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muddyhippy · 3 years

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A Tangled Problem

Adorable artwork by the ever-lovely @smolghostings

Updated on AO3 here

Lily padded into the common room still quite sleepy but with a single goal in mind. She’d got up out of Jonny’s bunk whilst he was still fast asleep, carefully extracting herself from his cuddling arm determined to get washed, dressed and make a nice breakfast for everyone.

She’d had another bad nightmare and Jonny had stayed up late with her telling stories and singing. He made her feel safe and cared for enough that the nightmares stopped being horrible and scary in her head for the rest of the night so she wanted to let him sleep and make a tasty breakfast. Her plan was going quite well when she washed and dressed but was too excited and distracted by recipe ideas when tackling her locks and then quickly got stuck, literally, when it came to brush her hair.

Lily’s hair was a thick mass of candyfloss-soft silvery tangles at the best of times but last night’s upset had obviously made it ten times worse.

Her brush got stuck and no matter what she did it wouldn’t come free.

It hurt when she tugged and pulled and struggled. Enough to make tears prick her eyes.

So she headed to find the one person who’d be probably best to help.

Without ceremony she headed directly to the person she wanted who was sat on the sofa where they usually were this time of a morning, making use of the quiet, completely absorbed in their music to the point they didn’t notice her approach until she climbed into their lap.

Tim physically startled to suddenly have a lapful of Lily appear between his chest and his guitar and stare intensely at him.

“Um hello Sweetness?” he began, thoroughly on the back foot.

“Tim! Help!” She pleaded by way of greeting, tears already spiking.

He tensed, fully poised to unquestioningly murder the shit out of whatever that had prompted this response.

She pointed.

Tim’s eyes alighted on her very tangled-in-hair brush caught up in her tresses. His eyes ran a quick diagnostic that helpfully returned the report ‘Ouch’.

“Oh.” He considered why she was showing him this and came up with nothing, “Um why—?”

“Because Jonny’s asleep,” She explained simply, “and you’ve got the prettiest hair, you tangle it all up in your goggles but it always ends up nice and untangled again so you’ve got to be good at hair-brushing.”

That, that was an impressive leap of logic he had to give her that.

“But Raphaella…?” He began weakly.

“She has really pretty hair too and it’s even longer than yours but it’s never tangled! Yours does so you’ve got more practice at fixing it. Please?” She sniffed, “I’ve tried and tried and it only hurts more.”

Tim took pity on her, that snarl up did look painful and it was obvious everything she’d tried had made it worse.

Plus, she was doing the look that Jonny warned him about, the whole ‘her-eyes-take-up-half-her-face-look’ that made his insides get twisty and him want to fix whatever the matter was every time she pulled it.

He suddenly understood why Jonny was willing to do as much stuff as he did. Lily was bloody hard to say no to when she looked like a particularly sad octokitten.

“Um, alright then.” He carefully put down his guitar to give the small, miserable child his full attention.

It really was a disaster. Tim considered his approach whilst ignoring the growing warmth in his chest at the idea that the little girl who’d joined them not that long ago apparently trusted him enough to ask for help with something personal that had left her vulnerable. He couldn’t remember the last time that had happened. Probably Bertie. Best not think about that then.

“Okay Sweetness, can you turn around for me so I can get to the brush please?”

She sniffed again, “Okay, thank you Tim,” she pressed a heartfelt kiss to his bearded cheek before turning around obviously utterly convinced that he’d got this and she trusted him implicitly that he’d make this better.

Fuck, he hated Jonny for not being awake.

Tim, not for the first time since Lily joined them, regretted being an only child with absolutely no sibling experience to deal with situations like this.

Ah fuck it, he’d do his best.

Using his enhanced vision, the patience he used when cleaning and repairing his weapons and the comb he kept in his coat pocket but would never admit to, he very carefully, painstakingly, detangled her hair.

After half an hour he managed to free the brush from her head then proceeded to comb all her locks clear so she would be tangle free for the next five minutes at least. Maybe he’d have to ask Ashes to show Lily how to plait properly since he’d seen Ashes wear some excellent styles over the years and their hair length was closer to Lily’s than Raph’s was.

He’d never bothered to learn, he liked having long hair, it was something that was his own rebellion after strictness at school and whilst he was completing his mechanical engineering apprenticeship. It was easy to tuck it up under a cap after all.

He’d tried not to show how heartbroken he’d been when he’d been conscripted and shorn short again. Bertie had known of course and told him he was still just as handsome. During the time in the tunnels his hair had grown out again since no one was really paying attention to uniform rules in the depths of the war.

He’d kept it long ever since. He wasn’t sure if it was out of defiance or as tribute to Bertie who’d never been able to keep his fingers out of it when they were alone together.

Tim mentally shook himself, now was definitely not the time to start down that track. That route led to months locked in the armoury, building non-stop. Or murdering Jonny repeatedly for being a dick (or just being present). Neither of which were viable responses right now.

“Right then, I think we’re done, turn around for me Lily.”

The little girl shuffled around on his lap to face him, she shook her head slightly, smile immediately blossoming across her face. “It feels so nice! Thank you!”

Little arms engulfed him in a grateful hug, enveloping him like the octokitten she masqueraded as half the time.

The master-at-arms was unspeakably relieved he’d not fucked this up, “You’re very welcome Sweetness, now, let’s show you how to brush your hair without it getting all tangled up. Sound good?”

“Yes please! Jonny helps me a lot but he doesn’t know as many tricks.”

“Jonny doesn’t have as much patience, he’s had longer hair a few times but mostly because he couldn’t be bothered to cut it.”

“Did he have hair as long as yours?”

“No. Just to his shoulders.”

“Oh.” She considered, “Mine’s already nearly that long.”

“I had noticed.” He couldn’t help grinning, as she tried assess the length of her hair first by tipping her head forwards to see, realising that wasn’t working then using her hand to feel the end of her lengths whilst trying to look out of the corner of her eyes. Her little tongue poked out of the corner of her mouth in solidarity and concentration.

“I want to grow mine more.”

“Oh yes?”

“Yes! So I can be as pretty as Raphaella and you!”

Tim felt both the blush and lump rise.

“That’s, that’s kind of you to say Sweetness, but you’re lovely just as you are. You don’t have to look like anyone else to be better in some way.”

Lily paused and thought about it.

“Well, I won’t be exactly like you and Raphaella,” she conceded, “my hair’s a different colour.”

He couldn’t argue with the statement, she was a lot lighter than even Raphaella, “That’s very true.”

“But I still want it long. I think it’ll be even nicer long.”

Tim couldn’t help but smiling at that very familiar conviction, “Then I best show you how to look after it then shouldn’t I?”

Lily beamed, lighting up the way she did whenever any of them took time to show her something. It was why they all, without exception, took time to demonstrate things to her. They might be immoral, immortal space pirates but none of them were above wanting to feel like a hero for teaching a kid to tie her shoe laces, flip pancakes or make belt holes. “Yes please!”

Which is why Brian walked in twenty minutes later looking for his fellow chef to find Lily and Tim in the middle of a hair brushing lesson, The child sat on the master-at-arms lap facing him, little tongue was back poking out in concentration, a long hank of Tim’s glossy tresses held reverentially in Lily’s tiny hand, her other carefully brushing it through as Tim talked her through the method of working in stages, his hands guiding hers, starting at the bottom and slowly working up to the roots.

Brian cleared his throat

Mechanised eyes zeroed in on the pilot, “This isn’t what it looks like—” Began Tim, colour rising dramatically in his face.

Brian raised an eyebrow.

“Tim’s teaching me to brush hair properly so my brush doesn’t get all tangled up in my hair again because that hurts!”

Tim sighed, utterly defeated.

“You know,” commented Brian, attempting to sound innocuous, “that looks exactly like what’s happening.”

Lily looked puzzled, “That’s because it is.”

“Quite right too,” Agreed the pilot, “looks like you’re doing a good job.” Brian took closer notice of their youngest crewmember, her usually wild mass of waves looked decidedly neat with that glossy sheen that only came with extensive grooming. “Did Tim do yours earlier?”

“Yes! He’s really good! I got my brush stuck in my hair and he got it out and brushed it really nicely! I asked him because he has really pretty hair and is good at getting tangles out of it after he wears his goggles. He’s really gentle and clever at it!”

Brian was amused to watch battle of emotions war over Tim’s face pride, pleasure, embarrassment and fury all crossed his face, clearly annoyed that this moment of softness with Lily was being witnessed.

Brian found he didn’t care all that much for Tim’s comfort, this was more important. Tim and Lily were bonding over something other than guns, completely unprompted. This was good progress. The fact that Tim was obviously trusted enough by Lily for her to ask his help and that he’d clearly given it freely said a lot about how comfortable they were becoming together which wasn’t bad for barely three weeks on board for Lily. Then again, last week her nightmare-stricken visit to Tim’s room that night she couldn’t find Jonny had probably cemented him as a ‘safe’ adult she could go to when the first mate wasn’t available.

Brian hoped the rest of them would become as easy to approach eventually.

It was nice to be reminded that deep under everything, he and his crew, at a push, could remember how to be kind.

“Right well, I’ll leave you to finish. Would you like me to start breakfast Lily?”

The child paused, looking conflicted.

“I am more than happy to.” Brian clarified.

Relief flooded her little face, “Oh um, yes please.”

“Did you have a plan?”

“Scrambled eggs and bacon and pancakes.” She recited her intended feast immediately. Jonny liked pancakes, said his mummy made them for him sometimes when she had the time and they were still his favourite if he had to choose.

Bacon had been a completely new food for Lily, but she loved how the saltiness of the slices complimented the sweetness of the pancakes, she wanted to learn how to make the syrup Ashes liked to go with it too. Eggs were very special because they were a treat on her ship, they had a few sealed cartons that they opened for very special events. On Aurora she could have eggs for every meal if she wanted AND they were fresh! In shells!

Brian had explained gently that eggs were more of a breakfast food and it was better to have them in one meal a day rather than more because she might get bored of them. (Also he was worried how much more omelette/poached eggs/boiled eggs/scrambled eggs/frittata/fried egg combinations the crew could endure with a smile and he really didn’t want to put off their newest member from the job she liked. Thankfully Lily took instruction and hints with equal grace).

“Sounds good to me!” Approved Tim, feeling that she shouldn’t feel all that bad about not cooking one meal.

Brian smile widened, pleased she was deciding to spend more time with Tim, “Me too, right then, I’ll get started, you can join me when you and Tim are done. See you later.” He left the scene as the two continued their lesson.

“Right then, reckon you can do the rest before Brian finishes?”

“Yeah!”

Tim arrived to breakfast on the table, Lily holding his hand, the two looking decidedly neater than normal.

As the others began to gently tease and pass the pancakes Brian looked over the group, his family, and couldn’t help but smile.

#the mechanisms #gunpowder tim #lily of many names #drumbot brian #the mechanisms fanfic #the mechanisms fanart #I've added a bit to this little fic #Happy New Year #Here's a hair brushing fic because I can

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berrykook · 4 years

Text

over love (y!jk)

part 2 to overtime

in which you are becoming sick from having some trouble adjusting to life with jungkook and you are both frustrated

contents: yandere!jungkook, kidnapping, vomit, stockholm syndrome, jinkook r kinda mean sorry :(

word count: 5.6k

a/n: hey thanks to everyone who followed and/or liked, reblogged, or somehow commented on overtime! i appreciate the kind words

i’m terrible with writing requests, but feel free to leave some yandere requests in my inbox and i might just write some drabbles

to keep things consistent on here i wrote this stoned and i ended up referring to jin in like 3000 different ways ok dr. kim is kim seokjin and sheriff kim is kim taehyung and who knows perhaps i will expand on this little universe who knows i sure don’t

the writing goes a bit back and forth bc i wanted to show reader’s struggle with how she feels towards jk

not much is going on here plot-wise bc it’s not a chaptered fic but either way lmk wat ppl think! ;p

*☆*ﾟ゜ﾟ*☆*ﾟ゜ﾟ*☆*ﾟ゜ﾟ*☆*ﾟ゜ﾟ*☆*ﾟ゜ﾟ*☆*ﾟ゜ﾟ*☆*ﾟ゜ﾟ*☆*ﾟ゜ﾟ*☆*ﾟ゜ﾟ*☆*ﾟ

You weren’t sure how he managed to do it but on some day during the second month, Jungkook had begun testing your patience before you had even completely woken up. You hadn’t even opened your eyes when a blistering tug of frustration began twisting in your chest. Immediately, your eyes shut tighter and you burrowed yourself into the fluffy, sweet-smelling sheets. Although lately, just the slightest hint of Jungkook’s scent made you nauseous.

Seeing you cuddling into his pillow set off an explosion in Jungkook’s chest as he cooed and hugged you closer from on top of the covers.

“Baby, no! It’s time to get up!” He giggled as he ran his hands all along your back, ass, thighs, calves and finally, your feet. “Come on, darling, it’s morning.” A wet kiss on your ankle had you clawing your way out from under the blankets. Jungkook’s alarm clock displayed a later time than it usually did, yet you still managed less than thirty minutes of sleep. It was better than some nights.

Jungkook jumped at the opportunity to sloppily kiss your face. “Good morning, sweetheart!” Another kiss to the top of your cheekbone. “Did my baby get some sleep?” He ran his fingers through your hair, trying his best to mind the tangles.

You looked over to him and sadly gave a slight shake of your head. He cooed sympathetically, kissing all along your hairline. One of his hands dropped down to rest dangerously close to your ass.

“Oh, sweetie. At least after today, I’ll have some more time to help you fix your sleeping schedule! Maybe the new house will help you adjust better.” His kisses stay above your jawline, but slow significantly. He hums, and you have yet to speak a word.

He grabs your hand and intertwines it with his. “Let’s get you some food. Maybe it’ll help you feel sleepy?” He guides you up and leads you to the adjacent bathroom. “I’ll be in the kitchen, princess. You better be eating in less than ten minutes!” You felt your eyes shutting at the sound of his receding voice. Peace was nearest when Jungkook was far.

You must have fallen asleep for a moment because it seemed that seconds later, Jungkook was rapping his knuckles on the bathroom door.

“Honey? Are you okay?” His voice is soft, almost hesitant. It always makes you wonder how he manages to hide away his deep disturbance and perversion. “Sweetheart…”

You have been sitting cross-legged on the bathroom floor since you left the bed. Your toothbrush has remained stagnant on your tongue. You make a pitiful sounding moan and Jungkook gasps as he opens the door.

“Are you sick? Oh no, baby...aw, come here…” he takes a knee and holds you close to his chest. Your head is spinning from the lack of sleep still, so you cuddle into him just slightly. You can feel the stiffness of the shirt you ironed against his torso and jealousy burns in your stomach. The ladies at the office must be running around like chickens with their heads cut off as the police’s search for you still has “zero leads” over two months in. You yearned to just sit at your desk once more and complete some busy work. Anything would be better than rotting in Jungkook’s apartment. “What’s wrong?”

You moan softly and Jungkook’s hands around you jerk a bit. “Head hurts. Didn’t sleep.” You are unsure how Jungkook could possibly understand your mumbling from his chest. “So tired...” you whisper, leaning more of your weight on him. He sighs.

This had become a common morning routine in the Jeon residence. Jungkook was constantly worried sick about you, checking the security cameras from work like a madman as you had yet to sleep at any reasonable hour in the time you had been moved into his place. Jungkook tried cuddling you to sleep, changing his mattress, working from home, cooking new food, and everything under the sun in an attempt to help you sleep and adjust to life with him. So far, nothing had been successful - sleeping pills had just barely helped, but you didn’t like the way they made you feel in the morning and Jungkook wanted to scream at the thought of you not waking up in time to kiss him goodbye for the day.

“Sweetheart, I should really go to work today...you know I have to…” Jungkooks moves you onto his lap, bouncing you for a moment as if you were a babe on his hip. “I’m so sorry...I’m trying to make it all better.” You rise from his chest dizzily, smiling weakly at him. His heart began to race and you giggled, mocking him internally for this delusion that his presence would help your sleeping problem. He giggled back and pinched your nose. “Let’s go to the kitchen, yeah?” He plucked the toothbrush from your mouth and held onto the small of your back as you finished washing up. Wrapping your legs around his waist, he carried you over to the kitchen. You had to push aside the nausea to smile and force down the breakfast Jungkook spent an extra hour in the morning making for you.

The house was silent save for Jungkook’s soft humming and shuffling about. He cooked, cleaned, worked, and had no complaints. Jungkook was fulfilled just by the thought of coming home to you greeting him at the door each night (of course, it was his threat of keeping you chained up like a bitch if you didn’t greet him that motivated you to wait on him so). Typically, you spent all day sitting around, letting the hours melt away until Jungkook came back from work and that hanging feeling in your chest began to throb until he left you alone again. However, your steadfast decline in energy had him frequently coming back home during his lunch hours and bothering you with his presence more often. You were sure that he came back some days just to watch you sleep in the middle of the day. He would be gone when you awakened, but you just knew he had been there, watching.

“I think we should celebrate tonight, don’t you think?” He was back at his favorite position (behind you) slowly rubbing his hands over your tummy. He kissed your cheek wetly and you coughed to hide the shiver running down your spine.

“Celebrate what?” You turned your head slightly to look at him - how he adored recieving just a modicum of your attention!

He wiped the corner of your lips and sucked on his finger (you were sure he had no reason to do so as you were not a messy eater). “Celebrate our last day in this home, silly,” he murmured sweetly, stealing a piece of your french toast for himself. He moaned comically, praising his own mediocre cooking. You spent a significant amount of your remaining energy into smiling warmly at him and turning around to hug him properly. Jungkook gasped lightly as he was under the impression that you were still “too nervous” to be affectionate with him. You let out a slow breath, holding back the contents of your stomach with a whimper. Jungkook kissed the crown of your head, blissfully unaware of how he made you sick.

“Don’t we usually celebrate when we finish moving into the new house?” You cross your fingers behind his back in hopes to extend whatever “celebration” Jungkook had been plotting.

Jungkook never pressured you sexually, but there was a lingering fear within you that he would snap and demand something from you. You knew from the moans he let out whenever you touched that he expected something, at least someday. You, however, had no intentions of that nature whatsoever...even as you begged your mind not to fall victim to his love, you couldn’t fathom the thought of laying together with him. Jungkook laughs.

“Well, we can celebrate both! Why don’t you get some sleep and when I come home, we’ll throw together a nice dinner and I’ll bring home something to drink, huh? Come on, baby, it’s our last night here...this place is special,” he says wistfully, taking in the white walls and clean carpet. “This is our first home together.” He smiles down at you, brushing your hair behind your ears. He ignores the sweat that pools at your temples.

“Ah,” you say in understanding before pushing him off of you and running to the bathroom. There it was - the first anxiety-induced vomiting session of the day. You heard Jungkook stomping after you from your seat on the bathroom tiles. Of all the places in the apartment where Jungkook harassed you, this place felt the most like home - the most familiar.

“Oh no, baby! Ah, it’s okay, it’s okay...you’ll feel better soon.” He worked on tying your hair back and holding you from behind, one hand rubbing your stomach and the other hand between your shoulder blades. You tried your best to ignore him, hoping that this was one step closer to your body giving up and dying so you would finally be away from him.

You didn’t have much to expel so it was too soon that Jungkook was helping you wash your mouth out and get back into bed.

“I’m so sorry, sweetie...I’ll tell Hoseok that my last day can wait. You’re more important,” he giggled, touching his nose to yours. “I’ll text Seokjin-hyung to come over and see what’s going on.” Jungkook laid in bed with you, hovering over you as you placed yourself in the fetal position. Your heart picked up a beat.

“No, Jungkook,” you mumbled angrily. You cursed yourself for letting your irritation be known. Jungkook’s hand stopped brushing through your hair. Did he really have to be touching you all the time?

“What do you mean ‘no?’” His tone dropped a few degrees and you held back a groan as you gripped his hand from your head and held it to your chest in an attempt to placate him. He huffed angrily like a child.

“No, as in you should say goodbye to your coworkers. They love you.” You looked up at him with sad eyes and he laughed gleefully, cooing and fawning over you as he always did.

“Oh, baby! You’re so considerate, aw…there’s no way I’m leaving you when you’re sick like this! Hobi can just tell the ladies at the office that my last day is actually tomorrow and I was spending today sorting out my apartment, or whatever he figures out. Easy! I don’t mind staying here one or two more nights if it means comfortable travels for my healthy sweetheart.”

You buried your face into your pillow, groaning as you realized that the person who made you sick would be hovering over you for several more days as the move out of his apartment would begin soon and he would be out of work. You were empty, but nausea still plagued your body as your fear of Jungkook made its rounds.

Jungkook sighed deeply, lightly massaging the back of your neck. “I know, baby, you must feel so sick…I’m sorry...let me get Jin-hyung in here right away!” He bounded off to get his phone from his work bag at the front door. His booming footsteps echoed in your head.

The drive to fight and escape, admittedly, never burned through you. It had been two months since that night in the parking garage and Jungkook was even moving the two of you into a new house (a hillside house in Busan at that), yet you barely made any attempts at escaping at all. Jungkook loved you deeply and made that clear in every sentence, every gesture, every movement - but there was a part of him who despised you, too. The part of him that came out whenever you expressed annoyance or disdain towards him - even just disagreeing with him could reveal this nasty side to him in which he would yell, cry, or threaten you until you were crying and being comforted in his arms. An inkling of an idea for remaining in Seoul burned in the back of your mind, but it made you writhe with anxiety at the thought of his reaction. His loud footsteps grew in volume again as he tried his best to softly land in bed to avoid further agitating your stomach.

He chose to lie beside you, gently picking you up so you could rest on top of him. The sound of his heartbeat was deafening against your dizzy head.

“Jin-hyung is on his way and Hobi is handling everything at the office,” he mumbled, stroking your back like he always does. He let out soft little hums and pressed gentle kisses to the corner of your mouth. You took a deep calming breath when your heart rate began picking up on its own. Try as you might, Jungkook did at times have an effect on you. You supposed it was some sort of savior complex, partially from that night in the parking garage and partially from how gently he treated you since coming into his home. Before Jungkook, you never viewed yourself as delicate (and for good reason!). However, Jungkook’s tender touches and heartfelt words held some power over you.

“You feeling okay, baby?”

You were on the verge of tears for no apparent reason. Despite Jungkook having made you sick from the moment you woke up, you felt oddly safe in his arms. You felt loved, and the feeling made you even sicker. You buried your face into his chest and hoped he wouldn’t notice your flushed face and teary eyes.

“Aw…” His voice was so soft that you could barely hear it even from his chest. “It’ll be okay, Jin-hyung will help...what else can I do for you, baby? Tell me.” He cradled the back of your head with a large hand. Jungkook’s size was so apparent when you were this close. “Hm?”

His hum in your ear snapped something within you and you let out a sad whimper. Jungkook gasped softly, cooing and patting your back. “Are you gonna be sick again, baby? Aw, it’s okay…” One of his hands made its way to the back of your neck and the floodgates crashed open. You were disgusting. You couldn’t even remember the last time you cried before you met Jungkook and here you were now, crying because...he made you feel good? You suspected that your body was steadily giving up on you and your mind wasn’t very far behind. You’re unsure when you did it, but you had an iron grip on Jungkook’s hand. His thumb rubbed over your hand as he patiently waited for you to gather yourself and speak to him. The small smile on his face made your heart twist and writhe. You supposed Jungkook was just the slightest bit handsome.

You looked like a sick puppy looking up at him from his chest. Jungkook was eager to kiss your pouting lips once you had gathered yourself. He hadn’t filled you in yet, but the sound of your weeping lit a fire under him and aroused him deeply. He chuckled a bit, reaching to wipe a tear from your chin.

“Dunno,” you murmur pitifully after several minutes. You fall so your cheek is flat against his chest and you can no longer look into his eyes. He laughs while softly uttering to himself about how cute you were. It makes you embarrassed and ill at the same time. “I’m sorry. I’m all over the place.”

“I know, I know. The new house is going to be so wonderful for you. #e’re going to be so happy there...did I mention my parents will be nearby? Just a short drive away, baby. They’ll be so excited to be close to their grandchildren...just think about it...we’re so close to that life.” The heartbeat that sent chills up your spine ten minutes ago began to warm your own heart with just a moment’s notice. His whispering calmed you to approach slumber, despite it scaring you into a near insomniac for the past two months. You wondered how you were going to word to Dr. Kim that you were losing your mind.

“Doesn’t that sound nice? Shh, shh, i know you must be feeling so bad right now, but just focus on me...I love you so much, baby. I can’t believe you’re home and safe here with me...I can’t explain how happy you make me. I wonder sometimes if I could ever make you understand. I never want you to ever second-guess yourself or my love for you...I will always be here, baby. I love you so much.”

Jungkook caught any tears from your eyes with lightning speed. You cuddled into him lower towards his ribs and he laughed. “Am I making my baby bashful? Aww, sweetie...I’m just trying to make you feel better...it must be working, right?”

You let out a small noise of disdain. Jungkook fawned over you and continued making you blush until he left with a dozen kisses to get Seokjin at the door.

Jungkook called Dr. Kim in to check up on you at least once a week since you entered the apartment (and still had yet to exit). You liked Dr. Kim to some twisted degree. Of Jungkook’s brothers, he was the one you disliked the least - Hoseok, your old boss, was a dick to you since the day you met him and was also the ultimate reason why Jungkook knew who you were in the first place (Jungkook mentioned one night that he first saw you at a holiday work party and his favorite photograph of you was from that night and framed by the front door). His other brothers, Sheriff Kim and Detective Min, were key players in tossing your missing persons case in the trash. They had comforted you so kindly that night you were attacked by Jungkook’s favorite brother, Namjoon. Jungkook vaguely mentioned something about one or two more, but you tuned out the conversation about his brothers, horrified, when it was revealed to you that even law enforcement could not free you from Jungkook.

You heard Jungkook and Dr. Kim speaking in hushed voices from the hallway outside Jungkook’s bedroom. Your heart ached and stomach twisted at Jungkook’s worried tone.

“Here she is, hyung,” Jungkook whispered when they finally entered your bedroom. You swaddled yourself with the heavy sheets and raised a hand to wave shyly at Dr. Kim. If only he was not a pawn in Jungkook’s game - if only you had met him some other way. He was devastatingly handsome.

Jungkook sits on the bed, close to you and possessively. Dr. Kim smiled warmly.

“How have you been lately? I hear you’ve had some more trouble sleeping?”

You nod gingerly, smiling awkwardly as Jungkook stayed rooted to the bed. He looked at you with concern, blissfully unaware that he should not be in the room.

“I slept for 30 minutes, Dr. Kim.” You are bashful and Jungkook notices immediately.

“She threw up again this morning...I’m so worried, hyung.” Jungkook was practically laying on top of you at this point. His body desperately attempted to show Seokjin that you belonged to him and nobody could love you like he does.

“Ah, I see, I see.” You could tell that Dr. Kim also wanted Jungkook to step out. “Well...my question. How do you feel?” Dr. Kim addresses you by your first name and the sound hangs in the air, foreign to you at this point. Jungkook called you your given name at times, but mostly when you were being defiant and he was threatening you somehow.

Jungkook became more alert because of this and opened his mouth to respond before getting cut off by Seokjin raising his hand to stop him. You twiddle your thumbs.

“I don’t know,” you mumble nervously.

Before Jungkook, you prided yourself on your independence and your swift thinking and problem-solving skills. You had no desire for dating at this quintessential time period of your life and you focused most of your energy on bettering yourself and maintaining a well-rounded life.

Now, it seemed like just Jungkook’s presence regressed your mind years back. You felt deep, deep fear and hatred towards him and his psychotic nature, but you also felt yourself wrapping around his finger. He took care of you well and didn’t ask for much. He managed the apartment, money, food, everything all by himself and all he ever wanted from you was your love. He was terrifying when he was angry and you still hadn’t figured out a way to escape safely and make it more than ten paces from his apartment. You were sure that Sheriff Kim and Detective Min were watching you almost as closely as Jungkook did. You were hopeless and you knew this from the first night you set foot in Jungkook’s home. You weren’t sure how you felt at all. Life no longer felt real.

“That’s okay. Take your time,” Dr. Kim said softly after a moment. You felt yourself tearing up at his kindness and from the pressure to speak. Jungkook reached for your hands, pulling them apart to stop you from picking at your hangnails. You let out a sad sound and Dr. Kim folded his hands, waiting patiently for you to come forward and speak your truth.

“I don’t know...I don’t know. Really,” you whimpered, trying to steady your voice. You sighed in frustration, embarrassed at having cried so much this early in the morning.

Dr. Kim made a noise of understanding and asked Jungkook to step out into the hall with him. You stared at them as they walked out, jealous that you did not have the right to know about your own health. You forced yourself to sit up past the dizziness and listen to their conversation.

“She’s coming along nicely. Keep doing what you’re doing and she should come around completely soon.”

You fell back onto your pillows once you heard Dr. Kim say this to Jungkook.

“Yuri was the same way with me and Namjoon had a similar experience with Ara. Don’t worry, Kookie, she’ll be fine. Putting her in her place more often should do the trick. You know about Hobi’s favorite method, yes?”

“Are you sure? She’s sick! I can tell she’s still repulsed by me sometimes...I don’t want to push her too far. You saw how messy it was with Taehyung…” Jungkook sounded close to tears. Perhaps he was as sensitive with others as he was with you.

“It won’t be like what happened with Taehyung. She’s a tough nut to crack. You need to take it a step further. Think about it...you should never be disrespected in your own home.”

Your heart twinged at the thought of how kind Dr. Kim had been since you first met and how lowly he spoke of you now. The thin wood of the bedroom door was not nearly enough to deafen the sting of his hissing. You could practically hear the cogs turning in Jungkook’s head.

They continued to converse about things you had no context on and at times, Jungkook’s wild emotions would run free and he would passionately describe how saddened he was that you weren’t adjusting well to his home. You tried to tune out his crying. They seemed to discuss some sort of plan to “put you in your place,” but you barely cared anymore. You just wanted your mind to unravel completely already so you could succumb to Jungkook and accept your fate with him. There was no hope for escape. There never was.

“Think about it, Jungkook. I’m serious. I’ll be back next week, okay?”

You heard their voices retreat and Dr. Kim was then gone without having said goodbye to you. Whatever. His beauty could never outweigh how strongly he believed you were somehow below Jungkook. You heard Jungkook’s heavy footsteps stop in front of the bedroom door for a moment as if he were hesitating. He came in slowly.

“Baby? I spoke with Jin-hyung,” he uttered. You turned on your side, pretending to be asleep. “Oh,” he breathed, seeing your eyes closed.

Seokjin had just finished handing his ass to him about being more stern with you and breaking you down faster so he could win you over already. Of himself, Namjoon, and Hoseok, none of them had taken as long as Jungkook to win over the hearts of their partners. He sighed, exiting the room to help you sleep. You both had a lot of work to do.

You woke up several hours later to Jungkook quietly raging in the living room at his TV. Despite being deeply invested in his game, he felt your presence immediately and set his game aside, standing in place and staring you down.

“Honey,” he exhaled anxiously. “Did you sleep well?”

You nodded slightly before awkwardly shuffling off to find food. Jungkook bounded after you quickly. His eyes darted around nervously as he tried to figure out what to say.

“S-so, the move has been delayed just a day...tomorrow, I’ll go into work for my last day and we can start the move the next day.” From the way you apathetically fluttered about the kitchen deciding what to eat, Jungkook felt like he was talking to himself. “Are you feeling better, sweetheart?” He stood much too close to you, so you let out a soft noise of acknowledgement as you pressed a hand against his chest to softly guide him a step back.

His conversation with Seokjin earlier filled him with anxiety and your behavior didn’t help him in the slightest. If anything, he felt his anger begin to rise inside of him. He took a deep breath, attempting to delay his boiling point.

“I said, are you feeling better, sweetheart?” For a moment, you stopped rummaging through Jungkook’s fridge as his icy tone ran down your spine. He huffed when you continued going about making yourself a sandwich as if he wasn’t even there.

“Yeah, I feel better,” you mumbled, straining yourself to open a jar of peanut butter. Jungkook looked on angrily, choosing to let you struggle.

“Well, that’s good.” You uneasily continued making your sandwich while Jungkook followed your every move. A part of you knew that you should pay better attention to him so he’s satisfied, but the resistant part of you which so passionately despised Jungkook was not allowing you to give him more than a crumb of your focus.

Jungkook gulped down his irritation to the best of his abilities, but it continued to rear its head at you. Seokjin’s words echoed in his head - you should never be disrespected in your own home.

“Well...I’m home now. What would you like to do today?” Jungkook brought a hand up to his jaw to help soften it.

You figured he didn’t notice that he had a habit of standing as close as humanly possible to you. Sighing lightly, you pressed a hand against his ribs to push him back once again, but an iron grip intertwining your fingers stopped you.

“Don’t do that,” he said in a low tone. You gave him a confused stare, hoping that he would find it cute and have mercy on you.

“Huh? What do you mean?” You tried to sound as soft and sad as possible, praying that you didn’t set him off. He stared down at you with a steely gaze, completely unaffected. Your breath quickened a pace as you wracked your brain for a solution before he was too far gone.

“You don’t love me yet...do you?” It was not a question. Fuck, you thought.

“You know...none of my brothers had such trouble getting their wives to listen to them after they moved in together.” You begged yourself not to giggle - how absurd it was that Jungkook called this anything but a kidnapping. “Jin-hyung said that it has been too long that you’ve been acting this way.” His glare almost made you forget how sweet and gentle Jungkook could be. You wondered if this side of him would ever come out if you let yourself love him too.

“Acting like what?”

“Like you know what!” He snapped. You flinched and he gasped at the sight of you scared.

Jungkook wouldn’t dare put his own hands on you. Oddly enough, he drew the line at hittting you. For some inexplicable reason, you knew deep down that he wouldn’t do it either. Something about you knew that Jungkook did possess at least a percentage of genuine love for you.

“You disrespect me. You think I’m some sort of ugly monster...you still haven’t figured out yet that I actually saved you. You’re too fucking dense to figure out that nobody has ever loved anyone the way that I love you. Too fucking dense to know that this is real...that this type of love doesn’t happen to everyone. You should be fucking grateful. You sh-”

“But I do love you,” you said mousily. You crossed your fingers with the hand that Jungkook was not holding. Jungkook looked as if he had the wind knocked out of him.

It was not true. In this moment, you knew that your hatred for Jungkook far outweighed the gratitude you had to him for that night in the parking garage. You wanted to make him sweat.

Slowly, he raised your intertwined hands to his chest.

“Baby...you don’t mean that…”

You took a deep breath, both to calm yourself and to up your performance.

“I do, Jungkook. I do mean it.”

Jungkook felt a few steps off from bursting into flames with how hard he was blushing - and, you should have known better than to use those two words to Jungkook so early on. He gasped softly, running your intertwined hands back and forth across his heart.

“Sweetheart…” His face contorted as he struggled with his next move. He was torn between punishing you and teaching you to respect him at all times, and punishing himself for cherry-picking a reason to assert dominance over his sweet girl. He whimpered, lower lip trembling embarrassingly. “Uh, you’re so perfect.”

You took your hand from his and cupped his face instead. Jungkook was nearly hyperventilating at this point, so you figured you should cut the act soon.

“Uh, tell me again! Please, please say it again,” he begged, blubbering. You wanted to roll your eyes (you were unsure if it would be of disgust or of endearment) at his ability to bawl at the drop of a hat. “I’m so sorry, p-princess...I didn’t mean to yell at you. Uh, you’re s-...so perfect, please say it again...”

You giggled. “I love you.”

Jungkook sobbed, hiding his face from you for a moment. One of his hands gripped your shoulder as if he were afraid you would drift away.

“Oh, baby, I’m so sorry...I can’t believe I doubted you.” You awkwardly patted Jungkook’s shoulder, giggling some more to lift the mood of the room. He began babbling something about his “goddess” and how he “wasn’t worthy,” but you didn’t bother trying to understand.

“No, I should be apologizing...I should show you more often how much I love you, don’t you think?” You stood a little taller and got closer to his face, but quickly retreated when Jungkook nearly lost control of his breathing again. “I’m sorry, Jungkook. I just get so nervous around you sometimes...I’m going to try harder from now on to show you what I feel for you. Okay?” You grabbed his face again, pulling him to make eye contact with you so he could calm down.

His weeping turned into gleeful laughs with a snap. You let out a breath of relief, having successfully defused the bomb that is Jungkook and saving yourself from whatever it was Seokjin planned on having him do. That sour feeling, that lingering fear of Jungkook also came back stronger with a snap. You prayed he wouldn’t try to kiss you on the lips, knowing your acting skills weren’t yet ready to hide such a level of disgust.

“I don’t know what I was worried about. I should have known that you were just having trouble expressing yourself! Baby...you don’t have to hide how you feel about me. I’ve always known that we were soulmates.”

Jungkook has a dreamy look in his eyes that churns your stomach. You smile awkwardly as he leaned in closer and closer, vibrating with the excitement of receiving his first kiss from you. He even playfully tapped his chin with his finger when you had taken a moment too long.

“J-Jungkook!” You pushed his chest lightly, giggling behind your hands. “Don’t do that...I’m shy, honey…” You looked down at your feet and playfully pushed him again, running off to the bedroom to cringe in private.

For the first time since setting foot in Jungkook’s apartment, a spark of hope ignited within you. Jungkook was completely weak at your slightest gesture. You took his breath away and made him stutter and sweat without even lifting a finger. Jungkook was aware of how deeply he could get under your skin, but he had no idea you knew how deeply you were already under his.

Jungkook called out your given name. “I love you!” He yelled from across the apartment.

You smiled before turning into the bedroom, leaving the door open for him to follow behind.

#yandere jungkook #yandere!jungkook #yandere jeongguk #yandere!jeongguk #yandere bts #yandere!bts

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writefightandflightclub · 4 years

Text

Texture like sun (Llewyn Davis x reader)

Summary: Llewyn is your favourite season, whenever he comes around. Autumn vibes and Llewyn snuggles.

Rating: TEEN

Author’s note: I’m still mopping up some requests from soft blurb week. These will come when they come! Think I failed for this one as it’s a) probably too similar to the other Llewyn blurbs I wrote under this theme, and b) it’s not exactly what was requested (sorry Anon!). BUT, by the time I realised both these things it was already written (d’oh!), so you may as well have it, I guess? FYI, if I write Llewyn again I wanna be sure I give you something a bit different, so don’t worry, I have some ideas which will keep things fresh.

Warnings: swearing. cigs. too many metaphors, not enough plot. Zero. Sorry.

Llewyn’s cheeks are flushed with garnets as he crawls in from the cold night, lending an autumnal crimson to his olive skin.

Llewyn.

His gloom black, windswept curls are like a tangle of yarn as he enters headfirst through your window - like a mess of abandoned projects and half-finished scarves it feels good to tangle your fingers into on a cold, autumn evening.

Llewyn.

These days become shorter and his visits grow longer, and, increasingly, you can prevent neither him nor the autumn chill from climbing inside your apartment. You cannot prevent him from climbing inside your soul, filtering through the cracks.

No matter.

Llewyn is your favourite season, and you do not wish to keep him out.

He stands in front of you apologetically as he emerges out of the gloom. You pick-out the shape of his striking hair and beard first, hovering over him; soft and volumous like a dark cloud of curls.

Llewyn.

The chill from the still open window crawls along the floor and finds your bare legs, kissing goosebumps on to your skin as you stand, silhouetted against the amber light of your bedroom. The blare of car horns and sirens and chatter from the bodega downstairs filter up towards you, beats of the city like background music.

“Llewyn!” you say, the name finally falling like from your surprise-parted lips like a stubborn red leaf, the word sharp and vivid as the cold begins to bite at your ankles.

“Shit, sorry,” he mumbles, his breath a white cloud in front of him. He turns to wrestle the window down in its frame, swearing as his scarf gets jammed. Cursing, as he nips his finger on the second attempt.

“Llewyn,” you say when he turns back to you, his name falling from your lips again. This time it is orange; softer and warming, cushioned by the air between you as it drifts to settle on your floorboards.

Llewyn moves closer. Close enough that the amber light from behind you bathes his face, his eyes despondent and mysterious even as they shine softly. As his eyes meet yours, they brim with gathering clouds and half-written songs. Just like autumn, you never know whether to expect dull grey rain, or a glimpse of pure gold from a low-slung sun. Llewyn is your light when his clouds part.

Your eyes rove gently over his tired, disheveled form as he shrugs off his coat and fingerless gloves, resting them on the arm of your couch.

This time of year reminds you of him.

He is cinnamon and gingerbread and wool and frost.

He is loose leaf tobacco and the metallic twang of guitar strings on a rainy day.

His voice is low, golden light.

His soul is disappearing wisps of cigarette smoke.

He is at once the cold chill and the warm mug of tea beneath your fingers.

He is petrichor and gloom.

At times, he is a cantakerous, angry wasp at the end of its patience.

Llewyn and autumn are one.

Llewyn is your favourite season, though you’re never sure when he will arrive.

You watch him fold his woollen scarf and set it on top of his jacket, inching towards your throw blanket, looking ready to lie down and bundle himself up without another word. But, it has been too long since you held him, and one more word is teetering on your lips, ready to be shed. The same word, but painted a fresh colour.

“Llewyn,” you say softly, and this time, his name falls golden from your mouth. The word is gilded and aureate, like the final flare of summer, and it resonates in the space between you.

Llewyn is your favourite season, but you’re never sure when he will depart. You want to soak him up, texture like sun, whenever you can.

He looks up at you with cautious eyes, between warmth and cold, glowing and afraid all at once.

Llewyn.

His name whips through your head and through your blood like leaves on the wind.

You reach out for his hand, like you did when you walked in the park, sighs crunched beneath your feet when all the trees were giving up. When you both walked together like trembling leaves afraid to fall. Maybe Llewyn will never roar or blaze with love, but maybe, one leaf at a time you will carpet your floor with fire, until everywhere you walk is golden. Until everytime he comes home it is autumn.

Llewyn’s icy fingers wind around yours, and he does not resist your warmth - he lets himself bask in your ochre and your butterscotch and honey. His eyes light up and they are umber as you lead him to your bed - lead him to where everything is warm.

Llewyn.

He sheds his clothes and his reservations like a tree sheds its leaves. He sheds them one layer at a time, forming a blanket of warm hues of cord and wool on your floorboards.

Llewyn.

You pull him under the fluffy cloud of the blanket and hold him, his body slotting easily in beside you, limbs entwining with yours as you let him slip his cold feet in between your legs to thaw.

His head nuzzles into your chest, the tangled yarn of his hair brushing softly against your chest. His hair smells like the Gaslight and late night diners. Sticky ales and smoke and cinnamon waffles. Perhaps a few half-written songs are hiding in there too.

Llewyn.

You massage your hands through his hair as he reaches out to find your skin, his calloused, well-practised fingers digging into all his favourite spots as though he is playing a familiar song through his touch on your skin. He grips your arm, your back, your thigh like this, until you are humming chords for him, your sounds mellow and yellow in the warmth of this moment.

Llewyn plays your body with his fingers as though he can’t help himself. Whether he realises it or not, there are two times he lets his dark soul glow golden; when holding his guitar and when holding you.

Your hands are not musician’s hands, and yours skim over his back with greater trepidation as you coax this flighty soul to melt into you. Still, while he does not hum or sing for you, you at least feel him thaw beneath your touch. Sometimes, his silence is as golden as his voice, when you know it stems from contentment. When you put everything despondent and cantankerous and forlorn to bed. When you bring Llewyn to your bed.

“Llewyn?” you breathe, and this time when you say his name it is green. Fresh like spring and full of hope.

“Yep?” he responds efficiently, holding you a little tighter when you say his name with such kindness, garnets flushing his cheeks again.

“Don’t crawl out of my window.”

You soothe his hair and try to soothe his gentle, flightly soul along with it, lest he might disappear and take your carpet of leaves with him, gone with an eddying wind and swept out into the open street. Lest he might take all of the colour from your world along with him.

Llewyn.

You don’t want your warmth to leave you to a long, bleak, monochrome winter.

“Angel, it’s cold outside. I’m not going anywhere,” he mumbles sleepily into your chest.

You pull the blanket over both your heads and shimmy down to bury your face in his chest this time, pressing delicate kisses to skin. “Charming, Llewyn. Just a warm body to you, am I?”

“Shit. Fuck. S-sorry,” he says, pulling the blankets down again and re-bathing you in amber light. He looks at you deeply, fragments of unwritten songs and unspoken sentiments filtering across his eyes and being drawn together, knitted into coherency. You can see him beating himself up inwardly, his eyes dark bruises. “I meant...uh...”

“Sshhh, Llewyn,” you interupt softly. Gently.

His words are not ready, and you don’t want him to bare himself before all the leaves are fallen. For now, you will focus on shedding moments and words and feelings to create your carpet of leaves, until you can crunch them all beneath your feet, hand-in-hand.

For now, whilst you are literally bare -leafless- you can settle in for a long rest. Leaves turning in reverse, becoming fresh.

Llewyn.

He is crimson and russet and saffron and moss all at once. He is golden, and he lights up your world, even though he thinks himself dreary.

If only he knew you loved his dreary too.

This is autumn, and Llewyn and autumn are one.

He is your favourite season, and you go to sleep with his name on your tongue, his warmth in your arms, and his song in your heart.

Llewyn.

#llewyn davis x reader #llewyn davis #inside llewyn davis #llewyn x reader #inside llewyn davis fanfiction #oscar isaac

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pokeasleepingsmaug · 3 years

Note

Welcome to the new season of Wessex's Most Eligible Bachelorette!!! You, lucky young lady, are sure to find love among these six suitors! The contestants are: Osferth, Sihtric, Finan, Leofric, Uhtred, and Steapa. Tell us who you eliminate each week, and why. Did they screw up a challenge? Read you all wrong? Cause drama in the house and piss you off?? And of course, who makes it to the end and sweeps you off your feet? Inquiring minds want to know!!

I’ve been thinking about this ask since you sent it haha, it’s so clever and I love the concept. Full disclosure, I’ve never seen the Bachelor or the Bachelorette, so I’m mostly going off of @volvaaslaug‘s amazingly perfect answer for the format.

Week One

Everyone arrives in the house and we all spend some time getting to know one another. The guys all seem to know each other already, judging by the amount of playful name-calling happening, so now it’s time for me to get to know them.

Osferth and I head to the library, which I’m totally cool with. We spend some time browsing the stacks together. He takes me to the history and philosophy sections, and wows me with his extensive knowledge on both. Turns out he’s working on his masters in European history. I’m suitably impressed. We spend a couple hours at a table, each reading our own thing and occasionally sharing interesting bits or beautiful sentences. It’s, quite frankly, a lovely time.

Sihtric takes me to the barn where he boards his horse, and I may or may not love him already because of this. His horse is a beautiful dapple gray gelding, and I spend way too long fussing over him. Once Sihtric finds out I know how to ride, he catches me a little bay mare and we tack up and head out for a trail ride through the woods. He’s quiet, occasionally pointing out birds or little creatures, and it’s amazingly relaxing. When we get back to the barn, I catch him singing quietly to his horse as he gets him ready to go back outside. The boy can’t sing worth a damn, but I’m smiling ear to ear anyway.

Finan takes me to a rock-climbing gym. I’ve never been before and I’m pretty wary of this choice, but he’s a surprisingly good teacher. He explains the basics to me, then hooks me up and tells me to get going. I don't even make it halfway up the wall, and he’s nearly rolling when I fall, but he still manages to catch me. Then it’s his turn, and being humiliated like that is almost worth seeing how he moves; it’s ridiculously hot. I could definitely do without the dick jokes, but overall, it’s a good time.

Leofric teaches me to fence, sort of. He doesn’t teach me so much as he tosses a protective suit and a foil at me and tells me to figure it out. He kicks my ass within seconds every time, and I’m covered in bruises by the time we’re done. He’s gruff and seriously needs to learn some manners and patience. Not my favorite.

Uhtred takes me to his friend Alfred’s and talks war strategies, fate, and Bebbanburg. He’s smart, and pretty, but I never get a word in edgewise. I certainly know him by the end of that time frame, since he never stops talking. I find myself thinking that maybe he should be the philosophy major, and not Osferth, because he seems constantly on the edge of an existential crisis.

Steapa takes me to his favorite pub. He’s quiet, the pub is loud, it’s a little awkward, but overall it’s nice. After Uhtred, he’s a breath of fresh air. I don’t know much about him by the end of the night, but he has a nice smile and his hand is warm when it brushes against mine when we say goodbye.

Leofric doesn’t get a rose.

Week Two

I get to pick the activity this time, and it probably would have been horseback riding, had Sihtric not stolen my idea. As it is, I’m teaching these boys to knit.

Osferth picks it up pretty easily. He has really deft hands, and watching him knit is really nice. He listens carefully and follows the instructions exactly, and picks everything up pretty much on the first try. When we’re finished hanging out, he asks if he can take his project with him. By the end of the week, he presents me with a simple scarf. Every single stitch is perfect.

Sihtric knows how to crochet, sort of, so he has an advantage going in. He reveals his mother taught him to crochet when he was a kid, but he hasn’t done it since he was little. We have a heart to heart about his mother and his family, and we’re so busy talking, we don’t actually get any knitting done. It’s the most I’ve seen him talk the whole time we’ve been in the house.

Finan, as it turns out, is both determined and competitive. He asks how Osferth and Sihtric did, and tells me he’ll do better than both of them combined. He struggles and struggles and struggles, but refuses to give up. He hunches over his needles, muttering and cursing to himself, running his fingers through his hair until it stands on edge. At the end of three hours, he proudly presents me with a mass of tangled yarn, with no visible knit stitch in sight. I try very hard not to laugh, and almost succeed. He does not appreciate it.

Uhtred has zero interest in learning how to knit, which is a real shame. He could probably use a productive outlet for all that pent-up frustration. He’s a pretty decent sport about it, rolling his eyes a minimal amount of times. He’s terrible at following instructions, though, so we mostly just bullshit while he forgets to pretend to care about knitting.

Steapa is a good listener, but his hands are huge, and the yarn seems to just slip through his fingers. He gets frustrated by it, but I assure him it’s no big deal and that he’s doing better than Finan (this gets a laugh out of him), and we have a good time full of shy smiles, quick glances, and the occasional attempt at knitting.

Uhtred does not get a rose.

Week Three

Competition week. I issue the challenges and crown the winner, and it’s not nearly as chaotic as you would expect. Finan, way overly competitive as usual, wins, but not by much. Sihtric is in second, followed by Steapa, and Osferth in last.

The date with Finan is okay, until he gets a little too drunk and starts hitting on the waitress and making dick jokes.

Finan does not get a rose.

Week Four

I’m left with the three quietest guys, and honestly, it’s nice. This week we’re doing something we’ve both never done before, so this should be fun.

Osferth takes me to a pottery class at a local art studio. We both laugh a lot when his clay flies off the wheel and all over his shirt, and in the end, we come away with two small cups that were supposed to be matching, but they’re both lopsided in different ways. We stop at a nearby bar and take a shot out of them before heading home, because obviously we need to christen them properly.

Sihtric takes me to a partner yoga class, and it’s honestly amazing. He’s the perfect combination of encouraging and competitive, and the touching is really nice, too. His hands are big and warm and callused and his body is lean and strong, and yeah, I’m definitely flushed from more than just the yoga. If yoga is supposed to be relaxing, this definitely is not, but I am NOT complaining.

Steapa takes me to a ballet studio. It’s hilarious and terrible for both of us, but at least we’re laughing together. In the end, he picks me up like it’s nothing at all and we do our own definitely-not-ballet that we call ballet, anyway. The teacher isn’t amused, but we are.

This has been the hardest decision so far, but Osferth doesn’t get a rose. I cry and hug him goodbye.

Final Week

They each plan a final date, and then I decide.

Sihtric and I return to the stable (FINALLY). We have a long trail ride to a little meadow full of wildflowers, where we stop and have a picnic, complete with a nice bottle of red wine. The sun is almost down by the time we get back to the barn. We get the horses settled for the night, then Sihtric takes my hand and leads me to the hill behind the barn, where we stargaze and he tells me the stories behind the constellations until I fall asleep with my head on his chest.

Steapa takes me to see my favorite Shakespeare play, A Midsummer Night’s Dream. The performance is wonderful, and I’m thrilled even if we don’t get to talk much. He does the cheesy yawn and throw his arm over my shoulder move, and I roll my eyes, but let him get away with it.

Steapa does not get a rose.

Sihtric and I begin dating once we leave, but I’m missing Osferth. Sihtric picks up that something is wrong and asks me about it, and I tell him the truth. Turns out, they had a casual thing a couple years back. We call Osferth, and the three of us have a long heart-to-heart, and spend the rest of our days in a happy poly relationship, so really, I’m the winner here.

#the last kingdom #the last kingdom fic #sort of?#either way I enjoyed this immensely #the last kingdom fandom #let's be danes ⚔️

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tosikoarts · 4 years

Text

SFW Alphabet | Nate River

Whew, that was a lot of work! You can check tosikowrites tag for more! Warning: there’s like 3000+ words under the cut.

A = Affection (How affectionate are they? How do they show affection?)

It's hard to understand what's on his mind. His emotionless facial expression, some kind of sluggish movements, mysterious silence do not help matter either. The way Near shows affection is as puzzling since you can’t say exactly how he does it. Do not expect any straightforwardness and stock up on patience.

At first, the only thing he resorts to is rationalization and meeting all needs of the loved one in accordance with the Maslow pyramid. Any desires from chocolate-mint ice cream and a brand new sweater to horseback riding courses and scientific conferences will be met with no questions asked.

Third level of the aforementioned pyramid is the hardest one for Near to comprehend. He is full of respect for loved one and shows it by short but telling complements accompanied with a gentle smile. But showering someone with excessive affection is not his style.

One of his favorite pastimes includes playing Lego games (any games, really) together, building, basically, anything their heart desires. Letting another person touch his belongings is huge sign of trust. If they are not in the mood, Near would like to talk while he builds a house of cards or solves tricky Japanese puzzle box.

While he doesn’t seem like a huge fan of physical affection, Near likes to hold hands even if it’s only by the pinkies. He playfully stokes their palm with his thumb, squeezes their hand and taps it with all of his fingers. When in public Near may stealthily grab loved one by the hand, both showing his love and anchoring himself in the fussy surroundings.

B = Best friend (What would they be like as a best friend? How would the friendship start?)

Near is pretty hard to miss in a crowd so acquaintance is preceded by a long time of staring from one or both sides. He is the one to approach person with some kind of question that drags them in a conversation like a quicksand. If he finds an individual interesting, he will find them again.

Talking with him reminds classical Socratic dialogue. Conversation are never the same and tend to last for hours, leaving you with more questions than answers. They may include superficial topics but you always end up in something deep like is the universe infinite or are we living in simulation.

Despite the innocent appearance of a snow-white cloud, Near is a friend that will tell you the truth no matter how harsh it is. The fact of friendship doesn’t justify misdeeds. He would want his best friend to grow in a great person accepting and correcting their mistakes.

Overall friendship with Near is stable, devoid of drama and abrupt changes. He loves being around them since he doesn’t have real friends but also understands if he’s being too much for person to handle.

C = Cuddles (Do they like to cuddle? How would they cuddle?)

Likes to cuddle from time to time. When you see him you automatically want to knock Near over and squeeze him in your embrace. Most of the time he is indifferent and will simply surrender to one’s love but sometimes he will take initiative and put his head on person’s shoulder for them to pat. He will lay on them with hos whole body and close the eyes like he is about to fall asleep. Thankfully to his small size (only 5' 1" or 155 cm) he is ideal partner for spooning with Near being small spoon.

D = Domestic (Do they want to settle down? How are they at cooking and cleaning?)

Yes and no. Since the burden of being the world’s best detective now is placed on his shoulders, Near’s mind is occupied with thoughts how to succeed in this difficult task. Five, ten, fifteen years have to pass before he considers to settle down. He has little housekeeping skills but eventually gets better at them. When you enter his house, you can immediately notice his passion to arrange things by whether color or material. Cooking skills are non-existence so we won’t talk about it.

E = Ending (If they had to break up with their partner, how would they do it?)

Near’s candor is almost painful. His voice is firm, close to official, like he is reading from the paper. Tired gaze is directed somewhere to the side and there’s a pensive look on his face. He deals with it how he would deal with public speaking: first comes introduction, then body, then conclusion. You can’t tell if he cares at all and if it hurts him (spoiler alert: it does!) because of confident pose and restrained tone.

Won’t check on person after the break-up. Near vanishes from their life to ease their plight, not because of ill intend but because of fear to hurt them more. After everything days seem longer and bleaker. For once, he spends a day in the bed, doing absolutely nothing. Near is back in the game after two-three weeks.

F = Fiance(e) (How do they feel about commitment? How quick would they want to get married?)

Even without signed papers, Near is committed to relationship he ended up in. It takes him around 10 years to consider marriage but he is completely confident in his decision. Proposal is especially important event. If Near can't handle countless tasks on his own, he will find several assistants. Selection of a place, music, menu, even people who will surround them at the moment, has to be approved by him. Thanks to painstaking work, this day will forever remain in their memory as well as in Near’s heart. Behind the mask of calmness there is an intoxicating feeling of joy and happiness.

G = Gentle (How gentle are they, both physically and emotionally?)

More gentle in physical sense than in emotional. Near’s touch is almost weightless, it is warm and soft. He is also a professional in small gestures like, again, holding hands by pinkies, putting head on their shoulder or head (if he can reach it), maybe, nuzzling into their neck. After unraveling a tangled ball of his own feelings, Near starts to share his inner experiences without fear of being misunderstood.

H = Hugs (Do they like hugs? How often do they do it? What are their hugs like?)

Very, very huggable person, there’s no such thing as bad mood for hugs. The only time he will refuse being caught in someone’s arms is intense brainwork where he becomes inaccessible from outside world. I mean, you can definitely try to embrace him but he will grumble the whole time. Due to lack of experience in relationships, Near doesn’t always feel comfortable to initiate hugs. He does it in, like, 4 times out of 10.

I = I love you (How fast do they say the L-word?)

If he doesn’t mean it, you won’t able to pull this phase out of him even with forceps, and when he does, time has to pass for him to come to a conclusion that is exactly what he feels. Near may need a push from the loved one to say “I love you” in return. Probably, asks a lot of “do you really love me? Are you sure?” after hearing it for the first time. So, yeah, a lot of time, from 2 to 5 years. Pop a champagne and celebrate when it happens tho, because he may hide back into his shell right after.

J = Jealousy (How jealous do they get? What do they do when they’re jealous?)

To be honest, he is jealous person. Just like a kid who can’t stand seeing his favorite toy in another’s child hands, Near can’t ignore anyone hitting on his loved one. He gets fed up really fast. Coquetry, flirting glances, chatting with implications – that’s a short list of things Near won’t ever tolerate. He is easily hurt and if his loved one wants to try him, they will get cold shoulder with zero explanation. Day passes, then two then tree before Near decides to talk about situation. By the way, if they get offended or upset by his treatment, he will simply shrug his sloping shoulders in disinterest.

K = Kisses (What are their kisses like? Where do they like to kiss you? Where do they like to be kissed?)

Near’s kisses are brief but warm, with a fresh aftertaste like he just got rid of a bubblegum. It’s hard to call him experienced or skilled but he is interested and eager to learn new things. One of his favorites is Eskimo kiss in which he presses his nose against loved one’s nose and rubs it since this is so innocent and amusing. Second favorite, for the same reason, would be cheek pecs.

L = Little ones (How are they around children?)

Either way becomes best friend with a kids while playing with them or sits in the distance and watches them closely to prevent any unpleasant accidents. It is easy for him to entertain children with the huge collection of plushies, constructors, dolls and yadda yadda yadda. If Near found kid especially interesting, he will give them away any toy they pick. Gets tired of constant noise like that and will try to pawn yelling baby off to someone reliable.

M = Morning (How are mornings spent with them?)

One of the benefits of being an independent detective is ability to plan your day however you want it. Flexible schedule allows Near to choose days for sleep in and have lazy mornings with loved one without worrying about accumulated case information. He probably describes his wild vivid dreams to his loved one with children's delight in the eyes while they are stretching and shaking off drowsiness. Near may ask them to brush his messy hair and even allows them to braid it.

N = Night (How are nights spent with them?)

He doesn’t like to go out no matter how good weather is and how exciting events in the downtown look. If loved one is in the mood he will take them in the hot bubble bath. Shelves in his bathroom are cluttered up with colorful shampoo bottles, different conditioners, hand-made soap, bath bombs and anything one can think off so Near basically entrusts them all to his loved one to take care of this mess on his head. He likes to wrap in the blanket and watch movies together, biographical films preferably. If they insist on going out, Near would pick small coffee shop or any place with nice view and little people.

O = Open (When would they start revealing things about themselves? Do they say everything all at once or wait a while to reveal things slowly?)

Obviously, takes it slowly. It seems he reveals facts about himself, at least some details, but the feeling that there’s so much more covered in the shadows never leaves you. Near doesn’t look like your normal common man so naturally he doesn’t have a trivial past. Signal that trust limit is reached is him opening about orphanage, existence of Mello, Matt, and other children. Never talks about his work or anything linked directly to the Death Note though.

P = Patience (How easily angered are they?)

Patient just like Matt but in colder manner. Near keeps it together in the most stressful situations where another person would lose their shit completely. When his patience runs thin, he is also the one to throw harsh lines with icy tone. Very calculated, balanced, but not stress free because this stuff still deposits in the subconscious. One fay Near will lose it and world will end for real.

Q = Quizzes (How much would they remember about you? Do they remember every little detail you mention in passing, or do they kind of forget everything?)

Remembers the most important facts now and then. Remembers they told him about this one specific thing but he can’t tell what the details were. Doesn’t keep any notes and totally relies on memory. Mixes dates and events eventually. Seems like a totally normal person in this regard, nothing more to say.

R = Remember (What is their favorite moment in your relationship?)

First anniversary when his loved one dragged him out of the house to the amusement park! Myriad of colorful blinding lights over the soaring skyward attractions kept blending into one mess in his eyes, overflows of laughter around and constant tings of someone trying to hack the claw machine stunned him but still. With a right person by his side, Near felt on the seventh heaven. After the wild ride on the roller coaster and shared cotton candy, he would give them small present like cute notebook or bunny plush that plays music when you press its small pink paw.

S = Security (How protective are they? How would they protect you? How would they like to be protected?)

Yeah, Near can’t protect when fight breaks out but he will never allow it to happen in the first place. He suggests the best way to protect yourself in everyday life like cameras, alarm installation, vpn and antivirus, time-tested bank to put your money in etc. If they want personal guard they will get one. If they want self-defense classes they will get them too. Never crosses personal boundaries unlike some other people *cough-cough*.

T = Try (How much effort would they put into dates, anniversaries, gifts, everyday tasks?)

Near never stops trying to impress his loved one but it looks like he never puts any effort at all. Mostly because his affection finds expression in gifts that person wants and all he has to do is to write a check. In other areas he is casual: his loved one is responsible for dates because Near would suggest something minimally energy consuming. Everyday tasks do not seem to bother him either. He puts more thought into anniversaries, and these are special occasions in which he’d ask them out on a trip or just walk around the city. In fact, his main effort goes into opening up during activities together, establishing trusting relationship, and giving them emotional feedback. It is important for Near to feel encouragement as well to confirm that his efforts did not go to waste.

U = Ugly (What would be some bad habits of theirs?)

Typical issues in those who has to work with sophisticated logical chains and predict hundreds steps ahead include overly rationalization. Professional deformation is a scary thing since you can’t control it and the ways it changes your perception of things, your reactions, and personality in general. Thanks to that Near keeps applying his detective knowledge and continuous rationalization that comes with it to everyday situation. It gives him bad look of heartless person with no emotional input in his decisions whatsoever.

Near was a kid with much on his mind, no friends around, probably all up in the fantasies so cliquishness is another of his characteristics. No, he doesn’t want to meet your friends or go outside, there’s too much noise coming from people who don’t know shit, and he also may become needy when you’re away too.

V = Vanity (How concerned are they with their looks?)

Well, looking at his appearance, long messy hair and one-colored clothes… Near isn’t America’s next top model. He has zero concerns about his reflection in the mirror. His brush is his five fingers. No, ten, Near switches hands from time to time. Sees ironing as waste of time: he will lay around and sit in this weird pose and clothes will crumple again so why bother? And still, all the shirts and pants smell like alpine meadows and sea breeze. How? Who knows.

W = Whole (Would they feel incomplete without you?)

Depends on the time spent together. If they happen to leave his life by the one year anniversary, Near won’t care that much. He will take time to analyze what happened and draw conclusions from his own behavior. That’s all. If it happens later in the relationship he will become numb. No thoughts, head empty. Why would they do it? He can’t shut down inner dialogue because of continuous flow of cases that need his attention but at the same time he can’t push himself to sort it all out. Near wants to talk one more time to calm down. Decides to stay away from relationships for a… long time.

If they were killed, Near will do his best to find the killer and put them behind the bars. It is the only thing he can think about since the loss felt as insult to their memory.

X = Xtra (A random headcanon for them.)

If you do not take in consideration his dark eyes, Near fits approximate description of albino. Since synthesis of melanin pigment is disturbed, his skin is extra susceptible to harmful effects of sunlight, and Near has to have regular check-ups with his dermatologist. Not only that, but development of the optical system is highly dependent on the presence of melanin too. His eyesight is poor so he uses lenses during the day and switches to strong bifocal glasses in the evening. You know, those big ass square glasses like Richie Tozier from It had? Near looks like him but dipped in white paint.

Y = Yuck (What are some things they wouldn’t like, either in general or in a partner?)

Near canonically is a type of person to see the end goal and ignore all obstacles. This machine is unstoppable I can see him as someone who hates insecure people. Those who always hesitate, ask everybody what they think, pull back at the last minute.

Slurping, smacking, gulping, or any other unnecessarily loud mouth noises. If you pop that bubblegum next to him, you’ll receive the dirtiest look in your life. People who can’t chew with their mouth shut are automatically out.

People who are trying to change or shape him for their own benefit. Near will make it very clear he is not going to change for anyone and if person is not okay with that, they can use exit door right there.

Z = Zzz (What is a sleep habit of theirs?)

Near is huge night owl so he falls asleep around three a.m. and wakes up when it’s already time for lunch. His sleeping schedule is surprisingly stable in its instability and all alarm clocks on the phone are turned off.

At the same time when difficult case comes up his genius mind takes off the brakes and falling asleep becomes a huge problem. It forces Near to take pills, sometimes potent ones, since harmless melatonin does nothing. In addition to this sleeping anxiety wakes him up every two hours. With head is full of thoughts that keep slipping away he physically can’t get back to sleep.

Near rarely remembers any dreams but when he does they look crazy. Vivid, colorful, dynamic, furthermore when they feel almost real Near catches small things that tell him about dream nature of events and becomes lucid. Sadly, this state doesn’t last more than few seconds and he wakes up.

#death note #death note headcanon #death note imagines #near #nate river #near headcanon #tosikowrites

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fromthewifecage · 4 years

Note

Can you do Sfw and Nsfw for Kuai Liang Headcanons

Kuai Liang/Sub-Zero Headkanons: AKA Fucking the Grandmaster (Blueberry Ice)

Thank you so much for your ask anon!

I hope this is ok :) It’s my own H/Cs for Kuai and I know it is at odds with how some others see him, but it feels right. If you hate it you can throw a shoe at me.I adore Kuai and just want him to be happy.(I have another Kuai ask next, will post tomorrow hopefully, eeeep!)

He’s seen as an innocent man, who blushes at the barest hint of innuendo. The man is a trained assassin and spy, he’ll have been trained in seduction. He’s basically James Bond, only actually competent and charming. Plus we all know he’s been dicking Hanzo (and Tomas) for years.

He can out pun/snark Johnny Cage and Kenshi combined, if he can be bothered (and he usually can he loves people’s reactions when they realise he’s taking the piss). So charming the knickers/underpants off you is easy as pie. He may play up to the wide-eyed innocent Grandmaster act that so many believe, and in a flash he’s got you wetter/harder than you’ve ever been with just a few smiles, a bit of growly voice and some side-boob.

NSFW after the cut

He very quickly figures out you love his voice, that deep deep growling rumble, when you blush like a maiden, after he whispers in your ear. He only whispered because he wanted to get close to you, and when you shiver and push back against him he knows he has you. He’ll wait a long time before whispering to you again, the git has the patience of a saint, goddammit! When he finally leans over to you, murmuring something about the freshness of the mint leaves in his tea, he’ll chill his breath a little, just enough to raise goosebumps that prickle along your neck and scalp. Maybe he might brush the curve of your ear with cool lips, so faintly you’ll wonder if you dreamt it, because this man is so ridiculously sexy that you probably dreamt him up anyway.

Talking of sexy shivers, you know that shiver you get when someone blows cool air over saliva wet skin? Imagine that feeling only a million times more tingly in your underwear. Kuai will use and abuse his cryomancy to make you scream with pleasure, and then do it some more. He’s got perfect control over his cryomancy, even in the throws of passion, so expect hot kisses to mingle with icy breath and him to leave frost patterns across your body with his fingers (and dick).

He’s not afraid to ask what you like in the bedroom, and takes his time to learn how your body reacts to his touch. He loves to take his time over your chest, kissing and sucking on your nipples, teasing you with his teeth and tongue, leaving tiny snowflakes on your skin with each soft kiss. He’ll slid his fingers down your body to your cunt/ass/cock because he loves to be inside you/touch you, but he’s going to make you wait until you’re desperate before he’ll finally fuck you.

No more ice cubes that drip and skid off the bed and leave a horrid wet patch, he’ll finger you with fingers so cold you’ll squeal his name as you explode. He loves it when you’re shivering so hard you’re almost begging him to stop. So he’ll slow right down, teasing that he will stop, just ask him to, just say the magic word and he’ll stop, but you don’t want him to, you want him to keep fucking you with his fingers and or tongue, your fingers tangling in his hair to push him closer to you.

He expects total discipline from himself, his students, and his lovers. Misbehaviour will be punished (of course you have a safe word/gestures/touches). He won’t openly say it but he likes someone who’ll challenge him and ‘misbehave’, because throwing you over his knee and spanking you until your arse is bright red and you promise to behave this time, is exhilarating for him. He’ll fuck you with extra fervour afterwards, showering you with praise in his most growly voice as he fucks you sore for taking your punishment so well.

He’s got a good sized dick, not too big so it’s painful, but he’s not a small man in the trouser department. He’ll of course love it if you spend your time pleasuring him, and does love to watch you take his cock in your mouth, and if you’re happy to, he’ll finish on your face as you look up at him. But he is respectful of his partner and won’t ask you to do anything you’ve declined, unless you decide you want to.

Aftercare is important to Kuai, it’s a way to deepen the bond he has with you, and although he could seduce the Pope if he wanted to, he’s not the type to just jump into bed with someone he’s met only recently. Sex is an emotional experience, not purely physical, so don’t pack your toothbrush for your first few dates. However, once you have slept together he’ll love you to stay over with him, so he can wake up with you, and hopefully spend more time together.

#Kuai Liang #Sub-Zero #Sub Zero #Mortal Kombat #'Mortal Kombat Headcanon #Mortal Kombat Headkanons #Grandmaster Blueberry Ice #Kuai Is SO Pretty

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spacehologramcollection · 5 years

Text

A Night in with the Kombat Kast would include;

Have some fluff and then some smut later. Because I am a smut writing goblin. Who can’t go five minutes without writing some filth. There’s a little bit of filth in here, not a lot but it is mildly, very mild, like a lemon and herb chicken from Nandos mild. But the NSFW warning will apply, 18+ sorry guys. Gifs don’t belong to me!

Sub Zero/ Kuai Liang;

· A night in for you two is like a date. It’s basically all he can manage.

· He doesn’t really like to leave the Temple unless he has to. He hates interacting with new people, large crowds and prefers peace and quiet to loud and crowded places. So anywhere like the City for date night is not happening. He would try for you he really would. But it makes him uncomfortable. That’s why you tend to stay in.

· He’d cook you something. He’s not the best but he does try. Before you two settle down and cuddle up on the couch.

· He’s such an awkward cuddlier at first, like he has no idea what to do with his hands, or where to put them at first.

· He’ll also run you a hot bath, pour you some wine and will literally let you talk about anything you want. It could be trashy work talk or about something he has no idea about; he’ll listen intently and will actually ask questions.

· He’ll let you choose whatever movie you wanted to watch, when you’re cuddled up on the couch. Pop Culture is not something he’s well versed in, he’s never seen Star Wars or anything like that. He lies to Johnny when he says he’s no time for fantasy or fiction, he’s a soft spot for it… he just doesn’t want to admit it.

· He’s totally into Game of Thrones. He attempts to ignore the mass amounts of sex and focuses more on the politics and plot lines.

· Please don’t point to the Night King and be like “It’s you, but with horns, and evil… and dead” he is not going to be happy bunny about that.

· Will also just like to sway around to music when its just the two of you.

· He doesn’t drink a lot. So, you can’t even make a joke about him cracking open a cold one with Hanzo now. He does however, have the occasional glass of wine with you, whilst you both read and cuddle up together on the sofa.

· If you paint or sew or do anything creative, he’ll literally be so intrigued with watching you do it. Will attempt to learn the skill, because a mans never too old to learn.

· He’ll love to lounge with you and hold you close. You’re amazing and he loves every moment he gets to spend with you. His Clan are important to him and he knows it’s hard to juggle a relationship and that. But he appreciates your patience and loyalty to him and therefore them, so he makes up for his lapses in spending time with you with these nights in.

Kabal;

· He gets a night in? Fuck yes. First thing he does, jumps in the shower, doesn’t fucking matter if you’re in there, he’s joining you. He needs to shower ASAP and get in his jim-jams, because he’s had a hard day okay? He’s bullshitting you, he spent most of it making paper planes and throwing them. But still, he’s had a hard day of putting up with Kano.

· By Jim Jams, he means a pair of joggers and no shirt. Will literally lounge there in nothing else. He needs to answer the door, hope whoever’s knocking doesn’t mind seeing his nipples. Because he sure as hell doesn’t care. It’s not a bad sight for you at all, no complaints from you, since he’ll throw you the t-shirt he should be wearing.

· Obviously after his accident, he’ll take the t-shirt and try and keep well covered up. You can occasionally convince him to return to his, night time, nip nops out time. With the promise of a massage or you batting your eyelashes asking for his shirt.

· He doesn’t cook, he burns things, but he doesn’t cook. It’s just easier if you order in, you get to choose because he’ll literally eat anything. Wherever you decide to order from he’ll find something to eat from it.

· Doesn’t drink a lot but does enjoy having a drink or two when he can relax. Will go through the recordings to see what TV he has to catch up on. Will get insulted and be betrayed, if he finds you’ve watched one your shows without him. The lies and deceit are tearing this relationship apart.

· Will let you sit on his lap all night or lounge on him. He’ll let you basically use him as a human chair. As long as you’re close to him he doesn’t care.

· His phone is getting muted. He’ll take a cute selfie with you, send it, and warn people you have his full attention. Will literally look at it when getting a call, watch it ring, and then just do nothing. It’s his me and your time, and nothing is going to ruin that.

· He’ll pick a movie out for you both to watch. It’ll either end in you two making out during it and having to go finish it off in the bedroom. Or he will fall asleep and end up trapping you in a vice like grip. He’s a lazy little shit at times.

· You’ve made a drinking game out of Johnny’s movies, you always end up absolutely smashed and singing Piano man at the top of your lungs. It’s fucking beautiful. The apartment block is alive with the sound of music.

· Playing video games drunk. You know he’d troll on WOW or something.

· Mario Kart when drunks. He’s the type of dick to always choose Rainbow road, whilst you’re arse over tit drunk. Fucking disaster boy.

· Sometimes, especially after his accident, he can’t sleep so you’ll stay awake talking about absolute shit. Like if aliens exist, if you had to, which cryptid you’d rather fuck. Just absolute shit till 3 in the morning.

· Times like this, you end up making like box cake mix and eating it whilst in your underwear. Because height of classiness.

· You’ll also piss his neighbours off playing loud, obnoxious music till stupid O’clock. And dancing around like a bunch of idiots.

· After his accident, he’ll still do this, it makes him feel normal being a bit of a cunt again to be fair. He’s a bit smug, because his neighbours dare not complain, because he you know, got burnt to a crisp. And don’t wanna tell you guys to turn it down. You party on, you funky little crispy man.

Scorpion/ Hanzo Hasashi;

· Like Sub, nights in tend to be your date nights and become a default for you two spending time together. Except, he’s a much better cook and a little bit less awkward. He’s got some experience with dating. Not a lot but still more than his icy bro.

· He’ll definitely cook for you, whatever you want, he will make you. You end up doing it together and bonding over it.

· You’ll also take a nice warm bath together, both of you unwinding together and letting all the stress melt away with the steam. He’s a sucker for a bath bomb too. Just no glitter. He cannot cope with the glitter in his hair.

· Speaking of hair, he has to brush his religiously or it will get tangled. And he has to wear it up most of the time, because it’s actually pretty long.

· Is down for just talking and listening to music. Or maybe playing chess, he sometimes lets you win, but not always.

· He’ll also take moments like this, to try and teach you a bit of Japanese if you’re willing to learn. Or he’ll teach you more about his culture. It’s a chance for you two to be intimate and close, so what better moment to share personal things.

· He’ll also talk to you about the future more than the past. You’ll plan your life together, like what you want to call your kids, first, middle and second middle names. Also, where you’d ideally live.

· He smiles a lot on these nights in, because its just the two of you and he loves it. He loves you.

· Candle light. And Candle light only. Sure, there’s actual lights but it just seems more intimate and cooler with candles. Fucking wax everywhere though.

· He’s more receptive of pop culture than Sub. Just don’t put on reality TV, he cannot fucking cope with that. He would be a massive fan of Star Wars. And you fucking know it. He loves that Space Bullshit that makes his life seem simple.

· You’ll also be able to lounge on him, he loves it when your head is on his lap and he can play with your hair.

· Such a softie. Just a man who needs a hug and a hot chocolate with marshmallows in.

Erron Black;

· Nights in are rare and not something he’s overly fond of. He loves to be outside, doing things and pretty active. But, he doesn’t mind the occasional night in with you. Gotta relax the old bones, you know.

· He’s got a fair amount of stories and he’s ready to share them with you. Sexual, none-sexual it doesn’t fucking matter. He’ll tell you anything and everything you wanna know. He’s lived a full life and has seen some shit.

· He’s partial to a hard drink, like strong sipping whisky. So he’ll love to sip that whilst watching you, do your thing. Whatever it is, whether it be painting, sewing, reading or hell even writing smut. I say this to validate myself.

· He doesn’t read, he doesn’t have the patience or time. Instead, he’d be down for playing a game of cards. Doesn’t matter if its strip poker or just poker. He is down for it.

· If he’s still slumming it with the Black Dragon, you’ll get to do a lot more on your nights in, in comparison to if he’s in Outworld. If you’re in Outworld, there’s a chance Ermac may just float into the room. It’s weird, just don’t even ask.

· In his Black Dragon days, he’d be down for watching a film, A western obviously. Just so he can tell you how accurate/inaccurate it is. Or how nobody actually talks like that, whilst talking exactly like that.

· Will let you play dress up with his clothes. He thinks it’s cute and loves how everything hangs off you yet is tight in all the right places. Spot on.

· If you’re in Outworld, he’ll take this opportunity to teach you to shoot, how to use explosives and how to come up with a bad ass sass.

· He’d be a sucker if you cook for him on your night in. A dish from Texas would make his heart melt for you and make the night 110% better for him. Like it just brings back memories and he loves it.

· Nights in with him are pretty tame compared to your nights out.

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galaxy-charm · 5 years

Text

That Fateful Night

That fateful night was fraught with powerful storms.

Strikes of flashing light were wrecking chaos upon the land below, while rolls of thunder clapped to their frantic rhythm, resounding in a threatening battle chant. Turbulent midnight winds brushed roughly by ajar window, rattling the frame and producing a defeaning sound of metal against stone. It was as if Hell itself was descending upon earth.

Shrouded in shadows, Dean sat upright on his enormous bed, propped up against the wooden headboard. His palms were pressed to the mattress by his sides, his knuckles white from fear. He stole a quick glance at the window, and glimpsed the havoc of the world outside.

Instinctively, he whipped his gaze back into the familiar, comfortable room. Squeezing his eyes shut, he leaned his head back and sighed. His mind wandered, and before too long a period of time, he was lost in the deep valley of his worried thoughts.

Tonight was the night he would rebel. Tonight, he would risk the biggest leap in his mundane life. Tonight, Castiel would come for him. And to think that Castiel would out there, trapped in the midst of the mighty storm...

Dean shook his head, willing the thought away. Castiel would come, and it brought him no benefits wondering about that definite fact.

Pushing the duvet covers off him, Dean swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood. His feet took him to his bathroom, where he splashed cold, refreshing water on his face. Feeling much more positive that he was awake, Dean grabbed a towel and wiped his face with it, lumbering back to his room. Running a hand through his tangled hair, he lit a candle, observing as the world around him lit up instantly, expectedly.

However, what he was not expecting, was an additional figure standing motionless by the window. It spoke in greeting.

"Hello, Dean."

"Jesus!" Dean jumped, startled at the noiseless arrival of his friend.

Two sapphire blue eyes stared critically back at him, though they shone with hints of fondness.

"Dean, you know, full well, that I am not related to godly figures or higher powers of any kind," Castiel paused, before adding. "Besides, now's not the time for jokes."

Dean threw his towel on the bed, resisting the urge to roll his eyes.

"Well then, Cas, just let me know next time you decide to creep into my bedroom like a ghostly freak!"

There was a beat of silence, before Castiel tilted his head. He furrowed his eyebrows, resulting in Dean feeling like he was a test subject Castiel was assigned to scrutinize.

"There won't be a next time, Dean. Unless, you've changed your mind?"

"What?" Caught in his mistake, Dean faked a chuckle. "No, no, no. Just a matter of habit."

Castiel nodded, though his eyes were trained on Dean. "We better get going. The storm outside is crashing down. When my people come, I do not wish for you to be caught in the trouble of war."

Dean fumbled through the collection of suits and fancy garments in his wardrobe.

"Give me a minute, I need to grab my jacket."

Castiel parted his lips, as if he was about to object, but he closed it after a moment's consideration. "You have to hurry, Dean."

"Alright, alright, Cas. Jeez, do you have zero patience? Princes get cold, especially when its raining cats and dogs, you know?"

"I don't," Castiel deadpanned.

Dean glared at him from across the room. "Well, I do. Very much."

Castiel sighed and mumbled something about princes beneath his breath. He crossed his arms and peered at the thunderstorm outside. Oblivious to the worsening sky and his friends darkening mood, Dean fingered his jacket with a victorious 'A-ha'. He yanked it off its hanger and threw it upon his shoulders.

Striding over to where Castiel stood, Dean grabbed his friend's shoulder, following his gaze outside. Dean let out an involuntary shiver, before questioning.

"So Cas, where are we going?"

"Down." Castiel motioned with his head, nodding towards the ground two stories below them.

Dean laughed. "Without breaking all our bones, we aren't."

Castiel turned to him, and his set jaw and the faded glimmer in his blue eyes signified that he meant exactly what he said.

"Wait, Cas. You're serious?"

"No, I'm Castiel. How do you think I got up here?"

Dean observed their surroundings outside the window. He spied a green pipe that was covered with moss stretching by the side of the frame.

"By that?" He asked, incredulous.

Castiel nodded. "But we can't escape from there. With it being drenched by the rain, we'll produce too much noise. We're more likely to slide to our deaths."

"So you can climb up, but not down?"

"Precisely."

Dean lifted his hands in the air, shooting Castiel another judging look. "Then, what do we do?"

Agilely, Castiel climbed onto the window sill. He drapped his legs over the edge, before swiveling to Dean. His voice was rid of any emotion as he said simply.

"We jump."

Dean took a beat to process the information. He echoed, eyebrows raised. "We jump?"

"Yes," Castiel instructed. "Watch me."

He nudged himself off the window sill, plummenting downwards. Unable to close his eyes, Dean held his breath. And within seconds, Castiel was gone from sight.

"Cas!" Dean shouted, worry lined in the single word. "Cas!"

Leaning out the window, Dean gawked at the sight before him.

Castiel had landed on his feet like a nimble feline creature, knees bent, a hand in front of him to break his fall. His trench coat fluttered and flapped in the rain, and his raven-black hair blew stiffly in the wind. Spinning around when he heard his name being called, Castiel held a finger to his lips to shush Dean.

"H-How, how did you do that?"

"I've had practice," Castiel replied, and gave no further elaboration.

"Come on, Dean. It's your turn."

Dean hesitated. "You do know I have a great, very bad, terrible fear of heights, right Cas?"

"I do. But you have to do this."

Dean sucked in a breath, before copying Castiel's movements. Gracefully, he sat on the edge, contemplating the lengthy distance he remained from the ground.

He was about to change his mind when he heard the footfalls of guards approaching rapidly. Castiel must have heard them too, because he strained his voice into a hiss as he hurried Dean.

"Come on. I'll catch you!"

Recognizing he was about to regret his foolish decisions, Dean screwed his eyes shut. With a burst of renewed strength, he pushed himself off the edge.

And he fell.

Fell.

Somehow, he landed in a pair of strong arms that broke his fall. The impact of his weight caused Castiel and him both to tumble into the bushes in a tangle of limbs.

Dean groaned and spluttered. "Damn it, Cas. You said you would catc-"

Castiel cut him off, putting a palm over his mouth. "I did. Their coming. Be quiet."

Dean immediately held his tongue. He knew what punishment awaited him if he was found with an ally from the other army, prince or no. The pair of friends held their shared breaths, and remained as still as marble statues. Although he tried to ignore how close they both were, a blush still creeped up Dean's cheeks.

After a stretched minute, the footsteps and commanding voices faded away.

They simultaneously drew in deep breaths, bodies untensing. Panting, Dean whispered.

"That was close."

"Too close," Castiel replied, though he couldn't stop the relieved smile from spreading across his lips. Their plan worked.

A grin grew on Dean's face as well. He was aware of the minimal space between them, and the fact that Castiel wasn't pulling away. Too close, but not close enough. His eyes lit up as he said.

"It could be a little closer, Cas, if you ask me."

Flowers bloomed in the depths of Castiel's dormant chest, a spark once again alight. Dean arched his eyebrows, his grin morphing into a mischievous smirk.

"Are you flirting with me, prince?"

"And if I told you I am?"

Castiel needed no other prompt. Briskly, he pressed their lips together, and Dean kissed him back. It was then and there, in the ruffle of branches and leaves and twigs, that they shared their first kiss, and Castiel was satisfied with that. Dean was all that he ever needed, and he was everything Dean ever wanted.

They pulled apart at last, staring into each other's eyes. One sparkling electric blue, and the other, a lovely shade of emerald green. Like it was meant to be.

Castiel helped Dean up from their positions, and with ease, they journeyed outwards on their respective horses, riding away into the sunrise. Surely, problems would arise sooner or later, but for now, all Dean could bring himself to care about was the fact that Castiel was with him.

And it was more than enough consolation for the prince.

I apologize for this mess of words, but I had an idea, and I had to write it down. Hope you guys find it okay! >U<

Taglist(if you want to be added, please, let me know): @hellfire37 @skittles-rainbow-cat @legendary-destiel

#my writing #supernatural #destiel

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thebeautyofdisorder · 5 years

Text

Did You Miss Me? Adlock One-Shot, Rated M

Just in case the whole ‘links in posts make your shit invisible’ issue is still present, I’ll post directly to tumblr as well. Because why not? Here there be s-mut-tastic Adlock. Written over four years ago, and post Series 3 but Pre-Abominable Bride.

Fandom: Sherlock (BBC)

Pairing: Adlock (Sherlock Holmes/Irene Adler)

Rating: At least Mature, probably Explicit

Summary: Shameless and mostly plot-less smut. One-Shot. After the events of His Last Vow, Irene is already waiting for Sherlock at 221B. This was written before The Abominable Bride was released so it's only canon compliant so far as the end of series 3. Any other details, minimal as they are, were based purely on speculation at the time.

Read below or if you’d prefer an AO3 link, I’ve posted it in a previous post on my blog. Also have ff.net if you’re feeling nostalgic. Ask and ye shall receive. The tags on AO3 do warn of obvious sexual content and minor but present knife play.

Irene Adler was perched on his chair, hair loose, down, and slightly curled, his red dressing gown wrapped around her figure this time, the threat of whether or not she was naked underneath it unable to be ascertained from the naked eye at the position she was currently in. She tapped her uncharacteristically plain nails on the arm of the chair, lost in thought, only to be rescued from it by the turn of the key in the door and the stepping in of 'The Man.'

She licked her blood-red lips (the one indulgence she had been unable to forsake and thus, permitted herself, from her 'old life') before a small smirk tugged at her lips as his eyes fell into hers, and she murmured coyly, "Thought I'd save you the phone call, dear. I do feel for your 'phone anxiety.'" She teased him lightly, coming to a stand finally and taking a step or two towards him.

Sherlock drank her in with a combination of more or less equal parts delight and dread, neither of which showed through fully on his face. Mostly what came through, perhaps to his chagrin, was just a bounty of relief.

"No complications in arriving, I hope?" He murmured with a quirk of his brow, slowly gliding towards her as well, by instinct more than thought. He didn't ask how she knew to come - not relevant nor surprising. "Weren't followed or harassed, or even vehemently stared at?" His lips barely twitched.

She bit her bottom lip coquettishly, staring at him up through her thick, made-up eyelashes as she took another step towards him and glided a hand up his chest, carefully avoiding the area of his bullet wound before coming up to drag it along his left cheekbone.

"Not until now...." She husked gently. "I'm very good at staying incognito when I need to be... Especially if it means getting to my lover faster..." She winked, knowing his distaste for the term, though lovers in the Elizabethan sense, they most certainly were, if not more.

He pulled a face and made a bit of a rumble of discontent from his throat, over-dramatising his distaste accordingly.

"Don't make me more ill, I just spent all afternoon with my brother," he teased, though his hand was almost absentmindedly playing over the curve of her hip in his dressing gown, stroking the edges of his fingernails over the lightly striped fabric, but only just. "Granted it was coming to agreement on how I don't have to go get myself killed in Eastern Europe, so I suppose it was productive..."

She nodded slowly, leaning up on her tiptoes to wrap her arms around his neck as she pressed her lips to his 'chastely'- titillatingly before pulling back quickly to take a step back and slap him hard across his cheek.

"Don't you ever allow yourself to get shot and almost die on me, ever again, do you hear me, Sherlock Holmes? If a woman ever does hold a pistol to you again, it will be me --though the context may be questionable ...." She softened on the last word, the same hand that gave the blow now coming up to soothe the sting.

"Sorry, darling... Delayed reaction from my little hospital visit…”

His eyes were sharp as he stared down at her, but not in a particularly vicious way, his jaw tensing in a brief tick of annoyance. He didn't protest. Instead, his arm shot out and ensnared her waist, yanking her body against his and nearly off of her bare feet, in retort for her assault.

"Fair enough, Miss Adler, I'll vye for immortality if you'll join me," he challenged dryly, angling his head down at her.

She cracked a smile, a dark but gentle chuckle following after it as she weaved her arms around his neck and knocked per pelvis against his.

"Mmm, gladly, Mr Holmes. Think of all the 'dinners' we could have....." She purred, her fingers tangling in his hair slowly, nails scraping along his scalp.

He barely managed to bite back a groan. Damn woman knew his weaknesses. Luckily, it was mutual. He stroked a hand up and across her torso, across her chest leisurely, and up lightly to her throat. He spun on his heel and walked her backward, til her back pressed against the wall.

"I believe infinity might actually bore us," he observed darkly, his other hand stroking down her hip, bunching the fabric of his dressing gown in his hand as he went.

She gasped in appreciation as he pressed her against the wall slowly, her eyes darkening and her grip on his locks tightening as he sparked her arousal further.

"Mm, perhaps... Though I don't think I could ever tire of... you ." She flirted sentimentally, though one hand had come down to grip his loins over his trousers as she uttered the last word, making it clear the ‘true’ direction of the compliment.

A sharp intake of breath notwithstanding, his eyes merely narrowed at her as he pulled the dressing gown to the side, his hand gripping the bare flesh of her thigh with a sort of carnal relief. His hand stroked the creamy expanse of skin for a moment before hiking it up to his hip, fitting himself against her far more snugly in the process.

"You are probably the only human being I could fathom not boring me after a century...you'd be too in danger of boring yourself," he murmured, now a breath away from her lips.

She arched her neck back softly, a small moan escaping her throat as he 'manhandled' her and his own arousal met hers, though sadly obstructed by his clothing.

"Mm, likewise, I'm sure." She replied tartly, tugging the dressing gown all the way down and off her torso to expose her breasts to him finally, waiting a moment to drink in his reaction.

"Tell me, Sherlock dear, how long has been since we last 'ate?' " She asked him in instigation.

His eyes zeroed in on her chest, dark and searing, and his free hand came up to stroke over the curve of her left breast, indulgently. He narrowed his eyes in playful consideration before glancing back up.

"One year, five months, two weeks, and three days," he rumbled as he ducked his head to take the bud of her nipple into his mouth, running his tongue over it as he applied suction.

"Mmmahh!" Irene gave him a breathy moan, an echo of his text alert from days past, as his mouth accosts her breast, much to her appreciation and delight. "Mm, I do adore your addiction to precision and retaining facts...." She husked, as her hands, both now, tangled in his hair further, allowing them both to enjoy his actions for a few moments before she pulled his head back roughly, eyeing him darkly as she placed her foot against his hip suddenly and kicked him back.

"However, I also adore your 'selective patience,' emphasis on 'selective.'" She chided him, untying the dressing gown and letting it pool completely at her feet before she turned on her heel and padded her way to the kitchen. She ran a finger along the middle table, only pausing as her eyes spotted his microscope and smiled to herself before glancing back at him, coy and conspiring. She then turned back and leaned down to gaze into it, her bent over, bare arse, purposefully holding a place of prominence in his eyesight.

He rolled his eyes and quietly groaned to himself at her playing the coquette. Again. He was well acquainted with her tendency to play with her meals, so to speak, and he would've been more shocked had she been impatient enough to make this simple. Wrong woman , he mused in resignation as he followed her fleeing steps towards the kitchen, only to halt, at her stance.

"See anything that interests you?" He rasped wryly once he'd recovered from his mouth going dry, walking up behind her cautiously. There wasn't much of technical intrigue in there, only some samples from his last case, but she was looking quite... Intently .

Irene grinned like the Cheshire Cat as she felt his figure come up behind her, though, apparently, refusing to make any direct contact yet . She adjusted the focus of the microscope shifting her weight from her right hip to her left as she leaned back slightly, arse pressing against his arousal which left them in a very suggestive position as she feigned to act like she needed the leverage to 'see' the slide more properly.

"AB+.... One of the rarest blood types there is... Hmm, was this the victim's or the perpetrator's, Mr Holmes?" She asked, 'matter-of-factly' as she continued to examine the blood slide, her buttocks flanking his erection and starting to grind on him ever so faintly.

His jaw slacked as the sensation of her friction against his groin joined the highly intriguing fact she was identifying blood types in his microscope coincided into one large wave of arousal that sent a shudder down his spine. His hands made contact with her hips, fingers flexing with her subtle movement.

"The uh...victim's," he rumbled distractedly, his right hand moving to trace up the curve of her spine. "The distinction of the blood was what made the perpetrator obvious...small traces under the fingernails..." He continued, pressing himself forward as he bent to brush his lips up the trek which his hand just made.

Her bare flesh got goose pimples at his touch and then even more so at as she felt his lips echoing his touch along her spine.She took a moment to close her eyes, inhaling and exhaling slowly as she willed the wetness that was eagerly gathering between her thighs, shifting her weight back to her right foot in a subtly effort to provide some sort of 'scratch' to her growing 'itch.'

"T-That makes sense...." She stammered slightly, the only other physical indication that she was utterly and totally affected by him, right now. She righted herself, coming to her full height, as petite as that was, to lean her back against his chest momentarily before she bucked her arse backwards to force him back so that she could cross around the table to pluck a banana from a bundle he had apparently bought out of some impulse or need for potassium for some 'experiment.' She leaned against the counter, crossing her ankles as she eyed him lustfully, peeling the banana slowly, deftly, suggestively before finally asking--now under full 'control' once more.

"So.... Sherlock , 'impress a girl....' How long did it take you to figure out that last case, hmm?" She 'challenged' lightly, knowing the man got hard and off on nothing more than his own--or her own--intellect mixed with sexual content.

His eyes narrowed, dark and growing more desperate by the moment, especially once he'd seen her obvious distraction. She was losing focus, in there somewhere.

"About as quickly as I could gather all the components," he murmured, taking a couple steps towards her. "After I'd seen the blood type, I knew it was a possible red flag, so in theory it was rather immediate. Once the suspects were narrowed down, it became a process of elimination. All I needed was the opportunity to examine them," he explained in a low rhythmic tone, in tune with his steps as he crossed the room. "In short, the case was closed, more or less, in three days."

She watched him carefully, tossing the peel aside and before she brought the head of the fruit to her mouth, tongue darting out to circle the tip of it before she bobbed her head down and around the fruit before she bit the head off and started to chew it as she gazed at him darkly.

"Mmm, now that's my kind of man..." She purred playfully, echoing lost words before swallowing finally.

He watched her little 'show' with wide exasperated eyes, his chest rising and falling in time with his faintly labored breathing. His steps continued towards her, forcing himself to keep a steady pace and not rush up to her. Unnecessary and a clear sign of desperation. When he came toe to toe with her he didn't stop, pressing forward with an arm on either side of her form, essentially trapping her between his chest and the counter.

He didn't speak, merely angled his head and forcefully captured her lips with his, knowing she'd have a smart retort for anything he'd have to say. He didn't give her the chance.

She responded by returning the pressure of his lips with her own and tossing the banana aside as her hands came up his chest to cup his face tightly, thrusting her tongue into his mouth forcefully. He may have the dominant position physically, but she wasn't about to let him have it orally, as well. She growled as her teeth clashed with his, her actions becoming more primitive with each passing second.

His hands rushed from the counter to her hips, needing some purchase on her anatomy as she had so clearly taken her own. It gave him the ability to press her back into the counter, taking his height to his advantage to try to regain some control. He straightened his back and angled his head down, attempting to match her force at the least, as he now could press down and into her mouth with his tongue. Once he felt he'd thoroughly attempted to make his point, his grip on her hips tightened as he lifted her weight onto the counter, concurrently pulling back only far enough to breathe.

"Been awhile, Miss Adler?" He rumbled in a breathless taunt, unable to resist drawing attention to her rather telling aggression despite the hypocrisy, as he pressed himself between her dangling legs.

She allowed him to lift her and assert his 'leadership' in their little foreplay scene, cracking a sly smile at his remark and it's sanctimoniousness, the distinguishable 'tenting' of his trousers condemning him outright.

"Apparently so, Mr Holmes. At least ' someone' in this room isn't ashamed to say he missed me..." She teased him darkly, as she removed her right hand from his cheek to reach behind her subtly to a kitchen knife left out on the counter slowly, gripping it's handle carefully as she held his gaze with a steady, coy one of her own.

His eyes widened only briefly on instinct, before they narrowed purposefully, eyebrow lifting faintly. He had little to no worry for his life in her presence, truly. His extremities were only a minimal percentage higher.

"I missed you," he confirmed only a tad wryly, hoping the uncharacteristic, however true, response might just throw her off her game a tad. Which game she was playing, though, remained to be seen.

She cocked her head slowly, his frank and strangely honest response so easily given automatically making her a bit suspicious, though the sincerity of his look softened her gaze and she 'rewarded' him with small smile before whispering, "And I missed you, too."

She then dragged her index finger down his cheek and lips and down his neck before gripping his shirt tightly and tugging it towards her, thus pulling it away from his body, before she brought the knife from behind her back and quickly, and deftly cut each button from it's thread to reveal his bare chest behind the fabric.

"You're even more charming out of your clothes, dear, care to say that last sentence again...?" She bit her bottom lip and grinned wickedly as she drew the tip of the knife down the centre of his chest, pausing where his trousers began and the beginnings of the auburn hairs of his 'happy trail' began.

He scowled at her for a moment before his face contorted into a different sort of expression all together, feeling the beginnings of adrenaline threatening his bloodstream as she drug the blade southward. She did have a penchant for knowing his intrigues . Though instead of snatching the knife from her, as was his first instinct, or even listening to her request, he just glanced down with purposeful annoyance at his ruined shirt and sucked his bottom lip in between his teeth thoughtfully.

"I suppose I deserve that from Paris," he snarked lowly, recalling an incident with him rather deliberately ripping what was apparently a rather expensive dress.

She chuckled once before narrowing her eyes at his as she applied a dash of pressure with the knife as she retorted in mock annoyance, " Quite . That dress was a bloody McQueen..." She reminded him before bringing the knife down to the bulge in his trousers, dragging the tip along his obvious length titillatingly as she licked her lips.

"Mmm.... To think, there was once a time when I'd rather have castrated you completely than merely arouse you with my own 'sword....'" She winked in self-amusement before continuing, "Thankfully, however, that attitude towards you really only lasted that one night..." She murmured, referencing the night he threw her to the dogs, in the shape of his elder brother, a bit of 'ammunition' she like to employ every once in a while, if only just to then prove his more than evident feelings towards her by always then following it up with the reminder of how he very quickly remedied that little blunder.

He swallowed, he hoped subtly, and attempted to even his breathing, meeting her eyes in challenge. Oh, he knew exactly what she was insinuating, she did like to rub that in. But he chose the more blunt road for a response.

"I think we're both rather thankful for that, this instant," he drawled, still feeling the tip of a knife exactly where a man least wants to feel one. Assuming, of course, he was decidedly 'normal' and wasn't just a tad amused at the obviously empty threat.

She smirked and glanced down at the knife, circling the outline of his member's head lightly before removing it from the area completely, murmuring a hit of agreement as she did so. She brought it up and wielded it in front of him as she momentarily debated how to proceed with it, if at all before a slightly twisted but, nevertheless, arousing idea sparked in her mind.

Without any explanation or warning, she grabbed his right hand from her hip and held it open before pricking the tip of his pointer finger until a small thread of blood began to ooze out. She then did the same to her right index finger, glancing at him briefly before setting the knife down to bring the accosted hand with her other up to her mouth. She locked eyes with him heavily as she ran her tongue up his digit, lapping up his most human, and 'sacred' bodily fluid into her mouth to 'digest' and mix with her own before sucking on it rather suggestively, her tongue circling the cut before applying pressure to clot the flow of the blood.

As she did this she brought her own lightly bleeding digit up to his mouth, waiting for him to accept and perform, this 'self-ordained lover's ritual,' from his own free will, raising a single brow as her only attempt to 'challenge' him into it.

He watched her with a strange sort of nearly-perplexed fascination, before his eyes lulled, turning heavy-lidded with arousal as her tongue stroked over the length of his finger, insinuation more than obvious. Then without rhyme or reason, the unspoken and fairly unspecified significance was returned as he dipped his mouth over her seeping digit. His tongue swirled over the wound itself with deliberate dexterity to counter her own, relishing the coppery taste no matter the oddness of the circumstance. It was an unbridled extension of her which made it no more off limits to him than any of her other bodily fluids.

He sucked the tip of her finger into his mouth fully, before biting down lightly just below where she'd split the skin, as he pulled it from his mouth.

She let out a moan of utter eroticism as he bit down and sucked the blood from her finger before abandoning it. Her eyes, too, were heavy and full with lust and desire at their little exchange and she stared into his eyes as she echoed his action, dislodging his finger from her mouth, only to glance down at the bit of blood still on it before painting her lips with it and rubbing them together as one would with lipstick.

"I think I much prefer this shade to the one in my purse... Might have to take a bottle back with me...." She husked lowly, swallowing the contents of his digit finally as she continued to gaze at him daringly, her implication both clear and slightly ambiguous.

His eyes locked to her mouth, lips twitching at her action and the implication that came with it. He drew his finger back from her grasp, the dull sting nearly impossible to distinguish through the rest of the blood gushing through his veins. He perhaps waited a few seconds before his hand gripped the back of her neck harshly and pulled her forward, sucking the taste of his own lifeblood from her lips with a hunger that he wouldn't have fathomed rational. His other hand had shifted itself from her hip to gripping her inner thigh, pressing it further away from its companion so he could press as flush against her as the counter would allow.

Her hands flew to his chest, running her nails up his bare skin before exploring his pectoral muscles and nipples as she hungrily returned his kiss with just as much force and expression. She moaned into his mouth,- a moan of sheer want and need for him, and only him, to fill her up once more; to satisfy her once more; to 'make love'--as sentimental a phrase it was--once more, before she wrapped her legs around his waist to hug his groin against hers, needing some sort of friction against her throbbing nub, lest she go mad from desire.

He groaned at the contact, low and rumbling in the back of his throat, bucking his hips against her centre thoughtlessly, at both their detriment. He recovered quickly, letting go of her entirely to pull the tattered remains of his shirt off of his arms, yanking it from his trousers and letting it fall to the floor, all without hardly breaking from her mouth. He ripped open his belt in a frenzy, and unzipped his trousers for the sake of relief from how tight they'd become, but otherwise left them in place, instead turning his attention back to her.

His left hand wrapped around her waist, urging her to the very edge of the counter while his right was urging up her inner thigh. He didn't waste much of his or her time, immediately pressing a thumb to her clit just to hear her sharp intake of breath at the sudden contact after leaving it wanting.

"Ahhhhh..." She exhaled upon inhaling pointedly, nipping his bottom lip in automatic response to his assault. She pulled back and stared up at him, her right hand ghost in down his chest before gripping his length over his pants and squeezing faintly, as she purred, "You know, Sherlock, we've never 'christened' your flat... Let alone your bed... Well, I have...but your cock is much preferable to my hand...." She winked at her 'confession,' before biting her bottom lip seductively.

The moment her statement clicked was most assuredly visible on his face, much less the faint growl that she could probably feel reverberating through his chest. He tilted his hips into her grip, even as his two fingers began to tease her rather soaked entrance, pressing on either side but not moving towards it.

"You're a very bad woman," he remarked almost casually, as though it were a fact he were recalling as opposed to a direct accusation. His thumb began to shift back and forth. "But you are quite correct..."

She gyrated her hips in a desperate attempt to manipulate his touch. She whimpered softly, an action she was slowly, and secretly, growing more accustomed to enjoying as her hand around him tugged his cock in silent retribution.

"And you are a very bad man." She hissed. "Besides, dear, we both know that image, and fact, is making you even harder as we speak... Why else do you think I insisted on showering before we 'chatted' about the mobile...?" She pressed.

He didn't give her the satisfaction of a direct response, confirming the obvious, though the pained desire was probably clear on his face. Instead he merely plunged both of his teasing fingers inside of her suddenly, successfully dropping the focus from his arousal and nailing it clearly on her own. He crooked them knowingly, raising his brows.

"An excuse to steal my clothing?" He teased in a strained murmur, his other hand making its way north, brushing over her breast and across her collarbone to grip the side of her neck.

She groaned in appreciation her kegel muscles flexing around his fingers as added testimony to her 'thanks.'

"That, too." She rebutted finally, her hand dipping under the waistband of his pants to grip his cock directly, thumb padding over his tip before she reached further south and massaged his testicals, something she had discovered to be very effective with him. Apparently, his hair follicles weren't the only unusually, overly-sensitive nerves in his body, even as far as the male reproductive system went.

"If I wanted fingers, Mr Holmes, I'd just do it myself, again ." She half-teased/half-jested clippedly.

His lips parted in a low moan at her new focus, arching up on his toes almost without thought to encourage her actions. He refocused on her quickly though, despite his laboured breathing, bringing his fingers out before delving them back in deeper than he knew she was capable of, just for spite, satisfying his own selfish wants more than anything. Slowly pulling them out in earnest, his thumb nail grazing her clit in parting.

He brought those fingers to his lips, sucking her flavour from them, his eyes locking on hers in preemptive warning. Savoring her response for only a moment, as he let the digits slide from his mouth, his hand quickly latched onto the slender wrist that was still on the inside of his pants, yanking it free to give him the freedom to crouch in front of her, hands moving to stroke up her thighs.

A shudder swept down the back of her spine as she watched him taste her juices, pupils dilating even further at the arousing, not to mention flattering , sight.

Her breath caught in her throat, however, as she watched him kneel in front of her, her mind suddenly realising what it was exactly he was planning on doing. He hadn't done that since the time before last--Paris being far more frenzied and rushed.

"Eating out , then are we?" She couldn't help but joke, though her voice was shaky and more than a little unsteady, as she brought her hands to curl in his locks lightly.

His lips were brushing her inner thigh tauntingly as he murmured in response, "You are in my kitchen," biting into the flesh briefly before his arm curled around her hip, angling her pelvis towards the edge of the counter so it was as exposed as could be without her falling, giving her one long swipe of his tongue from her entrance up to her nub. He repeated the action, darting inside of her briefly along the way.

"It would be wrong not to partake," he rumbled against her before his lips latched onto her clit, sucking it into his mouth as his tongue dashed against it.

She let out a series of successive moans and gasps, her back arching as she jutted her hips forward at each lap and suckle of his tongue and mouth. Her fingers tightened in his hair and she exhaled slowly, trying to gather herself before responding jaggedly, "Well, who am I to argue with that logic...." She gasped again and let out a soft whimper.

"Fuck, you are skilled at that.... Almost as good as I am...." She couldn't help but compliment him, despite knowing how even more it would inflate his bloody ego, the successive years of holding his 'V-Card' only making his sudden gift for the act all the more impressive and annoying.

Hearing her make those bloody infuriatingly distracting noises was doing nothing for his ability to ignore his own arousal, and his hands tightened on her thighs in response. He growled as he fucked her with his tongue rather greedily, his amusement that she was actually going out of her way to praise his ability almost drowned in his focus. Almost.

"I'd love to know how you'd be able to compare," he pulled back enough to quirk a brow tauntingly at her lack of logic, his lips twitching up into a brief smirk as he nipped at her once more before he stood to his feet between her legs, eyes just smug enough to be noticeable, which was less than his norm at times, already tugging his trousers from his hips.

She quirked a pointed brow at him as her eyes narrowed, a single hand reaching up to grab his chin violently as she replied with mild acidity, "Don't even think about suggesting having a threesome, Sherlock. I don't share well.... Besides, I'd hate to show you up..." She winked teasingly before pushing his chin back to help him get his damned trousers off.

"Now for fuck's sake, dear , will you PLEASE fuck me?" She half hissed/half begged.

"Would scarce know with who," he drawled rather tellingly, he realized a bit too late, as he stepped out of the pants and trousers now pooled at his feet. He had yet to find another woman who could inspire in him what she could. If it was worth anything, his little faux-relationship with Janine just exemplified that in his mind. He couldn't even fathom taking anyone else but her into his bed, just as before her he couldn't fathom hardly anyone at all. But he dismissed that rather sentimental thought process as soon as his bare flesh met hers. He let out a brief groan as his cock pressed between her legs, no longer impeded by his clothing.

"Though it occurs to me you may just be begging," he roughly mused, despite the fact his left hand had grasped her hip hard enough to bruise, and his right was already grasping his cock in hand, quite ready to do her bidding.

She grunted at his first statement, as she wrapped her hands around his neck in preparation to mount him, nails digging into it's nape in silent response.

She raised her eyes at his latter comment, however, before narrowing them significantly as she dug her heels into the top of his arse to jut him forward, thus successfully forcing their loins to 'greet' each other 'palm to palm.'

"I could argue the same case about your physicality, Mr Holmes. Would you like me to? Or would you rather we concede and admit we both are begging for it and get closer to the part where I sheath that throbbing cock of yours..." She quirked a brow, and making sure the stress the two, more, graphic words to 'influence' his answer.

"Touché," he rumbled unevenly, jaw flexing at the intimate contact. He managed to fight her legs' grasp long enough to pull back and grip his cock once again, his hand on her hip shifting back and under her arse for angle and leverage as his tip finally pressed to her entrance.

"Though you've got to admire the irony," he quipped, intent on getting the last word, just as his hips bucked forward and he began to quickly press into the familiar heat of her, exhaling in a hiss at his perhaps faulty decision to nearly ‘sheath’ himself in one go. Patience was never his virtue.

She was about to roll her eyes and let out a reluctant chuckle when his sudden, and full , thrust into her caught her slightly off guard, causing her eyes to widen and a sharp gasp to issue from the back of her throat.

She winced as he filled her, his girth always a tad painful on the first few thrusts. She grunted and and pulled back to glance down at him in mock disapproval before murmuring, "....Perhaps the only-- ow --good thing about our yearly rendezvous is that-- ahh --every time manages to feel like the... first....." She muttered as she wrapped her legs around his waist and regripped before hoisting her chest up and against his, putting all her weight on his form now.

Sherlock had nearly put himself into shock--nearly--but was regaining the ability to function as quickly as he was able. He took a shuddering breath, getting re-accustomed to the tight heat encompassing him, as she was apt to point out, he nearly always had to do. Pro or con to their unique status, he was never sure.

"Apologies," he murmured as his head ducked and rested into the crook of her neck, breathing in the scent of her skin before he began kissing and nipping at the skin by way of distracting her from the apparent discomfort.

She arched her neck to allow him greater access, hands pushing down on his shoulders to hoist herself up a bit so that she could slam down again, knowing that once she was fully slicked up and the ball was rolling, so to say, the slight discomfort quickly gave way to pleasure.

She moaned at his kisses and even found herself smiling privately at his 'apology,' an abundance of subconscious sentiment clearly at the root of it. She lifted his head up to look him in the eye as she replied with amused seriousness, "No need to do so, dear. Your ability to be, irritatingly , above average in all the necessary areas of life is just one of the many reasons why I hate you." She reminded him between heavy breaths.

' Hate ,' of course, standing in for the word she really meant. The word that she knew he knew she meant. They had come to confess their feelings in this twistedly ironic way a few meetings back, as they were parting ways. Each adopting that preferred word to it's sister that the rest of the mundane world seemed so obsessed with employing. Besides, this way, they each, technically, had an out. Could always deny--'on paper,' at least. The look in her eye, however, and the sincerity of her voice, would damn her for all eternity, however.

Funny thing was, though, when it came to ' The Man,' she didn't actually give a damn about that old pride.

He caught onto her obvious intent as quickly as he caught her weight, her quick will to begin in combination to her clear sentiment almost catching him off guard. But as opposed to playing the deer in the headlights, his lips twitched into a dazed if present smirk and he pressed her weight against the counter again for leverage as he urged her up and the thrust back upward to meet her as she dropped.

"And I very much..." He thrust upward once again, quirking a brow. "... Despise you," he replied darkly, keeping a lightness to the statement as best he could manage, lest the sentimentality they were so seeking to avoid, decide to kick in.

Her lips merely twitched at his reply before his thrust overcame her and she let out a rather vocal cry of a moan, her fingernails scraping up his back as she rode a rather sudden wave of mounting pleasure and warmth that was making its way from her core to her outer extremities.

She glared down at him in utter infatuation and (self-) annoyance before barking out a shaky, "B-bedroom. Now. N-need. More ..."

He didn't need any further encouragement, lifting her up with his arms under her arse and angling his weight, he stalked the short distance to the hall and kicked open his door with no hesitation, even at the worrisome creak. He'd fix it later .

He hiked a knee onto the bed before dropping her weight onto it, barely retracting from her before he was on her again, arms on the mattress on either side of her head plunging back into her with an appreciative curse. The angle was much more satisfactory.

Irene spread her legs as widely as she could as soon as her back hit the bed, greeting his first thrusts in this new position and place with as much reception as she could give him. Her hands flew out and tangled in the duvet cover, knuckles whitening as she let out a series of whines and 'oh’s’ without immediate presence of thought.

"How...thin...are...the...walls?" She gasped in ecstasy, as she brought her right leg up to hook around his neck to provide him with even more room for depth, and also silently informing him of her compliance to don the 'submissive' role-- for now .

"Thick," he rumbled breathlessly, using her acquiescence to his advantage as he plunged further with an appreciative groan, ducking his head as he rocked forward, banging the headboard against the wall.

"But...perhaps not thick enough," he husked with a certain amount of amusement in his eyes, arching onto his knees to thrust forward with a curve of his hips, deliberately trying to wring another moan from her for emphasis.

She could tell what he wanted and was trying to get out of her, to which she more than happily gave him, and then some, crying out in an almost uncharacteristically 'sex kitten' fashion, " Ohh, Mr Holmes....!" followed by a few grunts and panting breaths as she wriggled beneath him. Her other leg coming up to throw over his shoulder as her head turned frantically to the side to bit into the pillow, a desperate attempt on her part to stifle her cries and whimpers of pleasures lest he be too pleased with himself.

For, to be sure, despite the rather, 'porn-star-esque' response she was currently giving him--and one she hadn't much used with him, if ever, before--Irene Adler was no faker, at least, when it came to her personal, love life. Her response was utterly--even if embarrassingly so to her--organic. She only hoped the base, male, primitive mindset that he clearly had a little bit of would respond to these novel and 'conventional' reactions--if only because they were novel for her .

She also was bound and determined to seek revenge in a few moments. No man would make her whimper like that and finish on top. Not even Sherlock Holmes , she mused decidedly.

Her response merely spurred him on, for even under duress he could at the least read her for genuineness and she was fighting it now with a will, feeling another shock of pleasure strike him as he watched her reckless abandon. His focus staggered briefly, but he growled his way through a moan and thrust forward more quickly, feeling himself seek out those sounds now that she'd granted them. He leaned more upright, gripping her leg where it draped over his shoulder and nipping and licking up the expanse of it he could reach.

" Mmm... Sherlock....!" She whined at his nips, the toes of her accosted leg curling in his hair as she arched her back up, to meet his thrusts.

She allowed him a few more self-gratifying thrusts to which she returned with girlish moans and whimpers before, suddenly, bringing her right foot from his shoulder and halting his movement by planting her foot squarely in the centre of his chest. She sat up, placing her weight on her elbows as she glared at him evenly before pushing him back with a grunt and and moving to her knees to face him dead on.

A hint of a smiled played on her lips as she raised her right brow slowly, running a hand up his chest before tangling it in his curls to yank his head backwards and up violently. She pressed her form against his and leaned up to hiss into his ear, "My turn, darling..." only to hook her leg around his as she twisted and pushed his figure back and down onto the bed, crawling on top of him to pin him against the bed in an act of dominance and possession.

"Can't let you 'boys' have all the fun," she purred into his ear before sitting back slightly to run her slit along his length and tease his pulsating tip with her inviting warmth wickedly.

He growled out a groan of surprise and aroused fury, even though he knew she was likely to play her card eventually. She had an annoying habit of lulling him into false security before striking. Infuriating woman. But she did stay true to her point and skillset he couldn't help but notice. She knew exactly what he 'liked' -- a challenge.

She was sending sparks through his nervous system with his teasing, causing his hips to buck and his leg muscles to twitch. His hands flew to her hips, digging in hard in an attempt to end her torment, but all he succeeded in was increasing her friction, and he scowled helplessly. He could overpower her, but the fight was seldom worth it, or so he assured himself.

Irene chuckled darkly, leering down at him lasciviously as she shifted her weight to her knees to lift her pelvis up and off of him completely, proving that no contact was even worse than then the ghostings of it.

She then ran her hands up her thighs and hips, ripping his own off to grope herself, alone and unaided, toying with his clearly, 'regular,' male porn preference, as she employed the 'usual actions'--hands gliding up her waist to circle the sides of her breasts and swirl around her taut nipples, teasing herself and him by avoiding them for a bit.

She pouted down at him, biting her bottom lip sensual before husking softly, "Oh, Mr Holmes , did you really think I was going to indulge your base, male fantasy for the entire time?" She circled her areolas before pinching and twisting her nipples suddenly letting out a whiney moan as she looked down at him in erotic amusement.

"Don't get me wrong, Sherlock , I'll be your little slut, porn-star girl any day of the week...any way you want me...any fantasy you wish to play out...I'll even be your slave, if you fancy... But, just keep in mind, dear...." She began to warn gently, leaning down over him slowly as she slipped a hand between them to grip his length tightly, before continuing, "...Every time you make me whimper and moan and whine and beg like a little girl who needs more--which you do quite well, much to my chagrin, grant you--" She grumbled lightly, licking her lips as she winked, before finishing with, "...I'll make you do the same-- twice over ." She hissed against his lobe, slamming herself down and around him as deeply as the angle would allow on her last words.

He threw his head back with something not dissimilar from a roar, his hands clawing at her waist and his teeth clenching as he fought the throbbing ache shooting down his spine at the sudden move. Fighting to catch his breath, he finally gripped her hips again tightly and bucked up, in an attempt to counter her, but it hardly stood up to the challenge.

"Lucky for me...have no need of slavery," he managed in a ragged, breathless rumble, having nothing to fear of that retribution at least. Who would ever want to tame this glorious, albeit evil, creature he couldn't say, but it would strain credulity to attempt.

She grunted in approval of his statement as she leaned down to capture his lips with her own, nipping and biting them with a ferocity of a lioness in heat as she lifted and slammed her pelvic floor down against his, grinding it in place as she squeezed her walls around him with each go before abandoning his mouth to lean her weight back onto her centre--fully upright as he was sheathed at a full, and deep, ninety degree angle.

She let out a subtle moan as she gyrated her hips in a circular motion, hitting each cardinal direction of her walls as she dragged her nails down his chest.

"Mmm.... You remind me of my first horse, Mr Holmes. I was quite the equestrian. Dear me did he have a foul temper and was about as haughty as spoiled prince. But he was magnificent and quite the beast. 16.1 hands...about as tall as you.... However....I think I much prefer this mount..." She teased in self-amusement, as she began bob up and down on him in this new position.

He found his body was following her lead of its own accord, bracing into her movements with a counter-rhythm no matter his inner rebellion. He was fighting to keep his focus as she see seemed more than determined to rip it from him, and his eyes narrowed at her in challenge.

"I suppose that's...a compliment," he ground out with obvious force, his hands starting to roam upward for distraction -- both hers and his own -- and cupped her breasts roughly, squeezing and trapping the bud of her nipples between his fingers.

She exhaled a soft hissing sound as he groped her breasts, leaning into his pinches as she steadied her weight forward again, her hands splayed on his pectoral muscles as she began lifted and dropped herself around him faster and harder, beginning to feel herself lose control as the wave of climax climbed higher and higher, threatening to crash her on his shores any second.

" Fuck ...I'm so close....Come with me, Sherlock..." She whimpered softly, her dominatrix persona forgotten in this sudden, heightened state of ecstasy with him.

He growled in wordless agreement, unsure his tongue was even capable of forming them at the moment. She had a unique talent for driving him speechless that no one else had managed to possess, no more exemplified than at this very moment. He bridged his hips into her last few thrusts for the sake of it, giving her more stimulation for entirely selfish reasons, he was afraid. It drove him to bursting just as he felt her tightening around him.

His groan was guttural and throat ripping and his lower abdomen clenched nearly to the point of pain as he finally let the wire snap, hands flying back to her hips, digging in and holding her tightly in earnest. He found himself leaning upward beneath her, as though the force of it pulled him from the pillows.

Irene let out a guttural cry of sheer euphoria bliss as she felt him buck and come within her, her walls clenching around violently and successively, as if squeezing every last drop of him from his load was some unconscious goal of her womb.

She threw her head back as another wave suddenly arrested her once more, a sharp whimper of appreciation escaping her throat before it was replaced by her weighty pants. She fell forward against him as she fought to catch her laboured breaths slowly.

She wrapped her arms around his neck, barely able to feel her hands so overcome with pins and needles were they, before resting her forehead against his finally.

She listened to their heaving inhales and exhales, their breathing power somehow syncing along with the beating of their hearts. She was tempted to roll her eyes and make some ‘disgusted comment,’ but decided to endorse the moment, for who knew when they’d be so joined again. With Jim back, the danger was ineffable once more.

His body slowly relaxed, and his eyes fluttered closed, feeling heavy and numb as he sank into the pillows once more, but her weight against him still felt heated and tingling. He found himself running his hands up the curves of her back subconsciously as their panting breaths mingled, her warmth bringing the feeling back into him. There were very few times Sherlock was ever relaxed, outside of the force of severe exhaustion, but she always managed it, even if briefly.

"Do we always follow near-death experiences with nearly killing each other," he managed to quietly joke in a deep, if strained murmur, lips twitching faintly.

She let out a half laugh, pulling back gently to ask out of want of clarification, “Firstly, I’d hardly call sex ‘killing each other,’ dear, quite the opposite, if I do say so myself. However, I will grant you that our means to the end differ significantly from the average pedestrian. But, we are not ‘the commonwealth,’ are we?” She winked before leaning down to nibble his lip playfully.

“But I will grant you, the near-death thing seems to be, an annoying and unfortunate, set-up….” She sighed almost wearily, a soft sadness ending her tone before she added gingerly, “Perhaps, one day, it won’t be the necessary ‘aphrodisiac….’” She murmured wistfully, her index finger circling an obtuse pattern on his chest, not wanting him to remove himself from her just yet.

He hummed slightly in appreciation at her touch, as well as in thought, his hand still tracing up her spine, in odd swirls and angles.

"Seems 'motivation' is more appropriate. We hardly need aphrodisiacs..." He murmured in correction, with a faint hint of a smirk, though it was also a tad melancholy. "It typically takes one of us nearly being shot or decapitated to drive us across whichever continent divides us," he added in consideration. "And there is that pesky 'death' status we keep falling into."

She leaned forward resting her elbows on his chest as she gently, and slowly allowed him to slip out of her before settling back down above his nether regions, resting her chin on his sternum as she replied drolly, “I meant it as metaphor, you cad….Believe you me, I’m more than aware at our ability to make any and every word, look, situation, and context highly….. adult .”

She leaned pressed a kiss to his skin before glancing up at him once more to add, “...Mmm, I suppose one of us being alive on paper again might actually make things easier in the future… The double ghost was getting a bit absurd… Let’s not recall the horrendous blonde, bob cut wig I had to don just to get into the bloody Ritz in Paris…” She shuddered in hyperbolised repugnance.

"Not the most flattering," he winced playfully, making a rumble of disapproval in his throat. "Though that idiotic suit wasn't my finest hour," he added honestly and for fairness, rolling his eyes faintly. His hand settled on the small of her back, in a nearly casual manner.

"Though, yes. At least one of us being legally present is quite helpful..." He stated in agreement, lips turning up at the thought. "At least we're not both scattering about the map."

She laughed softly, “Yes, double breasted suits should be left in the 80s never to be seen or heard from again. And do try to stay alive, this time round, all right? For my ‘appetite's’ sake, if nothing more.” She grinned, leaning up nip his nose playfully before rolling over on her back and stretching as she yawned faintly.

“Mmm, I did miss your bed… Besides the one in my flat in Belgravia, I think yours is the most comfortable and arousing bed I’ve ever had the pleasure of sleeping in, shame you don’t indulge in the act.” She couldn’t help but jibe him coyly, nipping his shoulder just for the sheer thrill of it. She was feeling very frisky and, well, Christ, happy .

He quirked a brow, but didn't question her excitement, quite frankly feeling a similarity. He gave her a teasing bit of a shrug, turning over on his side to loom over her slightly in an oddly quick motion in terms of his relaxed state.

"Clearly you've remedied that, on a few different levels," he husked near her ear rather obtusely.

Irene shivered softly as his breath hit her ear, sending goose pimples down her back. She leaned into him, frontside pressing against his as she toyed with his light chest hairs before murmuring in feigned innocence, "Oh please, I only drugged you the one time, and I'm sure you needed the rest... And it's not my fault the only time you are able to sleep on your own natural, biological accord is upon having mind-blowing orgasms at 'my hand...'" She winked as she glanced up at him quickly, hoping to see some amusement cross his face. She did love being one of the few people that could make him laugh and indulge his, albeit narrow, sense of humour--that wasn't vile or at anyone else's expense--except, perhaps, his own. Which, in itself, was a feet of Everest proportions with his egotistical personality.

He chuckled briefly at her rather true-ish statement, rolling his eyes fondly. "Sleep is an elusive bitch at times, yes. Outside of drugs and injury, I typically need something to tire my mind and that's a rare accomplishment...relaxing it's even rarer." It was meant, however oddly, as a compliment, his fingers tapping out a rather subconsciously complex pattern on the skin of her side.

She chuckled softly, burrowing her face into his chest as she took a deep inhale, indulging in the natural scent of him and those divine pheromones that he gave off.

“Mmm, thank you, dear, I’m flattered, once again..” She murmured into his chest softly.

"Don't be," he murmured in a playful mockery of irritation, half-arsed at that, harkening back to his first response to his so-called flattery. It always sounded like foolish denial, and he played on it now, even as he let out a quiet rumble of appreciation at her moving closer, throwing his arm around her thoughtlessly. He indulged the sensation for a moment before shifting back a tad.

"I'll be right back," he said simply into her ear, brushing his lips against it faintly, figuring his destination would be rather obvious as he reluctantly pulled himself from the sheets to stand to his feet, and pad towards the door.

She hummed in appreciation at his sentimental ‘loo-parting,’ at one point utterly unfeasible that he would ever adopt such ‘sweetheart’ acts of behaviour with her. Like with most other things, however, he always managed to surprise her with his uncanny ability to evolve, even if it was to his minor ‘self-stated’ chagrin.

She rolled over on her stomach as he left, tilting her head to the left to appreciate the view his exit so gratuitously gave her.

Once he was gone, however, she let out a melancholy sigh, glancing at the digital clock which glared at her the early morning time disdainfully. It was odd, the way she suddenly felt unwanted, or that she was out of place, at his, now that their coupling had finished. Although, to be fair, they never had only ‘dined’ one time--it usually at least hit the four or five mark, if not higher. Yet, out of some deep-rooted fear or anxiety she had the distinct feeling that to spend the night with him here , in 221b Baker Street, was somehow indicative of some ‘serious step’ in their ‘relationship’--whatever terms, labels, titles, and regulations that that term held with regards to them. Spending the night in all of their previous rendezvous was more than assumed, as they had always spent the night in some hotel or secretive meeting place. But now that they were back on English soil, and especially, his, personal soil she was not about to risk heartache at assuming, and assuming wrong, tonight.

That being the case she, reluctantly, sat up, stretched and made her way down the hallway to the bag she had left on the couch, grabbing a pair of black jeans, leather ankle boots, and a black cashmere V-neck top, along with her lace undergarments, before padding back to his room to begin to change and figure out her next ‘moves.’

He made his way back to the room fairly quickly, out of instinctive anxiety, and it seemed once again he wasn't wrong. He would've liked to have been, for once. He stood silently for a moment, watching her back as she moved to fasten her bra, and only then did he quietly stalk up behind her. His hand over taking hers and unclasping it beneath her fingers once again, he pressed her shoulder to turn her around to face him, urging her to let him remove the lace from her arms.

"Get back into my bed," he said simply as a vaguely sardonic command, his very typical 'Sherlock Holmes' attitude returning, if briefly, with a challenging tilt of his head. "If for no other purpose, I have every intention of picking your brain in the morning."

She locked eyes with him, a silent exchange flashing between then before a small, relieved smile tugged at her lips and she glanced down, blushing ever so lightly at her silly ‘female’ train of thought. He was a far better man than that, and they had come too far together now to still be playing the game , at least, the high-stakes emotional one--that was all settled now, more or less, apparently. The sexual, mental one--well, that was always in play, to be sure.

“Clever boy. You passed ‘The Test…’” She teased him lightly, more teasing herself , however, in vocally acknowledging her corrected, unnecessary actions.

Once her bra was off and safely on the floor, where it belonged, she wrapped her arms around his neck, a sultry haze beginning to cloud over her eyes, before grinding her pelvis against his as she challenged darkly, “Now then, Mr Holmes, how about breaking our previous record…?”

His lips turned up into a wicked, knowing sort of smile. She was of course calling her own bluff, and he was more than happy to let her, one of his hands easily bracing the back of her skull as he practically lifted her off of her feet into a seething kiss, partially even out of gratitude for her continued presence. One wouldn't think they'd been perfectly satisfied not too many minutes before, but that was, he supposed the nature of suppressing oneself to an annual coupling...or, a few. Especially with them, it seemed.

He had to wonder when exactly they'd managed to be considered oddly monogamous, at least on her end. It had never been an issue in his mind, but when she began bluntly insinuating she'd been bottling for his sake, he had always wondered. He'd never had the nerve to ask, or perhaps he just would rather not have known. But he was obscurely thankful for it regardless. He didn't have to look too far past her unbridled appetite to see the proof, or they'd never have managed to christen the rest of his flat, and manage to sleep in between, over the next 14 hours.

#adlock #the adlock yacht #my writing #sherlock smut #irene adler #lemon

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diinofayce · 6 years

Text

Who You Selling For? 3

Pairing: Bodyguard! Steve Rogers x OFC!Musician! Addison Schmidt x Bodyguard! Bucky Barnes | Word Count: 4.3k | Warnings: 18+ due to excessive drug and alcohol use, angst, barely edited |

FACTORY GIRL

Addison had made a comment about getting a shower in and parted from Steve and Bucky to get settled. Steve stood in the middle of their shared room looking a bit lost. It had the same large windows that all the rooms in this damn house did, its colors mostly stark white with muted grays and pops of bright orange; Steve made a mental note to see if he could find blue blankets to trade out because he knew that Bucky would like those better. The large king sized bed was positioned in the middle of the wall against the hallway so that you could look outside and Steve instantly knew that they would need to rearrange the furniture so Bucky could see every entrance. He already figured if they pushed it into an angle at the corner of the room that should give him view of the doorway out to the house, the bathroom, the closet, and the windows. While Steve was playing mental interior designer, Bucky bustled around him in a panic about this supposed house party the band was throwing. He was on the phone with Tony requesting more security after trying to get Stark to shut down the party had failed.

Steve snapped back to himself when Bucky let out a growl and tossed his phone on the bed. Crossing to his boyfriend in two long strides he tried to gently take Bucky’s waist in his hands but Bucky set his hands on Steve’s forearms to halt his advance.

“Buck,” Steve sighed sounding gutted.

“Stevie, we can’t. I can’t. We have a job to do and the girl is making it obscenely hard. What a stupid fucking move, a fucking house party. This is supposed to be a secure and secret location and now it’s going to have photos on every social media site, fans will be talking about it, fuck Hydra could send their inside men in themselves,” Bucky argued, his chest heaving and breathing heavy from all the different thoughts racing through his mind.

“Is that what you would have done?” Steve asked sharper than he meant, stepping away from Bucky to sit on the edge of the bed.

Bucky tore the hair tie from his chocolate locks and tangled his fingers in his hair so he could tug sharply at his scalp. “Yes, Steve. It’s exactly what I would have done. She’ll be drunk, she’ll be high, she’ll be easily accessible thanks to all the people. This would have been ideal, she makes it so fucking easy for the bad guys.”

Steve looked up at Bucky, staring him down with his intense ocean gaze. “That’s what we’re here for, Bucky. Tony put us on her because we’re the best he has, but we can’t work together if you just keep pushing me away.”

Bucky turned his icy orbs to Steve’s and sighed. Steve was right, he was always right, but he could never see when Bucky was shit pants terrified. And maybe that was his fault, he pushed and threw up walls and he knew it wasn’t fair to anyone including himself. So much could go wrong here, not only could Addison be killed, but so could Steve. Bucky didn’t know what he would do without Steve in his life. Bucky was also terrified of Pierce sinking his claws into him again. While Steve had gone to college after high school Bucky had gone into the service and when he came back from his tour he was already a broken man. Pierce was the first person to actively give him a job and Bucky, in his shambled state, was ready to do whatever Pierce asked of him because that’s all Bucky knew how to do after deployment.

Bucky walked over to Steve who spread his legs so Bucky could settle between them. He cupped Steve’s face in his hands and tenderly swiped his thumbs over his cheeks, leaning down Bucky kissed Steve softly in the middle of his forehead.

“I’m sorry,” Bucky whispered against his skin.

Steve reached up and hooked his hands into the crook of Bucky’s elbows, pulling the man’s lips down to his own. Steve kissed Bucky softly hoping to convey all the reassurance and love that he possibly could into that kiss. Bucky hummed in content and smiled softly against Steve’s lips.

“You don’t have to apologize to me, Bucky,” Steve reassured him when they separated. “I understand your fears, you can’t hide anything from me. We have to be a team, okay?”

“’Til the end of the line.”

Steve grabbed Bucky’s waist and laid back pulling the brunette down on top of him, smirking at the soft little squeak that left the brunette’s lips. They had ten minutes that they could selfish before everything went crazy.

~*~

The party was in full swing, the music was thumping over the speakers that were wired throughout the house, the alcohol was flowing, people seemed to be having quite a good time whether it was dancing or joking around by the pool or doing drugs in some shady corner of the expansive yard. Addison and Wanda, Addison’s guitarist and childhood best friend, sat in the backyard in lounge chairs sipping beer and keeping a subtle watch on the goings on. Addison could feel the hard gaze of either Bucky or Steve at any given time and it made her skin itch. She knew Steve was up on the balcony, watching the whole backyard, but mostly her and that Bucky was weaving his way through the house taking careful assessments of every person he passed. There were two other guards that they had Tony send over, some weird loud guy with long golden hair that was hanging out with Sam and Pietro and keeping an eye on them and then there was the man with the dirty blonde hair who looked like he had zero patience for any of the shit that was happening around him. The last Addison saw of him, he was working the front door.

Wanda was lazily braiding Addison’s long blonde hair, a softly smoking cigarette dangling from lips practically forgotten in her concentration.

“I thought you told your uncle you didn’t want security,” Wanda murmured around the filter and taking a deep suck to keep it lit when she realized it was still in her mouth. Two thin tendrils of smoke falling lazily from her nostrils on the exhale making her look like a dragon.

“Shows how much anyone listens to me,” Addison murmured, her lips brushing the lip of the beer bottle in her hand as she eyed a man in a black leather coat and a baseball hat pulled down over his eyes.

The man was surrounded by a handful of other party goers and Addison was watching the careful exchange of baggies and money. Addison let out a sharp whistle which had the group nearby looking up at her, it also regained Steve’s avid attention. She pointed to the man dealing and made a come hither motion with her finger, pulling her bottom lip in between her teeth. The man approached and raised his eyebrows at her expectantly. She watched Steve say something into the smartwatch on his wrist out of the corner of her eye, but chose to continue to pretend like their presence didn’t mean anything to her.

“What are you selling?” Addison asked.

“A bit of everything. What are you looking to buy?” the man responded flashing baggies of brightly colored pills, white powder, and some clear crystals.

Addison’s eyes roved his wares before flashing up at him. “A bit of everything,” she responded coyly, reaching into her bra and pulling out a wad of cash.

The man hummed in acknowledgment as he sorted out one of each kind of baggie. “You’re Addison Schmidt, right?” he asked suddenly, holding out the merchandise to her.

Addison held out two hundreds and snatched the bags from his hand. “Nope,” she accentuated with a pop of the p.

The man smirked and rolled his eyes, it was a rhetorical question but if she wanted to play this game it was fine with him. He was used these celebrity types. “Too bad, I hear she knows how to party. I would have given her a discount if I was promised more invites.”

Addison looked up at him sharply. “A girl like Addison Schmidt doesn’t need to go fishing for discounts. But if these are good I’ll pass on a positive word.”

She popped open one of the bags and tapped out six pink pills. She reached under her chair and came out with a little plastic tray with a razor blade on it. Addison eyed up the dealer in front of her for a second, assessing his worth, before pressing the flat side of the razor against the pills to crush them before flipping to the blade and chopping the pills into a fine powder and separated it into two thin lines. She snapped her finger at him while he babbled about his connections in the business and other drugs he knew how to get a hold of, he instantly passed her one of her twenties back which she rolled up into a little tube and huffed up one of the lines before passing the twenty and the tray to Wanda who followed suit. Wanda flicked the rolled up twenty back at the guy, both girls sniffling and rubbing their noses with the back of their hands.

“Well, ladies, they call me Doc and if you’re happy my number is on the bags. Don’t mix the long white pills with anything, especially alcohol,” he warned before rejoining the party. Wanda and Addison both waved him off while they rolled their eyes at each other. Dealers were a dime bag a dozen and they usually had no reason to go back to the same person, that’s how you got caught up when they inevitably got raided by the police. All drug dealers thought they were special, but at the end of the day if you have enough money any idiot could find any specific requests.

The man didn’t get too far into the house before he was grabbed roughly, the sound of a machine whirring as the fist tightened on his jacket lapels.

“What the fuck did you just sell her?” Bucky growled, slamming the man against the wall.

“Bro, lay the fuck off,” Doc barked trying to shove Bucky’s hands off of him, but Bucky’s grip wasn’t moving.

Bucky leaned in close and Doc flinched as the warmth of Bucky’s breath fanned over his face. “Tell me what you just sold to her,” Bucky demanded, his voice low and threatening.

From over Doc’s shoulders Bucky watched as Steve approached Addison and Wanda. Addison’s scowl from the man’s interruption was visible from all the way inside.

“A little bit of everything. Wellbutrin, Adderall, Butisol - which I warned her not to mix or drink if she was going to take it, some Molly and good ol’ fashioned coke. I had a bit of oxycontin - I had heard it’s one of her preferred, and I came across some Lithium last week. You can’t get high on Lithium, but no way she doesn’t have bi-polar or some shit which if you’re her hound dog - you’re welcome - I just made your job easier,” Doc rattled off and Bucky sorted through his mental knowledge of prescription drugs in his head.

“Why the fuck would you be handing out barbiturates at a place like this? You’re going to fucking kill someone,” Bucky snapped, lifting Doc away from the wall only to slam him back into it knocking the wind out of Doc’s lungs.

Doc coughed lightly, wheezing to get air back as he thumped Bucky’s metal shoulder. Doc’s brows furrowed in pain as he shook his bruised knuckles out. “Fuck, I just sell what’s popular. I told her to do them solo - if she mixes that’s her fault.”

“The pills she just took, what were those?”

“Wellbutrin, poor man’s cocaine. It doesn’t last nearly as long she’ll be back down in an hour or so,” Doc explained and sighed in relief when Bucky let him go.

“If I see you at another one of these parties, at any of her shows, if I see your stupid fucking face again - your own mother wont recognize you when you finally find your way home,” Bucky threatened and shoved him back into Clint who had been standing off to the side watching expressionless.

“Sure thing, man, but I gotta tell you not too many people are afraid of Pierce’s Winter Soldier anymore. Everyone knows you’ve gone soft,” Doc called back with a snarky laugh.

Bucky whirled around and Clint, reading Bucky’s intentions, held the dealer out as Bucky’s metal fist sunk deep into the soft flesh of Doc’s stomach. With a loud oof and loss of breath, Doc threw up on the floor between them. Bucky stepped back so as to not get any of the bile on his shoes.

Bucky leaned in close again to whisper in Doc’s ear. “If you’re running in that circle, you make sure Pierce knows I’ll kill everyone he fucking sends in my path and I’ll give him his little soldiers back in pieces.”

“Get him out of here. No need to be gentle,” Bucky commanded Clint with a sharp tilt of his jaw. Clint heaved Doc up and rushed him out the front door, easily pushing his way through the crowd.

Bucky sighed and ran his hands through his long dark hair as he looked around the house, side stepping the pile of vomit and making a note to see if someone can get it cleaned up. His eyes shot outside to where he last saw Addison, Wanda, and Steve and noticed they were no longer sitting out by the pool.

“Location check,” Bucky said into the microphone on his watch.

“Still taking out the trash,” Clint replied with a grunt.

“Kitchen,” Thor responded.

“Living room with the girls,” Steve’s voice came in sounding strained and stressed.

Bucky made his way through the crowd to the living room where the music was the loudest. He passed by the kitchen to check in on Thor who was hanging around Pietro, Wanda’s twin brother and the band’s drummer, and Sam Wilson, the bass player. Pietro was doing a line of something off the granite counter while Sam sat back on a barstool, aimlessly plucking his bass on his lap while flashing his brilliant white teeth at a pretty girl with black hair and legs for days. Thor watched Pietro reproachfully and cast a look at Bucky with a shrug. Rockstars, man, they always kept security on their toes. Certain that Thor had everything in the kitchen handled he continued to the living room where he almost choked on his tongue at the sight of Addison and Wanda up on the coffee table wearing nothing but their torn jeans and lacy bras as they danced to the loud music and the cheering of the crowd.

Steve stood off to the side, leaning against a wall, looking as if he wasn’t sure if he should intervene or not. His warm blue eyes found Bucky and he bit the corner of his mouth in uncertainty. Bucky crossed the room to him and sighed.

“We have to kill this party, there’s too many people. We can’t keep track of who’s coming in and out. That was the third drug dealer I’ve kicked out of this place and this one works with Pierce’s artists,” Bucky said into Steve’s ear over the music.

Steve nodded and looked around the crowd. “I have a bad feeling, Buck, the hairs on my neck are on end. Did you find out what the girls took?”

“Wellbutrin,” Bucky responded. “It makes me nervous mixing stimulants and depressants like that.” He continued, motioning to the bottle of Jack Daniels Addison had picked up along the way and was pouring into Wanda’s mouth.

“She wouldn’t give me the other bags of stuff, I figured I’d get them when she passes out. I’ve been watching to make sure she doesn’t take anything more,” Steve said as his eyes followed Addison’s movements.

The blond flowed with the music as lithe as a jungle cat and when she was offered a joint from someone in the crowd her face lit up with a brilliant smile. Both Steve and Bucky groaned in frustration as she placed the wrapped bundle in between her lips and took a deep inhale, before grabbing the back of Wanda’s neck and exhaling the smoke into the red head’s mouth. The crowd hollered and jeered and the sudden flashes of cameras had Steve and Bucky moving into action. Steve simply pocketed phones and cameras that he came across as he worked his way to the middle where the girls danced while Bucky crushed everything in his metal palm and handed the crumbled technology back to its original owner.

Steve made it to the stereo to cut the music while Bucky jumped up on the coffee table with the girls who were both glaring at him furiously. “Party’s over,” Bucky grunted grabbing the wrists of both girls and tugging them down.

“Bucky, no!” Addison protested, digging her heels into the carpet.

“Bucky, yes,” Bucky barked back before finally stooping down and lifting Addison up and tossing her over his shoulder. He looked at Wanda who just shrugged and curled her hair around her finger absentmindedly.

“I’m gonna find Piet,” she slurred and Bucky pushed her gently towards the kitchen and Thor.

Clint reappeared and Bucky jerked his head towards the living room. “Go help Steve get everyone out. Party is over,” Bucky commanded and Clint nodded, springing into action immediately.

Bucky took the stairs two at a time, ignoring Addison’s swearing and her alternating between trying to elbow him in the back of the head and her thumping her little fists on his broad back. He kicked open the door to her master suite and tossed her onto the bed where she bounced softly once and then fell back to stare up at the ceiling, her golden hair fanned out like a halo around her.

Bucky closed the door and crossed his arms over his chest, waiting for some sort of response as Addison blinked slowly up at the spackle on the ceiling.

Addison sort of heaved a little once before looking at Bucky pitifully. “I’m going to be sick,” she said in the smallest voice that Bucky has heard from the obnoxious vocalist yet.

“And there it is,” Bucky sighed, knowing this was coming. Sliding one hand around her knees and the other behind her shoulders he picked her up and carried her into the bathroom where he sat her down in front of the toilet, lifting the lid and seat and grabbing a washcloth.

As Bucky turned on the water in the sink he winced as Addison heaved and everything she consumed in the evening went splashing into the toilet. Turning off the water he sat on the edge of the bathtub and pulled Addison’s hair back gently out of her face and off her neck.

“Atta girl, go on, let the demons out.” Bucky whispered as Addison heaved and threw up again.

“Location check.” Came Steve’s voice in his ear.

“Doing a sweep of the pool house and back yard,” Thor answered.

“Speaking with the police out front,” Clint answered causing Bucky to wince. He was really hoping that they would make it through the first night without local police involvement.

“Master bathroom with Addison,” Bucky answered softly into his smart watch as Addison threw up again.

He reached forward and wiped the thin sheen of sweat off of Addison’s forehead with the damp washcloth and she leaned into his hand, looking strung out and exhausted.

“Can you get me a bottle of water, please?” Addison whispered, looking up at Bucky with her silver eyes - the black from her mascara streaking down her cheeks with her tears.

Bucky swiped a few stray platinum hairs off of her damp face and nodded. “Yeah, I can do that for you.” Heaving himself off the edge of the bath tub with a groan he tossed the washcloth into the sink and quickly headed downstairs to the kitchen. He was pleased to see how quickly Steve and Clint managed to get everyone flushed out of the house and quieted down.

A burst of laughter came from the kitchen and Bucky rounded the corner to see everyone milling around the center kitchen island. Pietro had his arm around his twin sister’s waist as Wanda snored softly, her head resting on his shoulder. Sam was in the middle of telling the group an apparently funny story, everyone hanging on his every word. Bucky cast Steve a pointed look as he slipped behind Thor, clapping the man’s broad shoulders as he passed, to the fridge where he opened it in his hunt for a bottle of water.

Steve looked between Sam and Bucky for a moment before tearing himself away from the story to approach his boyfriend. Bucky frowned at Steve, the blond had already shed his jacket and unbuttoned his shirt so that he could loosen the straps to his bullet proof vest. Bucky frowned and hummed softly in disapproval, something Steve caught immediately and had the decency to look slightly abashed.

“Having fun down here?” Bucky asked gruffly.

Steve looked at him a little confused for a moment and blinked a few times. “Uh, yeah, we’re just winding down a little before everyone goes off to bed. Kind of keeping an eye on Wanda. How’s Addison?”

Bucky hummed again and held up the water bottle. “Just grabbing her this. I’ll meet you upstairs when you’re done,” Bucky made to turn but Steve grabbed his elbow softly. “Not here.” Bucky said tersely casting his baby blues to Thor and Clint who were still engaged with Sam and Pietro. Steve sighed softly and let go of Bucky who immediately bolted out of the kitchen and back up to Addison’s room.

Pushing the bedroom door open, Bucky smiled softly to see that Addison had managed to get herself into a pair of sweat pants and into the bed on her own. He walked around the side of her bed and set the bottle of water down on her bedside table. He was just turning to leave for his and Steve’s room when he heard her turn over and turned back to make sure she was okay.

“Hey, Barney. Can you stay?” Addison whispered up to him. “At least for a minute?”

Bucky snorted and gave a little half smile before sitting down on the empty half of the bed. “Do you do that purpose or are you just honestly terrible with names?”

“I think the real question, Barnaby, is are you planning on killing me?” Addison mumbled against the crook of her elbow.

Bucky’s blood turned to ice in his veins and he looked down sharply at the half asleep girl laying next to him. “Why would you ask that?” he asked, his voice coming out broken and sharp.

Addison rolled over again and placed her head in his lap, her tangled golden locks fanning out across him. He raised his arms out of the way and looked at the closed door to the hall for minute wishing Steve was in here to deal with this. Steve was much better at the touchy feely crap than Bucky was.

“Come on, Bucky, I thought you read my files. You know that I was signed with Hydra while you were working for Pierce. I remember you. So are you one of his sleeper agents? Are you going to kill me now that I’m drunk and high and alone? Are you going to kill Steve too or just disappear?” Addison rambled, her words slurred and slammed together.

Bucky cleared his throat and looked up at the ceiling, clenching and relaxing his jaw to match the quick pounding of his heart. He took a few steadying breaths and started to absentmindedly and gently unknot her hair across his lap. “I don’t do that anymore, kid.” Bucky said finally.

“It’d be okay if you killed me, no one would miss me. I’d feel bad for Steve, though, he’s a very obvious person and he very obviously likes you a lot. So you should just…be better…okay? Because it’s really easy to be a piece of shit and it’s really hard to learn how to not be.”

Bucky was startled by how observant and poignant her statement was, especially since he was pretty sure Addison hadn’t been sober since they met earlier in the day. He didn’t know how to answer her, which was perfect because after making her proclamation she immediately passed out snoring in his lap. Bucky gently put her back under the covers and tucked up around the pillows before standing and making his way out of her room. As he was closing the door behind him he saw Steve trudging slowly up the stairs.

Bucky smiled softly at Steve who was looking reproachfully at Bucky, like he wasn’t sure how to act with Bucky right now. Bucky reached his metal hand out to Steve and nodded his head down the hall. “Come on, babe, let’s go to bed.”

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