#I had a whole fic I was planning in order to flesh out the dramatic stakes the show set up and then did nothing with

[starbuck]

I’ve been in my little Terror-Ravenous-Black Sails paradise for so long that I nearly forgot what it was like to feel extreme I Could Fix Him energy towards a piece of media, but I watched a video on YouTube recently that made me think of an old hyperfixation of mine and oh man… I think I finally get where the s*pernatural folks are coming from…

#closest I’ve gotten recently is TI (1915) my beloved/hated #but the story isn’t the issue I have with that (obviously lol) - it’s just the execution I would make adjustments with #but this other thing. oh my god. ohhhhhhhh my god…. #I had a whole fic I was planning in order to flesh out the dramatic stakes the show set up and then did nothing with #so I reread the outline today and decided that 1) it slaps but 2) it needs to be longer and more intense #there’s actually some really good thematic shit going on with the contrast between the main couple who have nothing but their love for each #other vs. their rivals who have everything But love #which is like. not an original concept at all but hey - nothing’s really New - it’s all in the execution #god I still can’t believe the show introduced That One Plot Point and didn’t address any of the BONKERS implications of it #gotta make me do everything around here… #tempted to try to write it just based on my outline and my extremely vague memory of the show #I feel like the less I remember about the show itself the better for this purpose anyway #@ the creator: you did your middle-aged gay men dirty so they’re mine now #and i’m going to treat them right and give them the dramatic love story they deserve #also before you ask: No I will not be elaborating on this - for real this time #I said we were post-cringe and this is true but I still like to keep some things to myself #however if you knew me two and a half years ago and had to hear all these rants firsthand: #1) i’m sorry and 2) you may be entitled to financial compensation #sorry for being autistic/adhd/whatever the fuck I am #but I have my infodumping under control now (I think!! comparatively!) #so there’s some Growth for you!!

[samthemarvelfan]

Bad Blood: One Shot

Summary: A misunderstanding almost cost you everything.

Pairing: TFATWS!Bucky Barnes x reader

Word Count: 5,200+

Warnings: Angst, violence, canon-level gore/description of injury. Humor and fluff bits as well :)

A/N: YAY FINALLY! Thank you all so much for being patient. After the holidays, I needed a reset and of course, my lil man is teething. This is such a long fic lol It jumps timelines a lot, but there's a rhyme and reason for it all. Enjoy! Feedback is so, so appreciated! 

FRIDAY:

In the right light, the heavy dust and debris floating through the air could look like snow. Gray powder from the collapsed walls around you coated your skin, mixing with gashes and blood. You coughed, in a desperate but futile attempt to get some oxygen back into your lungs.

Rubble ate away at your back; cutting and clawing it’s way into your flesh. Though, that wasn’t the worst part. The worst part was the steel beam crushing your legs into the pavement.

Spitting the blood from your mouth, you inhaled as much as your damaged ribs would allow, and hoped to make enough noise. “Help!” You screeched.

But your voice sounded like you swallowed some of the gravel you were pinned too. A shaking, bloody hand pressed the comms piece in your ear, “Does anyone copy?”

That part came out weaker than you’d hoped.

After far too many seconds of silence, you gave up. “Fuck...”

This is how it ends? Seriously? Of all the ways to go out, this is pretty fucking lame.

You couldn’t even muster any tears—that’s how much pain you were in. Your body forgot how to cry.

Realistically, death would come sooner rather than later. That was a relief, at least. No suffering, no feeling your body decay before it gave up. A peaceful exhaustion, drifting away into nothingness.

Except you were alone.

No one to say any dramatic last words to, no one to tell anyone what happened. The guys would find your body eventually, and they’d blame themselves.

Sam would want justice, he’d spend however long it took to find who did this to you and bring them in. Little would he know this whole situation was entirely your fault.

Then there was Bucky…

Bucky would want revenge. He’d want blood and he’d get it by any means necessary. He’d spend the rest of his life blaming himself for this, and the thought of him sitting with that kind of guilt killed you.

Then again, maybe he wouldn’t. He hasn’t seemed to care about your well being in quite some time. Maybe Bucky wouldn’t actually care at all, maybe he’d be relived to be rid of you. 

TWO DAYS AGO:

“You must become someone you claim is gone.”

It was clear what Zemo meant. In order to even make it into Madripoor, Bucky would have to bring himself back to that place; to the empty, cold darkness of the Winter Soldier.

No one seemed to bat an eye at the plan. You, however, were vehemently against it.

“No fucking way, Zemo.” You seethed, stepping face to face with the former Baron. “This is just…you. Taking any and all opportunity to send James backwards. To give anyone a reason to kill him. It’s not happening.”

Zemo tilted his head, signature smirk on his face. “I think many reasons already exist, don’t you?” Zemo’s eyes shifted to Bucky, who was watching the exchange from the corner. “What is it exactly that makes you care so much for him, hm?” He asked.

Zemo was testing you. Seeing if you’d admit that perhaps you were a glutton for punishment after all. That despite what you’ve been through, your feelings towards Barnes had crossed the lines of professionalism.

You would never admit it—not to yourself and certainly never to him. You refused to give Zemo a power play to use against you.

“I care because someone has to make sure there’s nothing in this for you. You’ve tried to steal his life from him once before, who’s to say this isn’t your act II?” Your shaking now, desperately trying to reign in your emotions.

“Barnes is the only reason you’re not rotting in solitary confinement. You fuck with him…” you paused, pulling your gun from its holster.

“Whoa, whoa!” Sam said, approaching you.

You held the gun exactly 5 inches from Zemo’s face. Dead center so he could look down it’s barrel. “You fuck with him, you fuck with me. If you think that’s a wise choice, be my guest.”

He doesn’t flinch, doesn’t move. The only change you notice is a slight dilation of his pupils and an 11% increase in his rate of breathing.

“Gun down, Y/N. Stop engaging him.” Sam practically whispered. You hesitate, but eventually yield to your Captains order and reholster your gun. With a grunt, you make your way to the front door, pushing past Bucky.

His gaze follows until the door is slammed, echoing off the crumbling walls of the safe house. Through the window, he sees you on the front lawn. You let out a scream—one full of anger and frustration and disappointment. Half of which is probably aimed at him.

“She’s right, Zemo.” Sam says aloud, pulling his eyes off of you. “You haven’t earned anyone’s trust here, but I’ll give you a friendly piece of advice anyway. You might wanna go hand-to-hand with Bucky before you mess with Y/N. She protects the people she loves harder than anyone I’ve ever met.”

Bucky scoffed, heading to the bar to pour himself a strong drink.

Love.

Something that, as far as he was concerned, was only meant for 2 things; children and funerals. It was something he surely didn’t deserve, or have the capacity to give to anyone else.

He sipped his whiskey as Zemo retreated to the adjacent room, and Sam walked up to him.

“Would it really have killed you to defend her?” He said, the disappointment evident in his tone.

Bucky’s face remained stoic, his vibranium fingers twisting the glass. “I didn’t ask her to be my fucking guardian, Sam. She wants to use me as an excuse to shoot Zemo, be my guest.”

Sam sighed, “You really don’t get it do you? That girl out there—she’s taken verbal beating after verbal beating from you, and she still has your back. It wouldn’t kill you if you had hers once in a while.”

After Sam’s version of a pep talk, Bucky was left alone.

Good. Just how he likes it.

Getting close to people wasn’t a good idea, in spite of what his notebook-crazy therapist thinks. People die, some people just abandon you.

No one can hurt you if you’re alone.

2 YEARS EARLIER:

Bucky had been nervous all day. His palm was sweating, and he couldn’t remember the last time it had done that.

He was used to being alone. ‘It’s easier this way,’ he’d tell himself. When you’ve seen as much loss, and inflicted twice that like Bucky has, you tend to view relationships as disposable. Never really trying to bond or connect with anyone, not worrying about anyone but yourself.

It’s a shitty way to view the world, but it’s the most realistic one.

Then you showed up.

Suddenly Bucky can’t think straight. He was fine—better than fine. Living his life the way he and the US government thought was appropriate. He only had 3 rules to abide by these days, but when you joined the team, he added a 4th.

Don’t you dare let anything bad happen her.

“This is such a bad idea…” he mumbled to himself, boots bounding up the stairs to the conference room.

As he approached the door, he paused. Bouncing back and forth on his heals, desperately trying to get the confidence to walk into that room, hand you the bouquet of Daylillies he’d got you, and finally ask you on a date.

Bucky was sweet on you.

He absolutely hated the word ‘crush’, so he avoided it at all costs. The two of you just…fit. He didn’t have to pretend with you—didn’t have to be anyone other that Bucky Barnes when you were around.

He loved to make you laugh, the way you tried to hide your smile because you thought it was ‘too big’, and how you always touched his hand when you spoke to him with sincerity.

More than anything else, he loved how much you trusted him.

It made him want to be your guy…officially. The one you could turn to when this fucking job took its toll. When you needed someone you could count on. That’s why he’s so scared, he didn’t want to push you away.

But god dammit, he hasn’t felt this way about a girl in almost 100 years.

He hears your voice as he’s going over his speech, then he hears his name fall from your lips.

“With Bucky?” You question.

“Yeah,” Sam says, followed by the thud of a file being thrown on the table. “I think you and Buck could handle this. I’d be in the way more than helpful, trust me.”

He heard your laugh, and couldn’t help the smile that spead across his face. Bucky peaked around the corner, his breath getting stuck in his throat when he saw how beautiful you looked.

“You sure this is a good idea?” You said.

Sam nodded, “If you’re not comfortable…”

“No,” you interrupted. “I’m comfortable with Bucky,”

Sam noticed the hesitation, “Why do I feel like there’s a ‘but’ coming?”

You shifted your weight, “The Winter Soldier... That’s what I don’t trust. If it’s just the two of us out there, I’m afraid—”

The smile from his face fell. Bucky didn’t stick around to hear the fear in your voice. James Barnes has felt a lot of pain in his life, but he’s never felt something like this.

This was heartbreak.

You didn’t want to be alone with him. You were afraid of him. That the old him was still buried deep inside.

You thought he’d hurt you.

He dropped the flowers in the nearby trash can, and abandoned his plans. Bucky didn’t know you like he thought he did, and you sure as shit had him fooled. He thought you trusted him, that you knew the real him.

He was wrong.

You lay on your bed, eyes locked with the ceiling.

Zemo is the fucking worst. You think to yourself.

You knew better than to trust him, hell I think even Bucky knew better, and he was the one who broke him out of jail.

You sighed. Bucky.

God, you miss him. It’s been nothing but anger and resentment and coldness from him for the last few years. Worst of all, you have no explanation.

One day, the two of you were spending every second you could together. Cooking breakfast, watching movies, Bucky teaching your extremely uncoordinated self how to dance, and you teaching him how to use doordash when he gets hungry at 3 am.

Then, right before that mission, he turns into a completely different person. He barely acknowledges your presence, and he so God damn cold towards you. It had gotten so bad, Sam insisted he come on that mission. To insure its success because even he didn’t know what was going on with his friend.

That stupid mission…that’s where everything changed for you. That’s where Bucky made it clear he no longer had your back.

You hobbled into the safe house, tracking blood along with you.

“What the fuck happened?!” Bucky shouted at you.

Slumping against the wall, you attempted to keep pressure on your side. “What the hell does it look like, Buck? I got shot.”

Tears you were unaware of fell down your dirt-covered face, making little streaks in their wake. You pushed harder on the wound, letting out a scream. It sucked, but it was necessary; you didn’t really feel like bleeding out right now.

“How fucking stupid are you? You think you’re a one woman army and you’re not. Look at the fucking mess we’re in now!” Bucky shouted, looming over your crumpled frame, shaming the attitude out of you.

“I get it okay? I’m not a super soldier, but I’m good at my job. I thought I—“

“You thought?” He scoffed, “No you didn’t. You didn’t think at all, Y/N.” He grabbed you, scooping you up and laying you on the old dining room table carefully. 

“I got the guy, didn’t I?” You smirk. Your eyes are closed, trying to keep your blood pressure steady.

That idea flies out the window when Bucky slams both fists onto the table, and you’re surprised it didn’t shatter from the impact.

“Is your life a fucking joke to you?!” He screamed. “Is Sam’s?!”

You startle at the tone and volume in which he speaks to you. Why is he mad at you? You actually had a successful mission! Gunfire aside, it went pretty smooth as far as you were concerned.

Involuntarily, your lip began to quiver. Your eyes locked on the ceiling before you shut them tight, a few rebellious tears escaping from them.

“Ya know what? If you’re so tough, take that bullet out yourself. Not like you’d trust me to do it anyway.” He kicked the chair next to the table, effectively shattering it to splinters, before walking out of the house.

With shaking hands and tear-filled eyes, you dig into your hip, screaming as you find the bullet lodged in the flesh there.

“Y/N? What the hell are you doing?!” Sam shouts, panicking as he sees the state your in when he enters the room.

You’re on the verge of passing out from the pain, but you have to push through it. You have to get this bullet out.

You have to prove Barnes wrong.

Your hands are shaking too much to get a grip on it. You feel it still, burning into the muscle. “G-Gotta…can’t. Cant grab it.”

Sam runs to your side, dousing the wound in betadine. The orange solution camouflages the bloody wound, making it slightly more bearable to look at. “Where the hell is Bucky?” He asks in anger.

“L-Left.” Is all you can get out.

“He left you here?!” Sam is always level headed, but right then, you heard pure rage in his voice.

He took a few cleansing breaths, shaking the nerves out of his hands before placing them on your hip. “I gotchu, Y/N. Just breathe.”

You tried too, but the moment Sam got the bullet out, you blacked out from the pain.

3 HOURS AGO:

“You have got to be kidding me.” You gripe, the image in the mirror repulsing you to your core.

Sam chuckled. “I gotta say, I like it Y/N. I think red’s your color.”

You had on a scarlet gown. Expensive, revealing and absolutely zero functionality. A paten leather corset enveloped your waist, while your hair was woven into a singular braid.

“Where am I supposed to keep my guns? My knives? This is completely impractical.”

Zemo held his saucer daintily as he sipped his tea. His eyes scanned your body, and he nodded. “Impractical it may be, but this way you will fit in when we arrive in Madripoor, as opposed to drawing too much attention from unwanted eyes.”

Zemo reached out, attempting to brush back a strand of hair, but you recoiled. He smirked, “I’m glad you came to your senses about my plan, Y/N.”

His tone made bile rise in your throat. Zemo was a slimy rat who only had his own agenda in mind. “I’m following Caps orders—the fact that it was your plan has nothing to do with it.”

Bucky, who was cleaning his hand guns in the corner, kept catching your figure in the mirror. Ocean blue eyes roaming your body and curves, more than once settling on your ass. You ignored him, but couldn’t help the smirk that fell to your lips.

So Bucky Barnes is an ass man. I knew it, Sam owes me $50…

“Our car is here. It will take us into to Low Town.” Zemo announced.

“I’m guessing High Town doesn’t exactly welcome criminals?” You ask.

Zemo held the door for you, “Not our kind, at least.”

Madripoor is unlike any place you’ve ever seen. It’s somehow both filthy and beautiful. A perfect balance of the push and pull of good vs evil.

Bucky has been unusually stoic this time around. You’re sure he’s worried about the mission, and about having to pretend to be who he once was. It’s not fair, he shouldn’t be forced to go through this. Not again.

“I can see what you mean about blending in…” you say as you take in the sights. There were people of every shape and size and they all looked perfectly out of place.

“The only reason anyone will be looking at us, is because we have him.” Zemo points at Bucky.

The alley behind the nightclub is dark and dank. Puddles of who-knows-what reflecting the neon signs high above the city. Sam, dressed in his gaudy and very out of character suit, set up Redwing to do aerial surveillance.

“There’s a room on the upper level. 6 people inside, it’s gotta be where she is.”

‘She’ being Selby—mid level offender here in the grimiest city on the planet, but seriously connected with the newest HYDRA subdivision.

You groan. “Okay, so what are we waiting for? Let’s go.”

Walking past Sam, you feel a hand on your wrist. Zemo is stopping you, pulling you closer to him. He steps into your space, successfully brushing the out of place hair behind your ear.

“We cannot simply walk into Selby’s lair. We must be invited. That is where our Smiling Tiger comes in, as well as Soldat.”

You rip your arm out of his grip, and move to reach for the knife tucked into your corset.

Zemo notices as his eyes flit from the blade to your face. “We must also stay in character. Our lives depend on it.”

You look at Bucky, and he avoids your gaze. “Fine.” Sam ushers you to the end of the alley, while Zemo and Bucky traipse behind.

Then suddenly, Bucky has Zemo by the throat, pinning him against the wall.

“Buck, what the hell?!” Sam shouted.

He ignored him, choosing instead to focus on squeezing the life out of Zemo. “You want the Winter Soldier? You got him…” Bucky growled.

You watched with bated breath, wondering just how far Bucky would push his limits. You hate this—he shouldn’t be pulled back into this mindset.

His grip was unrelenting, Zemo struggling to keep his feet on the ground. He clawed at Bucky’s hand in a feeble attempt to get him to release the hold.

“James…” you call gently.

His eyes meet yours for the first time in months, if only for a moment. Then he’s dropping Zemo to the filthy street below.

Zemo gripped his throat, rubbing the bruised flesh when Bucky leans down to him, mere inches from his face.

“You touch her again, I’ll kill you.”

He’s seething, as he stomps off. Exiting the alley and heading into the nightclub.

Sam, the ever present moral compass, helps Zemo to his feet. “Let’s go before he gets himself killed.”

This place isn’t exactly a picnic.

Selby was seriously connected, and that connection comes with a ridiculous amount of protection. Guards with machine guns surrounded her; nearly one at every window and door in the room.

“Yeah, you were right to come to me.” Selby purred, staring at Bucky as she spoke with Zemo.

She took a few steps, stopping abruptly and pointing a manicured finger in your direction, but refused to look at you. “Who’s this?” She asked.

“An interested party in another transaction of mine.” He mused. “Pay her no mind. I simply brought her along to witness the leverage I hold.”

Selby looked at you now. Sizing you up in a way that could only be seen as threatening. If you weren’t playing the part right now, she’s have a bullet between her eyes.

“You say you have complete control over him?” She asked Zemo, keeping her eyes on you.

“Completely, but that control can be yours if you give us information we’re in search of.”

“Hm…let’s test it shall we?” She smirked.

She walked around the couch to where Bucky stood menacingly as the Winter Soldier. “Because Soldat hasn’t been able to take his eyes off of her.”

Fuck.

“Since she’s of no consequence…let’s let our dog off his leash, hm?” She walked her fingers up his arm.

Zemo glanced at you, and you stood. “I thought you said you had power Zemo? If it takes a simple command from this woman for you to lose your mettle, I’m not sure what you can offer me.” You seethed, staying in character.

Selby tittered, “Mouthy one, isn’t she?”

Sam stepped forward, “If we could speed this up, some of us have other matters to attend too.”

You knew what he was doing, trying to move this along so Selby would forget about you.

It didn’t work.

“Go on Zemo, do it.” She ordered.

You heard the safety of guns being clicked off all around you. This mission was too important to fuck up. You couldn’t let this serum out into the world anymore than it already has been. You tried not to panic, but you knew what was coming.

“Tick-tock…” her tone was darker this time. She sat in front of you, waiting to see her orders followed.

Zemo’s jaw clenched, and he walked up to Bucky.

“Soldat…” he spoke, his tone full of gravel. “сломать еe.”

Break her.

Bucky wouldn’t—he couldn’t.

But then he realizes, if it’s not him, it’s one of these thugs with the guns. At least he could attempt to assuage Selby’s demands with a strike or two, maybe then she’d be satisfied.

This mission can’t fail—the ends justify the means. That’s what you’d tell him.

So he had too. He has too.

Bucky walked over to you and saw fear in your eyes. This is exactly what you were afraid of all those years ago—being alone with the Winter Soldier.

Please, forgive me. He thinks. He was breaking his own rule, and there was nothing he could do about it.

Bucky’s hand closed around your throat, and you see the guilt in his eyes. You grabbed his wrist, trying to rip it off of your neck, of course to no avail.

He tossed you over the couch with ease, your body slamming into the wall, and hitting the ground with a thud, all air being bounced from your lungs.

You coughed as you reached for the gun in your corset.

Carefully aiming for his vibranium arm, you pulled the trigger as he stomped towards you. The shot ricocheted and broke a sconce on the wall.

You have to do this. You have too. It’s a thought that you’re desperate to communicate with him, but you have to maintain your ruse, or every one of you would die.

You felt the hesitance and restraint with every blow Bucky doled out to you. You just hoped it was believable enough for Selby.

Bucky kicks you against the wall, forcing your arm against it, making you drop the gun. His hand returns to your throat, and he squeezes.

He watched the panic in your eyes as he kept his grip sturdy, but Bucky was on the verge of breaking.

“It’s okay.” You mouth subtly, tears filling your eyes.

Bucky couldn’t do it.

He drops your limp body to the floor, towering over you protectively.

Selby cackled from the corner, “I knew it! Guards, shoot—“

You’re not sure where the bullets come from, but Selby’s body falls to the floor…lifeless.

“What the—“ Sam starts. He doesn’t get to finish however, because the shooting starts again.

“Y/N…Y/N!” Bucky shouted. “C’mon…c’mon, Honey, wake up for me. You gotta get up.”

Your eyes flutter and you try stand, but you’re in far too much pain. Bucky doesn’t think twice as he tosses you over his shoulder, making way for the nearest exit.

“We’re okay…you’re okay, Y/N. Fuck!” Bucky cursed, running down the stairs with your limp body over his shoulders.

The chaos in the streets below meant that everyone around was aware of Selby’s murder, and that they more than likely thought the Winter Soldier was to blame.

Bucky ran through several back alleys, finding a broken down building to hide in. Breaking the lock wi the ease, he placed you down on the cement floor gently, cradling your head in his hand.

“Christ, Y/N…” he whispered, and your heard the remorse in his voice.

You cleared your throat, “Okay. ‘M okay.”

What you couldn’t see were the tears in Bucky’s eyes, or the way he bit his lip to keep back the tears. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, I—“

“Had too. You had too.” You finished softly.

You heard him sniffle, “Sam…Sam, do you copy?”

You didn’t hear Sam’s voice through the comms, so you assume they were down.

“Shit,” he seethed. “I gotta find Sam, we gotta get the fuck outta here.”

You nodded, opening your eyes slightly. Bucky looked so sick, like he was ashamed to be himself. “You’re safe here, I’ll be back as soon as I can. Please don’t get up, baby.”

Baby.

Hearing the nicknames he was calling you, after all this time, sent a warmth to your belly that radiated through you.

“Promise.” You whispered softly.

Bucky leaned down, and placed a soft kiss to your forehead. “Forgive me.”

The sound of his boots fading into the distance allowed you to free the tears that were desperate to fall from your eyes.

You were in pain—but you weren’t broken. Your tears were for Bucky, and for the plan that never should have happened. For the thing he never should have had to do.

You were so distracted by your sorrow, you didn’t hear the tell-tale sound of an explosive being launched in your direction. You didn’t hear the chaos outside increasing into panic, and you didn't realize the blast had hit the building you were in, until it was too late.

So now here you were. Literally fading out of existence.

You know you should keep your eyes open, but even that small act requires too much effort.

So you let them close.

You can see Bucky, smell him too. He’s calling to you, saying your name in the way only he can; the way that makes your heart race.

You say his name back, and he smiles.

“I’m okay. Let me go.” You whispered, or maybe you didn’t. Maybe you just thought it softly.

“Don’t leave me,” he says. “You can’t leave me, not like this, Baby.”

If this was the last thing your mind ever remembered, you’d be okay with it.

You felt cold all of a sudden. “I love you, James.” You think. It feels like you’re saying it, like he’s right there holding you. Protecting you, like he always did.

Dull, repetitive beeping roused you from you sleep.

Your head was throbbing, but your body wasn’t in as much pain as you thought it would be.

It’s so fucking bright when you open your eyes, it takes them a minute to adjust. That’s when you finally see the soft blue walls, the bright white tiled floor, and the machines and IV’s you’re currently hooked up too.

A hospital.

I’m alive?

You definitely shouldn’t be. Last thing you remember is the building getting blown to hell, and being beneath the rubble.

Carefully sitting up, you asses your situation. Casts on your left leg and right arm, bandages around your ribs and right leg, but you can wiggle your toes, so that’s good.

Soft snores from your left pull your attention, and you see Bucky, sound asleep in a chair next to the bed. He was so close, there was an indent in the mattress from where the chairs arm pushed into it.

Your eyes water almost instantly. Here’s here. He stayed.

He’s okay.

As you lay back against the pillow, Bucky was jolted from his sound sleep, standing immediately by your side.

He looked at you with glazed eyes, like you he couldn’t believe you were here. “Hey,” he said softly. “Look who’s up.”

Your voice was a whisper as you said his name, “Can’t get rid of me yet, Barnes.”

Bucky smiled, “You’ve uh, you’ve been out for a while, Honey.”

Your smile fell, “You don’t have to do that, Buck.”

“Do what?”

“That,” you sigh. “You don’t have to…pretend with me. I know you don’t wanna be here—“

A large warm hand enveloped your cheek, and he held your gaze. “This is the only place I want to be.”

He swiped his thumb along your bruised cheek bone, and you lean into the familiar touch. No matter how long it’s been, you always craved this feeling.

Bucky clenched his jaw, “I…” he starts, and you hear the strain in his voice. “I though I lost you.”

He cares?

“I didn’t think,” you sit up more, and adjust as best you can to face him. “I didn’t think it would matter to you.”

Bucky’s face falls, “I’m sorry. I know you can’t forgive me, but I’m so God damn sorry. You’re in here…because of me—because of him.”

“Who?” You’re genuinely confused.

He wipes his eyes quickly, “The Winter Soldier.”

You're desperate to be close to him. “Bucky what…what are you talking about? I’m in here because of me, I should have shut this op down the second Zemo suggested it.”

“I know, I know that you’re afraid of me. I just want you to know—“

You interrupt him, “Who the hell said I’m afraid of you?”

Bucky sat in his chair again, wringing his hands together. “You did. I heard you, couple years back. That mission we fucked up so royally? The one where I,” he swallowed hard. “The one where I left you to fucking bleed out on a table.

“I heard you and Sam, you said you didn’t trust me. Didn’t wanna be alone with me because you were afraid of him. That I’d hurt you.”

Your brain was foggy, but you recall the conversation in question, and you realize just how much a misunderstanding could fuck everything up.

“James,” you called him gently, and his soft eyes met yours. “I trust you with my life. I was afraid if it was just you and I, that I couldn’t protect you. That I couldn’t stop people from seeing you as nothing more than The Winter Soldier. We were heading into Romania blind and the world still saw you as a monster. If you got hurt I,” you froze, not wanting to entertain the idea.

Bucky’s eyes stung with tears, “I thought…I was so sure…”

“I love you.” You say without thinking. “I loved you then and I love you now.”

He wanted to hug you, to crush you to his chest and kiss the life out of you and tell you he felt the same. But you were so broken, and you still had a long road ahead.

Bucky gently shifted your leg, and sat on the edge of your hospital bed. “We wasted so much time…” he whispered, placing a hand over yours.

He lifted your knuckles to his lips, and kissed them softly. “I’m sorry I’m such a fucking jerk.”

Your forehead touched his, “I’m sorry I’m such a stubborn brat.”

Bucky lifted your chin, placing a soft, warm kiss on your lips. “I should have done that two years ago.”

You smile, leaning into him as best you can. “You should have--maybe I wouldn’t have been in a coma for...”

Bucky cleared his throat awkwardly, “Th--Three weeks.”

“Three weeks?!”

He chuckled, stroking your hair softly. “You needed it. I would have waited forever for you, ya know.”

“I know,” you say softly. “No more waiting, Buck.”

He nods, holding your hand in his. “No more waiting.”

#Bucky Barnes #bucky barnes angst #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes x you #bucky x reader

[jaskiers-sweetkiss]

Coffee Shop Kisses

Pairing: Yelena Belova x Female!Reader

Word Count: 1.5K

Request: something soft with Yelena from @bright-molina

Summary: After moving back to her small Ohio hometown, the reader bumps into an old friend at her favorite coffee shop.

Warnings: none ?

A/N: Happy incredibly belated Birthday Bianca!!! Sorry this took so long for me to write but I really hope you like it!! This fic has everything: the gays, some light pinning, and chai lattes !

Masterlist

___

You couldn’t believe you were back in your small Ohio hometown. When you moved away after high school it was never your intention to come back but clearly, fate didn’t have the same plans as you drove through your childhood neighborhood.

It was nostalgic, driving through the familiar streets despite the changes in the neighborhood since your childhood. While the houses had mostly remained the same, you knew many of their occupants had changed. The Browns no longer lived in the house two doors down from yours, having retired to Florida not long after their children had moved out, and many other family’s you’d known growing up had followed suit. Others had downsized to smaller houses in other parts of the city, no longer needing the extra space. Now the neighborhood was filled with new families, young parents taking advantage of the location to raise their children.

Still, the atmosphere was largely the same, and if you let yourself you could almost imagine that the kids playing in the front yards and the street or biking through the neighborhood, calling out to friends as they passed, were the kids you’d grown up with.

It was strange, being back home. It felt stranger still to call it “home.”

It didn’t take long for you to fall back into a routine, despite the lingering nostalgia. You woke up every morning with just enough time to get ready and drive downtown to work, if you were lucky you’d end up with a few extra minutes to stop into your favorite coffee shop from your teenage years, which was conveniently located a couple doors down from your office. It was simple, sure, but it worked for you.

On the weekends you always made a point to walk to that downtown coffee shop with a book or some other activity, preferring the ambiance and the subtle noise of the building and its other patrons over the still silence of your house. Plus they had amazing drinks so you really couldn’t lose.

Normally you enjoyed taking in the hustle and bustle of the small town around you as people completed their weekly errands, but that day you were lost in your head as you walked along the sidewalk. It wasn’t as if you were thinking about anything in particular (when reflecting back later you’d merely blame it on having had a long week at work), but rather than enjoy the people watching as you normally would, you let them all pass you by without a single glance, all the way down the street and into the line at your coffee shop. You ordered your usual without much fanfare, still having the presence of mind to drop your change into the tip jar on the counter. It wasn’t until you had gotten your drink that you were thrust out of your thoughts, quite literally.

You had only just turned around from the counter, about to start scanning the cafe for a seat when you were knocked to the ground, your drink spilling in your hands.

“Oh my god, are you alright?” Disoriented and still in a haze, the thick Russian accent of the woman who had spoken caught your attention.

A hand reached down into your line of sight and you took it gratefully, managing to keep the pitiful drops of unspilled chai latte in your cup as you were pulled to your feet.

“Let me buy you a new drink,” she offered though you barely heard her.

Now that you were back on your feet you got a better look at the woman who had bumped into you. She was of average height and had her blonde hair pulled into a double ponytail. You didn’t know any Russians but you could’ve sworn you’d met before.

“Do I know you?” You blurted out before you could think and the other woman blinked at you in surprise, brows lifting slightly.

“Perhaps,” she shrugged, “I used to live around here when I was younger.”

You narrowed your eyes at that, certain you would’ve remembered growing up alongside a Russian family, everyone you remembered was as American as they come. It was a small town in Ohio, after all.

“So did I,” you spoke slowly, still trying to ponder it out in your head. “Over on Brown.”

Her eyes narrowed at that, now scrutinizing you as well.

“I grew up on State Street.”

That’s when it clicked for you. You remembered them; family of four, two daughters. Natasha used to ride her bike down your street all the time which meant the woman in front of you must be…

“Yelena?”

“You remember me?”

“Yeah, holy shit! Your sister rode her bike through my mom’s flowers one time by accident, pissed her off for the whole summer. Plus, we went to preschool together.”

“Wait, Y/N Y/L/N?”

“In the flesh,” you replied, spreading your arms out dramatically.

Yelena took that as an invitation to really study you then, eyes flitting up and down as she fully took you in.

“You grew up quite nicely,” she spoke, tone appreciative and you found yourself blushing.

“I- I could say the same thing about you,” you stumbled over your words, feeling flustered. “I don’t remember you being Russian.”

You mentally cursed yourself for once again blurting something out before you could even think about it.

Yelena laughed at that and you couldn’t help but find yourself smiling at the sound. She had a cute laugh. It was fitting.

“Yes, well, my ‘family' and I were actually part of a Russian spy organization, sent to infiltrate a nearby SHIELD facility for some information, so,” she shrugged and you laughed at first, assuming she was joking before you realized she wasn’t laughing along.

“Wait, seriously?”

“Why would I lie?”

You fumbled around with your words at that, unable to come up with a proper response but feeling as though you needed to say something anyway.

“How about I buy you a drink and you tell me about it?” You finally settled on saying and Yelena’s brows lifted again in surprise.

“Sure, but I’m buying the drinks. I owe you for spilling your first one.”

You nodded in agreement, somehow having forgotten all about your spilled drink in the excitement of reconnecting with an old friend. An old friend who was very attractive, if you were being fully honest with yourself.

With new drinks ordered and retrieved, the two of you made your way to a small table by the front window of the cafe. True to your agreement, Yelena explained to you that her “family” when she’d lived in Ohio wasn’t actually her family at all, the entire thing fabricated for their mission, and that after their success she continued to work for the organization before finally getting out as an adult. She skimmed on a lot of the details but you got the sense that the entire ordeal was traumatic for her so you didn’t press. Though, you were quite amazed that the woman across from you (and the tiny blonde girl you’d played dolls with as a kid) was a former spy and assassin. In comparison, your own life story was much less exciting, though you guessed it also held much less trauma as well. Still, Yelena asked and she listened intently as you explained how you’d wound up back in your hometown all these years later.

After that, the conversation seemed to flow seamlessly from one topic to another, and it was so nice to talk to a friend and catch up that you didn’t even realize how much time had passed until you went to take a sip from your long-forgotten chai and found it ice cold. You checked your phone and were surprised to see that nearly two hours had passed and while you were planning on spending much longer at the cafe anyway, it still caught you off guard.

“Oh, I’m sorry, am I keeping you from something?” Yelena asked, having noticed you checking the time.

“No!” You rushed to reassure her before flushing slightly at the knee-jerk reaction. “No, I just hadn’t realized how much time has passed. It’s been really nice to see you.”

“It’s been nice to see you too, perhaps we can do this again sometime?”

“I’d like that a lot.” You tried to fight the heat that you felt rushing to your cheeks once more. You weren’t sure if she meant it the same way you did.

“Me too,” she replied softly, ducking her head so that her face was out of view. “I actually do have to get going but maybe we can meet here again next week?”

“Absolutely!” You nodded, trying not to seem too eager and failing miserably. “It’s a date.”

Once again the words slipped out on their own accord and you were left scrambling to do damage control.

“I- I mean like, y’know-”

“A date is good,” Yelena cut you off with a smirk, though you could’ve sworn you could see your own nerves reflected in her eyes.

“A date then,” you agreed, flashing a nervous smile.

“Goodbye, Y/N.” She stood from her chair with a smile, pausing on her way to the door to press a quick peck to your cheek, and then she was gone.

You sat there, still as a statue, for quite some time afterward, your fingertips lightly grazing over where Yelena’s lips had been moments before. You really loved this coffee shop.

#yelena belova #yelena x reader #yelena belova x reader #yelena belova fic #black widow #mcu #mcu fic #black widow movie #erin takes requests #bianca my love #erin writes

[first-and-last-neocount]

Ask game:

N, P, & Y

Ah, thank you Potato :P

N: Is there a fic you wish someone else would write (or finish) for you?

Hmm, I wouldn't say that I have any really strong thoughts on this, since I've always tended toward the mindset of "if you want it, write it yourself" even before getting into fandom, so I don't have anything super specific. In very general terms, I'd be over the moon if more people got into Karril/Damien enough to write for that ship, even if it was just little drabbles. What can I say, I've really done myself in with this little rarepair that is now near and dear to my heart. :'D

P: Are you what George R. R. Martin would call an "architect" or a "gardener"? (How much do you plan in advance, versus letting the story unfold as you go?)

GARDENER. I go into most of my stories with more 'vibe' than 'plan', and even when I give the broad strokes of an outline, it's all subject to change as I go. Even in my original work, I tend to use an outline format I call "melody plotting" - I'll map out the big notes the story needs to hit, the pivotal character developments and the hooks for future storylines, and a couple of dramatic 'set pieces'. All the rest, the little ornamentation and flavour? All added in the process. The bulk of my worldbuilding bible for original works will grow alongside the story, with elements that come to me organically during writing getting put into the bible once I've checked them against existing material - and if I like the new idea enough, I'll throw out the old stuff that contradicted it. It sometimes means more work for myself if I decide to change a significant element mid-work, but it's worth it, because it's by far the most fun and natural way for me to work. It's also why my estimated word count/chapter count/series length will change often and rapidly, because it's very easy for me to get swept away with fleshing out a particular section that was only a footnote in the outline, which is what exactly happened with "And Its Dizzying Heights". I got so caught up in the dinner scene that it ended up filling out the whole fic, with the after-dinner scene getting pushed off to the next fic.

Y: A character you want to protect.

I mean, that's a fair thing to ask, since it's very obvious which characters I want to hurt. XD This is actually very well timed, because the first character that comes to mind is Raistlin Majere. He's one of my very oldest blorbos, and the fact that I imprinted on him before getting most of my own trauma means that rather than cathartically projecting worse versions of my own issues onto him as I tend to do with Gerald, I would prefer to just bundle Raistlin up in bubble wrap and make sure nothing bad happens to him ever. Which is... a tall order, given all of canon, but is also why every fic idea I've ever had for Dragonlance diverges from canon in either Soulforge era, Brothers Majere era, or early Dragons of Autumn Twilight at the very latest - I applaud every author who wants to tackle the absolute nightmare that is Raistlin's life post-Spring Dawning, but I prefer to keep my slightly-less-bitter-and-jaded Red Robe from going off the deep end in the first place. (I'm also far more in love with Raistlin's characterization as a Red Robe who prioritizes the magic above all else than after he decides godhood is the answer to all his problems. I love a maniacal villain as much as the next shipper, but that strange limbo between resentment and compassion that Raistlin spent most of his early life tenuously balanced in just resonates on a different level for me.)

#the neocount writes #ask and ye shall receive #coldfire trilogy #dragonlance #raistlin majere #damien vryce #karril #karril/damien

[p-artsypants]

I’ll Handle This (Chapter 1)

In honor of 1500 followers, I present to you, my first chapter of my extremely stupid fic I’ve been working on slowly to de-stress. The fic is not actually ready for regular updates, but I will post links to this when it is. 

For now, it is just for my precious tumblr Angels. Enjoy!

“I’ll solve all your problems,” Plagg had said. “You just have to agree to it.” A fixed relationship with his father, Lila to stop bothering him, and Ladybug to fall in love with him? Who wouldn’t agree to that?

Except Plagg was the God of Destruction and Chaos and had a more…hands-on approach. Adrien just wants his body back.

Loosely based on @beebeebombam‘s bodyswap AU.

--

It was foolish to think that the god of destruction was inherently good. Adrien trusted Plagg, as did the other kwami’s, since he knew the difference between right and wrong, and more often than not choose the ‘right’ thing to do.

But to assume that he was good, was foolish.

At best, he was chaotic neutral. Doing what was best for himself, which usually meant preserving the status quo.

Plagg was, despite the grand powers of total destruction and chaos, at the core, a cat. A cat that lived the life that other people would be jealous of. Sure, he spent most of his time in a pocket, but that was the warmest and most snuggliest place to be. Adrien provided him with endless cheese, and endless entertainment. In return, he had to give up his corporeal form and get sucked into a ring, only to watch Adrien blunder around in a fight for 15 minutes once or twice a week. Even then, it wasn’t that much work. Sure, Cataclysm wiped him out, but a little more cheese and he was good to go.

Yes, being the god of destruction was a sweet gig.

At least it was, until things got frustrating.  

Of course he loved his little kitten, who didn’t? But watching his life unfold was like watching a soap-opera. And being a creature thousands of years old, only made it so so much harder.

It was like watching a toddler in a room full of electrical sockets with a fork in hand. Plagg knew that Adrien was bound to completely wipe out and screw himself over. That’s why Plagg was apt to gently nudge him in the right direction, without telling him outright. The kid had to learn somehow, right?

And then, Master Fu had to go and lose his memories, and now the soap opera was even more dramatic.

From a third person perspective, Adrien’s life was really not that complicated. He was in love with a girl, and she was in love with him, but not the version of him that was in love with the version of her. But of course, she thought he was in love with a totally different girl, and so she tried to move onto another boy, though Plagg doubted she was over him. Okay, in theory, it was kind of complicated.

But remove the identities, and that problem would be solved. Without Master Fu, that clock was ticking. It was only a matter of time before Marinette realized she needed to get in touch with him outside of the suit in case of emergencies. Talking to Tikki, she was even trying to coax the new guardian into that decision a little faster.

But you just can’t rush humans. They don’t know what’s good for them.

As for the rest of Adrien’s complicated messes, well, most of it would be fixed if he wasn’t such a people pleaser.

Sure, there was merit to being nice to people and turning the other cheek. Plagg could appreciate that. It was a very ‘Tikki’ sentiment.

But he wasn’t Tikki, and Adrien just needed to grow a spine already.

It was going beyond people pleasing, and going into fear of stepping on toes, and just outright masochism. It was like Adrien liked being taken advantage of and having his feelings hurt.

Well, by the way he was waxing poetic at the moment, Plagg knew that was true.

“And now I feel bad, because I know Kagami really likes me, and I know I could really like her too, but with Ladybug…ugh! I want to give up on her because she’s in love with someone else, and she doesn’t need my flirting to distract her in a fight, which I can’t even help anymore, because it’s such an automatic response, but when I think about how she’s dealing with being the guardian too, it breaks my heart and I just feel like I’m betraying her!”

“Do you feel like you’re betraying Kagami when you’re mooning over Ladybug?”

“No! Yes! I don’t know! Feelings are stupid!”

“I’ll say. That’s why I stick with cheese.”

“Ugh! You’re so useless!”

He wasn’t, Plagg would argue. Because he could see the whole thing planned out in an omniscient game board. It was just…impossible to tell him what to do. Only because was supposed to stay out of human affairs. Such was the law of the Kwami. And he was pretty sure at this point, Adrien would just brush him off with ‘you don’t know what you’re talking about.’

“Look, if dating Kagami makes you happy, then date her. If it makes you feel guilty, then don’t.”

“Bah! You don’t know what you’re talking about!”

See?

“Well, the way I see it, you can’t betray someone that doesn’t have feelings for you. Camembert won’t feel hurt if I indulge in a gouda every once in a while.”

“All you talk about is stupid cheese! You have no idea what I’m going through! No idea! My life is so hard and—and frustrating—and—!”

Oh boy, here came the waterworks.

“And whenever I need actual advice, all you do is talk about cheese! It’s so aggravating!”

“Listen kid,” Plagg said shortly. “I know how hard you have it, okay? And it’s not that hard. You’re just young. Of course everything is overwhelming, you’ve only been on this earth for 15 years, and even then, you’ve only been social for…a year? A year in a half? You just need to stop wigging out all the time.”

“That’s easy for you to say!” He ran his fingers through his hair, frantic. “You don’t care about anything! I’m trying to keep the peace between my classmates, my family, and all of Paris! You’re just callous!”

“Me? Callous?”

“Yeah! All you’re good for is destroying and making messes!”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah! You wouldn’t have a clue how to live my life! You’d bungle it all up in an hour! No, five minutes! You know nothing about being human! You’re just—Just—!”

“Just what, Adrien? Go on, say it!” Plagg taunted.

“You’re just a stink ball!”

Plagg looked at him flatly. “Really, that’s all you got?”

“What do you want me to call you?!” Adrien nearly shouted, at the risk of alerting everyone in the house.

Plagg rolled his eyes. “You really are a piece of work, aren’t you?”

“Shut up.”

“No, I’m going to talk, and you’re going to listen.” The kwami got in his face, his patience at an end. “I’m not supposed to meddle in your life. I’m a third party observer. I can advise you against bad choices, but I can’t tell you what to do. Or else you’ll never learn. But I am sick and tired of listening to you whining and complaining about everything, and then not actually doing anything to fix it. Yes, your father sucks, yes, it hurts that Ladybug doesn’t love you like you love her, and yeah, Lila is a liar and really tricky to work with! But you’re not actually doing anything to fix it!”

“Then tell me what to do! Because I don’t know!”

“I can’t!”

“Gah!” Adrien threw his arms up in frustration.

“But…”

Adrien turned and looked at him, taking a calming breath. “But…?”

“But, I can fix everything for you. If you let me.”

“You can? You can make Ladybug fall in love with me?”

“I can fix everything. You just have to agree to it.”

“Psh! Yeah! I’ll agree to it!”

Plagg held out his paw. “Then hold up your hand, the one with the ring.”

Adrien did so, hesitating ever so slightly. “I’m not going to regret this later, am I?”

“Hmm…only if you don’t actually want to fix all your problems.”

“Fine, I agree to whatever the heck you’re doing, you weird little creature.”

Plagg closed his eyes, and then when he opened them, they were glowing green. He touched his paw to the Miraculous, and Adrien felt every muscle in his body contract. A painless current flowed through his body, sending tingles to the tips of his toes and the roots of his hair.

“The pact is made.” Said Plagg, in a voice far more ancient than Adrien was used too.

He grew dizzy, his room spinning around him, and his vision doubling.

“Plagg—ugh…”

“Just go to sleep, Adrien.”

“Nngh…”

“Sleep…”

The last thing he saw, was a pair of glowing green eyes floating towards him, until all he saw was green. And then black.

—

In the morning, Adrien awoke to his alarm going off.

He swatted his arm towards it, never quite reaching it.

“Ugh! I feel like I got hit by a train!” His voice said.

Adrien blinked, and then realized that he wasn’t the one who said that. Looking around, was his room always this big? No, certainly it wasn’t…

He sat up, wakefulness coming to him in a series of waves. First, he wanted some cheese, desperately. Second, his body felt real weird. And third, there was another person in his bed.

“Just take as long as you need to catch up, but not too long, we got school.” Said his voice again.

Adrien looked to the other person, and came face to face with himself, though the eyes were just a touch greener and the pupils were cat like. “Wha-what?”

“Ta-da!” Said he, “Now I can take care of your problems, hands on!”

“Plagg!?”

“In the flesh!”

“If you’re me, then…” he looked down at his little paws. “AH!!”

“Chill, my dude.” Said the god in human body, resting his arms behind his head. “You get a vacation.”

“But—But this isn’t what I wanted!”

“That’s what you get for not asking for more details.”

“Plagg! We have to switch back! We can’t do this!”

“No can do, kid. I will stay in your body until your problems are solved. That’s the pact.”

“What?! And how long will that take?! There’s no way you can solve all my problems!”

“It could take a few days…weeks maybe. And I’m not solving every little thing.”

“But you said—“

“Once you get these three things in order, everything else will fall in line.”

Adrien took a patient breath. “Okay…what are the three things?”

“One, your relationship with your dad, two, your unrequited love with Ladybug, and three, Lila’s sexual harassment.”

Adrien gaped at him. “We’ll be at this for months! Plagg, just change me back! How do I undo the pact?”

“Well, you can destroy the Miraculous, effectively killing me in the meantime.”

Adrien shook his head. “No no…I’d rather not do that.”

“Or…you can just relax and let me work. I’m thousands of years old. I’ve been around the block a few hundred times. Hercules had his 12 trials, you only have three. Piece of cake.” He sat up, and swung his legs over the edge of the bed, making to stand. “Whoa…haven’t done that in a few millennia…”

“Ugh, this is not going to work!” Adrien lamented, “you’re not going to know how to act like me!”

“Kid, I live in your pocket. I know exactly how you act. And your attitude is exactly what got you into this mess.”

Adrien blinked at Plagg, as he stood and began stretching like a cat. “My attitude?”

“Yeah, Mr. ‘Everyone is my friend even if they hurt me’.”

“Well, that’s what I should do, isn’t it?”

Plagg finished his stretching and placed his hands on his hips. “You just watch kid. I’ll show you how it’s done.”  

“I have a feeling watching you is going to be like watching a train wreck.”

Plagg stepped into the closet. “Let’s see...what is the perfect outfit to spite a fashion designer without making you look like a total idiot...? Ah ha!”

Adrien floated off the bed, not used to the sensation, and slowly hovered over to the closet. “What?! You can’t wear that!”

“It’s in your closet, so why not?”

“It’s against dress code! I’ll get in trouble!”

“All the more reason to wear it then!” He fumbled around with his pajamas, trying to remember how to remove clothing. “Ugh, ideally, I’d love to be naked.”

“Don’t you dare!” Adrien nearly shrieked.

“Oh I won’t, but damn that would be funny.” He shimmied out of his pants and started to get dressed. “Why do you even have this outfit if you would never wear it?”

“It was for an eighties themed shoot. I get to keep all of my clothes I model. That wasn’t even designed by my dad.”

“Ohh! Even better!” Plagg sang, slipping on the white, tattered crop top, showing off Adrien’s abs. “You always wear dear daddy’s designs.”

“I have to, it’s in my contract.”

“You’re just digging yourself into a hole, Agreste.” Plagg pulled on the black denim pants, careful not to stick his foot right through the holes in his knees. Then he tied the look together with clunky black boots, a green flannel shirt, and green tinted sunglasses. “Oh yeah, now we have a look!” He tussled his hair. “Man, Pigtails is going to lose her mind when she sees this.”

“Pigtails? You mean Marinette? Why does her reaction matter?”

“You’ll just have to wait and see.” Plagg swiped him out of the air and tucked him into the flannel’s pocket.

Just in time, there was a knock on the door. “Adrien? Are you ready for school?”

“Show time.” Plagg grinned into the mirror.

“Kill me.” Adrien muttered to himself.

In the hall, Nathalie gave him a once over, her eyes wide and a eyebrow raising. “Do you really think that’s appropriate clothing for school?”

Plagg shrugged. “I’m playing with my image, so what?” Then he reached up and patted her cheek. “You work too hard, kid. You should ask for a day off every once in a while. Pretty sure Gabe’s blowing some labor laws or something.”

Shit. Damn. Ass. Piss. It was just as Adrien predicted! He blew it! And it’s only been what, a half hour?

“Adrien!” Nathalie sputtered.

But Plagg just breezed passed her, heading to the dining room for breakfast. “Oh, by the way Nat. Do you mind if I call you Nat? I need you to clear my schedule for the next few days.”

“I’ll have to check with your father—“

“Why? You’re the one in charge of the tablet.”

Nathalie was becoming visibly annoyed. “That may be so, but he’s the one in charge of me!” She huffed, then calmed herself. “You better have a good reason for wanting to clear your schedule.”

“I do. My activities are stupid. I want to hang out with my friends, have fun…you know, enjoy my life? You remember what that’s like, right?”

“What on earth has gotten into you?” She demanded.

“Sorry Nat, guess I woke up with a case of teenage rebellion.”

“Your father will not be pleased to hear about this.”

Plagg laughed. “Oh I’m positive he won’t! Go on. Better bite the bullet as they always say.”

Nathalie looked at him aghast, and headed out of the room.

Adrien floated out of the pocket. “Unbelievable. I’m dead. I’ll be locked in my room forever, and it’s all your fault.”

“Tut tut,” Plagg patted him on the head. “There’s not a lock on earth that can stop me.”

After breakfast, Plagg gathered Adrien’s book bag, being kind enough to keep his grades up. But as he reached the front door, Gabriel stopped him with a clearing of his throat.

Plagg turned and looked at him, but didn’t say a thing.

“What do you think you’re wearing?” Said Gabriel, with an icy voice.

Adrien knew that voice. That was a very very bad sign. Plagg was going to get it. Yelling, threats, prison. All of it. A hand reached into the pocket and rubbed between his ears in comfort and reassurance.

Plagg straightened up slightly, looked Gabriel in the eyes, and stated. “Respect the drip, Gabe.”

Adrien almost laughed.

Gabriel blinked, then continued with his icy tone. “You are not to address me by my first name. You know that.”

“Oh. Sure thing, Old Man.”

Gabriel frowned harder.

“Or would you prefer ‘Peepums’? Or ‘Daddy-O’?”

“‘Father’, is ideal. I don’t like this attitude, Adrien. It’s unbecoming.”

“Unbecoming? I think I wear a spine pretty well.”

Gabriel sputtered. “A sp-spine!? Is that what they’re calling disobedience these days?”

“It’s a real attention grabber, don’t you think? Because obedience wasn’t cutting it. You barely noticed me then.”

Gabriel scoffed. “You are always so dramatic! Just like your mother! I raised you better than to act out for attention!”

“Hmm…interesting. Considering you want me to grab the attention of everyone else in Paris. Or is that not what you meant? Only good attention, right?”

Gabriel’s nostrils flared. “I’m not impressed, Adrien.”

“You never are. So what’s new?”

“Go to your room. You want to act like a delinquent? Fine, then suffer the consequences.”

“How about no? You know, most kids would jump at the chance to skip school. But I actually want to go. Shouldn’t that be a red flag to you, old man?”

Gabriel took out a small remote from his pocket, and hit a button. The door and windows clicked, locked.

“You have no choice. As long as you’re under my roof, you’ll follow my rules!”

Plagg rolled his eyes, giving Adrien another scratch between the ears. “Ugh, gag me. Look Gabe, the more you fight this, the worse it’s going to get.”

“What?!”

“I’ve got a lot of pent up frustrations. I may do something drastic. I might hurt myself.”

Gabriel gave him a little knowing smile. “Teenage rebellion, hm? Fine. I’d like to see you do anything. I can see it in you right now. This is killing you. You’ve always been obedient, and you’ll continue to do so.”

“You’re calling my bluff?”

“Absolutely. Show me what’s next.”

Plagg raised an eyebrow, deliberating on what to do. Go all in?

Ah, what the hell?

“Open the door, and you’ll find out.”

“No. Absolutely not.”

Plagg shrugged. “Suit yourself.” He walked over and grabbed a vase. “Is this your pick, or mom’s?”

“That’s a priceless ming vase, hand selected from a renowned interior designer.”

“Really? Because there’s a 4 euro price tag on the bottom of it.”

“What?! No there’s not!”

“Yeah, you got me that time. It’s actually a Gien.” Then he chucked the vase into the nearest window, breaking the vase and the glass. “Now it’s a mosaic!”

“That’s coming out of your trust fund!”

“Oh, like your profits from last quarter wouldn’t cover it! I’m doing both of us a favor.” He stated as he carefully climbed out of the window.

Gabriel was too stunned to stop him. “And what favor would that be?”

Once Plagg was on the other side, he peeked back in the window and called. “Fixing our relationship! I’m your son, not your employee! Start treating me like it, and this will all go away!”

“This is blackmail!”

“No! It’s an intervention! Bye dad! Love you! Off to school!” And he booked it away from the mansion as fast as he could.

Once he was safely down the street, he took Adrien out of his pocket. He was bawling big tears.

“You okay, kid?”

“He was so angry…you broke a window! And—he’s going to take my freedom away!”

“Like I said, there’s not a lock that can stop me. He’ll come around.”

“You’re not going to ruin my public image, are you?”

“Adrien, no matter what I do, your fans will always love you. You start being a bad boy? People will eat that up. Relax. You’re worrying too much.” His eyes flicked up, noting the sign to a cafe, “ah, want some coffee?”

“I want my body back.”

“Coffee it is!”

#adrien agreste #plagg #fanfiction #miraculous ladybug #adrienette #gabriel agreste #body swap

[ragnarachael]

anywho... here’s a sneak peek to a thing i’m debating on writing as a whole fic whenever i get around to it???? (basically this is TVA Agent/Director!Reader x Loki because i can’t hide my affection for them any longer)

under the cut is S M U T. 18+ READERS, PLEASE. (block the tag NSFT TEXT if you don’t wanna see anything like this from me!)

“What would our fellow coworkers say if they saw you like this, darling?” Loki hummed, both of his hands holding your thighs wide open as he pressed kisses just above where you needed his mouth most. “Spread wide open for your agent—”

“Y-You’re my husband, need I remind you,” you sighed out as your chest heaved, feeling Loki’s tongue trail lightly between your glistening folds to tease you for the fifth time, “they-they’d expect it.”

Loki ignored that comment and let his thumb replace the tip of his tongue, starting to absentmindedly rub at your cilt as he stood up straight, gasping playfully.

“Who’s your husband? Are you an unfaithful—”

“Loki!” You exclaimed, unable to hold back your laughter as you sat up on your desktop, pushing Loki’s hand away reluctantly. “I’m not roleplaying with you right now. I already agreed to having sex on the desk.”

The pout Loki pulled was priceless.

“But—”

“But nothing. Either you fuck me on the desk, or we go home and continue this.”

Loki let out a dramatic sigh and was quick to slot himself between your legs, slacks already unbuttoned to reveal his very tight briefs as his hands gripped the flesh of your thighs firmly. “Fine. I assume I have no choice, Director?”

You opened your mouth to say something as your eyes rolled before shutting them to relax back on the wood of the desk. 

However, any words you planned on saying come out as a high pitched moan when you felt the head of Loki’s cock rubbing between your folds before finally pressing into you.

“N-No, agent,” you finally stutter out, taking the bait he laid out just before you. “That’s a direct order.”

You opened your eyes slightly to see his reaction. 

The smirk Loki had on his face was wide and riddled with mischief. It reminded you of the first time you had met him way back when he was considered a prisoner with the TVA and you were a researcher.

Loki busied his hands with your breasts, letting out a pleased hum at your reactions to his touch as he filled you to the brim with his cock, not at all hesitating to gyrate his hips as you got used to the stretch for the first time in what felt like years. 

He cleared his throat as he hovered his face just over yours, tongue trailing over his lower lip as if he was preparing to devour you before speaking: “Yes, ma’am.”

#nsft text #marvel smut #loki imagine #loki odinson x reader #marvel fic #loki x reader #............. #rachael writes #i WROTE this. please be gentle #i've only written ONE smut fic and like #am i bad at it? #who knows but uh HERE HAVE AT IT #TVA #lets play a game called: will this get flagged?

[slutforgoodliterature]

Charles x Reader- Game On

Request: ‘Hi! Love your smut fic “thanking him”, can you do another kinky smut fic with Charles Xavier please if you have time? 😌’

Warnings: smut (obvs), senses manipulation, kinky telekinesis use 

Summary: You’re sick of Charles working late, so you make a bet in order to get him to bed. Little do you know, he’s got a trick (or a couple) up his sleeve...

Trust me, this gif will make a whole lotta sense in a little bit...

Charles was sitting at his desk, pouring over paperwork as he had been for hours. Not to get you wrong, you admired his work ethic, admired it even. 

Sometimes you were able to tempt him away with dinner and the promise of something else to eat later on if he was good...

But when he was like this, so completely absorbed and drowning in files, nothing got in between him and that godforsaken desk. 

Actually, scratch that. You had a theory. And you really, really wanted to test it.

“Babe, are you sure I can’t get you anything?” You asked for the fifth time. “Water, tea, a massage? You hearing this?! I’m even willing to give you a massage.” You goaded him; anything to get off his ass and away from that desk.

 You could see the lines in his forehead carving deeper, his shoulders squared with tension and his hand cramping from all the writing. Even if he wouldn’t admit it to himself, he was working himself way too hard. 

“You go on ahead, sweetheart, I’ll be finished here in a bit.” He barely even looked up from his work, which only added to your frustration. 

“Nope, not without you. You’re done for the night.” You were sick of him pushing himself too far, sick of going to bed alone and sick of him crawling next to you in the early hours of the morning, apologising profusely but never actually following through. 

“Y/N, I’m almost done, I promise, I just-”

“Nuh-uh. I’ve heard it all before.” You crossed your arms over your chest, accidentally pushing your cleavage above the neckline of your v-neck. This time, when he looked at you, his eyes lingered. 

“Sweetheart, you distracting me is only going to keep me here longer.” He muttered, but he didn’t sound very sorry. 

“Oh, really?” You drawled and stalked over to his desk. Let’s see how much paperwork he can do if you’re sitting on it.

You planted yourself directly on the file he was working on, and he had to yank his pen back to avoid you sitting on it. 

“Y/N...” he cautioned, but his gruff tone only made your lips twitch and your stomach flip. Nonchalantly, you placed your legs on either side of his chair, leaning back onto your hands and staring down at him through your lashes. 

“Professor...” you mocked back, to which he cleared his throat and came to rest his hands on your thighs, dangerously close to the edge of your gym shorts. 

“As much as I am enjoying this little... display,” he motioned to your spread legs in front of him, “I really need to finish this work.” 

“See, you say that,” you teased, inching your legs out further, drawing his eyes directly where you wanted them, “but I don’t know if you really mean it.” 

“Neither do I,” he sighed under his breath before silently chastising himself, “No, no, I’m serious. There are pressing matters that-” 

“Let’s make a bet.” You cut him off, and immediately his interest was peaked.

“A bet, you say?” He replied slyly, his hands tracing higher, toying with the edge of your shorts. 

“Mm, a bet.” You repeated, smirking at him. “I know you’re a sucker for a good competition.” 

“And I know you’re a sucker, period.” He quipped back, drawing a laugh out of you both. 

“Maybe we could include that in the stakes...” you suggested, and you could see the moment all thoughts of paperwork left his eyes and they focused solely on you. His hands tightened on your thighs and your breath hitched. 

“What sort of bet are we talking about, love?” His thumbs began rubbing circles into your flesh, making you shiver. But you didn’t come here to get bent over his desk, as good as that sounded.

No, you came to make him forget all about work, and everything else. 

And you knew just how to do it.

You planted a foot in the centre of his chest and pushed his chair backwards, catching him off guard and giving you just enough room to drop to your knees in front of him 

“Well, you certainly have a disposition for dramatics.” He chuckled low and throaty, but it cut off with a growl when your hands began snaking up his legs.

“Here’s the deal, Professor,” you began as you grabbed his semi-hard through his pants and watched his eyelids flutter, “I’m gonna make you cum in five minutes. If I do, and I will,” you promised with a wink, “you get out of this chair and get your ass into bed with me.” 

“If, and in no offence to your skills, you don’t win?” He questioned as he ran a hand under your jaw and tipped your head to look him in his cerulean eyes. 

“You get to stay here, and work for as long as you want,” you admitted, but your sly grin told him that wasn’t all, “but I’m thinking that you’re gonna want to follow me to bed anyway.” 

“Interesting,” he nodded, tracing your jaw with soft fingers before gripping it tightly, making you gasp at the sudden pressure, “but I’ll do you one better: if I can make you cum first, which I will,” he echoed your cocky statement, “you do what I want. For a whole day. And I will go to bed with you now.” He added at your raised eyebrows. 

“And if you don’t?” You were impatient to hear the answer. 

“If you win, and I.. let’s say, loose my cool...first,” He grinned impishly, “then I’ll do whatever you want on a day of your choosing.” You weighed the implications of this, and once you decided the risk was worth the reward you nodded. 

“Deal.” His eyes flashed at your response and his fingers inched towards your throat, stroking it softly.

Your stomach flooded with warmth which climbed up your chest, leaving behind a ruddy blush that he noticed immediately and grinned triumphantly.

“Just how are you planning on getting me off when I’m all the way down here? No offence to your skills, of course.” You challenged haughtily. 

“That’s for me to know and you to find out love.” He sent you a devilish smirk before releasing your neck and leaning comfortably back into his chair, his eyes flashing at you, full of challenge. 

You scoffed, thinking this to be an easy win.

You should have known that with Charles, it’s never an easy win.

Making quick work of his slacks, you pulled both his pants and boxers off and discarded the troublesome clothes behind you. 

“Someone’s a bit eager.” He crooned but let out a hiss as you wrapped your hand around his member, feeling it stiffen under your grip. 

“Charles, I love you, but sometimes I really want to put a gag in you.” You threatened and he chuckled in response.

“Sweetheart, if you win, you can do whatever you want with me.” Motivated by his promise, you licked a stripe from base to tip, watching as he shuddered and gripped the arms of his chair.

“Game on, Professor.” You smirked before engulfing him with your hot, wet mouth. He swore and gripped your hair unforgivingly, his head falling against the back of his chair. 

Going to town, you worked a merciless pace, using one hand to massage his balls in just the way you knew he loved, and the other to stroke his thigh. 

“God, Y/N, feels so good.” His breath was coming out in short, hard bursts as you kept your unrelenting speed, determined to win this game. 

That’s when you felt it. 

You didn’t even realise how wet you were until you felt a single finger stroking your most sensitive parts. You moaned and buckled, yanking your head up and glaring at Charles, who smiled innocently at you.

Well, as innocent as anyone could look with their rock hard cock in someone’s mouth.

“Something up, sweetheart?” He questioned, cocking his head, and the phantom finger pushed inside you, torturously slow.

“You telepathic mother fucker.” You swore. You should’ve expected this.

Charles just raised the stakes. 

“All’s fair in love and war.” He said unapologetically, sending you a devious smirk before touching fingers to his temple and increasing the pace of the digit inside you, and adding another.  

Biting back groans, you gripped his member hard and brought it back to your mouth, letting yourself moan around it and send shivers up his spine. He pulled your hair tighter and let out a litany of curses. 

It gave you great pleasure to see what you could reduce the great Charles Xavier to: a writhing mess. He watched you from under half-shut lids, his head tipped back in sheer ecstasy and soft grunts escaping his pink lips, which were open just enough to let puffs of air through them. 

But he was giving as good as he was getting.

With each bob of your head, his phantom fingers continued at the same pace. If you speed up, so did he. If you tortured him slowly, his fingers mimicked. It was like you couldn’t get him to the edge without dragging yourself along with him. 

He added a third and revelled in the way your eyes rolled back and your movements stopped temporarily. 

“That’s it, sweetheart, give in to me.” He rasped, keeping his eyes trained on you and his hand in your hair. His other hand moved to caress your cheeks, which were hollowed against his cock. 

You refused to give up, and instead steeled yourself and pushed the waves of pleasure he was creating to the back of your mind, focusing solely on the task ahead:

giving him the best blowjob of his goddamn life. 

With renewed vigour, you took him to the hilt with no warning, relaxing your throat and allowing him to deep throat you. His hips bucked, sending him further down your throat as he cursed loudly.

“Fuck, Y/N!” He drew in deep, ragged breaths. You continued to swallow around him, keeping him in your mouth for as long as possible before drawing up for breath, only to take him in once again. 

He sped up his phantom fingers, curling them inside you and eliciting a pornographic moan in response. 

“If I’m going down,” he grunted, holding your head down until tears sprang at your eyes, “you’re going down with me.” 

With that, he placed a fourth finger on your bundle of nerves, circling it with a pressure so good it almost hurt. 

You became a moaning mess around his cock but managed to keep at it, taking him deeper every time, your own pleasure distracting you from whatever gag reflex you had left. 

His hips bucked even harder, his abs tensing and his eyes fought to stay open as you knew he loved seeing you fall apart. 

Your legs began to shake and you weren’t sure how much longer to could stave off your impending orgasm. 

But it didn’t matter, as long as he finished first. 

“My god, sweetheart.” He gritted his teeth and stroked your stretched out lips with his thumb, “You look so fucked out right now.” 

You moaned in response as his phantom fingers continued to work you into a moaning, shaking mess.

“Did I make you like this? Huh? Who did this to you?” The closer he got, the more verbal he became, and the more crass. 

He yanked your head off his cock with the hand in your hair and you panted, struggling to catch your breath.

“I wanna hear you say it, Y/N, who did this to you?” He picked up the pace of the fingers inside you when you didn’t respond. 

“You! You did, Charles.” You cried out, your body beginning to convulse, your brain screaming at you to just let go. 

He grinned in triumph and guided your head back down to his pulsing member, which you eagerly swallowed down. 

There was no stopping it now, the pleasure became too much for you and you screamed around his cock as the tsunami of an orgasm hit you. 

Your moans reverberated up his cock,  and he let out an animalistic growl as your pleasure crashed into him in waves through the telepathic channel he was always logged onto around you. His back arched and his hips stuttered as he spilt down your throat, before pulling your head up and finishing on your face.  

Still twitching from your high, you leant your head against his thigh, struggling to catch your breath. You were glad to see he was just as affected, his hand stroking your hair absentmindedly whilst he shuddered through the lingering throes of a mind-blowing orgasm. 

You lifted your head to look up at him, and he shuddered again at the sight of you wearing his seed around your lips. He used his thumb to guide it back into your mouth, which you cleaned off happily.

“Careful love,” he rasped as you bit gently on his thumb, “if I wasn’t so spent right now, you’d be in all sorts of trouble.” 

You were too tired to reply so you just rolled your eyes before trying to stand up, which worked about as well as having spaghetti for legs, resulting in you collapsing onto his lap where he cradled you close to his rapidly beating heart.

“You’re one of a kind, you know.” He whispered lovingly into your ear.

“Love you, too.” You sighed, nuzzling deeper into his neck.

“If I remember correctly,” he began in a sly tone, “I won.” You groaned in the realisation that yes, he did. “But for now, let’s go to bed.”

You revelled in your temporary victory because you knew it wouldn’t last long.

But as much as you were nervous, you couldn’t wait for him to collect his debt. 

#Charles Xavier #charles xavier smut #charles x reader #kinkylilshit #hornybugger

[maxilsmaster]

writer ask meme

https://ciiardha-blog.tumblr.com/post/158543702841/writer-ask-meme

  1. Tell us about your WIP! right now, i’m working on a fic with classicfresh, scifell, errink, dustberry, horrorlust, afterdeath and killercreammare. basically, dream invited everyone on a picnic but it went horribly wrong and everyone started arguing.

2. Where is your favorite place to write? i mostly write stuff out on google docs then post to ao3, but sometimes i just skip to ao3

3. What is your favorite/least favorite part about writing? favorite: i don’t necessarily have to share my work. least favorite: describing things.

4. Do you have any writing habits/rituals? lots of dialogue, start with a line of dialogue.

5. Top five formative books? haha what

6. Favorite character you’ve written? probably error or ink. maybe my own sans, illusion.

7. Favorite/most inspirational book? i like the sight (warriors arc 3 book 1) and curiosity killed the error (by the lovely @shandycandy278​).

8. Do you have any writing buddies or critique partners? i recently gained a position beta-reading for @jasmynation​‘s undermaze fic. also my friend CosmoCat07 on ao3

9. Favorite/least favorite tropes? i have no idea.

10. Pick an author (or writing friend) to co-write a book with CosmoCat07

11. What are you planning to work on next? dying inside slowly

12. Which story of yours do you like best? why? New Beginnings, the thing I’m writing with CosmoCat07.

13. Describe your writing process oh hey this would be funny *types ideas on notepad on chromebook* *writes it out on google docs*

14. What does it take for you to be ready to write a book? (i.e. do you research? outline? make a playlist or pinterest board? wing it?) type a vague idea, and wing it from there

15. How do you deal with self-doubt when writing? bottle it up internally :D

16. Cover love/dream covers? i don’t like covers.

17. What things (scenes/topics/character types) are you most comfortable writing? not sex.

18. Tell us about that one book you’ll never let anyone read my first warriors fanfic. 30 chapters of me not fully understanding warriors. (un)fortunately, it got deleted when my old laptop broke.

19. How do you cope with writer’s block? write more

20. Any advice for young writers/advice you wish someone would have given you early on? don’t doubt yourself.

21. What aspect of your writing are you most proud of? the grammar, definitely. i’m not giving a shit about it here, but i’m good at grammar. no grammarly stop giving me your ads, i can write just fine on my own.

22. Tell us about the books on your “to write” list 50 one-shots then 70+ more.

23. Most anticipated upcoming books? the next warriors books

24. Do you remember the moment you decided to become a writer/author? no

25. What’s your worldbuilding process like? what worldbuilding process?

26. What’s the most research you’ve ever put into a book? very. very. VERY. little.

27. Every writer’s least favorite question - where does your inspiration come from? Do you do certain things to make yourself more inspired? Is it easy for you to come up with story ideas? inspiration? fanfiction. it’s pretty easy.

28. How do you stay focused on your own work and how do you deal with comparison? i don’t compare and i don’t get comparison. i’m not that popular.

29. Is writing more of a hobby or do you write with the intention of getting published? hobby

30. Do you like to read books similar to your project while you’re drafting or do you stick to non-fiction/un-similar works? all i read is fanfiction all i read is undertale fanfiction all i write is basically undertale fanfiction

31. Top five favorite books in your genre? genre: fanfiction. ckte, um ckte, undermaze, our tangled web, and uh ckte. i like ckte.

32. On average how much do you write in a day? do you have trouble staying focused/getting the word count in? i have trouble writing over 1000 words at once, but i try. i also write a lot. it’s been occupying most of my time lately.

33. What’s your revision/rewriting process like? oh, i messed up this word. edit. oh, this sentence would fit here... add sentence. oh my god this whole story sucks burn it in hell.

34. Unpopular writing thoughts/opinions? idk.

35. Post the last sentence you wrote from prompt 49. dear god. at least i’m done prompt 5...

“S’ why m’ not gettin’ ya somethin’ greasy,” Red answered, pulling open the door to Grillby’s.

36. Post a snippet SPOILERS FOR PROMPT 33 OF MY THING

Cross stepped between the two. “Alright, who wants to play hide and seek?”

“OOH! ME!” Blue cheered, wiggling around in the strings.

Horror raised the hand his axe was in, and Killer raised a hand as he stood up to retrieve his knife from the wall it had been stuck in from when he threw it. Meanwhile, Dust and Error let out a groan.

“Alright, majority rules, we’re doing hide and seek!”

“Yay!” Horror, Blue and Killer said, all in different tones.

“And Error, no cheating this time,” Cross ordered. “You know what, you can seek.”

“Fuck you,” Error spat as he dropped Blue from the strings. Killer caught Blue dramatically. “That was gay.”

“Then it’s a good thing we’re already dating,” Killer refuted, dipping Blue and kissing him.

“EIGHT! NINE! TEN!” Error yelled, turning around and subsequently causing everyone to jump.

They then proceeded to run out of the room.

37. Do you ever write long handed or do you prefer to type everything? type. i can’t write with a pencil for shit.

38. How do you nail voice in your books? i don’t XD

39. Do you spend a lot of time analyzing and studying the work of authors you admire? idk, really

40. Do you look up to any of your writer buddies? shandy

41. Are there any books you feel have shaped you as a writer? what?

42. How many drafts do you usually write before you feel satisfied? one, then edit.

43. How do you deal with rejection? haven’t had to yet.

44. Why (and when) did you decide to become a writer? late grade 7, i guess. that was when i first started getting into warriors.

45. First or third person? third

46. Past or present tense? past, definitely

47. Single or dual/multi POV? i’m cool with either

48. Do you prefer to write skimpy drafts and flesh them out later, or write too much and cut it back? write everything in one go (spread out over multiple days, normally), then add/remove a few details

49. Favorite fictional world? right now utmv but i also like warriors

50. Do you share your rough drafts or do you wait until everything is all polished? i edit before i post, but i post individual chapters

51. Are you a secretive writer or do you talk with your friends about your books? mostly talk about it amongst the fandom

52. Who do you write for? myself, mostly.

53. What is the first line of your WIP? my current one, where i’m writing seven different ships in a one-shot?

This picnic was a terrible idea. Everyone was arguing over something so pointless and mundane that it may as well not even have started.

54. Favorite first line/opening you’ve written? not the one above

55. How do you manage your time/make time for writing? (do you set aside time to write every day or do you only write when you have a lot of free time?)  i just write constantly

#spoilers for my one-shots #55 questions

[itsclydebitches]

The Needs of the Many: A Garashir Reading of “Broken Link”

What’s the current definition of stupidity? It might be trying to write meta for a twenty-six year old show. But you know what? I’m doing it anyway. I make questionable fandom choices and regret mostly nothing.

So. I’m still watching Deep Space Nine—about halfway through season five, but with pretty much every spoiler under my belt considering I have no patience and dove straight into the fic—and I am, without a doubt, absolute garashir trash. Now this is important because as I watch I’ve been on the lookout for all the major scenes and episodes that the fans like to talk about, those that catch our attention for obvious reasons: “Past Prologue,” “The Wire,” “Our Man Bashir,” and the like. However, through my (admittedly cursory) browsing these last few months, I’ve been surprised to find no one talking about season four’s finale “Broken Link.”

On the surface it makes sense. Though Garak gets one of his all too rare episodes, we’ve past the point of no return with Berman’s homophobia and our two lovesick faves aren’t interacting as much as they once did. RIP. 

Thus, it’s easy to pass over Garak doing another Bad Thing in the name of his Cardassian devotion, especially when the Bad Thing is circumvented thanks to Worf instead of Julian. However, what’s nagged at me since watching that scene is one simple, yet significant detail.

Julian was down on that planet.

Quick re-cap for those of us who haven’t watched in a while: the Defiant is taking Odo back to the Great Link in order to cure him of the disease they saddled him with in the first place (nice, huh?). Garak realizes that this may be the one and only time they have all the Founders together and potentially vulnerable. He tries to gain control of the Defiant’s weaponry, but is ultimately discovered and stopped by Worf. Sorry, Garak. You might be surprisingly fit for just a plain, simple tailor, but you’ve got nothing on a battle-obsessed Klingon.

All caught up? Fantastic. Now, all around it’s not a terrible plan. There are just two potential issues. The first is the whole, you know, genocide thing. Some of us tend to frown at that, no matter how much good eliminating the Founders might do moving forward. Beyond that pesky little moral issue, we have the problem that Odo, Sisko, and Julian are all down on the planet’s surface, their deaths a surety if Garak manages to succeed in his plan. This is acknowledged too, so we can’t live with the happy assumption that Garak just wasn’t informed about who was accompanying Odo on this particular mission:

Worf: And what about Odo, and Captain Sisko and Doctor Bashir?

Garak: They'll die. And once the Jem'Hadar ships realize what we're doing, so will we. But what are our lives compared to saving the entire Alpha Quadrant?

From a shipping perspective it doesn’t look too good. After all, how loving is your duo if one can so easily sacrifice the other, without a moment’s hesitation or—dare we imagine it—a single tear in sight? It’s a rather grim picture, the sort of scene that jars shippers out of their lovely little pockets, carefully crafted worlds where suspension of disbelief runs wild. The show-runners may not have had the balls to make anything canon until 2017 (good god), but provided the characters in question don’t actively sabotage the relationship, thereby leaving room for imagining something more, you’re good to go. No such luck with this scene.

At least, it appears that way at first glance. It occurs to me that there are a couple of potential readings if we feel inclined to reach for them. I find it notable that Garak is already thinking to the next logical consequence. That is, Jem’Hadar ships bearing down on them, him meeting his own demise soon after Julian. There’s admittedly something romantic in that. The willingness to let your loved one go, safe in the knowledge that you’ll be quick to join them. We could even argue that Garak isn’t thinking straight in this moment. We know he’s a proud man devoted to his people, exile aside, and right before this he has a rather gutting conversation with the primary Founder:

Founder: They're dead. You're dead. Cardassia is dead. Your people were doomed the moment they attacked us. I believe that answers your question.

So, as far as Garak knows, entire fleets of his people were killed in their last battle, including his father—quite the emotional blow, even if Tain was an absolute shit dad. He’s also received confirmation of what the Federation has long suspected, that the Dominion isn’t content to keep the Alpha Quadrant out of their business, but has every intention of seizing control and, given their history, eliminating rather than assimilating it, to quote the Borg. You’re dead. Your entire species is dead. Everyone else you associate with, even those insidious humans, are dead. It’s only a matter of time. As Garak has pointed out seasons earlier, he knows when to cut his losses and that was one hell of a “resistance if futile” speech. If the rest of the quadrant has any hope of survival, now is the time to cut those losses—including Julian. 

Which I actually really love. 

Because it’s true to Garak’s character. He’s a complicated, morally gray guy, just the sort to blow himself and his shop up in the hopes of saving his life. Or justify killing the entirety of one species to ensure the survival of many. As much as we (or at least I) would have loved a dramatic declaration of love, the realization that he can’t target the Founders no matter how necessary it may seem because his Julian would be caught in the crossfire… that’s just not Garak. Just as importantly, it’s not Julian either. See, I think this scene pairs rather well with “Our Man Bashir.” We can come up with the same sort of potential readings for why Julian was willing to shoot someone he—from the shipper’s perspective—is already head over heels in love with: he’s a doctor and had every confidence in his ability to keep Garak alive until they get out of the holosuite. He’s genetically enhanced and has superb aim, knowing he’ll only create a flesh wound. He was really trying to hit the wall and fucked that one up badly whoops, etc. Regardless of those headcanons though, canonically speaking Julian did shoot him and that’s all there is to it. More specifically, he shot Garak to make sure that Sisko, Kira, Worf, O’Brien, and Jadzia survived, a sacrificing the one to save the many situation, much like Garak’s plan. Or, to put it another way: 

Spirk is the ultimate standard for all other Star Trek ships, if not, for many, shipping in general. Lots of fans have already pointed out the similarities between the sickbay hand clasp in Star Trek: The Motion Picture and Julian’s moment of forgiveness in “The Wire,” 

but there’s another parallel between Spock’s iconic sacrifice and the choices made in DS9. “Logic clearly dictates that the needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few” to which Kirk answers, “Or the one.” This is the same logic that our new duo is abiding by. 

Though a notorious liar, we’re left with nothing else that challenges Garak’s words—he truly seems to believe that the Alpha Quadrant’s safety is worth sacrificing those on the Defiant for. Though a doctor through and through, we’re left with Julian’s steady hand and blood on Garak’s neck—he truly seems to believe that potentially losing one friend is worth assuredly saving five. Neither one is willing to compromise their morals for the other and I personally think that speaks to a healthy amount of respect, both for themselves and each other. In the same way that Garak embraces Julian’s Federation-style optimism and Julian comes to understand that lies are how Garak communicates, they simply and completely accept one another. That includes saying through actions if not words, “I love you, but I’m not going to let that love compromise my core beliefs.” Neither is the type to let love interfere with what they perceive as their duty, but that doesn’t mean the love doesn’t exist. 

Of course, if we follow the spirk parallel, that devotion to the many is later challenged. In The Search for Spock Kirk reverses the logic and justifies his journey with, “Because the needs of the one outweigh the needs of the many.” Anyone who reads any of my metas knows that Context Is a Thing and in this case the context for both films is personal sacrifice. Spock chooses to sacrifice himself to save the Enterprise. Kirk and the others choose to risk their lives and their careers to get Spock back. These are markedly different situations from what Julian and Garak shoulder: sacrificing one another for the many. If you love someone, then giving up your life for them is easy. Having that action save a whole bunch of other people along the way? Icing on the cake. You die knowing that you’ve done the heroic deed and your better half lives on. But can you harm your other half to uphold your oath as a doctor? Can you kill them to save millions of others? I’d argue that Julian and Garak have the far more difficult choice and both of them managed to answer, “Yes.” It’s a testament to their characterization and, given their strong ethics, precisely how well they fit together. They know where the other stands, what they mean to one another…and when they can’t afford to prioritize that love over everyone else. 

In the end, neither even knew that their sacrifice would pay off. If Garak had succeeded in gaining control of the Defiant’s weaponry he might have found that the Founders had another trick up their sleeve to ensure their survival, leaving him with a dead Julian and an unharmed foe. Julian doesn’t know if he and Garak will be able to survive the holosuite program—or what might happen to the others if they perish. He might end up losing everyone, himself included. Neither has any assurances when they make their decision and that to me makes it that much more meaningful. They’re both acts of determination and faith. And from a narrative standpoint (with help from a healthy dose of Plot Armor) they’re both rewarded for that faith. Garak isn’t forced to kill Julian. Julian’s shot harmlessly skims Garak’s neck. They made the hard call, lost little, and in the case of “Our Man Bashir,” gained a healthy dose of respect for what the other was capable of. 

I think that’s pretty damn neat. 

Right. Thank you for coming to my decades late TED Talk. Peace ✌️

Image Credit

#1: https://boldly-yo.tumblr.com/post/183708405938

GIF: http://kuma-la-la.tumblr.com/post/36694488334/the-needs-of-the-many-outweigh-the-needs-of

#2: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Kirk/Spock

#3: https://edosianorchids901.tumblr.com/post/181806580405/garak-and-julian-in-222-the-wire

#deep space nine #ds9 #garashir #garak/julian #mymetas

[themarauderlife]

31st October 1981

So after an incredibly long hiatus where I have moved to the south of England, started a new college and done a million other things, I have returned on the death day of my babies, Jily. I decided it’d be too angsty to do a Jily fic, (and I’m pretty sure I did one last year), so here’s a little Sirius fic for you all! I’ve missed you Tumblr. Happy Halloween!

Non-requested

My head span in that familiar sickening way, stomach twisting and turning until, finally, it stopped. I stepped out of the fireplace and onto the familiar carpeted floor of our living room, exhausted, but glad to be home.

“(Y/N).” Sirius breathed, the relief obvious on his face. He was stood in the living room, waiting for  me; I could tell by the anxious expression on his face and the tension in his shoulders that he’d been pacing, and I opened my mouth to comfort him.

But before I could speak, he strode forward, pulling me into his arms. I buried my head in his chest, cherishing the warmth and comfort of him, fitting into his body the way I always had. “You’re later than usual.” he muttered into my hair.

I sighed, wishing we could stay like this forever, wishing we didn’t have to worry about each other like this. “I know.” I replied. “There were some complications.”

His voice was hoarse. “You had me worried.”

Briefly, I shut my eyes. “I know. I’m sorry.”

His grip tightened for a moment, a silent show of alleviation, before pulling away. The tension had begun to leak out of his body and his mouth curled up into that familiar grin of his. After all this time, it still managed to send butterflies shooting through my stomach.

“Happy birthday, (Y/N).” he said.

I laughed. Birthdays seemed so trivial in this war. They felt so unimportant compared to the deaths of friends and the horrible things we had to experience everyday, being in the Order. But Sirius was always adamant that we should celebrate the small things, that they had been important to us once and they should be, always. “Thank you.” I replied, softly.

His eyes were dancing in the way they used to back at school, when he’d just planned a stupid prank with those idiots we called our friends. I felt like I was sixteen again as he tugged me through our tiny apartment, to the kitchen. “Come on.” he coaxed. “I want to show you something.”

I followed him obediently, humouring him as he told me to close my eyes. He put his own hands on top of them, to ensure I wasn’t peeking, and when he finally tugged me to a stop, he pressed his lips to my ear. “You can look now.” he whispered, his breath sending tingles down my skin. I could hear the grin in his voice.

I obliged. “Wow.” I breathed.

Our kitchen had been transformed. All around us, candles were floating in the air, lighting up the evening with a golden glow. Twinkling silver fairy lights were draped around the room, and a chocolate cake coated in buttery icing was placed in the middle of the table, next to a bottle of champagne.

“You like it?” Sirius asked.

I swallowed, feeling tears inexplicably prick at my eyes. It was strange, feeling such joy in a time of utter terror, and my throat burned. “I love it.” I told him, hoarsely. “It’s perfect.”

If it were possible, Sirius’s eyes seemed to brighten further as he tugged me to a seat. “I’m glad.” he said, as he poured me a glass of champagne. “It’s not every day a girl turns twenty two.”

I smiled, taking a sip. “I don’t doubt that.”

“And I have something else to celebrate.” he added.

I raised my eyebrows. “Oh yeah?”

He grinned mischievously. “The fact that I’m dating an older woman.”

I laughed, digging into his ribs. “Two weeks older.” I reminded him.

“Still.” he pressed his lips to mine, spreading warmth through my body. “I didn’t want you to forget.”

We pulled apart, but his lips stayed tantalisingly close to mine. “I won’t.” I whispered, pulling his lips towards mine once again.

My eyes fluttered closed as the kiss deepened, and I tangled my fingers in his hair, wishing I could stay melted against him like this forever,.

Half an hour later the table was cluttered with empty plates and glasses. Sirius’s lips were red and swollen, his hair ruffled, and I was sure I looked much the same.

“Do you remember the first time we kissed?” he asked me, eyes twinkling.

How could I forget? I thought back to that day- it seemed so long ago now.

We were sixteen, lying on our stomachs on the grass by the black lake as I tried to help Sirius revise for potions, his worst subject. He, of course, had me laughing rather than teaching, and we’d spent most of the afternoon chatting about things completely off topic.

“Urgh.” groaned Sirius, rolling onto his back. His untucked school shirt had risen slightly, displaying his wand tucked into the waistband of his trousers. I remembered glancing at the exposed piece of flesh before quickly looking away, flushed. Sirius barrelled on, oblivious. “I can’t do anymore work, (Y/N).” he complained. “It's killing me.”

I rolled my eyes. “We’ve only been at it for an hour, and most of that time you’ve been messing around.”

He sat up, insulted. “I have not!”

I giggled in spite of myself. “Sure you haven’t. And your shirt’s all dirty, look at it.” I gestured to the grass stains on his crumpled school shirt.

Sirius grumpily tapped it with his wand and the stains disappeared. “Happy?”

I bit back a smile. “Whatever. Let’s do some work.”

But he’d rolled onto his back again, looking up at the clouds, his dark hair fanning out behind him. “You know,” he mused. “James said you were supposed to be good at potions, (Y/N). I really thought I had a chance of passing my OWL with you.”

I couldn’t help but laugh. He was so annoying. “You do if you listen and stop distracting me.”

Sirius’s eyes danced. “Oh, I didn’t realise I was ‘distracting’ you. I apologise profusely.”

I rolled my eyes and opened the book, grinning. “Good. Now, the aging potion requires-”

“Although, I do believe it was you who was distracting me.”

I groaned. “Sirius!”

“I’m serious! Wasn’t it you who bought up Mandy Brown’s tooth elongation incident? And the spotting of the sphinx in the forbidden forest?”

He was wearing that infuriating smirk again. I resisted the urge to jinx him. “That’s just because you were going on about Jacob Himley’s infatuation with Troll-seeking.”

“Well you have to admit it’s just plain weird.”

“Sirius.”

“Fine.” He rolled his eyes, dramatically. “We’ll work.”

“Good.” I turned back to the book. “Because if you want to pass your OWL you’re going to have to work super hard. We’ve got loads to cover, and only a short amount of time. The exam’s only in a few weeks…” He was looking at me weirdly, a strange little smile playing on his lips, and I felt suddenly self-conscious. I frowned. “What are you looking at?”

“I like it when you’re all geeky.”

I blushed, defensive. “I only want you to do well.”

“I know.” His eyes softened. “I like it.”

The air seemed to have shifted between us, becoming thicker, more electric. I swallowed. “I see.”

“And do you find any of my qualities endearing?” he asked, brow raised.

My head span; he found me endearing? That was a first. But he was so close I couldn’t get my thoughts together, I couldn’t think straight. I was overwhelmed by him, by the smell of the forest on his shirt. My heart hammered in my chest.

I smiled tightly. “If by ‘endearing’ you mean irritating. Then yeah, sure.”

He leaned closer towards me, and I felt my cheeks redden as my throat constricted. “I don’t think you mean that, (Y/N).” he muttered softly. “I think you find me very endearing.”

I only had time to inhale sharply before his lips were pressing against mine, his hands were in my hair and my whole body was lighting up in a way I’d never felt before. His lips left burning trails of fire across my skin; my stomach melted into a pile of goo as my eyes fluttered closed and the whole world seemed to disappear in front of my eyes.

“Of course I remember it.” I told Sirius, taking a sip from my champagne. “I remember I thought I was going to pass out.”

Sirius laughed- that bark-like laugh that sent shivers down my spine. “I can have that effect.” he replied with a wink.

I rolled my eyes, and we lapsed into silence.

“I still wish the others could be here.” I admitted quietly, after a pause. “I haven’t seen them in ages.” James and Lily were in hiding, Remus was constantly off on Order missions and Peter had been weirdly quiet- I figured the war was having the worst effect on him, with his sweet nature.

Sirius’s expression blackened, his jaw tightening. “Some more than others.”

I sighed, knowing the doubts Sirius had about Remus. “You know he’s as loyal as the rest of us, Sirius.” I told him. “I don’t believe he’d ever betray us, and I know deep down you don’t either.”

Sirius sighed, running a hand through his hair- a habit he’d picked up from James. “Maybe you’re right. I mean, I don’t want to believe it. He’s my best friend. But this war… I don’t know what to believe anymore. Who to trust.” His eyes were troubled, and it hurt me to see his internal conflict.

“You can trust Remus.” I replied firmly, standing and grabbing our plates to start the washing up.

He watched me, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “I still don’t understand why you don’t use magic for that.”

I shrugged. I liked the feeling of the warm soapy water on my hands. It reminded me of my childhood, of my mother, who was currently in hiding with the rest of my muggle family.

Sirius made his way over and kissed my head. “At least let me help, birthday girl.”

I moved over and he dried with a tea towel as I washed. It was something of a little ritual for us, something that gave us a sense of normalcy, even if Sirius didn’t realise just why it meant so much to me.

We worked in a comfortable silence for a while, the only sound being the quiet splash of water and the clink of plates. Out of the window, children wandered the streets with their parents, dressed in all sorts of funny costumes. They looked so happy,so content with their lives-  I’d forgotten what it felt like to feel like that. In fact, I’d forgotten it was Halloween at all.

I glanced at Sirius; he had stopped drying, a queer expression appearing on his face. His brows were drawn together in a frown. “You okay?” I asked.

He swallowed, staring out the window. I knew him well enough to know his thoughts were somewhere else entirely. I wondered if it was still to do with Remus.

“Sirius.” I pressed.

He glanced at me, his eyes clearing. “I… just thought of something. It’s a weird feeling I’ve been having. Something I need to check on.”

I frowned. “Okay. Something I could help with?”

He shook his head, glancing at me. He looked torn. “Look, I… I don’t have to go. It’s your birthday, and-”

I frowned. “No, of course you can go. I don’t mind.” He still looked unsure, so I plastered a smile on my face, pressing a quick kiss to his lips. “Sirius, go. I’ll still be here when you get back.”

He looked out of the window again, at the muggles walking the streets. A strange icy feeling tightened around my chest. Something about the expression he was wearing… it worried me.

“Okay.” he said, finally, grabbing his jacket from the back of a chair. “I’ll be back in a bit.”

“Okay.” I echoed. “See you soon.”

His expression brightened for a second, and when he kissed me again, firmly this time, he looked like the old Sirius- the Sirius he’d always been before the war. “I love you.” he said earnestly.

And then that shadow was back, darkening his expression, and I watched him leave through the kitchen door.

#Sirius Black #young sirius black #sirius #sirius x reader #sirius fanfic #sirius fic #sirius black oneshot #sirius oneshot #jily #jily day #halloween #jily death day #jily fic #october 31st #marauders era #Marauders #the marauders #marauders oneshot #remus lupin

[hale-of-stiles-heart]

For the Vday fic prompt! Maybe like Derek being tricked into a valentines date auction and Stiles bidding like WAY too much money (that he probably doesn't have) for him.

This ended up longer than I anticipated, so I hope you like it! Also on ao3!

Derek was going to kill Peter. Again.

And yes, he knew he said that a lot but this time he really, really meant it. Because somehow his mangy cur of an uncle had tricked him into volunteering for a Valentine’s Day date auction.

Looking back, he realized that he should have known something was amiss when Peter came to him a few months ago on behalf of the Beacon County Sheriff’s Department, asking for donations to help rebuild the station. It was desperately in need of reconstruction after half of the station was demolished by a crazed, rampaging wendigo with an insatiable taste for human flesh.

Fortunately, the pack had managed to take care of the wendigo, killing it before it could actually hurt anyone, the station completely empty when it had come crashing in. But the damage was already done and the station was absolutely wrecked.

It wasn’t due to the fact that Peter had taken it upon himself to help collect donations, Derek having known his entire life that regardless of his uncle’s more reprehensible actions, he had always been a philanthropist. Over the years he had donated so much money to various causes and charities that he had over a dozen hospital wings named after him in the Northwest Pacific area.

His uncle might be a complete and utter piece of shit, but he wasn’t totally evil.

But what should have tipped Derek off to his uncle’s much more devious intentions was the fact that he had done so without any acerbic comments or crude innuendos. He hadn’t even smirked once when he asked if Derek would like to donate some money, maintaining a staid, somber expression as he rattled off the estimated cost of repairs. It was a sure sign that he was up to something.

Admittedly, Derek had naturally been a bit suspicious of Peter’s sudden fervent support of the sheriff’s department, especially since his uncle had never been shy concerning his very strong opinions about the local police presence doing more harm than good when it came to the supernatural. But, with nothing else to go on except a hunch, Derek had just narrowed his eyes at his uncle while pulled out his wallet.

He had tossed a few hundred dollars in the plastic jar Peter had brandished at him, a sloppy sheriff’s badge painted on the side above the words sheriff’s department repair fund, shrugging while coming to the conclusion that it really was just a hunch. He was more than happy to help the sheriff’s department, willing to put aside any suspicions he had about his uncle having ulterior motives and shell out some money for the repairs.

Peter hadn’t made any mention whatsoever of the donations again, reverting right back to his old smarmy ways, creepy smirks and lewd sexual innuendos and all. And while the shift back to his usual demeanor was both a relief and a major pain in the ass, it was another indication that something nefarious was in the works.

Which is how Derek found himself standing up on stage at the local town hall in an unbearably itchy, size-too-tight tuxedo as people bid on him. Yeah, he really fucking hated his uncle.

Peter had come to him earlier that evening, letting himself into the loft and rudely interrupting Derek’s solo Lord of the Rings marathon, to toss a garment bag into Derek’s lap. At Derek’s raised eyebrow and annoyed scowl, Peter had rolled his eyes and explained that as a thanks to those who had donated money for the station’s repairs, the sheriff’s department was hosting a dinner in honor of all of the donors.

Derek had initially tried to shrug it off, too engrossed in the Two Towers to bother getting all dressed up for some fancy dinner and awkward small talk, just wanting to hand out in his ratty old sweatpants and eat three pints of Ben and Jerry’s by himself. He had never really been one for pointless socializing anyway, not when he could isolate himself from the rest of the world and indulge in one of his more nerdy interests.

But Peter had been having none of it, snatching the remote off the coffee table to flick off the TV before crossing his arms over his chest and pinning Derek with a thoroughly judgemental glare, arching an unimpressed. Derek had met his uncle’s glower with a withering glare of his own, the two werewolves staring each other down until Peter decided to play dirty.

Throwing up his hands in an excessively dramatic gesture, he mumbled a snide remark under his breath, claiming that if Derek wanted to disappoint Stiles then that was his choice and there was nothing he could do about it. Turning around as though he was going to leave, he began muttering about how hard Stiles had worked to set up the dinner, mentioning him staying up all night planning meals and mailing invitations.

Derek didn’t think he had ever stood up as fast as he did in his entire life at the mere mention of Stiles’ name. He grabbed the garment and stalked down the hall to the bathroom to get changed, bitterly mumbling about meddling uncles who couldn’t keep their noses to themselves.

Because of course once Peter found out about Derek’s pathetic little infatuation with Stiles, he would use it against Derek as possible just to get his own way. He had only mumbled Stiles’ name in the middle of the night while dreaming about him one single time and Peter had refused to let him live it down ever since.

Though Derek couldn’t really blame him. His little crush was nothing if not laughable, a pitiful bout of enamoredness that had been going on for nearly three years now.

He knew it was stupid and hopeless and, more than anything, downright pathetic with a capital p but he couldn’t help it. Stiles was just so amazing.

He was hands down the most loyal person that Derek had ever met, his unwavering dedication to his friends and family rivaling even that of a werewolf as he proved time and time again that he was more than willing to lay down his life for the people he cared about. And as much as Derek admired him for his selflessness, it was also infuriating as hell, his heart getting caught in his throat every time Stiles voluntarily put himself in harm’s way.

He was unimaginably smart, constantly blowing Derek away with his sharp wit and practically endless knowledge about anything and everything that came to mind, whether it was relevant at the moment or not. Derek was a hundred percent certain that if he really wanted to, Stiles could take over the entire world in one night, not that he would ever want to.

Because while Stiles could most definitely be a bit of an asshole, a lovable asshole but an asshole nonetheless, he wasn’t cruel or power-hungry. He was kind, in his own subtle understated, almost modest way, as though embarrassed by his own gentleness. But it was still always there.

It was there in the way that he always made absolutely sure that his dad had healthy food to eat. In the way that he did all of the grocery shopping so that the Sheriff wouldn’t be tempted to pick up chips or cookies or any kinds of other junk food. In the way that he enlisted the rest of both the pack and the sheriff’s department in his crusade to ensure that his father didn’t cheat on the restrictive diet his doctors had put him on for his high cholesterol and through-the-roof blood pressure.

It was there in the way that he was always the first to volunteer to help Isaac with his homework whenever he struggled with the required readings for English or the more complex equations for algebra. In the way that he would spend however long was necessary to help him finish all of his work, despite the fact that he and the curly haired beta still pretended to hate each other’s guts.

And Derek loved him for it. For everything about himself. So much so that he was willing to strip out of his sinfully comfy sweats to pull on a stiff, uncomfortable tuxedo just to avoid possibly disappointing him. And now he was up on stage with a sea of people he didn’t know bidding on him like he was a slab of meat.

Apparently, the sheriff’s department was still in need of money for repairs, only a few thousand dollars away from their goal, everything save for water damage cleanup already paid for. In order to raise the last bit of money necessary to complete the reconstruction, someone, probably Peter, had come up with the brilliant idea of holding a date auction with all of the proceeds from the auction going to the repair fund.

After quite literally being shoved out onto the stage by his uncle, Derek realized that he wasn’t the only one who had somehow gotten roped into participating in the auction, a whole line of other people up on stage dressed to the nines in tuxedos and cocktail dresses. He noticed Isaac and Erica in the lineup, the former fumbling with his dark blue bowtie that refused to cooperate while the latter confidently beamed at the crowd in her little black dress that left very little to the imagination.

Derek seriously considered just turning on his heel and running off the stage, especially since it wasn’t as though anyone could really catch him. He was an alpha after all. But it was the fact that it was Stiles’ dad who really needed the money that kept him rooted to the spot, stuffing his hands in his pockets and staring down at his shoes.

He didn’t want to look at the people in the audience, the people who would be bidding on him.

Coach Finstock had been appointed as the auctioneer, most likely due to his uncanny ability to talk almost as fast as Stiles could, rattling off numbers and starting bids so quick that Derek could only just barely hear him. He started at the other end of the line, leaving Derek for last, not that the small mercy did much to calm his nerves if anything only making him more anxious.

Boyd won the auction for Erica, beating out some other guy who looked around the betas’ ages with a bid of one thousand dollars, the highest bid of the night at that point. Allison and Kira became embroiled in a lighthearted auction war over Isaac, giggling together until Jackson outbid the both of them, a wide smirk stretching across his face at their shocked expressions.

Derek waited for Coach Finstock to start the bidding for him, watching as the line leading up to him dwindled down to nothing, those already accounted for stepping back a few feet. He nervously fidgeted with a crumpled up gum wrapper in his pocket as Finstock drew closer, biting the inside of his cheek.

He was shocked out of his anxious thoughts, his mind immediately jumping to the worst possible ways the night could end, when Finstock curled an arm around his shoulders and loudly announced into his microphone, right by Derek’s ear, “And our last lot of the night: Derek Hale!”

Derek winced, physically cringing as his preternaturally sensitive ears began ringing incessantly, Finstock’s grating voice echoing in his head, along with his choice of words. Lot. Like Derek was an abandoned storage locker on one of those insufferable storage war shows that Isaac was so fond of, like he was a foreclosed upon house waiting for someone to flip it, like he was a sheep waiting to be slaughtered.

But Finstock wasn’t done. He squeezed Derek’s shoulder much too tight, even for a werewolf, with a crowing laughing, urging him, “C’mon, Derek! Wave to the nice people! This is for sheriff’s department, after all!”

Derek reluctantly pulled his left hand out of his pocket and awkwardly waved at the room full of people, feeling his cheeks flush bright red with heat at the unwanted attention, the tips of his ears burning as he shyly ducked his head. He wasn’t usually so easily spooked by large crowds. While he was more solitary and introverted than most, specifically most werewolves, he had never been one to suffer from stage fright though he had certainly fallen victim to it in that moment.

“Derek likes classic literature, morning runs, and howling at the moon!” Finstock announced, reading off of a white cue card he had seemingly pulled out of thin air, the exact words he had used making Derek want to smack himself upside the head. He should have known that something was fishy when Erica interviewed for her journalism class a few days prior, the questions she had asked him clearly having nothing to do with the curriculum.

So, at least one of his betas had been in on it. Training sessions would be much more strenuous and punishing in the weeks to come, he would be sure of that.

But for the time being, he just hoped that the last little tidbit about the moon didn’t make anyone do much more than raise their brows, Derek only including it in his list of three things he enjoyed just to annoy Erica after she had interrupted his quiet time just as he was getting to the good part of his book. But, alas, Finstock called attention to it, unwinding his arm from around Derek’s shoulders to scratch his head, muttering into the microphone, “Not really sure what the hell that last part’s about―” he paused before brightening again, face breaking into a wide grin as he continued on “―But who cares? Let’s start the bidding at a hundred dollars!”

Out of the corner of his eyes, dipping his chin again, Derek noticed people raising their bright red, heart-shaped auction placards, silently placing bids on him. He couldn’t bear to watch, keeping his eyes firmly planted on the toes of his dress shoes, discreetly hunching his shoulders and trying to block out the sound of Coach Finstock rapidly raising the price.

However, despite the fact that he was doing his best to ignore the sounds in the large room, he couldn’t help but notice when a curiously familiar voice broke the tense silence of the auction, calling out, “Five thousand!”

No one else raised their placard to challenge whoever had made the outrageous bid. The room fell deathly quiet again save for Finstock who sputtered incredulously into the microphone before squawking, “Sold! To the man in the red hoodie! Bilinski, is that you?!”

Derek’s head snapped up so fast he was surprised that it didn’t fly off. Because there was no way. No way that Stiles had just bid five thousand dollars for a date with him.

Aside from the fact that Stiles clearly could not afford to throw five thousand dollars away on something that was actually important ― like buying a new car to replace that hunk of junk Jeep, even though Derek knew that Stiles would sooner die than do such a thing ― let alone on something as ridiculous as a date auction; there was no way Stiles would ever want to voluntarily go on a date with him.

And yet, the person who stood up from their table to jog over to the side of the stage where the winners of the auction were lining up to greet their dates for the evening, was none other than Stiles himself. There was a brilliant smile on his face as he followed after Boyd and Jackson, the hood of his red sweatshirt bobbing up and down as he hurried to the stage as the rest of the attendees stood and shuffled out of the room.

Glancing over at the table Stiles had stood from, Derek caught the Sheriff in the middle of an exaggerated eye-roll as he too stood, his expression more fond than frustrated or upset which would have been the natural, expected reaction when one’s son willingly agreed to spend five thousand dollars on a whim. He watched as the Sheriff stood, shrugging on his jacket before politely pulling Melissa’s chair out for her as she too rolled her eyes at Stiles’ irrefutably ridiculous bid, sending John a sympathetic before she began her walk to the door.

Derek lingered on stage for a bit longer, letting the other participants pass by him and greet their dates, needing a few moments to rehearse what he was going to say to Stiles in his head. He couldn’t very well just ad-lib it, that had gotten him into enough trouble in the past to be well aware of the risks of not thoroughly planning ahead.

Erica smirked widely at him as she strolled passed him, her insanely tall high heels clicking rhythmically on the stage floor as she added a bit more sway than usual to her hips, clearly showing off for her boyfriend who had already paid a pretty penny for their date. She winked at him before glancing over at Stiles who was waiting patiently at the side of the stage, making conversation with another bidder, with a mischievous self-satisfied grin on her blood red lips.

Derek shook his head, not having to think very hard to know what she was thinking about, well accustomed to her dirty mind thanks to weekly pack meetings and full moons spent hanging out at the loft watching movies. She probably thought that he and Stiles were actually going to go on a real date, out to dinner or the movies. Anything else she thought might happen between them was surely x-rated.

Shaking himself, he took a deep steeling breath and turned to head off the stage, greeting Stiles with a tight, forced smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. But Stiles didn’t seem to notice, beaming right back at him as he bounced on the balls of his feet, excitedly waiting for Derek to make it down the steps.

“Hey,” Stiles greeted, one hand buried in the pocket of his hoodie while he scratched the back of his head with the other, shifting his weight from foot to foot. Derek acknowledged him with a curt bob of his head, keeping his own hands in his pockets, still going over his self-appointed lines in his head. Tilting his head to the side to indicate the side door beside the stage, Stiles suggested, “C’mon, man.”

Derek followed him into the hallway, away from the prying eyes of the other who were still standing by the stage, making sure the door was closed behind them. Stiles didn’t seem to care either way, too preoccupied with babbling on about something, Derek only blinking and jumping to attention when he heard Stiles ask, “So, what do you wanna do? I figure we could go out to dinner or maybe see a movie, I think that art film you were talking about seeing is still in theaters and we could probably catch the next showing, I mean it is only eight thirty.”

Derek sat through Stiles rambling on about how early in the evening the auction, verbally debating the pros and cons of the timing with himself. However, he finally cut him off when he began to apologize profusely, mumbling, “And sorry about the whole bidding on you thing. I have a feeling you didn’t exactly volunteer for the auction. You just looked so uncomfortable and I figured it’d be better if I won the auction instead of some weirdo you don’t know―”

“Just forget about it, Stiles,” Derek sighed after forcibly clearing his throat, now assured that his next words wouldn’t be breaking Stiles’ heart. He was right. Stiles didn’t want to go out with him. He was just being nice.

“Huh?” Stiles hummed, looking over his shoulder at Derek with a few deep creases in his forehead, his soft pink lips open in a perfect little o.

“The date,” Derek clarified, running a hand through his hair. With a shrug, he continued, tacking on, “Just forget about it. I’ll pay the five thousand dollars you bid and we can both just go home and forget about this whole thing.”

“Oh,” Stiles murmured, visibly deflating as he mumbled the monosyllabic word, his shoulders slumping as he ducked his head, resolutely refusing to meet Derek’s eyes again. Wrapping his arms around himself, he nodded, letting out a deep sigh as he leaned back against the nearest, looking uncannily like a little puppy who had just been kicked.

It didn’t make any sense. Stiles should be elated that he didn’t have to pay five thousand of his own hard-earned dollars, that he didn’t have to actually go out on some half-hearted pity date with Derek. And yet there he was with his head down, looking like Derek had just ruined his entire night. It really didn’t make any sense. Unless…

“Stiles?” Did you…want to go on a date with me?”

Stiles snorted a scoff and shook his head in disbelief, poking the inside of his cheek with his tongue as he straightened up and pinned Derek with an incredulous glare. Shifting to cross his arms over his chest, thoroughly unamused, Stiles announced, “Yeah, I did. Of course, I did. But you clearly don’t wanna go on a date with me so let’s just freaking drop it, okay?”

“Why didn’t you say anything?” Derek blurted, wincing at the audible whine he heard in his own voice, feeling like a petulant whelp. But he didn’t really care. He needed answers. Now.

“Dude, I just bid five thousand dollars for a date with you,” Stiles pointed out with a blank expression, gesturing at the door leading back to the large meeting room they had just left. With a roll of his eyes, he muttered under his breath, “Thought that’d make it pretty obvious.”

“It didn’t,” Derek answered with a huff, his tone a bit too hostile as Stiles arched an inquisitive brow at him as a dark scowl turned the corners of his lips down. Hurrying to clarify what he meant before he ended up ruining things even more than he already had, Derek quickly elaborated, “You said I looked uncomfortable. I thought that was the only reason you bid. I thought it was pity.”

“Well, it wasn’t,” Stiles asserted with a huff of his own, glancing away to stare at the tiled floor, his eyes absently scanning over the monochrome squares, tracing over imaginary patterns. He looked so dejected, so crestfallen that Derek couldn’t just stand idly by, instead throwing caution and any potential consequences to the wind and striding right over to Stiles who squeaked, “Dude, what the he―”

Derek cut him off by crashing their lips together, curling one arm around Stiles’ waist, fisting his hand in the back of his red hoodie, inadvertently rucking it up a bit to reveal a precious sliver of skin below Stiles’ navel. He cupped the back of Stiles’ neck with his other hand to guide him into the kiss, running the pad of his thumb over the thin ticklish skin behind Stiles’ left ear, tracing a collection of tiny moles.

Stiles absolutely melted into the kiss, his big brown eyes fluttering closed like some cliché as he went lax in Derek’s arms, raising his arms to loop them around Derek’s neck. He more than eagerly returned the enthusiastic kiss, tilting his head to the side to better accommodate Derek’s lips on his, sinking his fingers into Derek’s hair as he parted his lips to deepen the kiss.

Derek happily obliged, tightening his grip on Stiles as he gingerly slipped his tongue into Stiles’ mouth, worried that he might be coming on a bit too strong, worried that he might scare Stiles off. But all Stiles did was sigh against Derek’s lips and relax even more, lightly running his nails over Derek’s scalp with a delightful amount of pressure.

Pulling back from Stiles’ lips with an amused smile stretched across his face, his own bottom lip wet from Stiles’ ardent response, Derek took a step forward, holding Stiles tighter against his chest. Sparing a moment to peck Stiles on the lips, startling a breathless little laugh out of him, Derek quietly murmured, “So… Do you still want to go on that date?”

Stiles rolled his eyes as dramatically as possible, tugging Derek a few inches closer in order to bump their noses together, a soft smile playing on his lips as he whispered back, “Of course, I do.”

“Good,” Derek smirked. “Because you’re paying.”

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