? Just gossip. No different than what they say about the rest of us.” There were always rumours surrounding the Vanserras. “I’m just,” Owain’s cheeks turned red as he mumbled, “Worried, I suppose.”

Eris scanned Owain’s face for any signs of deception. He seemed sincere, but Eris wasn’t entirely shocked, Owain wasn’t horrible. “I’ll talk to him,” Eris assured his younger brother, “But this stays between us.”

Owain nodded once, embers in his brown eyes, “Of course.” Eris gave Owain what he hoped was a reassuring pat on the shoulder, but Owain’s hand snapped up, grabbing Eris by the wrist.

“You can… You can trust me, Eris,” he said, voice low, auburn brows furrowed. “I don’t want Lucien dead anymore than you do.” Eris didn’t get a chance to respond as Owain let go of him, winnowing away with a loud crack, leaving Eris alone in the otherwise empty hallway. Eris would think on this later, about possibly trusting Owain. Owain had always been closer to Cato, closer to Maddox, but he knew they’d all be stronger together if they could all stop fighting amongst themselves.

With a shake of his head, throwing his shoulders back, Eris walked down the hall, making his way to Lucien’s room. Eris couldn’t understand where in the hells he went wrong. He’d spent decades telling Lucien not to make any attachments, not to do anything that would draw any unwanted attention, not to do anything that would anger their father. Not their father. Eris was certain if Lucien knew the truth he wouldn’t refer to Beron as such.

Eris growled just thinking about the vow he’d made to his mother nearly thirty years ago. He bounded up a flight of stairs, flames flaring in the sconces on the walls. He’d been in such a rush that he almost ran past Lucien’s bedroom door, backtracking with an annoyed snarl. He still hadn’t decided what exactly he was going to tell his youngest brother, but he lifted his fist, banging a little too loudly on the dark wood. Once Eris heard the muffled “come in,” he shoved open the door.

Lucien was lounging on his bed, shoes off, the laces of his shirt loose. He was holding a book, one that Eris had read before. “Fallon’s Fables” was painted in an elegant, gold script on the cover. It was more of a story book than an actual tome for educating oneself. It had been Eris’s favourite when he’d been young, he’d gifted his to Rufus decades ago and he wondered whether the book Lucien had in his hands was the same one.

Lucien grinned up at him, his eyes bright. “I thought you were Rufus.”

Eris slammed the door shut, locking it, “I need to talk to you.”

“Hello to you as well,” Lucien’s grin faltered just slightly, and Eris briefly thought that he should have greeted his youngest brother, but he’d already started speaking.

“Lucien, tell me right now it’s not true.” Eris was trying to keep calm, he was trying not to yell, he was trying not to get angry. He would give Lucien a chance to explain himself.

Lucien closed his book, laughed a little nervously. “Tell you what?” He questioned.

Eris’s nostrils flared. The unmistakable scent of his little brother was obvious. But among the familiar citrus, weaving in and out of that scent, was apple blossoms. Eris groaned, “Lucien, what the fuck are you thinking?”

“You’re starting to worry me a bit, you know?”

Eris could have set the room on fire. “You don’t worry about me,” Eris shook his head, “Stick to worrying about yourself.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Lucien was wary now, but his eyes were still bright. “Is this one of your riddles?”

“Yes,” Eris stepped closer to the bed, a mocking smile on his face. “I’m an idiot who chooses to ignore my older brother’s good advice.”

“Easy,” Lucien smiled, just like he’d done when he was younger and he’d found the answer to any of Eris’s riddles, “Rufus Vanserra.”

“Rufus isn't the one parading around Calchas with a lesser faerie,” Eris crooned.

Lucien’s face dropped, his smile gone, Eris could practically see Lucien trying to come up with some lie. He noticed when Lucien decided to just tell the truth, arms crossed defensively in front of his chest, jaw set. “So?”

“So?” Eris wanted to laugh, “That’s all you have to say?” Eris was going to light the whole room on fire if he didn’t get a handle on his anger.

Lucien looked up at Eris, flames in his eyes, “I don’t know why it matters, most of what I do doesn’t matter.”

“Well, it does,” Eris spat. He had to remind himself to take deep, calming breaths. “Find another female to fuck.” Eris found he was absolutely horrendous at this. Even Eris thought that was crue, too cruel. He should have gone straight to their mother and asked her to deal with whatever the hells this was.

Lucien’s face unexpectedly softened, “I love her, Eris.”

Eris threw his hands in the air in defeat, “You’re not supposed to love things in this cauldron-forsaken court,” Eris was getting angrier by the second. “This court is cruel and brutal, there is no place for love in it.” It was a lesson all of them had learned, a lesson that Beron had taught them, a rule each of them tried to follow. In Autumn, a rule like that kept you alive.

“You sound just like father.”

Eris flinched, just slightly, Lucien probably hadn’t even noticed. Eris would have rather Lucien stabbed him then tell him something like that. But he would stand his ground, “End it.”

“I’m not going to,” Lucien lifted his chin, his jaw set. Had Lucien always been this stubborn?

“And I’m not going to say it again,” Eris growled, “End it.”

“What about you, then?” Lucien snarled, eyes flaring. “You and all your lovers? Everyone knows you’ve had countless.”

Eris felt his rage mounting as he waved a hand dismissively, trying to act as unbothered as possible. “They meant nothing.”

Eris felt the tips of his ears heat as Lucien asked, “What about Micah?”

“I didn’t tell you that so you could throw it in my face.” Eris snarled back, his voice low. Eris was regretting having trusted Lucien and Rufus with it now, even if they both hadn’t seemed to care when he’d mentioned that Micah had been his lover.

“I’m not throwing it in your face,” Lucien shook his head, he looked hurt that Eris would consider it. “I just don’t think you have any right to sit there and lecture me about forbidden love.”

“I didn’t love him.”

Lucien didn’t look like he believed him for a moment. “Honestly?”

Eris ran his tongue over his teeth, ran his fingers through his hair, “Honestly.”

“Cauldron, that’s bullshit and you know it,” Lucien raised his brows.

“Cauldron fucking boil me, Lucien, I was young and reckless once, too,” Eris started, probably as close to an admission of the love he’d had for Micah as anyone would get, “But I know better now.” Eris’s relationships never lasted, either because of him or because he ended them before they got too serious, before he got too invested. Micah had been one of his only exceptions, and even that had ended. Eris shook his head, “End it and court a female father will approve of.”

“Yes, because all you do is court lovely females father would approve of?” Eris knew he was being a ridiculous hypocrite, but this was different. Eris was the heir, and his father didn’t pay much attention to anyone he took to bed, and Eris had had a whole lot of practice making sure his father only knew about the females he’d wanted Beron to know about. No matter how often Eris messed up, Eris figured his father probably wasn’t going to kill him - he couldn’t afford to, not anymore.

Eris was a damn good courtier and a fantatsic fucking commander, his father would have to be an imbecile to kill him off. But Lucien wasn’t important, not to Beron. He was young and worthless. Lucien was the runt of the litter. “This isn’t about me,” Eris snapped, finally having reached the end of his rope. “This is about you.”

Lucien jumped to his feet, throwing the book from his hands onto his bed, “You don’t get to do that,” he shouted.

Eris growled, opening his mouth to speak, but Lucien wasn’t finished. “You’ve been gone for over a year, you don’t get to come back when it suits you and tell me how to live my life!” Eris stiffened, watching as Lucien waved a hand in his direction. Embers fell to the floor from Lucien’s fingers. “Don’t act like you care, Eris, when it’s obviously not the case.”

It was true that Eris hadn’t been to The Forest House in quite some time, but he hadn’t thought Lucien would be so angry at him for it, that Lucien would accuse him of not caring. Eris wanted to stomp his foot like some spoiled child, say Lucien was being unfair, that he was acting like a youngling. “Just think of the mess I’ll have to clean up when this goes wrong,” Eris snarled. “Think for one moment and you’ll see nothing good can come of this ridiculous dalliance.”

Eris knew he’d been too harsh when Lucien’s face hardened.“Get out,” Lucien spat, a strange golden glow to his eyes.

Eris scowled. “Fine then, don’t fucking listen,” he moved to the door. “See if I’ll fucking help if you get caught.”

“I don’t need your fucking help,” Lucien sneered. “I’ve lived my whole life without your help.” Eris had his hand on the doorknob, frozen on the spot, as he gasped out a choked laugh.

Turning to face Lucien, brows raised, lip curled, Eris cocked his head to the side — the words he spoke quiet. “Have you?”

Lucien’s expression changed, almost imperceptibly, almost like he regretted having said that, but he stood his ground. “Get out, Eris.”

Eris should have stayed, should have apologized, but he had never been very good at admitting when he’d been wrong. With one last shake of his head, Eris threw open the door, slamming it shut behind him.

Eris heard something shatter in Lucien’s room, he heard Lucien’s muffled shout, but he kept walking. Eris knew there were flames in his eyes, flames trailing behind him as he walked towards his study with fast steps. He could practically hear his mother’s voice from when he’d been young, urging him to tame his magic. The flames should not control you, she’d tell him, you must be the one to control them.

Eris had struggled with his magic as a child, tutors thought him too dangerous to teach, and his mother had taught him to control it when even Beron hadn’t been able to. Eris was having trouble keeping his magic controlled now, though. The temperature around him raised, the air holding some of that choking feel that his father’s magic so often had. Eris really was becoming just like Beron.

Eris slammed the door to his study open with his shoulder. The fireplace flared to life as he entered, flames wild. Eris needed to be careful, or he’d set all his books on fire. Eris took a deep breath, “I’m in control,” he muttered. “I’m in control.” He clenched his fists, the flames disappearing, “I’m in control.” Eris took another deep breath, picturing dying embers in his mind. He was going to speak to his mother, she would be able to help him.

Lucien had always listened to him and Eris didn’t know what he was going to do now that he hadn’t. Perhaps Eris would damn the consequences and drain his father’s stash of good cognac. Perhaps Eris would go to the streets of Calchas in search of some company. Or, Perhaps Eris would simply stay at the Forest House and pray this did not end badly.

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miss-bakukiri · 3 years

Text

A good nights rest

18+ | Aged up Bakugou x Fem reader | Slight degradation

y/n = Your Name

2150 words This is a bit of fluff story that builds up into smut scene. So if your looking for pure smut (lemon) that’s not what this is. I hope you enjoy it. Its my first short story. Let me know if you want a prologue or part 2! ---- As a rule you don’t let your hookups spend the night. It can send the wrong message that you are interested in something more than fulfilling a need. But then again Bakugou always does what he wants and you have broken your rules just by letting him come see you on a regular biases. Just for sex though, you don’t have time for anyone needy. Which is why Bakugou was the perfect hook-up, he didn't have time for that either. You watch him snooze in your bed, considering waking him up for another round. You decide against that knowing the pro hero needed his sleep. Instead you direct your attention to the gauntlets he left by your door.

Today he had showed up at your door in full gear, smoke still steaming off of him from a recent encounter that had apparently been very close to your apartment. You were a support engineer and his gear had intrigued you from the beginning. They looked cool but you thought you could make some improvements. So you grab one and head down to your workshop, knowing full well you might get in trouble later.

You worked freelance to keep your creative freedom so you had everything you need just below your apartment. Hours pass in a blur and suddenly big arms encircle you. “What the fuck do you think you are doing Y/n” Bakugou growls in your ear from behind, sending a shiver down your body.

Acting perfectly calm you turn to face him and say matter of factually “Making you more badass”. He scoffs and replies sounding a bit annoyed but intrigued “oh ya? How so?”

A sly smile spreads across your face, you were not in trouble... yet. “Did you know the sweat in your palms isn’t pure nitro?” You ask in a way that was obvious you already knew he didn’t know.

Bakugou starts to ask you how you knew that but then stops himself knowing that at any point you could have gotten a sample from him while he was asleep.

You explain that you created a way to concentrate his sweat into pure nitroglycerin and the rest evaporates through a vent. This allowed you to design a much less bulky gauntlet. Instead of looking like one big grenade your CAD drawing looked more like packs of explosives strapped on his arm. “Each one holds quite a powerful concentrated amount of your nitro. It’s smaller but holds almost twice the power. So less bulky and more efficient!” you explain.

Bakugou evaluates your design, showing no sign of being pleased or pissed until he finally says “Okay. Make it” You squee out loud in excitement. “I’ve rigged my shop to start the machining process automatically so I just have to hit start for now and check on it again in a few hours”

Looking you up and down Bakugou asks “you sleep at all?” and you just look away not saying anything. “It’s 4am, you should get a few hours in” he says sternly.

You miss a lot of sleep and meals when you get into a project. Laser focused on perfecting the task in front of you. Bakugou has forced you to eat and sleep in the past, claiming that he needed his favorite toy charged up for him next time. He fusses a lot more than you would have guessed considering he is ranked at #1 least friendly of new Pro Heros.

Sensing your incoming protest Bakugou picks you up princess style and carries you upstairs. You squirm and resist his firm grip, knowing it’s useless against his strength. “HEY! if you don't sit still I’ll throw you over my shoulders like a sack” You knew all too well that wasn't a bluff and spitefully obeyed him. Bakugou lays you down somewhat gently in the bed and holds you to his chest. “Go to sleep” he commands. You can’t help at giggle at the fact that he’s being so nurturing to a hook up."Oi, what the hell are you giggling at?” he asks in an obviously annoyed tone. “I know you just wanted me rested for a good fuck later but i can take care of myself. No need to pretend you give a damn.” you reply flatly while tracing your fingers over his firm chest. Suddenly he shoves you back and takes you by the jaw so you are forced to look him in the eyes. Leaning slightly over you with his deadly eyes fixed on yours he growls “You are the dumbest smart person I have ever met. I mean really how is it possible you are this dense”

Confusion and anger sweeps over you. Bakugou was really angry right now. More angry than he has ever been around you. “I am not DUMB” you yell back defensively. “Oh ya then answer this question, what the fuck about my personality says I would stick around and look after someone I don't give a damn about” he yells. And it dawned on you. Bakugou isn’t the type to make sure someone that doesn’t matter to him eats regularly or sleeps enough. In fact at first he would just fuck you and leave. But he started sleeping over sometimes. You figured he was just tired from his work. I mean there is NO WAY Bakugou Katsuki would ever get attached to some random hookup. Right? But then why did he start cooking you breakfast in the mornings or check to make sure you were drinking enough water... How did you miss this? The whole reason you decided to keep this up is because you thought for sure there was no risk of this happening. You’re not the type to miss details... Bakugou loosened his grip on your face seeing that it was starting to hit you. He didn't rush you though. It was an uncharacteristic show of patience. You stared at him. You wanted him. And not just sexually. Somehow he has become comfortable in your life. Looking back over the last few weeks you realized you would even miss him when we was gone. A small joy would flutter in your heart when you heard him knock.. you had written this off excitement for getting laid.. you had been lying to yourself for weeks now. Finally you managed to say in a quite voice “You like me” A cocky and small grin spread on Bakugou’s face “About fucking time” he said as he leaned in and kissed you sweetly. This was a kiss Bakugou has never given you before. Usually his kisses were rough and passionate. You felt this kiss through your whole body and for the first time in a long time your felt vulnerable beneath someone. Pulling back from you Bakugou traced his thumb on you bottom lip and said “And you like me.” A small tear ran down your face. You had shut out so many emotional needs and just focused on work for so long. You hadn't wanted this but somehow Bakugou got through to you. That asshole. You take him into a deep and passionate kiss. This lights a fire in Bakugou and he returns your show of enthusiasm by pushing you forcefully against the bed and holding your wrists in his hands. He begins to kiss down your chest and nip at the tender flesh of your breasts. You let out small moans as he pulls your tank top down and reaches your nipples. He starts sucking and biting at your nipples with a dedicated enthusiasm. Your whole body feels hot and your back arches against his hold on you. His head drops down your stomach to between your thighs, finally releasing you from his grip. Your hands quickly grasp his hair as he kisses your clit through your wet panties. “That didn’t take much. You are soaked y/n” he says wickedly, making you whine. Bakugou bites your inner thigh and then licks it to sooth any pain. He is perfect at pushing your limits, knowing exactly how far to go. Little bite marks now line both of your thighs and you wiggle your hips begging for attention to be brought to your puffy clit. Sliding your soaked panties to the side he takes his finger and rubs your clit in small circles but its not enough so you attempt to grind against his fingers. He pulls back and says “Greedy fucking bitch” before suddenly shoving two fingers inside your tight pussy. The shock sending electricity up your body and for a moment he finger fucks you with the intensity you have been begging for before stopping. You let out a sad moan at the loss of your fullness. Before you can complain further he lowers his head to your clit and begins licking your clit forcefully. Again causing you to surge with sudden pleasure. You hear him moan in satisfaction. You knowing he is getting off on making you feel good. The vibrations from his moan hitting your clit in exquisite pleasure. He slides two fingers inside you again and finds that magic spot curving upward and hits it again and again. Each stroke sending you towards your climax. Knowing you are close he intensifies his tongue strokes and you release on his fingers, your tight walls clenching around him in orgasmic pulses. Before you can come down off your high he sits up and pulls out his dick, red and twitching from waiting so long. He strokes himself a few times to spread precum from his tip across his shaft, while marveling at how much of a mess you are from your orgasm. “You're so damn beautiful y/n” he says quietly as he inserts himself into you, filling you completely. Overstimulated from your recent organism his entering your body sends intense pleasure through you. Bakugou thrusts himself into you at a brutal pace, overwhelming your cunt. He holds your hips tight so he can be fully within you. Quickly you start to build up to your climax with each lightning thrust from Bakugou. Stopping just before your climax Bakugou pulls out and turns you over easily as of you weigh nothing, once again sliding into you as deep as he can from behind. He reaches his arm around you to hold you by the neck and pull your back up to his chest. Firmly choking you by pressing on the sides of your neck. You begin to feel your pleasure heighten as you melt in his arms completely. “Good girl” he whispers in your ear. You feel his hot breath on your neck and it sends shivers down your body. Using his other hand he begins to rub your clit “do you want to cum” he asks in a deep growl “ye.. yes” you chock out. “I’m not convinced. Beg me.” he commands in a whisper as he slows his thrusts. You cry at the loss of his momentum. “Please. I want to cum. Please Katsuki” you say desperately in your overstimulated and dumb state. At hearing his first name come from your lips for the first time katsuki goes over the edge, pumping wildly into you while rubbing your clit. “Cum for me. Cum like a good girl y/n” he says out of breath and almost on command you release and ride out your orgasm on him. It melts over you in waves and you moan as loudly as you can through his grip. Your walls tighten and spasm around his dick and send him into his own release, filling you with his hot cum. He gently lowers you onto the bed, again taking in the site of you and smiling in satisfaction at job well done. He knows no one could ever fuck you as good as he does. You love seeing this look of pride in his face when you’re done, because it means you did good too. Said the right things, begged in the right ways to make him go that level of crazy. Without saying a word he walks over and gets you a glass of water and a towel. He is always good at after care. After you both come down from your highs you look at him and ask “So can I call you Katsuki now?” he smirks and says “Duh, I am your boyfriend. You can call me what you want... except Kacchan or Blasty.” You feel your blush on your face at his words and you ask shyly “You’re my boyfriend now?” Looking at you directly Katsiki replies “Ya, if you want me to be.” Blushing now even more red than before you answer “Yes. And I am your girlfriend” you say just barely holding his gaze. Not being able to handle how cute this all was you buried your face in his chest and the both of you drift into a much needed rest.

#mha smut #bakugou x reader #bakugou katsuki #mha bakugou #bnha #bnha smut #mha fan #bnha fanfiction #bakugou fanfiction #bakugou katuski x reader

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giftwrappingpaper · 3 years

Text

wangxian bakery au

prompt: "I'd love to enable a creator to write/draw that self-indulgent niche workplace AU they've always wanted to make."

Lan Zhan finds Wei Ying baking bread in the kitchen of a hole-in-the-wall bakery in Yiling.

-----

A low, all too familiar voice hesitantly calls his name. "Wei Ying?"

No fucking way. Wei Ying looks up, raised eyebrows wrinkling his flour-dusted forehead. Yep, that’s Lan Zhan alright; no matter how many years pass, Wei Ying could recognize that face anywhere. His sharp, meticulously perfect appearance makes him look like a high-fashion magazine model cutout slapped on a stock photo of yellowed plaster and secondhand baking equipment.

“No customers in the back,” Wei Ying advises before returning his attention to the dough in his hands. A picture of informality, with a small smirk playing on his lips — a half-hearted attempt to conceal the shock and surmounting panic bubbling in his gut.

How the hell did he find me? one side of his brain despairs, while the other side reassures that at least it isn’t Jiang Cheng.

Lan Zhan continues his stalwart breach of Burial Bakery’s kitchen. What a rebel. “Wei Ying,” he says again.

“That’s me.”

“You’re here.”

“Uh, yeah?”

“You’re in a...bakery. Baking.”

Wei Ying breathed in the calming smell of fresh sourdough and tangy levain. Thank the heavens he had been able to convince Wen Ning to take a lunch break, leaving Wei Ying to man the kitchen alone. This isn’t going to be pretty.

“That’s kinda what we do here, yeah,” he says, eyes trained on his workbench, crowded with floured bannetons and formless lumps of dough. “A helping hand would be nice. I’d appreciate that much more than the gawking.”

Lan Zhan blinks, jawing clenching and ears flushing. Wei Ying’s smirk lifts into something softer. Even after all this time, it’s still so easy to rile him up.

“How’d you even find me, anyway?” he wonders, stretching his dough flat against the workbench, stopping right when it’s about to rip. Gently, of course. Wouldn’t want to pop the gas built up after hours of proofing.

“The back door is open,” Lan Zhan answers faintly. His expression mirrors the face of a guy after finding a years-long missing sock long since chalked off as having been eaten by the dryer. “I saw you from the counter.”

A quick glance to the entrance confirms this. Wen Ning must’ve forgotten to close the door when he left. Damn, that’s no good. Can’t let the cold air flow in. Might mess with the dough proofing in the walk-in.

“Could you close that for me?” Wei Ying asks, briefly letting go of the dough to rub the back of his neck. When Lan Zhan continues to stand there, motionless like a beautiful, bewildered statue, Wei Ying tsks and says, “I’m not going anywhere, Lan Zhan. Gotta get yesterday's proofed loaves in the oven by the hour.”

Miraculously, Lan Zhan obeys. Wei Ying half expected him not to. He and Lan Zhan have never been the closest of friends; Wei Ying was an annoying student, and Lan Zhan has a zero tolerance for annoying classmates. But people can change, he supposes. It’s been over four years, and neither of them are the same people they were before Wei Ying packed up his things and gave up his cushioned life in the Jiang estate and his scholarship to one of the most prestigious universities in the country to start slumming it with the Wen siblings and A-Yuan in their closet of an apartment.

“Aw, thanks,” Wei Ying says when Lan Zhan returns. He belatedly realizes that he should’ve asked Lan Zhan to close the door behind him as he leaves the kitchen that he, as a non-employee, isn’t supposed to be in. Oh well; Wen Qing can chew him out for all the health codes he’s violating later. Isn’t she supposed to be manning the front? Lan Zhan must have snuck past her to get here, so she’s just as guilty.

“So you’ve been here the whole time?” Lan Zhan says, watching Wei Ying shape the dough. “Since you — left?”

“Basically.” Stitch the dough into itself. Then fold and tuck. Push the dough underneath itself with the palm of your hands to create surface tension, giving the newly formed loaf that tight, professional finish. Took Wei Ying ages to get the method down pat enough to be consistent. “Wanted to get out of the Jiangs’ hair, so I left soon after dropping out of uni.”

Dust the loaf with rice flour. Place it into a banneton, seam side up. Into the rack, then repeat. “A friend of mine had just inherited their family bakery. I volunteered to help out, and it eventually ended up becoming a full-time thing.”

Lan Zhan stands there without a word — not that Wei Ying minds. He hadn’t let himself dream they’d see each other again, hadn’t wanted to get his hopes up that he'd be lucky enough to see a familiar face again after all this time. Damn, he thinks, sneaking glance after glance between the loaves he’s shaping, he’s more handsome now than ever. Who knew the gorgeous teenager he’d harassed throughout two years of university would turn out to become a gorgeous adult who somehow stumbles into Wei Ying’s bakery? Even the unflattering cast of the yellow, flickering overhead light Wen Qing had been meaning to replace can’t wash out how black Lan Zhan’s hair is, how his skin is as smooth as a baby’s. How golden his eyes are, peering at Wei Ying as if he’s the sunrise after a long, cloudy night.

Bah. Where the hell did that come from? Maybe Wei Ying really is as self-centered as Aunt Yu claimed him to be.

“I wasn’t aware of your...baking aspirations,” Lan Zhan says, causing Wei Ying to choke out a laugh. He’d forgotten how funny Lan Zhan could be.

“Me neither,” Wei Ying admits. He sidesteps the kitchen mixer he’d spent the last year fixing up — he’d bought it in a sorry state, but Hobart engines are built to last a lifetime, and he couldn’t pass up the deal he paid for — to place another filled banneton into the rack. “But I’m not too mad at where I’ve ended up. Speaking of. How did you end up here?”

Lan Zhan's shoulders hunch suspiciously, and Wei Ying's eyebrows arch into fucking parabolas. “I wanted bread,” Lan Zhan replies defensively. “So I went to a bakery.”

Wei Ying scoffs, unimpressed. “A bakery all the way in Yiling?”

Lan Zhan glances away. “I travel a lot for work.”

Fine — he’ll let it go for now. “Well, as long as you don’t tell anyone back home about this, I guess it’s fine.” Wei Ying pauses. “You’re not gonna rat me out, are you?”

The thought should scare him, but a traitorously large part of him thrills at it instead. The Jiangs' are a key food supplier for the Lans' hotel chain, so Lan Zhan has to have some form of communication with them. Does Jiejie think about him from time to time? And Jiang Cheng...well. They’re still brothers, aren't they? Surely he must, at some small capacity, miss him.

But no brotherly love, whatever left there may be, could erase this: the cold silence that hung over the Jiang family table whenever Wei Ying would show up for dinner. Aunt Yu’s constant disapproval and Jiang Cheng’s wavering willingness to put up with it. The car ride. The screech of metal. The hospital said their Range Rover flipped four times. Wei Ying must have passed out after the first. But he was lucky: only a broken arm and whiplash. He had lied about being too hurt to attend the funeral.

It had been a good decision to leave. It had to be.

The back of his neck stings; a constant reminder. He hangs his head low as he stitches the dough.

“I’m not going to...rat you out,” Lan Zhan denies. He’s closer than he’d been since the last time Wei Ying looked up, his slack-clad hip brushing against the corner of Wei Ying’s workbench. “Not if you don’t want me to.”

“I don’t. Thanks.” Another banneton in the rack. Slower output than usual. He’s going to have to speed up to reach today’s quota. He gestures to the door. “Now, if you’re not gonna help out…”

Lan Zhan doesn’t take the hint. “You left. Without saying goodbye.”

“Must’ve forgotten to leave a note,” Wei Ying says, nonplussed.

“No one knew where you had gone off to.”

“Kinda preferred it that way.”

“But I didn’t —” Lan Zhan stops. Takes a breath. This is the most emotional Wei Ying has ever seen him, if mildly discomfited could constitute as emotional.

When he meets Wei Ying’s eyes again, his face is in its usual state of aloofness. “I was worried about you,” he tells him. “I wish I had known that you were alright.”

A block of guilt presses on Wei Ying’s shoulders. “Oh,” he says. “Sorry.”

Lan Zhan shakes his head. “Don’t apologize.”

“It’s just — with all that happened with the, the accident, and the handling of the estate —”

“You don’t need to explain anything to me you’re not comfortable with.”

“And my relationship with Jiang Cheng was down the fucking gutter —”

“He misses you.”

“I just felt that it everything would’ve been better off if —”

“I understand.”

“— I just left, y’know?”

At this, Lan Zhan frowns. “I fail to see how your sudden disappearance made anything better,” he says.

“Well, you weren’t there.” Wei Ying sighs, and what little fight he had to defend himself from the past drops to the floor. “I don’t want to argue with you.”

Lan Zhan bristles. “I didn’t mean to — that’s not why I’m here.”

Then why are you here? But Wei Ying is done playing this game. “Look, it’s really nice to see you again. But I kind of have a lot on my plate right now, so if you don’t mind.” This time, his gesture to the door is clear. Leave.

Of course Lan Zhan doesn’t leave; he’s always been so damn stubborn. After a beat, he walks over to the empty sink — Wei Ying prefers to wash the dishes as he goes — and washes his hands. Dries them. Rolls up the sleeves of his button up, revealing forearms Wei Ying can’t help but swallow at. Makes his way to Wei Ying’s side, staring down at the lumps of dough like how a runner glares at the bottom of her shoe after stepping on a pile of dogshit.

“Alright,” he says, “how do I do this?”

Wei Ying blinks. “What?” he asks, like an idiot.

Lan Zhan experimentally cups the nearest dough mound with his palms. It sticks to his hands as he lifts them, streaks of the stuff already clinging to his slender fingers.

“Gross,” he says, monotone, pinching two ends to stretch it; an imitation, Wei Ying realizes, of his own technique.

Wei Ying stares. An incredulous smile spreads across his lips. “You’re —” He laughs. “You’re so weird, Lan Zhan.”

Lan Zhan squints at him, confused, hands still making a mess out of the dough. “You asked for my help.”

Perhaps all those years away from home was enough penance for, at the very least, this. “Yeah," he says, soft. "I guess I did.” Wei Ying sways closer to Lan Zhan’s side. He discreetly sniffs the air in a selfish bid to find...ah, there it is, masked between notes of wheat flour and sourdough starter: sandalwood aftershave, brushing past Wei Ying's nose when Lan Zhan turns to him with an expectant glance.

Wei Ying laughs again. “No, not like that. Like this.”

He lays a floured hand over Lan Zhan’s and, together, they get to work.

-----

also posted on ao3

promo post on twitter

fic commissions

#mdzs #wangxian #cql #the untamed #wei wuxian #lan wangji #mdzs fic #cql fic #mo dao zu shi #myfic

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spidercakes · 3 years

Text

Pre-slash A/B/O student/teacher thing I made up for the entire purpose of being self indulgent :)

Warnings: student/teacher, age difference, sex work (Peter has an OnlyFans), kind of identity porn? some dubious shit anyway, A/B/O, omega Peter, alpha Tony.

Tony walks into the room fast, not interested in the students whatsoever but he has to teach to do research so he deals with it. When he does finally look up he finds a couple people staring back at him and he does his best not to look annoyed. Its not until he gets to the kid in the front row that he pauses because something about him looks familiar. Tony squints, trying to place where the hell he’s seen this kid because he’s sure he has, but he’s also sure he’s never had him in a class before. Which leaves him confused because its not like he frequents any area the average nineteen year old would.

“Um, hi?” the kid says after a minute, obviously confused by Tony’s staring and shit.

Shit. That voice is familiar, it’s unique, and fuck. He knows where he’s seen the damn kid before and why he looked unfamiliar at first and Jesus Christ this is why he shouldn’t use the Internet when he’s lonely and bored. One time, one time he decides to go browsing around on OnlyFans and he happens to find an adorable omega he rather likes spoiling and now, because Tony has amazing luck, said omega is in his classroom.

He has like, a million video requests he’ll never ask for, and he shakes his head to get the thought out of his head and looks resolutely down. He’s not used to seeing Peter dressed in normal clothing, dark jeans and a grey sweater with a hat on backwards. Probably to hide bedhead and it looks cute on him. Usually he’s more scantily clothed and in a lot more pink and that adorable collar of his, which also looks cute on him and this is going to be a problem...

Rhodey answers on the third ring looking unimpressed on screen. Yeah, Tony doesn’t love video calls either but he needs some advice. Rhodey, probably because he’s known Tony for most of his life, seems to understand this immediately and gives Tony an even more unimpressed look. “Technically nothing has happened,” he says in place of a greeting, drawing a long sigh from Rhodey.

“If you have to say technically,” Rhodey points out, letting Tony draw his own conclusions from that.

Doesn’t matter, he knows exactly what Rhodey is going to say but he also doesn’t care. “So,” Tony says, outlining the situation here however embarrassing that might be.

When he finishes Rhodey mostly just squints at him, “you buy things for some random omega on the internet? Is that just what rich people do?”

Tony rolls his eyes, “look, just because some people act their age doesn’t mean the rest of us don’t keep up with the times but listen. What do I do?”

That earns a frustrated noise and an eyeroll out of Rhodey, “unfollow the kid’s account you damn freak. Who the hell needs that spelled out for them?” he says, shaking his head.

“Hmm. Yeah, so what you don’t get is that he’s my favorite, so,” Tony shrugs like the situation can’t be helped even though he and Rhodey both know that’s not true.

Rhodey chooses to stick to calling him on it. “You’re fucking kidding me, right? You need to get your shit together,” he tells Tony.

“Oh come on Rhodey, I can’t unsee what I’ve already seen so what’s the harm?” Tony asks. They both damn well know the answer to that too but Rhodey chooses to give Tony a look.

“You didn’t call for advice, did you?”

Tony considers it for a second before he shakes his head. “No, I just want you to agree with me that pretending like I’ve noticed nothing is the best option here,” he admits freely. “So if you’d kindly give me the words I want, platypus, we can both be on our way.”

“You’re a dumb bitch, you know that?” Rhodey says bluntly.

“Seriously, he’s really hot and he’s funny too,” Tony says.

Rhodey rolls his eyes at him again, “Tony, you’re in love with the internet boy and that’s stupid. Just so we are clear on where I stand when I hang up on you. Goodbye, cupcake!” Rhodey says before he rudely hangs up on Tony.

Yeah, he’s still not going to unfollow Peter’s account.

#starker #tony stark x peter parker #starker fanfiction #abo starker #starker preslash

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heli0s-writes · 4 years

Text

III. Paralysis*

Summary: “I’m sorry,” you sob, locked around Bucky’s bicep, his forearm, fingers digging into the smooth obsidian plates, fisting the fabric of his sleeve. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” As if he were Natasha—as if you could stop both her death and his mangling, or at least hold her the way you are holding him now.

A/N: 9.8k words. OOF.

Warnings: Language, robots v. monsters violence, Big Time angst and comfort, smutty bits (dry-humping, thigh riding).

Trinity Epoch Masterpost

He leaves around sunset. Hair combed neatly to the side and freshly shaven, Steve’s dashing in a fitted suit and tie.

In the middle of passing around a basketball, Erik Killmonger, in all his subtlety, whistles, “Looking fresh, white boy!”

Steve smirks, smoothing the front of his jacket, “This monkey suit? I’d rather be in circuitry.”

He’s been laying low since Siegehook, since Bucky’s arm, and since you. But now the story’s changed and he’s gotta get his narrative straight— he’s introducing a new character, changing the players, and guiding the spotlight exactly where it needs to go.

Jimmy Fallon— Kimmel? One of the Jimmies personally flew into Hong Kong for a special taping of his late-night show. Orion racked up eleven kills; it’s another record and the people want what they want.

Fury called the three you of into his office after the network reached out for the umpteenth time. He strategized shrewdly to have Steve on this particular broadcast because it’s not as serious as a news report and not as wordy as an interview. Too many things can go wrong in both: cross-examinations, misquoting, scrutiny after the fact.

Steve works best in front of a live audience. He’ll sit down tonight—broad and tall—smile at the camera and the host, make a few charming quips, and then he’ll let the world know.

James has been hurt. The next breach will overlap his recovery time—don’t worry, everybody, fortunately, there’s a pilot available to step in and fill his place until he’s fully healed. And yes, he’ll be back soon, both in the Jaeger and on the show— I know you miss him, he’s even more popular than me, huh? Broody and quiet, right, ladies? He’s a hit!

Then he’ll laugh and field some questions about his new partner—but keep it vague for both yours and Bucky’s sake.

It didn’t need to be said. You didn’t want to be named, Steve didn’t want to make any assumptions for the future, and Bucky didn’t want to know if anyone thought he couldn’t pilot anymore.

Erik passes and you catch, sidestepping Thor and shooting over his figure which is no easy feat considering his massive height and the way Steve is staring you down. You don’t have to be hooked up to his brain to know what he’s wondering.

Since the trial run, you’ve been feeling the after-effects of the drift in oscillating waves. Sometimes you catch yourself standing ramrod straight, physically feeling heavier, knowing it’s him.

You okay? We talked about this. Yes, you are. No, you aren’t. It’s complicated. He’s fixes his tie the same time you spot a wrinkle. After-effects.

Erik jumps for a rebound when you miss the next basket, getting it knocked away by Thor’s enormous hand. Steve’s already gone when you look back, but Erik is passing again, and your next shot sinks through the net.

“That’s fuckin’ right!” He knocks his elbow into yours proudly, pushing sleeves over elbows until you can see the patterns of scarification up his arms. Feet back and forth on the scuffed concrete with distracted rhythm, you dribble, thoughts still on Steve.

“Hey,” a voice calls over the sound of the slamming ball. Barnes toes the edge of the makeshift court. A jacket is tucked under his arm, baseball cap atop his dark head. “Come on, it’s Friday night and you’re thinking too much. I wanna show you a place.”

He leads with confidence, directing the taxi in practiced Cantonese picked up over the last two years. Then, once disembarked, he peeks back every few minutes on the street to check if you’re still following. Your gait is awkward—steps firm, but lopsided. All off kilter and wound up like a spring.

It’s okay. In Bucky’s experience, food always helps. He’s taking you to his favorite restaurant—hole-in-the-wall Sichuan. He hollers over his shoulder, "You better be prepared for spice!”

Red lacquered doors open with a tinkering sound, a tiny overhead bell signaling new arrivals. A hostess steers through a path of similarly varnished tables and decorated chairs when Bucky asks for a quiet corner. Fish tanks of koi gleam green and blue. Chandelier scatters gold and white diamond shapes on a ceiling painted like a cloudy sky.

Hot tea first, and he sips carefully, gaze moving up to the T.V. behind your back when you’re busy flipping through the menu. A few more minutes pass of your furrowed brow sinking deeper and Bucky’s hand slides quickly across the tablecloth, nudging the booklet from your clutch.

“I got this.” And relief washes over your entire body like rain.

The appearance of entrees breaks your trance. Mai Gai, Char Siu Bao, Dan Dan noodles, and eggplant in garlic sauce—you’re trying to tell him it’s too much, wondering when he even ordered, but he ignores you. Not his fault you spaced out, he says, catch, and a napkin flies directly into your chest.

It makes you laugh, and Bucky secretly wants to tell you that it wouldn’t kill you to do it more often. Why the hell not, anyway? He’s tired of being upset about something that was largely inevitable. He knew the risk of death when they signed up to be Rangers so on the bright side, at least it’s his arm and not his head. At least it’s his arm and not his co-pilot’s. You’ve proven to be more than capable and proven to be someone he can trust with Steve’s life.

If Bucky had any doubts about whether or not that damned Rogers determination would see them through—they’ve been dispelled now.

The drift was sound. When Steve stepped out from the loading dock, he was lighter like half his weight had been sloughed off. When you followed, helmet pulled from your face, Bucky could see where it landed. Your hips, your shoulders, your jaw, all defiant—even if temporarily—coming down from the high of the handshake. Squared and strong, you looked at Bucky and certainty gleamed from your eyes.

You are Orion’s new pilot. He’s gotta give it up. It could be worse.

Bucky’s fingers shift as he unsnaps chopsticks and grabs spoons, the plates on his left clicking quietly, flexing his pointer when it sticks. Sometimes the prosthetic is a little glitchy because nothing’s perfect, but Stark and Shuri are constantly making updates. They use technology from the spinal clamp to connect his synapses, running tests on its reaction time, sensitivity, and functionality. He can feel pressure, but not pain, and wouldn’t it be nice if it applied elsewhere, too?

He passes your utensils over, wrapped loosely in a napkin. It could be worse.

“Hey Barnes,” you call earnestly, running your fingers over an embossed floral pattern on the paper, “Thanks.”

He’s not looking at you yet, firmly on a mission for soy sauce and chili oil. He makes a well of it in a ceramic dish and stirs with a chopstick, moving it to the center of the table, finding distraction in small tasks.

“...Barnes?”

“It’s Bucky,” he says finally, flicking his eyes to your hopeful face, “You can call me Bucky, alright? Usually that’s just for Steve, but you’ve been in his head—know me now, I guess. So you might as well. Hold your horses—I’ll serve you.”

Speechless, you put your hands in your lap and observe him scoop food, the syllables of his offered nickname tapping like a metronome over your curious tongue.

Bucky, you consider, watching the way he moves. Bucky, with his long hair pulled back and out of his cap. Bucky, his soft and worn hoodie, boots drumming gently against the table leg, eyes discreetly glazed over because he doesn’t think you notice the change in his mood.

Bucky, who made you laugh in the Jaeger hangar—even if he did threaten your life upon the first meeting. Who could have let you rot from boredom and worry, but instead took you into Hong Kong to his favorite restaurant without being asked to. Who could hate you—truly, truly hate you—for taking half his life from him, but instead is piling a mound of fragrant jasmine rice on your plate.

“What?”

“Bucky. I like it. It sounds nice.”

A clipped noise of displeasure, “Okay. Don’t fuckin’ wear it out.”

“Bucky...?” You murmur, sly. “Bu-cky. Buck-y.” The tips of his ears swell pink as you continue, emphatically pressing your lips together, letting your jaw hang open, pronouncing with precision. A bite of a steamed bun and you lick the edge of your mouth, “Bucky…hm…”

He sputters.

“Would you stop? Jesus, you’re annoying just like him— no fucking wonder— the two of you. Just fuckin’ darling.” His words are all run together with how fast his frustrated tongue moves, a healthy flush over his cheeks, spoon clinking on his plate.

It’s cute. Stoic, serious, James—Bucky Barnes– just a boy who can’t take a bit of flirting without lighting up like a candle. It’s fun. You like him, Bucky Barnes.

An unexpected ache overtakes you and suddenly Bucky looks more familiar than he ever has. Something excruciating about the soft crinkles of his brow, the way his generous lips draw back to reveal a sliver of his teeth.

He’s Bucky wiping the sweat from his collar in a dirty alleyway, jeans torn at the knees, bruises budding along his knuckles as he yanks up a troublesome blonde friend. Bucky, young and determined, helping Steve into bed every time he got sick.

Bucky, hovering pallid and broken in the drift, hurt and afraid but you felt his resolute strength in Steve’s head even as he howled in agony. Far off and shuffling in transparent layers until he was little more than a specter, but he was there.

His eyes lift again, raising to point you toward the T.V.

“There’s our boy.”

Our boy. And it keeps hurting.

You twist your torso as Steve steps out from backstage, waving and smiling, impeccably poised. He shakes Jimmy’s hand— silently mouthing thank you and hey because the cheering and yelling is too loud to hear him anyway. You try to stop thinking about Bucky anywhere but corporeal and whole across the tablecloth.

“Hey, Jimmy, how are ya?”

“Good—good, Steve. It’s so great to have you on the show again! Wow, you look great! Specimen.”

Steve chuckles modestly, tucking his chin to his chest, “Thanks, you do too.”

“Alright, no need to flatter me, we’re already in love with you, okay?”

You grin the same time Steve does, but whereas he continues to joke and enthrall two hundred people, you grow restless. Bucky refills your tea and drops a crumble of yellow rock sugar in.

“Relax,” he mutters, “It’s fine. He’s good at this. Eat your food.”

And you know this; you know him. Steve’s good when the questions get too personal and when there’s gaps in the conversation—when the cheering interrupts him or when his jaw ticks before he morphs it into a smile.

He’s good when he breaks the news to a hushed audience, gone eerily quiet like they’ve stepped on consecrated ground. Steve gives them those big blue eyes and the room immediately bursts into applause. Some people are crying. The host is shocked into wordlessness.

You feel relieved, getting what you pleaded for. No cameras. No questions. No pressure. The truth is aired, and Bucky seems pleased, too. You’re about to turn around, offer your full attention, thankful for his company, but then something else happens.

Jimmy blinks his stupor away from the blow of Steve’s confession. He takes a sip from his mug and after a short exchange of, thank you for your transparency, it must have been hard— wow I didn’t think you’d drop a bomb like that on us tonight! I thought I was the one with the ace up my sleeve— ha!

He points off-stage and says, “After that, I think you deserve a nice surprise, Steve. Ready?”

Tall, gorgeous, lightly curled hair cascading down her back—the surprise is a woman. She steps easily in heels, an off-the-shoulder red dress hugging tight to her body. Stunning. She waves to the audience and they go wild.

Steve shoots up to meet her for a kiss in front of the host desk, shaking his head in disbelief, tangling his fingers in her silky hair. There’s cheering again and the crying keeps on.

“Oh my god— Jimmy! You sly devil!” He’s overjoyed. “Baby— how’d you—I thought you were working.”

“I can always make an exception for my favorite guy.” She showcases perfectly white teeth and the high apples of her rosy cheeks.

It’s Ophelia Reyez, Steve’s model-turned-actress girlfriend of approximately six months. Her recent appearance on the Victoria Secret fashion show blew up the internet and her last Sports Illustrated swimsuit cover sold out in every gas station you went into.

Their first meeting was at a charity event—raising awareness about pollution in the Pacific, discouraging scavengers from harvesting Kaiju parts after battles. A picture of them standing two feet away made its way through social media the next morning her PR team made contact before noon.

So of course, it was decided; it’s a beneficially mutual relationship, after all. Doesn’t matter if he hates it or not—people don’t want to know that pilots live in a metal box and play basketball on Friday nights. They want to see Rangers in a role— monogamous relationships with beautiful people, white picket fence (or gated community) future in the making, and eventually plump-faced babies in strollers.

Steve’s now back in his seat, shifted so Ophelia is sitting in his lap, turned to the side. His hands are locked around her slender waist—an incredibly believable display of public affection. She kisses his cheek, leans her head on his shoulder, beaming brightly. If you were anybody else, you’d believe it; you have before.

“Fuck me gently with a chainsaw,” you whisper in both awe and annoyance.

“Feeling it, huh?” Bucky speaks plainly around a bite of eggplant when he notices your jaw. That habitual and microscopic signal he’s grown to spot a mile away means Steve’s irritated and pissed off, and now it means that you are, too.

“Yeah,” you admit, shaking your head. You turn back to him, thoroughly bothered, having had enough of the performance.

“Uh-huh. Everyone’s a Fly—even her.”

You sigh at the label. Jaeger Flies, is what he’s saying. Ranger groupies. Derisive titles— and maybe deserved— for men and women who are attracted to pilots solely because they’re pilots. They want the opportunity to be famous or the privilege of being elite.

Even her, Ophelia Reyes. She’ll forever look at Steve Rogers as the Ranger.

Natasha always lamented—usually as she took her earrings off after a date, heels slipping off her pale feet—about another civilian man who worshipped her, and how that would be a dream for most people, to be so adored, so revered, but you always felt her sorrow in the drift mourning a love she couldn’t have.

She wanted the white picket fence. The normal life, normal husband, normal family. Her clean break from the past where monsters could no longer chase her in Decima and nightmares could no longer chase her at night. Behind closed doors, she was all torn open at the seams. And you’d wordlessly tell her shut up because she had a family with you. You loved her too, wasn’t that worth something?

She’d spiral and spiral and nothing was ever enough.

Your stomach twists and it keeps hurting.

Bucky pays for dinner. He asks as he pops a mint into his mouth, “Up for dessert?”

“God, Buck.” You groan, and Bucky takes a second to run that through his head again. God, Buck. Another thing like Steve.

“C’mon, I wanna show you another place,” he says thoughtfully, “Hold on to your hat, punk.”

A lighthearted swat to your back and then he’s shoving the ballcap hanging from his chair on your head.

The streets are lit with all sorts of colors as you follow him through the market, peering at vendors showcasing an abundance of food and miscellaneous items. You keep telling him you’re too full and can’t eat another fucking bite, but he only commands you to walk it off. The crispiest egg waffles are somewhere down this way, and even though he can’t remember the intersection, it should be close.

Between steps and dodging passerby’s, he relates his own experiences of brief PR relationships. A Russian woman one time, and a Greek woman another time. Cross-cultural because it made the PPDC look good—and it was all about looking good. He loathed it, of course, but he’d bite down a couple of months before their representatives would release those asinine joint statements about “conscious uncoupling” – schedules too busy, still have love for each other in their hearts, though.

“Couldn’t tell you those girls’ middle names. We’d get together just long enough for some media circulation—dates where we’d pretend to be offended when pictures leaked on TMZ.”

“Well,” you muse over a vision of Bucky leaned back on Steve’s mattress, returned late and bored of another paparazzi encounter swarming him in the lobby of some hotel. You know it like a dream—his ankles crossed, shoes shucked off, cracking his neck. Fuckin’ wild, Stevie. This girl. My knees ain’t what they used to be.

“Least you got your dick plenty wet, didn’t ya?”

He makes a noise like an engine backfiring—offended like you’ve pawned off his prized possessions or something.

“Jesus—you’re an ass.” He slams the bill of the cap down until it hits you in the nose. Another huff, more cursing, and then he’s saying fuck you before speeding off alone.

You chase cheerily, finding his chestnut head peeking over the crowd with ease because he’s tall and hard to lose in Hong Kong. A few more blocks down with him looking back surreptitiously to make sure you’re not lost, and Bucky ends up being the one who is actually lost.

“Shit. Can’t find the stand,” he grumbles, “Don’t give me that face. These are way better than the ones we passed earlier—fucking all soft in the middle—fresh pandan leaf, alright? You don’t get it.”

“I don’t even know what that is,” you laugh, feeling your cheeks grow tired from the way they’ve been lifted all night.

A stifled, hot breeze of urban downtown mixes with a chilly gust of wind, carrying Bucky’s petulance away though the throng. Blinking, you look around, craning your neck and shuffle to the curb. Stalls with hanging lanterns. Carts lined with pickled mango. Vendors grilling skewers of pork and cleaving roast duck into chunks.

You suddenly dart from him across the busy road and barely avoid a rickshaw balancing two enormous baskets of finger bananas. When you return, you hold up matching green popsicles. One gets shoved into his mouth, other one into yours. Pandan, like he wanted.

“Hey, it’s not bad,” you give it another taste. Lingering coconut, a little bit leafy, but not unpleasant. “Oh shit—cold!”

Bucky licks his lips, stinging red from the ice. You shudder loudly as brainfreeze hits, another chatter of your teeth following when a gust of wind whips through. He shrugs his jacket from his shoulders.

He calls you a dumbass after an embarrassing story about the time you skinny-dipped in a pond near The Icebox in the middle of winter. A handsome man, your eager libido, and a handle of whiskey had been involved. You giggle about being bed-ridden for half a week afterwards, but you got his number and a few good nights in his bed.

“Guess you’re not as boring as I thought.”

You whistle, “Sweetheart, I got stories that’ll put some hair on your chest.”

Bucky smacks you on the shoulder. “Ass.”

The Shatterdome comes into view much later.

What would have normally been a three-hour excursion, at most, has unintentionally into six and you’re nowhere close to tired—not quite ready for it to end. Bucky is bright with energy, too.

The past hours have been dedicated to recalling old tales. One led to another, threads pulled from the most insignificant of mentions—your old Boston Terrier’s underbite; Bucky accidentally knocking Steve’s bottom lip into his own braces in sixth grade and it swelled up so big he could hardly talk; Natasha, unable to pronounce fucking aluminum out of all the damn words in the world; you, unable to pronounce facetious; and then Bucky, trying his own hand at it and realizing he can’t either.

“Fa—fa-shish-shush? Fascist—tus? Factitious… Ah, shit.”

“Buck,” you gasp through another fit, “Bucky—you have to shut up. Oh—Oh my god—my face hurts.”

“Christ, who fucking made this word up?” He turns the corner toward the living quarters, shaking his head. Just you and him between the rooms and his steps slow at the advent of an inbound goodnight.

Bravely, now that you’re in more secluded space, you offer, “I can tell you more... if you want. Anything. It’s only fair.”

“Yeah,” he says, going quiet and careful. “If you want to.”

So, you take a deep breath, bookended by a nervous grin because other than Steve, the only person who knows anything about you outside a confidential manila folder is dead.

“Well, it might surprise you, since I’m just so goddamn talented—"

“Oh, here we fuckin’ go.”

“Kidding. I wasn’t good at anything,” you elbow him before fishing out your key. “Other than getting into trouble.” Clicks of the cylinder and your vault door squeaks open. “Lots of fighting—I was a small kid. Had nothing but the clothes on my back and just the biggest chip on my shoulder.”

“Sounds like someone I know.”

Yeah. It’s funny. Steve’s alleyway fisticuffs might as well have been your own. You tell him as soon as the PPDC started recruiting again, you were in line. Their standards were confusingly specific and the tests they ran didn’t make any sense, but you passed and landed in Kodiak Island under the austere care of Stacker Pentecost.

Flipping the light on, you invite him inside. “I’d been in and out of foster homes. Barely had a high school degree. Got into… bad work. You know— what do homeless young adults with questionable moral codes do when their 9-5 isn’t paying the bills?” It’s desperate joke to break up the tension but he doesn’t take the bait.

“I’m not judging.”

You plop down on the edge of your table— a spotty metal thing pilfered from a vacated room. He takes the single seat in front of you, moving a dusty glass of water toward the wall, expression only showing attentiveness.

“Well, anyway…” you pause, “I was in the Bay Area after Trespasser— you know, scavenging. But, well, it changes your perspective a little when you’re sneaking through government tape at 3 in morning, stepping over flowers and memorabilia for all the deaths to crouch over a monster’s fucking toenail.”

“Hell,” a sardonic and self-deprecating grin, “I might have been a degenerate street urchin, but someone’s family got taken from them and here I was—monetizing their tragedy.”

Arching your back for more comfort, you splay your left leg over the surface, “Pentecost always said if I was lucky enough, I’d suffer brain damage or radiation poisoning, but might as well die in a Jaeger than in a ditch like I figured I always would. Son of a bitch had my number.”

Bucky’s lips are pursed lightly, eyes are tracing the path of your laces through bent hooks when you wriggle your boot back and forth. He spreads his hand over your ankle, keeping you still.

You swallow when he squeezes.

“Uh— I met Nat at Kodiak.” Bucky is warm. You oscillate between ignoring him and focusing on him, clinging to his hold instead of chasing the thought of Natasha too much. “We were… very similar. Childhood, um, troubles and all that.” You give him a pointed look and he makes a small noise of understanding with no intention to press for details, “She became my best friend. She was the first person I had. My only family.”

A nod of mock irritation and he says, “Yeah. Steve was always a part of mine. Sometimes they say they like him more than me. Can’t blame ‘em.”

“It’s the charm. They make it seem effortless, huh?”

“Fucker can’t take a bad picture to save his life.”

You laugh. “A smile like the goddamn sun!”

“One look into those stupid blue eyes and you’re a goner.”

“Criminally pretty.”

“Hah!” Bucky snorts, “Pretty enough for all of us.”

The floodlight on the wall casts darkness in the shape of your head over his shoulder. Lines of wayward hair caress his neck, tapered strands resting on his collarbones, chestnut glowing orange. His irises stipple forest green when it touches the light, smile nostalgic and lovely.

“Don’t be stupid,” you look at him for another minute longer, “You’re pretty, too, Buck.”

A raise of his brow. Bucky’s mouth opens and closes a few times vacantly. “Thanks,” he mutters finally. Then, bashfully, “So are you.”

Then, a cautious murmur of your name that you almost miss, and he’s peering up at you, deliberately soft. Bucky’s thumb knead small circles over the stitching of your jeans.

“You loved her, didn’t you?”

You loved her, didn’t you?

The years sweep through, passing over your face in a range of rapid-fire emotions. Bucky watches them change like shadows of a bonfire. Delight, amusement, longing. Anger, despair, grief. Deep and unforgiving because she was your whole world—all you had— and she left too soon.

You inhale and it sounds like a sniffle— exhale, and it sounds like a sob. No going back now; you did promise him anything.

You loved her, didn’t you?

Of course you loved her. Natasha-fucking-goddamn-Romanoff. Yeah, of course you did.

You loved her like a sister. You loved her like a lover. You loved her in reflexive ways, like mother’s intuition, finding your motivation in the need to protect her even though she hardly ever needed protection. You loved her like precious gems. You loved her like she was made from your own rib. You loved her enough to love unreciprocated.

“Well, you spend years living with someone, in their brain, learning everything about them— every decision in and out of their control that led them up to who they ended up being. Their—all their impulses and all the things they think about themselves. How—how they hate themselves sometimes.”

You’d always said you were the stupid one. Too stupid to reflect on the past and too stupid to let it burden your conscience the way she’d let hers. A running gag whenever her hand jammed putting on a lipstick she’d worn a million times and you’d finally have to do it for her.

Cheer up, Nat. You’re too pretty to cry. You’d line her lips, pat in rouge delicately, encouragingly. And then you’d shut up because there was nothing you could tell her. A million reassurances rolled off her back because they only made her feel worse. She clung onto your care like another weapon in her chest because she couldn’t return it even though you told her you wanted nothing from her but happiness. Jesus Christ, Nat, I thought I was the stupid one.

“When you know someone like that, it’s easy, isn’t it? You see them exactly for who they are and suddenly there’s no longer the concept of good or bad. What else could I do but love her? Especially when she thought so little of her damn self—tried everything to be someone else but—Jesus, if you only knew how radiant she was—”

You shut your eyes. “A smile… like the goddamn sun. Ah, fuck—"

And now you’re crying. You haven’t cried about Natasha in almost half a year because it’s something you track like the entrance bay’s war clock. Five months. Ten days. Zero again.

You’re choking back too many words and you don’t even know why you said all of that. You start apologizing, rattling out more, too much again, desperately like a prayer, pitch escalating higher and higher. “She deserved everything. A life that was completely—solely—hers. A life that made her happy— and why— why her?”

Why not me?

Bucky hears it in the silence. Watches it descend like a funeral shroud, weighing you down until you look as heavy as Steve on his worst days—when he stares at Bucky’s arm, like Bucky can’t see, can’t feel him there. And he knows Steve is thinking, why not me?

Bucky rises to his feet, stepping next to your uselessly dangling leg, resting his left hand on your shoulder and you grasp him, clutching achingly tight, torn to bits. And it’s too much all at once.

“I’m sorry,” you sob, locked around his bicep, then his forearm, fingers digging into the smooth obsidian plates, fisting the fabric of his sleeve. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” As if he were Natasha—as if you could stop both her death and his mangling, or at least hold her the way you are holding him now.

You’re smashed into little pieces, barely keeping your head above water, holding it all in, and no one recognized how you were drowning the entire time.

Solemnly, curiously, he feels like he’s seeing you for the first time but not quite, remnants of familiarity sparks in him—the filmy plastic layer of an old photograph pressing down to reveal something he once knew and finally knows again.

You make helpless noises, staring numbly ahead, tears rolling out like marbles to drop into your lap.

Bucky shakes his head, “I’m fine,” he whispers gently—frustrated—brow furrowed, his fingers rubbing the salt from your chin, “Quit your blubberin’.” He tilts your face up to the light, watching you take a shuddering breath, exhausted from unearthing buried skeletons.

It's wet when he kisses you, supple flesh chapped around the edges from anxious gnawing, swollen hot from weeping. It’s soft and quick, and then he pulls away.

“St—sorry,” he says, mouth pressing into a thin line, lips drawn in and tentatively licked. “Sorry, I don’t know… I don’t know why I did that. I shouldn’t have.”

Your eyes are sad—big and vulnerable, inflamed red, confused, worried, something else weaving through the damp gaze. Your strong, small fingers are still tight on him, and even though Bucky pulled away and apologized, he rushes forward again.

His free hand curls around your neck, supporting your head. Lips part and close, pressing firmly, expertly, naturally. It feels like he’s kissed you before and missed it— like a kiss he’s been waiting on for a long time.

Banging on your door jerks him away. You careen off the tabletop, smooth the back of your hair, wipe your face and the vault creaks open.

“Marshal,” Bucky greets.

“Rangers…” Fury’s steps are suspicious, phone in his hand aglow. “I thought we had a plan.”

Your heart is beating too fast, the press of Bucky’s plush lips still warm, the scent of his skin still near. You sense it like an imprint, feel it like a brand. The room spins with an onslaught of possible scenarios—all horrendously unclear.

“Care to explain this to me?” The marshal turns his phone toward you, the lit screen displaying a photo of a dark street, illuminated by red and yellow lanterns. A thick crowd is spread around stalls of fruit and knick-knacks.

The headline reads James Barnes Spotted in Hong Kong with Mystery Woman, and the two of you are circled inside a red ring. You’re teetering off the curb of the sidewalk next to a sewer grate. It’s grainy and distorted, but Bucky’s striking features are clear.

“And this one?”

Bucky’s cap on your head, popsicle sticks between your teeth and his.

Steve Rogers on Jimmy! Jimmy Barnes on a Date!

James Barnes Officially Over Penelope Mercouri.

James Barnes’ Injury?

Fury tucks his device back into his coat. “Not that I care what you get up to on your spare time, but we had a tale to tell. It’s hard pushing an agenda when you’re pushing the wrong way.”

“We just got dinner,” you stutter, an upsurge of guilt rising. The speculation, the kiss, the gut-wrenching reflex that feels like a crime. Fury’s calculating now, looking from you to Bucky, assessing the situation with some pity because you truly look pitiful.

“What you got is PR on cleanup. Potts has been trawling Twitter for the last 20 minutes. For someone who doesn’t want to be in the public eye, you’re making a lot of noise.” He points to Bucky’s jacket still over your shoulders.

You tear it off. “It’s not—”

“Oh no—I won’t be losing sleep any over it.” The marshal’s single eye blinks calmly, “She can spin the story, but you become responsible for this.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means, Ranger, that the spotlight is on you now. And there is nowhere to run.”

And if you didn’t think it could get any worse, footfalls down the hallway reach your ears in a pattern that you recognize immediately. Here he is, stepping into your room like it’s his own, suit jacket over his forearm, shirt halfway untucked and tie pulled loose. His lips drawn together and unreadable.

But you read it: Steve’s seen the pictures, too.

And goddamn, if you didn’t think it could get any worse— the earsplitting alarm announcing sudden movement in the breach startles you all.

“Orion Bravo, report to Bay 08, Level B. Codename Polidori. Category 2 Kaiju.” Shuri’s reedy voice is collected but critical. The thin screen next to your bed blinks on primary colors, wavy lines of activity rising and falling, counting down until emergence. Three hours.

Banner streams down the hall. The ruckus drowns him out.

Fury’s dark skin is ochre beneath the lights, “Category II,” he says, “Should be achievable. Odinsons will be on standby, guarding the Miracle Mile. Maximoffs on the coastline. They’ll come to you if necessary. Shelve your personal troubles, Rangers, we’ll continue this conversation later.”

Circuitry. Battle armor. Helmet beneath your arm. Muscle memory cuts down the time to seven minutes until you’re set to board, but you need more. Just a few—you have to tell him—better now than later—better from your mouth than from the drift. So, you blurt, “Bucky kissed me.”

Steve turns.

“We kissed. It—it’s nothing. I just needed to tell you before we get in. Didn’t want to seem like I’m hiding anything—I’m not.” It sounds so stupid, like a child admitting fault for breaking a window with a too-hard throw. It sounds like betrayal.

His helmet is gripped tightly in the crook of his elbow. Steve’s chin juts out incrementally, chewing on the inside of his lip, the air around him gone stagnant until he makes a noise both like a scoff and a hum.

“Sure. Fine. I get it—you’re lonely.” It’s worse than any response you expected to receive. “You know what I mean.”

It must be a testament to the depth of your connection now— you knowing him, him knowing you in all the ways that can make an argument escalate into atomic warfare. Precision strikes and then the two of you walking Ground Zero in its aftermath.

“Wait—you think I’m lonely?” You block his way out, furious. “What the fuck does that— have you met yourself? Girlfriends who will never see you for who you are. Ophelia Reyez? Katherine Lau?”

Orion Bravo. Report to the loading platform.

“I know exactly what I’m doing—do you? I spent all evening on T.V. for you--”

“Oh, boo-fucking-hoo, Mister Martyr in front of a drooling audience telling white lies and screwing a Victoria’s Secret Angel in some penthouse suite— such sacrifices you’ve made in my honor.”

Orion Bravo. Report to the loading platform.

“What the fuck have you done lately?” Steve snaps, “Other than try to fuck my co-pilot?”

His words hit like a kick in the goddamn teeth. You slam your helmet into his chest and the polycarbonate shells knock together violently.

“I’m your fucking co-pilot,” you snarl, “You wanted me.”

Steve steadies himself, twisting until he’s snarling at you down the bridge of his nose, “Enough. We’re being hailed, I’m not breaking this record because of you, and not for a Category II. Get your shit together.”

You grind your molars when he pushes you aside, stumbling on shaking legs. Your brain feels gnarled—misshapen and bent up in sharp, jagged points—and as much as you want to stomp his goddamn face in, he’s right: you can’t feel this way. You can’t. It’s your first drop in two years with the best pilot by your side—and you’re responsible for his life. The last one proved disastrous, and you cannot risk that again.

Your suit feels heavier with each step. When you climb in after Steve, the rig feels more obstinate. Your head, chest, heart are all swollen with turmoil and hot rage.

He’s next to you, breathing deeply. You mimic, shelving personal troubles like the marshal commanded.

Out of alignment, the automated voice of the system calls, and you push it back further, grabbing the entire shelf and hurling it into the depths. Steve sends you an incisive look. A blame. You take a breath, another, and another. Fuck!

“Orion.” The heads-up display spotlights Bucky’s face in the control room, emotionless. “Focus.”

You inhale one more time, seeking reassurance in his unwavering gaze—necessary peace in the silhouette of his phantom left arm. Bucky. Steve. Natasha. You. There can be no more loss. You cannot let it happen again.

Levels stabilizing.

To your right, Steve makes a noise like he’s shaking something off.

Neural Handshake complete.

Bucky stands behind the glass, watching aircrafts lower their hooks. A nod of his dark head is the last thing you see before Orion is lifted from the hangar.

There would be a fucking storm.

You’ve always hated fighting in the rain because Kaiju are enormous, slippery, alien amphibians, and Orion’s left fist slides off more times than you’d like. This one’s much smaller than Orion, which allows it the slight advantage of speed, slicing through the water like a shark, corkscrewing for an extra boost of velocity before emerging with a splash from behind.

A miss when you and Steve weave away, hazarding a minor scratch to the right shoulder before Orion’s shield knocks it back.

Despite the vexing evening and the simmering hurt in the pit of your chest, the drift is steady. So, you take it for what it is, cast the rust off your bones, and the two of you do some fucking damage on this thing.

Banner named it Polidori, after the writer credited with inventing the vampire genre. K-Science sonars detected protruding fangs and petal flaps folded on its back like vestigial wings. So, Polidori, he shrugged, it’s cute.

You discover with swift horror that the flaps are neither vestigial nor cute when Polidori pulls one sliver of leathery skin free with a splat. An atrocious shriek rings over the storm as it struggles with its own body, then another shriek and the left pillar continues to stretch, knobby blunt end of its shoulder blade shooting high, ripping itself full of gaping holes in its endeavor.

Banner was more accurate than he realized.

“Orion!” Shuri’s voice is sharp, “Bring it down! Do not let it into the air! Use your cannon!”

You’re frozen stuck, eyes squeezed shut at the sight of stretched membrane. A terrified whimper and a puncture of nauseating memory nicks at Steve’s concentration.

No! Levels spike on the HUD screen. Fuck! Steve is caught in the undertow and the rig jams beneath both your feet.

“Orion! You’re out of alignment! Orion!”

She’s here.

Natasha’s bright hair is unfurling all around you. There’s deafening splintering when the incisors of her killer punctures through Decima’s chest and both her legs. Metal grinds against metal, the sound searing itself into your eardrums—your brain—your heart. Wings are beating—wild flaps of rubbery sails against the downpour—muffling screams from Decima’s cockpit.

It’s as real and cruel as the last time you saw it.

Bi Fang, like the bird from Chinese mythology, beaked and blessed with flight to make up for its one leg. Bi Fang the Kaiju was legless, and Natasha was convinced Decima could take it. You had no reason to think otherwise; five previous kills cultivated your confidence. You had her by your side, after all. Two orphans with something to prove, proving it again and again.

Wings and fangs? No legs? Six is an auspicious number. The smirk on her lips blooms fiercely. You’re laughing when Decima hovers above the water. Alright, Tasha. Six drops.

A tremendous splash and you touch ground.

She grins. Six kills.

Polidori has one limb fully flexed, fragmenting pixels bending into the shape of Bi Fang. Natasha is bending, too, lowering her center of gravity. Her elbows are against her ribs, fists set. This is gonna hurt. Come to–

Come to me! To me!

He’s stepping in ink. In water. And then metal is beneath Steve’s feet. There are flashes of rain, lightning, and he recognizes her dead center of the storm.

Natasha Romanoff, vibrant and joyful through the glass of her helmet. You, next to her, reciprocal smile on your face stuck in hysteria, tears streaming down your cheeks in wide stripes. Steve’s hand is reaching but going nowhere. Echoes overlap of crying and shouting. Yours. Hers. His.

Come to me!

He yells again, but you’ve chased the rabbit too far.

Come to me!

He’s trying his hardest, stretching himself like ropes to bridge the fissure. He feels your fear, your hurt, and for a flash, it eats him whole, spits him out a twisted-up way and his brain screams for Bucky.

Bucky is doing the same through the control room, reaching his will out to Steve, praying their connection still holds despite their distance. He’s yelling for you, too.

“Steve! Get the hell out of it! Steve, you need to get her!”

The ripping of his red left arm loops three times in quick succession before Steve can temper it down. Bucky is howling, crying, sobbing. Steve is breathless, stuck, rattled, steeling his entire body to witness the amputation for another inescapable replay until your frozen body smears across his blurry field of vision.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck!

Bright whites burst behind his eyelids. Flares of panicked emotion. Bucky. Natasha. Him. You. An endless rippling chain of trauma lashing Orion open.

“Come on— Steve! It’s moving! Steve!”

“Buck! I’m— I’m okay! Just— need a second.” Steve scrambles for his sanity, latching on, knowing Bucky’s well— alive and not hurt. Shuri begins urging him to get up faster. Polidori’s moving slow, but it is moving, and it needs to be put down now. She’s calling for the Odinsons—Colossus, be prepared to walk-

The metal under Steve’s feet slides away. Water returns, ink flowering behind it—molasses and murky. His steps are unsteady, chest heaving as he advances through a field of speckled glimmers like fireflies at dusk. Each flicker reflects an agonized shard of your distorted face.

A flit of your voice rushes behind his head. Steve whips around and tries to catch it but no such luck.

Again, to the right, then gone each time he spins. It builds and builds until he feels half-deaf, frantically invoking your name into the ether where it becomes lost in dissonance. Butterfly-winged iridescence scatter and plummet, shrieking, shrieking, shrieking.

Then, nothing.

He finds you crumpled over on Anchorage’s shore.

Decima reaches sand as a crackling mess of Jaeger parts, chest piece ripped clean off the right side. You clamber out of the rig, hugging Natasha’s mutilated corpse. Your drivesuit is split open down to the hip, the glass of your helmet fractured and splattered with blood from your nose– still dripping.

He shakes his head, attempting to free himself of your scarred clutch. You had been hooked into the rawest fear—linked up when she died— gored and broken with half your brain believing it is also dead. Chills race up his spine and breaks him out in a cold sweat. He feels strangled to his very soul.

Then, seizures take you—the casualties of solo piloting—the neural damage come to collect. Nobody know how many miles you steered Decima alone and truthfully, it should have killed you.

Your eyes roll up to the sky, body convulsing before slamming into the ground like a rag doll, shaky fingers still reaching for your co-pilot. Steve shudders quietly, flinching with each impact. A final wail and everything slackens to a dull vibration. You quiver on the sand, howling and crying for Nat.

Polidori’s right wing casts itself loose, jaw opening wide. Steve’s on a time limit; there are only a few grains left in the hourglass. He croaks your name.

A second of recognition triggers from behind the curtain and it’s miraculously enough for you to see him. It’s enough.

He begs. He begs on his goddamn knees, crawling to you.

Look at me, only at me. Come back to me, please. Please. Please.

Steve gathers you in his arms, both of you trembling and afraid. Your suit heals itself, pieces stitching back together, blood little by little disappearing from your nose. Natasha shimmers away.

He presses the glass of your helmets together. He needs to get closer.

Steve? S-Ste-Steve—Steve?

You’re still crying. You’re breaking his heart.

Yes. I’m here.

St-Steve, what d-d-do I do?

You’ve got me now. I’m here with you. You understand?

He can see you struggling to escape, consciousness clawing with nails and teeth to return to the present.

Yeah. Y-Yes.

We have to move.

Steve—Steve—everything hurts.

Just for now. Just for a little bit—but I’ll make it better, I promise. Nothing’s gonna hurt you again. Will you hold on to me? Do you trust me?

Y-yes… Yes, yes. I trust you.

The rig lurches back to life beneath his feet. Jittery and creaking with strain, Orion rocks forward with a rumble. The drift stirs once more, noise giving way to silence.

Steve’s vision clears. You’re back in the present, precariously grounding your strength inside his guidance. You raise an unsteady left arm. He powers it up. Energy surges through the cockpit, tremors running up your side as it charges. Your hand splays. Steve’s palm takes aim.

Activating plasma cannon.

The beam pierces Polidori’s shoulder and its roar chases a simultaneous thunderclap.

A crack of lightning flushes the sky purple. Orion’s right arm lifts high above its head and slams back down, the glowing hot edge of its shield cleaving through Polidori’s skull.

Bucky’s grip on the control room’s railing feels like it could warp metal. Wilson is on his right, other pilots in a row next to him. All is silent.

Through the relay of Orion’s camera, Polidori’s writhes one final time. A death throe—pathetic trilling drowned by rising water, falling into deep darkness. Overhead, Kaiju clean-up advances, jet engines rumbling behind an ashy horizon. Orion’s shield retreats to its side with a wet, sloppy sound. The handshake pulled through. Steve got to you.

Abruptly, the room vibrates with the shouting of about fifty voices. Sam is banging on the railing, strong fists rocking the entire length of it, roaring with glee. The others are even wilder— shoving each other in triumph.

Bucky tunes it out, waiting for quieter confirmation. He can hear the both of you despite the racket. Steve’s steady pants, cut with throaty relief—this one, Bucky’s familiar with. Your small, weak sobs strangled with tears—this one, he’s quickly learned, but knows now in his bones.

“Twelve drops,” you announce hoarsely. Raw. “B-Buck?”

He grins, dazed comfort rushing over, your voice chasing the torture away.

“Twelve kills, sweetheart,” Bucky says, “You did it.”

The raucous celebration in the Shatterdome simmers down around four, sunrise just a couple hours behind the horizon. Unruliness had broken out, triggering a party that lasted from the time Orion got picked up ‘til now, and still there’s chatter in the common room.

It’s normal; Anchorage celebrated too after most kills—as long as no one died.

You’re freshly showered and changed, barefoot as you patter it back to your room. Voices from other beds are lowered as you pass—friends taking banter back to private spaces, couples pressed up against each other. All standard-issue revelry to commemorate the endurance of life.

It’s how these things go. Violence on a massive scale, humanity threatened with extinction—the people closest to death feel it the most. When routine becomes monotony, it’s good once in a while to be stimulated again.

Damn near two thousand people in close quarters—Rangers in perfect form, friendships assembled on the foundation of sharing an exceptionally singular purpose. Even Pentecost in all his grave formalities couldn’t ward off human nature. Plenty of pilots hooked up with each other and other staff in Anchorage and no one cared as long as it didn’t muck anything up on the job. At least the marshal could control that; mishandle your personal relationships and you’d be off the docket for your next drop.

Sex is biology. Desire is human.

It’s hard for you to feel human this morning. Exhausted by the fight and the prior evening—awake now for over 24 hours, you broke away from the commons as soon as you arrived, spending an hour simply breathing in the steam, the habit achingly comforting. Your chest still feels tight, heart bloated with invasive flashbacks.

You used to decompress with Natasha. A few drinks, tales from the cockpit, shadowboxing and putting on a show, glad to be in the company of friends— to be back safely with each other. Then you’d scatter with the crowd, meet her in the showers, and help her wash her hair in silence. Nothing but the trickle of shampoo down the drain.

She’d cry, sometimes. Catharsis, mostly. Curled up in your arms, the both of you cozy in pajamas on the floor. Then off to bed where she’d climb under your sheets, falling sleep with her head on your shoulder, your fingers in her hair.

A love unspoken. A home in the shape of a twin-sized bottom bunk. Cramped and narrow. Too brief.

You sigh. Everything hurts.

A few rooms away from yours, Steve’s door is open just enough for a line of orange to escape. You know he’s there, waiting patiently as he has been. You went near catatonic on the way back, lying down in the cockpit, no longer needing to be hooked up. You shed the armor, holed yourself into the corner of Orion’s hull, and said nothing when he sat by your side.

Walking in front of the light, he places himself in the entrance way until he’s looking at you. His face is a gentle blue shadow, resplendent halo glorious behind his head. He’s dressed in soft pants and a t-shirt damp at the collar. A droplet of water runs down his neck.

It emerges like an orchestral arrangement. Leisurely notes creep into your ears—a tune you’ve always known. Plucks of strings, escalating windchimes. It echoes, the trails on his skin, his measured breath, his percussive voice layering and pleating until there are dozens of him.

Look at me. Come to me. I need you.

You feel it all at once. A knotted, chaotic tempest. Hesitation. Confusion. Ache. Bucky. Him. You. Your eyes lock with his. A mistake and a revelation.

Steve holds out a steady hand. You take a step, terrified, pulled into his overwhelming atmosphere like magnets, your bodies humming a secret frequency, purring for each other.

The drift opened everything up, but the battle tore it all out. The both of you are laid bare, everything else fallen away.

Nothing’s gonna hurt you again. You’ve got me now, you understand?

You reach the shadow he casts, eclipsed entirely by his bulk. Steve threads his fingers between yours and with a tug, you surrender your worries to him.

He’s kissing you before the door is entirely shut and latched. He fumbles for the locks, wraps his arms around your waist. A click and a clatter. He moans into your mouth.

You exhale from deep inside your chest. He inhales like it’s all the oxygen he needs.

Your hands move to one place, his hands to another. Before your bodies can savor it, the both of you have roamed on, reading each other’s minds, knowing what’s next.

More. More. More.

It’s impatient and fast and Steve picks you up with ease. You forget yourself, forget the world outside the room, outside the three-by-three tile area of where he’s got you lifted, legs wrapped tight around his hips. Fingers dive into the back of your pants, squeezing, up your shirt, pawing at your breasts.

His groans blow heat onto your neck. You arch away, giving him more skin to brand kisses onto. He nips at your throat, light, then again, rough. His voice is raw and thick, husky little clouds making their home on your body.

Gentle sucking on your bottom lip follow each kiss. He takes you to bed, dropping himself onto the mattress, you on top of him. He’s been in your head; he knows what you like. Knows where you want him. Your voice is getting higher, sounds quick and shallow.

Steve guides you with one hand on your hip and the other beneath your thigh, soft pajama bottoms pressing against his. He groans each time you rock forward, needy for more contact against his groin.

You’ve been in his head, too. He likes feeling hands in his hair, so you grip his flaxen strands. He likes hearing, so you make a little more noise. He likes seeing his partner helpless because of him, losing all control, falling apart for him.

So you do.

Pleasure rushes from the top of your head to the tip of your toes, his name burning in your throat. It’s an incredible shock and you’re spellbound, enraptured by him drinking in the parting of your swollen lips. Quickly, he places you on his thigh, enormous and strong, needing a better position to see— to feel you on him. Hungry attention, eager eyes, pleading like a mother tongue.

“Keep coming for me. Just like this— don’t stop. Please don’t stop.”

The shamelessness of it—your underwear soaked to your pants. The fever of it—his body like a fire, low, husky begging just from watching lighting up your spine. It’s extraordinary adrenaline— the heightened and profound connection of knowing one another in every way—as if you were made for each other.

Animal instinct liberated from human sentience. Desire pursuing release. Two bodies colliding and igniting.

You can’t stop the next cresting wave, crying out again.

Steve pushes you on his leg repeatedly, back and forth, solid and firm between your thighs even as you shudder and whimper, telling him it’s too much— you’re too sensitive. He kisses your neck, jaw, chin, cheek. He doesn’t stop moving.

“Hold on to me.”

A bead of sweat collects on the dip of your cupid’s bow. He looks at how sweetly your skin shimmers as you shiver, how your pupils are blown wide, how you look so perfect to him. He presses his forehead to yours, looks into your eyes like the way he did in the drift.

You reach for him and rub in quick strokes, fumbling when he rocks you back, gripping when he rocks you forward. Parted lips hover, “One more time for me—ah, please,” he begs, “Before I do.”

But he’s too late and too heated. Steve makes a mess of his sleeping pants, taken over the edge by how you feel without hardly feeling you at all. He buries a groan into your shoulder, riding it out with indelicate thrusts into your palm.

“Oh,” he murmurs, “Oh, fuck. Oh, fuck.”

He’s blush pink and beautiful when he remembers himself again, rubbing his cheek against yours. He knows what you’re thinking— the realization in the comedown, the leaching fear of what could have been a mistake. But it isn’t, and Steve remains faithful to your body.

“Stay. I’m sorry—for hurting you. I’ll make it better.” Velvet kisses to your lips and you shake your head, apologies no longer necessary.

A whisper of his name like it’s the most radiant word. You cling to him, kissing him, answering only to him.

In the afternoon when Steve is still sleeping, you retreat to your room. You pause at the sight of Bucky already on your bed, caught in the bleary focus of his gaze. With lashes soaked wet, his throat constricts around a forceful swallow.

“Hey,” he says, voice breaking on the syllable. He pats the space next to him and you come sit, turning your knees until they knock into his.

“Bucky…”

He laughs like you’ve told a joke, like the sound of his own name is a funny thing escaping your mouth. “Hoped I could catch you last night, before—” he laughs again. “—Before bed. Just wanted to—I guess I don’t know what I wanted to do.”

The hurt resurfaces. You find him through the rose-dappled lenses of Steve’s eyes. Those warm summers with two boys running wild, effortlessly devoted to each other. Your heart swells like you’re there, gazing at russet locks flying in the wind. Years and years between them—Bucky’s smile, lopsided and carefree. Steve’s gaze, illuminating Bucky in every memory.

“Bucky,” you say again, so wonderfully soft, he thinks, even as his chest feels stretched to bursting. “You love him.”

He places his temple on your shoulder, face hidden by the long strands of his hair.

“You’ve been in his head. He’s easy to love.”

“Yes,” you agree, touching his bangs, pushing them over his ear, streaking four affectionate lines through, “He is.”

“So are you.”

Bucky turns into your palm, smiling openly, like the truth is the simplest thing in the world.

#steve rogers x reader #bucky barnes x reader #stucky x reader #steve rogers x reader x bucky barnes #pacific rim #marvel #reader insert #fanfiction

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raendown · 3 years

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Todays follower milestone gift fic is for @sparklemagpie with the prompt word importune. Can you tell I had fun writing this one?

Pairing: ShikamaruTemariTayuya Word count: 1966 Rated: T+ Summary: For the two women in his life Shikamaru will do whatever it takes. As long as they're happy he's happy. When they're not...well, when they're not you get situations like this one.

Follow the link or read it under the cut!

KO-FI and commission info in the header!

Just The Right Cherry On Top

Shikamaru would have told anyone who asked that it didn’t start off as begging. No one was really asking, though, and the shreds of pride still buried in the back of his mind somewhere told him that was a problem. If no one was asking questions that usually meant they thought they already had the answers. But they didn’t. They really didn’t. When it came to his two girls Shikamaru was smugly aware that he was usually the only one with answers.

Well, answers to questions like ‘are you sure they’re not trying to kill each other’ or usually ‘how can you stand to live between that’. The questions about what might be going on in either woman’s mind were ones he didn’t even try to guess at. He knew when to back away from a problem he would never figure out.

Right now he didn’t so much have a problem as he did have a disaster. He knew very well that relationships took work, that his work would be doubled when he agreed to marry both of the most important women in his life, and since he had not a day went by when he didn’t consider that work so very worth it. For the most part their days were happy. Blissful, even. Shikamaru was as flawed as any other human being but among his flaws pride wasn’t usually the one that tripped him up. Disaster only really happened when pride snuck up on the other two parts of his soul.

Tayuya, as usual, was the first to start throwing insults. And of course Temari, when faced with a hot temper, flared her own with the kind of heat usually accomplished only with the most deadly katon. Standing on the other side of the kitchen with a frying pan in one hand and his face in the other, Shikamaru briefly wondered if there were any missions available that would take him far away until these two crazy goddesses sorted their own shit out.

There weren’t. He checked. Discreetly, of course.

After the first couple days of cold silence it became obvious that this was one of those fights they needed him to bring them back from, when pride and stubbornness and sheer petty spite held both of their lips shut, eyes refusing to meet, tempers refusing to back down. These were the kind of fights that reminded Shikamaru why the three of them really worked as a full unit, one single whole, any weakness in one covered by another. Knowing that never made it any less annoying trying to be the cover to their weakness. They might need him but in those moments they sure didn’t want to need him.

“What’ll it take this time?” Shikamaru could hear the exhaustion in his own voice but that’s just what happened when he hadn’t gotten more than three consecutive hours of sleep for the past week.

“Nothing,” Temari snapped. “Maybe this is just it!”

Drawing a hand down his face spoke louder than words how little he believed that. If he looked really close he could see the lines of aching tiredness in Temari’s expression that told him she didn’t believe it either.

“Right,” he murmured. “I’ll just go talk to her then.

And so he did, though it would be hard to express just how unsurprised he was to get a very similar reaction from Tayuya.

“Fuck that bitch and her high horse!”

“You could if one of you would say sorry,” Shikamaru couldn’t help pointing out.

“Oh no fucking way! Not with a ten foot god damned pole!”

“What if I said please?”

So that was how it started. Or got to the middle, really. Much to the contrary of what other people seemed to think, Shikamaru was not so whipped as to just fall on his knees and beg any time he encountered the slightest of resistance in their relationship. He had some self respect. In the face of these two boneheads, however, self respect was a concept he was more than willing to throw out the window in favor of a full night’s rest, something he would not be getting until their home saw peace again.

One instance of saying please did nothing. Twice did little more than that. Somewhere around the fifteen ‘please’ he switched tactics and added a cherry on top. Tayuya rather harshly reminded him that she hated cherries and described in very colorful detail where he could stick his polite words. Clearly another tactic was needed.

As a smart man Shikamaru very carefully ignored all of Naruto’s well meaning suggestions like sending his wives flowers pretending they were from each other. Maybe that would have worked on someone like Hinata who was determined to look at the world and see the best in everyone but Shikamaru had married two people determined to look at the world through a cold lens of cynicism. Gods but he loved it. Loved the both of them. He just didn’t love the fights. Naruto meant well but the one and only time any of them had seen Hinata truly mad had been the middle of a battle against the reanimated body of a dead man handing Naruto his own ass. It was great for the two of them to finally find happiness. When he thought of their calm and sweet relationship Shikamaru sometimes just couldn’t help but wonder how they didn’t get bored with no one around to throw a plate or two.

Since being nice about it didn’t do much his next step was to try being firm. This time he went to Tayuya first because if he could crack her then honestly he was pretty sure he could crack the whole world. His efforts in this round were about as successful as the first.

“Go ahead and try to tell me what to do one more time, Nara.” Right up in his face Tayuya was all fire, in her hair and in her eyes and in every move of the arm currently jamming in to his chest. “I’ve had just about enough of being ordered around for one lifetime, you hear me?” Oh he did. He did hear her. He also heard the undertone of heat and it wasn’t until an hour after he left their home in the daze of post orgasmic bliss that he realized he’d been had. Maybe Choji was right and he did think with his dick a little too much.

Going to see Temari hadn’t exactly had better results - although he’d known better from the start than to consider either one of them ‘better’ than the other in certain departments. After making it very clear how much she both enjoyed and scorned his attempts to law down some kind of law Temari rode him against the nearest walls and sent him off afterwards with a few choice words about how she really didn’t mind wearing only his marks on her skin from now on. Since he hadn’t been the one to bring that up Shikamaru saw through it right away. They missed each other, a blind man could see that. Getting them to admit it was the hard part.

So that was a bust on trying to put his foot down but if he were honest Shikamaru hadn’t expected any different. The next thing he tried was bribery. After the harsh years both of his wives had experienced it was entirely understandable that they should enjoy being waited on hand and foot. Usually the offer was an irresistible one to them; hence why he didn’t make it very often, a special treat for special occasions when he needed to remind them just how precious they really were. When not just one but both of them turned him down this time Shikamaru had to take a nice long walk through the woods and feed the deer for a while, wondering if maybe the magic offer had lost its touch at last. Or if maybe he was the one that had lost his touch. It took a good long while and three different deer taking curious nibbles of his ponytail before he shook himself and stood up with a little more steel in his spine.

Clearly this problem was running out of control and that meant bringing in the biggest weapon he had at his disposal. One didn’t spend a lifetime best friends with the Yamanaka heir without picking up some tricks.

“Please?”

“No.”

“Please please?”

“I said no, fuck off Shika.”

“Uhhh, please and please and please?”

Tayuya actually stopped walking to round on him with furrowed brows. “You get hit upside the head or something? This is- you’re acting like a damn child!”

“Maybe.” Shikamaru clasped his hands together and lifted his eyes to the clouds above them. “How many times I gotta say please? Cause I will. Give me a number, I’ll do it.”

“For real?”

“Please, please, please, please, plea-”

Ignoring the baffled looks of anyone passing them by was a lot easier than ignoring the sharp voice that spoke from the doorway, rough at the edges under the heavy weight of defeat and sadness.

“He might not look like it, but he’s really just a child in a man’s body.” Temari studiously did not look at her wife when Tayuya whipped around to stare at her, missing the ripple of yearning that went through all those well honed muscles. “You probably shouldn’t test it. He really will just keep going.”

“Sounds annoying as hell,” Tayuya ventured.

Neither of them seemed to notice when Shikamaru fell silent, still, waiting with baited breath.

“It’d probably be less painful if we just give in. He already did that to me for two hours this morning and I don’t know if I can listen to it for much longer without violence that I’m pretty sure I would regret.” The proud set of Temari’s jaw was that of a queen making concessions. The dark warmth of her eyes when they finally canted sideways was that of a wife who missed the touch of her beloved.

“Good fucking god, two hours? Yeah, hell no. I ain’t listening to that. Let’s just get this over with or something then.”

“For the best.”

Despite that agreement it still took about five solid minutes of staring wordlessly in to each others’ eyes before either of them made any more toward the other. In the end they moved at the same time, reaching out with the same hand, laughing in a fondly awkward way as their fingers entwined. The moment would have been utterly beautiful if Shikamaru hadn’t breathed in very deeply just to let it all back out in one great rush.

“Finally,” he muttered. Both of his wives frowned at him.

“Wait.” Temari narrowed her eyes as though only now realizing what she’d done. “How did you do that?” She didn’t seem to appreciate the sheer exasperation filling him up in place of all the soft pleading he’d been wearing for days now.

“You don’t just hang around with Ino for this long without learning how to annoy someone in to giving up.”

Before either of his wives could say anything Shikamaru was spinning on one heel and marching out the door, grumbling under his breath while he rummaged around his flack vest for a pack of smokes. Troublesome women and their troublesome tempers. At times he really did wonder why he put up with it. Two sets of footsteps rushing after him was a good reminder, though he thought he would be well within his rights to make them do a little begging after all the trouble he’d gone through just to bridge the gap between their overinflated prides. Worth it, absolutely worth it, but damn if they weren’t trouble sometimes.

#rae writes #follower milestone #shikatematayu #shikamaru #temari #tayuya

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atxlxs · 3 years

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Beyond The Veil: Chapter 7

(This chapter is going to be a bit shorter this time but the next will be back to the usual length! I wanted the suspense of ending it where I did >:) )

As Muska watched, her classmates flooded in from the locker rooms.

First of all, that is a fuckin robot. Robocop was starting to fit more and more. Next, Yoyo was looking anxious as all hell and was scrunching into herself. Probably due to all of the skin showing at the moment.

Muska cringed a bit at that. She had seen her quirk in action the other day so she knew that skin was needed, but wearing clothes you were uncomfortable in was a great way to enhance body dysmorphia and anxiety in all the bad ways. Clothing was supposed to empower you, not make you cage up.

Midoriya and his absolutely horrible bunny costume hood, it looked like those bad leather kink memes Eras would send her at 4 in the morning from the pre-quirk era, came bouncing over with stars in his eyes. Uraraka not far behind.

“Wow! Viridis, you look so cool!” Midoriya cheerfully stated, the bounce never disappearing. That was kinda adorable. Honestly what a cinnamon roll.

“Yea!” Uraraka commented, drawing Muska’s attention to her, “Its so fashionable while still staying practical! The witch aesthetic is also unique in the best of ways!”

How did snarky and sarcastic Muska manage to make friends like this, all sunshine and smiles, when she had a resting bitch face and would not hesitate to stomp a bitch?

“Thanks, my friend designed it for me along with my gear,” She started, motioning to the visible whip and brass knuckles that were stylishly black with white accents, “Yours too, I like the space vibes. Midoriya looks like a bunny.”

“He does!” “Wha-!”

Uraraka giggled while strawberry-midoriya made an appearance. Before they could tease him too much though, All Might(?) called their attention in order to start the lesson.

The battle trials were team based and the teams were picked through a drawing, much to Robocops chagrin, Pairing Mido up with her. Uraraka managed to pair with Yoyo and it looked like a soon to become girl boss team. Their opponents seemed to agree considering the gay panic coming off of Jirou and the bisexual disaster that was a Kaminari was barely keeping himself from short circuiting.

Her gaydar was sharp but the fact that she could tell what emotions they were feeling helped too.

Muska’s team was called and she followed Mido out to the city scape and stopped in front of the building that they would soon throw down in. Worryingly, ever since the announcement of the teams and their enemies, Mido has been an anxious mess. He was verging on panic and that was not good. Before Muska could ask though, Greenie opened his mouth.

“So I went to school with Kacchan,” and wasn’t that worrisome considering that the greenie was practically vibrating out of their suit right now, “and he will definitely come after me first. He doesn’t work with others well,” -an understatement really- “and will probably leave Iida to guard the bomb.”

It took a second to remember who Iida was before it clicked. Considering Muska hadn’t bothered to remember the annoying blue teens name. Mido was about to say more but Muska cut him off.

“Alright, I bet you and your self sacrificial tendencies will say you're going to go after him alone despite not having a handle on your quirk that’s good enough to not break bones.” yes, she was calling the green bean out.

Considering the shocked expression she got in return, she was right on the money. Sighing while dragging a hand down her face in exasperation, silently debating on whether this is what Eras felt every time she did something dumb as fuck, Muska shook her head and stared at Midoriya. Decidedly not impressed by the greenie’s idea.

“Yea no. First of all, I won’t fight you about this since you look like you’ll retaliate with bad reasons until I agree, but I will be nearby on standby. It's better to go ahead with two against one to quickly end the fight. Secondly, after we subdue Blasty we’ll go ahead and get Robocop. My quirk, which I’ve already explained, will be great to counteract someone that just moves fast.”

The fight slowly drained from Midoriya’s eyes under her glare and silently he nodded. Though, there was less tension in his shoulders and he wasn’t as vibraty as before so she’ll count that as a win. God, she was going to have to talk some sense into Blasty using authoritarian force at some point… wasn’t she? Curse her luck.

An alarm sounded along with All Might's voice booming through their given headpieces, telling them “The Fight Has Started!” with enthusiastic energy.

Well, as long as they stick to the strategy they should be fine. At worst she would just have to fix some bones before passing Mido off to Recovery Girl while also talking to the heroine herself for medical lessons.

----

Whoever cleared a very angry Pomeranian to carry fucking BOMBS on his arms was going to feel Muska’s eternal wrath.

The fight started easily. They walked together silently up the stairs and through the hallways, navigating the building and checking all the doors for possible bomb locations. Sure enough, as greenie predicted, the angry Pompom boy could be heard before he was seen. Angry shouts of “DEKU!” reverberated through the hallways and the telltale sign of quirk use through explosive sounds guaranteed it.

Muska caught Midoriya’s eyes and raised an eyebrow. Nonplussed at the anger issues coming off the blond in waves.She couldn’t really judge the anger issues though, plus that seemed like a childhood problem that therapy could probably help. Midoriya sheepishly rubbed the back of his neck before they were forced to turn their attention to the angry pomeranian.

“Deku…” Bakugo started, his agitation clear in the venom the words were spat with. Subtly, Muska felt for his emotions and was decidedly not going to deal with whatever that was.

The explosive blond was angry, that's for sure, but there was also confusion and guilt. The guilt was triggered by the anger, which then made the blond more angry because he either didn’t want to continue to feel guilty or didn’t want to be doing what was making him feel guilty which was frustrating. Which made him angry again. It was a violent circle of emotions that was complex as all hell what the actual fu-

Muska’s thoughts were cut off as Midoriya and Bakugo lunged at each other, Mido dodging and Bakugo exploding empty air before dodging Mido’s retaliation. Blood thirsty punches were exchanged as Midoriya’s shoulder held tension and eyes held determination.

Muska hid around the corner of the hallway, observing silently for an opening. The beat down was verging on brutal and by the look on the blonds face, he wanted it that way.

She unlatched her whip from her belt and loosened its coiled up state. Gripping the handle, she turned back to watch just as Midoriya body slammed Bakugo into the ground. Backing up a bit to hold a fight stance. Breath coming haggard from exhaustion. The slam seemed to empty Bakugo’s lungs as he gasped for air.

Muska rushed in, dragging the capture tap out of her pocket and binding Bakugo’s hands together as he attempted to get up. He shouted angry curses at her, his face holding an almost feral anger to it. Muska actually stepped back at that slightly. Something seemed off.

She stepped away slowly and when she began to believe he was captured, All Might’s declaration of so calmed some nerves, she turned to Midoriya who was staring at his hands like he had never seen them before. Disbelief conveyed through his expression. Muska brought up a hand to wave in front of his face when she heard All Might yell through the headphones.

“BAKUGO DON’T! YOU’VE ALREADY BEEN INCAPACITAT-” The teachers shouting was cut off by the sound of metal clinking together.

Muska whipped around with wide eyes. Bakugo was standing, hands that used to be restrained were aimed in her direction and one was settled on the pin of a gauntlet, anger radiated off of him as his mind refused to acknowledge any of the other emotions she could feel through the energy surrounding him.

“Fuck you DEKU and YOU! I Wouldn’t have been captured if it weren’t for your fuckin interruption!” He screamed, eyes clouded a bit as he lost control.

Muska went to move but felt frozen to the ground by the all consuming anger she felt, Midoriya moved first. Grabbing her and starting to move himself. All Might's warning lost to the wind as the tell tale clink of a pin being removed seemed to echo in the near silent hall.

“They won’t die if they manage to dodge!” was the last thing she heard before a blast rendered her hearing to nothing but ringing and pain.

Burning pain.

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

Tags:

@baguettehead

#bnha #mha #mha oc #mha fanfic #au

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arcgeminga · 3 years

Text

ANSWERED ASK from @starlightofdream: Whoever you wish to pick (The Twins) + Anxiety ♚ Meme: Send me a number + an emotion and I will write a drabble/starter of my muse expressing that emotion!

As young boys, it was hard to separate Defteros from Aspros, and Aspros from Defteros. The two were joined at the hip most of the time.

If they spent too long separated from each other, they started to get anxious. And when they got anxious, it was impossible to not notice their fidgeting.

— Defteros.

“Aspros! Don’t go! I won’t be able to follow you!”

“I’ll be back before you know it!” the older brother pinched his twin’s cheek playfully. Aspros was excited since it was his first day of training--but Defteros clung to his brother desperately.

The caretakers had told them that only of them could train to become saint--and since Defteros was old enough to wear that mask that the caretakers gave him--the duty to become saint naturally fell on Aspros’ shoulders. Defteros wasn’t against the idea at first, but when the day dawned, a sudden surge of distress overtook him. The entire morning, he had been nothing but tears, shouting, and holding onto his brother.

“Defteros!” the browned-haired woman that was in charge of looking after the twins finally snapped at the fussy boy’s fit. “You’re seven! Act your age and stop getting in your brother’s way!”

“No!” Defteros shouted stubbornly. He couldn't be too angry at her even if she constantly bickered with him. Unlike the previous women that had taken care of them, this lady was nice enough to let him run around the house without his mask. In childish defiance, the dark-skinned Hellene continued to whine. “Aspros is going to be gone for hours!! What am I going to do?!”

“Thank Zeus!” the woman rested her hands on her hips as she shouted back at the child. It wasn’t a hate-filled shout like the other caretakers, so Defteros didn’t get scared of her firm voice. “If he’s lucky, he’ll move into the Residence Halls. You need to let him go, Defteros!” Her response made Defteros stick his tongue out at her, which the woman snappily mirrored.

Aspros patiently pried his little brother’s arms from around him and tried, “It’s fine, Defteros. When I come back, I’ll tell you all about it!’

And Aspros left. Defteros couldn’t bring himself to calm down the entire day. The dark-skinned Hellene kept coming back to the front door every five minutes, biting into his nails as he waited like a lost puppy by the door, before automatically returning to his room before the lady in purple could yell at him to stop being so impatient. It repeated for so long that eventually the woman got fed up. During his last, anxious-driven pacing, she pulled out a long bread from the kitchen and shoved it into his hands.

“Nibble on that!” She ordered. “Nibble!! By the time you’re finished with it, your brother will be back.”

So, Defteros was shut in his room again, this time with a long stick of bread in his hands. In the back of his mind, he knew that the woman was getting frustrated with his noisy actions... but what can he do? His small hands fussed with the long bun in his hands. He plucked out a piece smaller than his pinkie nail, and bit into it.

He alternated between taking the faintest of bites of the bread and picking out tiny bits to eat until the baked good was a short stump in his palm. He was very distracted by the task of slowly waning the baked item when he heard the distant closing of the front door.

Oh... his brother was home!

Defteros dashed from his bed to the front door. His eyes glittered as Aspros was just removing his boots. “Welcome back, brother!” Defteros lunged himself at Aspros for a tight hug that caught his older brother by surprise.

“Ah! Defteros!” Aspros laughed as he tapped lightly on his brother’s arms. “I’m sorry for being late! It started raining terribly.”

“Huh?” Defteros was a bit blindsided by Aspros’ statement. Late? Raining? Since when? “I didn’t realize.”

“Of course you didn’t,” the brown-haired woman rolled her eyes before she strode to the kitchen to prepare a light meal for Aspros. “Also, you haven’t finished the bread. I’m really surprised you really took your time with it, Defteros.”

The mention of the baked item, Defteros leveled a wide-eyed, not-as-furious-as-he-wish-it-was look at the woman and stuffed the rest of the bread into his mouth. Then he took Aspros’ hand and pulled him to their room. He was promised a full story of the day!!

— Aspros.

“What do you mean you’re going out?” Aspros furrowed his brow worriedly. Defteros was coughing all morning and their brown-haired guardian currently in their shared room with a hand pressed against Defteros’ sweaty forehead.

“Your brother is sick, Aspros,” the woman replied with a slight annoyance in her voice. After assessing Defteros’ situation, she gave a hollow hum and wrapped him in the red blanket. “My sisters will be coming soon. Don’t cause them too much trouble.”

“But...!” Aspros was on the verge of whining. When the brown haired woman lifted Defteros from the bed and walked to the front door, Aspros instinctually followed her--his hand grasping at her iliac robes. “What about Defteros? Is he going to be okay?”

The woman rolled her eyes before indulging the boy’s panic by replying sarcastically, “Actually, no. He’s going to combust into flames at any moment. I need to get him to the doctor before then.”

“That’s not funny,” Aspros pouted, but he was the gentleman and he opened the door for her. Which was the exact moment when two figures jolted from the other side of the threshold.

“Good heavens!” a piercing laugh immediately made Aspros wince. The ladies laughed as they recovered from the shock of the door opening before they could knock. “Klotho, you have an eye for timing!”

“Be quiet, Lakhesis,” the caretaker rolled her eyes. She pushed passed her sisters with Defteros cradled in her arms. “Aspros might get fussy. Give him a task to do when he gets too annoying. I’ll be back before the morning.”

“Okaaayy,” Lakhesis, the blonde, blew a kiss to her departing sister, and the other woman patted Aspros on the head as she entered.

Aspros was raised with manners so he passed the two ladies a quick greeting before trailing his eyes back to the retreating figure of his caretaker’s tall body. Before he could make a quick getaway and follow the woman that carried his sick brothers, a hand slapped his chest and pushed him into the house while simultaneously shutting the front door.

“Okay! Little Aspros,” the boisterous voice of the woman made him wince again. He was so used to his caretaker’s low, sarcastic and usually calm manner of speaking (until Defteros bickers with her), the cheery tone of Lakhesis made him uncomfortable. But the woman pushed him back and gave his golden hair a good, long scruff. “You got the day with us~! And you know that we’re not like Klotho, so you can do whateeever you want!”

“I want to go follow them,” Aspros swatted away the woman’s hand and pouted up at her.

“N-no girls you want to bring over?” the yellow-haired woman returned the pout, somehow mocking him. “Or, are you more of a boys guy? Oh! Right! Yeah, you are, aren’t you?”

Aspros gave her a face that conveyed all of his disgust and confusion. He didn’t understand what she was implying, but he could only assume it wasn’t good.

The other woman laughed lowly as she sat at the sofa by the parlor. “Lakhesis, he’s eight.”

“Oh! Right,” the woman shrilled a laughter as she guided an uncomfortable Aspros with her to the parlor. “I forgot! They’ve gotten so big since we last saw them, I thought they were thirteen. But... well, yeah, I forgot!”

Aspros wiggled himself free from the other’s grasp and huffed. Holy hell, these women were annoying! In an agitated march, he walked his way back to the front door of the house. He paused... Half of him wanted to go follow and make sure Defteros would be okay, but his guardian would be so upset at him... At the thought of her being legitimately angry, the boy swayed on his feet. He turned around as if to walk to his room, but only after taking two steps in that direction, he turned around and took three steps to the door... and repeated with varying steps to and fro.

The indecisive pacing probably didn’t longer than ten minutes when he heard Lakhesis’ laughter. the golden-haired boy knew why she was laughing and snapped at her, “Shut up!”

“I’m sorrrrryy!!!” she swayed her way next to him before drawing him into a hug. Her cheery and touchy personality was really annoying...! “You’re just sooooo cute when you worry about your brother! You know that right?”

“Stop it!” Aspros fumed. His cheeks went a little pink at the woman’s teasing. Yet, just as he was about to pinch her arms off of him, her hand presented itself in front of her. Aspros didn’t know if he saw anything in her hand at first, but when he blink, there was suddenly a small ball of yarn. The appearance of the object confused Aspros.

“If you have the time,” the woman smiled mysteriously. “can be a dear and help me make cute little blankets? You brother will return when it’s finished!”

“I don’t know how to crochet,” Aspros immediately responded. He’s seen his caretaker work so intensely with strings and needles, but he and Defteros were never interested...

“Atropos and I will teach you! Come on!”

And for the next two hours and a half, Aspros struggled with thread and needle. Eventually, he gave up while the blonde haired woman laughed at him. The two ladies continued to work on the project as Aspros went to his room, paced, and occasionally came out to check the front door--which also meant that he was the judge of the ladies work.

He was in the parlor judging the ugly, multi-colored shawl when the door opened. Aspros immediately snapped his head in its direction when he heard the faint creak; his caretaker returned, with Defteros sleeping in her arms.

“Defteros!” Aspros immediately jumped from his seat and hurried over to the lady, eyes glued onto his sleeping brother. He could tell that the trip to the doctor had cured whatever aliment plagued Defteros; the sleeping boy looked so relaxed and was breathing easily.

The savage anxiety that had been consuming him during those long hours finally faded away.

“...What the hell is that thing?” Klotho squinted over to her sisters and right at the shawl that was finished.

“A shaaaaaaaawl!” Lakhesis sang as proud as a songbird as she held it up. But Aspros wasn’t paying attention to them at this point. All of his energy was on his brother. It’s best to get him to bed.

Quietly, Aspros looked at his guardian with a wordless pea to take Defteros from her arms, and she understood his request. She gave the sleeping boy to Aspros--which wasn’t too much of a struggle. Defteros was very thin, and Aspros had already developed inner strength from his training.

The young boy left the three sisters to bicker about the hideous creation, taking his precious brother to their shared bedroom and laying him down. Then he laid down on his side of the large mattress and took one of Defteros’ hands into his own.

Finally... it was so quiet, and Aspros finally felt his body unwind. The anxiety had immediately drained the young saint-in-training of his energy, and he promptly fell asleep next to his brother.

#Drabble #headcanons #Child!Pros #Precious longforgotten time;;Child!Teros #(Honestly I don't know what the fuck this was LOL)#(Was word spitting as I was thinking of how to Aspros-Defteros-fiy me and my sister's separation anxiety.)#(I stress eat when I get anxious over my sister...and sis is like a deer in headlights when she doesn't have me around in public.)#(Obviously I can't do that with the Twins so word vomited until I found an alternative LOL)#(Twinnie Separation anxiety headcanon www)#(Forgive any spelling mistakes! Tumblr was lagging on me because this got really long lol)

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