#just need to take a deep breath and force my brain to acknowledge the sheer amount of support I’m given

[ftm2bbw]

You know that he's fucked you up far beyond any kind of repair when it's not just that you get off on the things that make you dysphoric.

It's that you get off on the feeling of dysphoria.

The difference is subtle but the effect is overwhelming. It's one thing to be aroused by the sheer size and productivity of your udders, even though feeling them wobble and slosh while perched on top of your bloated, distended belly makes you dysphoric and feels counter to your very identity. It's another thing entirely to have it be the other way around, looking down at your tits and feeling dysphoric and having that feeling fuel your arousal. You might not even have the vibrator inside you, but it sure as shit feels like you do, your entire body set alight.

Pretty soon, you start doing things that intentionally make you dysphoric. Trying to squeeze into a bra with frilly, girly lace that was two sizes too small even before he fucked with your hormones and your head. Calling yourself by your dead name, even in your mind, sends a jolt of pleasure right down to your needy pussy, a part of your body you tried to ignore but now get aroused by acknowledging. After a particularly intense session, with the TENS unit on your udders, the pumps on your teats, his hands on your belly, and the vibrator buzzing away inside your cunt, the haze of multiple, uncountable orgasms clouds your mind. You turn to him, barely able to focus, your torso heaving with deep breaths. You'll have to be put on oxygen if you get much bigger. But, for now, you take a deep breath and ask him a simple question: "Was I a good girl?"

The smile on his lips tells you everything you need to know. He doesn't have to touch you, yet another orgasm ripping through your body.

God that's so fucked up....and so fucking hot....

Constantly craving his touch and his praise in this most feminine, submissive of ways. My bloated, soft, fertile body making me so dysphoric it nearly breaks my brain, but it makes me throb and ache so deeply all the same.

Even in his absence I wouldn't be able to stop. Squeezing myself into bras, groping at my massive ass, stroking my wide hips. Forcing myself to look in the mirror as I run my hands over my changed body. So ashamed, so dysphoric, and so deeply deeply aroused. "Good girl, good girl, good girl" pounding through my head on a loop despite my best efforts, as that deep need continues burning between my legs.

Fuck.

#honestly....I think I already am accidentally conditioning myself to get off on my dysphoria..... #i squeeze into old bras more than I should admit #ask.txt

[justskulkingaround]

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💖💖💖

#text #keep feeling unseen almost?? but that’s not true #this is proof of that #and I have people reaching out to see if I’m okay #so imma just have to fight with myself for a little bit #get the facts straight #like I am so cared for and loved #and appreciated and I have people who notice and want to help #it’s gonna be a fight #but I can do it #I’m gonna get through this. I always have. I always will #just need to take a deep breath and force my brain to acknowledge the sheer amount of support I’m given #because working with facts will work out some of the kinks in my train of thought here #and I have amazing friends on here who have given my these things #and I #I’m not going to sulk and pretend they don’t #hearts #thank you shy

[thornedrose44]

Supercorp prompt-

Lena takes an art class to de-stress and Kara is the nude model. Awkward semi- naked flirting ensues.

(A/N: So, I put my own twist on this (hope that’s okay), I made Lena a teacher just because I liked the idea of Lena having to keep her lack of chill under control and be professional in front of a class funny - though this fic went down just a really light, fluffy route which I hadn’t expected when I started it.)

Read on AO3

It had been going well, the first term had passed with only a few missteps and one trip to the emergency room - though, the Dean had told her that Zach had yet to make it through a single class without some sort of accident and had been preemptively banned from taking Chemistry classes for fear of taking out an entire graduation class. 

Lena had never expected to return to her alma mater as a lecturer but the stars had aligned at just the right time. The youngest Luthor had reached a stage in her career where she had finally proven her adoptive mother wrong about not finding success as an artist and had made enough money that she need never paint another picture in her life again. The lack of necessity and the return to a more Luthor-esque lifestyle - galas, fancy balls and paid talks - had subsequently impacted her inspiration. She needed a change. A return to her roots and some sort of stability without losing her ability to make a personal impact with her work. 

Her mentor - J’onn - was stepping down from the art department and had recommended her as his replacement; National City University had jumped at the chance of the world renowned Lena Luthor taking up a teaching position there. 

She was now a third of the way through the school year, settled comfortably into her new role, and absolutely loving it. Her spark was back, and she was enjoying being in one place surrounded by her old friends. She was reconnecting with skills and techniques she hadn’t touched in years whilst simultaneously giving advice and encouragement to students that reminded her of herself when Lillian had cut her off to force her into attending business school and abandoning her dreams. She was finally able to return the kindness J’onn had given her all those years ago to the next generation of artists. 

It was the second term that Lena experienced her first set of real nerves. 

Lena had an artistic weak spot, an achilles heel that she had been able to keep out of her signature artistic style but she would now be forced to confront. 

Life drawing.

It had been her lowest scoring class by a mile and she had avoided the advanced elective classes like the plague. Lena knew practice made perfect but she’d never had enough interest to develop her skills. Her interest had always lied more in natural landscape beauty - J’onn had said her true inspiration lied with trying to recreate her childhood memories of Ireland: emerald rolling hills, rocky cliffs, dense forests ensconced by a mystical fog that lended her artwork a fantastical element that she was now known for.

The problem lied in Lena’s lack of interest in people. 

She had never really seen the ‘art’ in them.

Kelly, Sam and Andrea had spent hours over evening drinks psycho-analysing just why that might be, their two favourite theories were Lena’s family (the loss of her mother and the general unpleasantness of the Luthors) or Lena’s truly terrible dating history (their favourite topic of conversation due to the sheer number of embarrassing stories it elicited).

Lena refused to acknowledge the accuracy of both theories. 

It was therefore with a sense of dread that Lena prepared for the first Life Model Drawing class that Tuesday afternoon. The one small silver lining was that she didn’t need to arrange a model - she had vague memories of J’onn trying to entice volunteers and grumbling under his breath about some of the less than pleasant eager volunteers. J’onn had a list of regular volunteers that he had accrued over the years that were reliable and just liked to help out - most of them older with an appreciation for the arts and more time on their hands than they knew what to do with. The University admin team had organised everything and simply told her to expect a Kara Danvers at the studio some time before the class.

Lena had finished prepping the studio well in advance, reviewed the relevant techniques for most of the morning and even phoned J’onn for a much needed pep talk over lunch. She had just convinced herself that everything might be okay, that she just might be able to do this, when the most beautiful woman Lena had ever laid eyes on burst into the studio.

A toned body that glinted with a light sheen of sweat barely covered by a white v-neck tucked in at the front of a pair of dark jeans that merely brought all of Lena’s attention to the bronze belt buckle that locked away a thousand dirty thoughts. Glorious golden ringlet curls bounced up and down as the woman stumbled to a sudden stop as the most piercing blue eyes imaginable behind thick glasses locked with Lena’s green ones.

“Hi, I’m Kara!” The goddess announced, swallowing thickly and stumbling forward in her hefty black boots as she extended out a hand for Lena to take.

Lena only reached out due to years of Luthor training that had ingrained politeness into her muscle memory - her brain still not firing on all cylinders at the sight of the woman in front of her. Kara’s warm palm connected with Lena’s, long fingers curling gently yet firmly around the edge of her hand and sending arcs of lightning through Lena’s body and causing her breath to stutter. 

“I hope you haven’t been waiting for me for too long.” Kara continued, a bright apologetic smile lighting up her entire face and grinding whatever gears were still turning Lena’s mind to a dead - permanent - halt. “I try to always get here early to help set-up but the interview I was conducting overran - I’m a journalist, by the way - and then my bike - motorbike that is -” Lena’s mind caught on the motorbike and turned it round over and over and over again, “didn’t start and… I’m rambling. Oh, golly! I mean heck, I mean sorry.” Kara huffed, cheeks filling with air before releasing into an adorable pout. “Sorry.”

It was then that Lena realised two things.

One, it was her turn to say something and there had now been at least ten  prolonged seconds of silence as they stared into each other’s eyes.

And two, they were still holding hands because that’s what it was now, it most definitely could not be considered a handshake.

“Umm… hi…” Lena choked out whilst simultaneously jerking her hand back to her side, hoping the somewhat stifling heat of the studio would hide the red blush perfusing her cheeks.  “Lena. I’m Lena, that is…”

“Hi.” Kara murmured, smiling soft and sweet at her causing Lena’s heart to flip and melt and dance and do a million impossible things all at once.

“Hi.” Lena repeated dumbly - so dumbly.

“I should…” Kara chuckled, hands miming grabbing the edge of her t-shirt and lifting it up, “You know?”

Oh, god the goddess is going to undress, Lena’s brain screamed in gay at herself.

“Yeah, definitely do that.” Lena encouraged with a flap of her hand towards the centre of the studio where a solitary illuminated stool awaited. “Do you need anything? Is the lighting okay? Stool… umm… sturdy?”

Kara grinned at her, blue eyes barely sparing a glance at the studio’s set-up, “Looks perfect.”

“Great.” Lena cheered, jerking her thumb over at her desk in the corner where she had prepped her teaching materials, “I’ll… uh… be over there.”

“And I’ll be right here.” Kara shot back with a cheeky wink as she walked over to the stool, a towel awaiting her to provide suitable covering until the class had settled, shucking her white shirt over her head and revealing back muscles that would star in Lena’s fantasies for the foreseeable future.

“Yep.” Lena popped, taking a deep breath and trying to work out if she should be murmuring a thank you to God or screaming a desperate why me.

***

The class had gone well - except for the long periods where her brain shutdown whenever she studied the play of shadows across Kara’s defined musculature. She managed to cover it quite well by making it seem like she was just assessing her students’ work closely, analysing their line work and shading rather than going through an extended gay crisis that eclipsed seeing boobs for the first time in college.

Kara, on the other hand, was a consummate professional, holding a steady pose throughout and utterly unfazed by the concentrated gazes on her - though, Lena could have sworn that she caught deep blue eyes tracking her movements round the half-circle every now and again. 

“So, you’re experienced doing this?” Lena asked, once the last student had departed and Kara was finishing re-tying her sturdy boots back up.

“Taking my clothes off?” Kara chuckled, shooting the teacher an amused smirk, getting to her feet and strolling easily over to where Lena was examining the product of her class’ efforts. 

Lena faltered, “I meant-”

“I’m just teasing.” Kara reassured, reaching out to squeeze Lena’s forearm in a half-apology that Lena could have sworn burnt Kara’s hand print into her skin, “I’ve done this for a while now. I did an interview with J’onn a few years ago and his model bailed at the last minute and I was here already and…” Kara shrugged casually like stepping in was the obvious thing to do, like kindness was the only option - which Lena didn’t doubt for a second was something Kara genuinely believed. “I like helping out where I can. And I just kept coming back…” Kara explained, clasping her hands behind her back as she took a tentative step closer to Lena, “I was never really sure why until-”

“Hey, babe, you ready to go?” 

Lena’s head snapped round to see Andrea strolling through the doorway, eyes fixed on her phone utterly oblivious to the moment she had just trampled all over. Lena wasn’t sure whether Andrea was naturally such a good cockblock or if she practiced at it - regardless of either option Lena’s sexlife had vanished into thin air since she’d returned to living in the same city as Andrea. (Not that Lena thought that her and Kara were heading that way but Lena had been enjoying the hope of it at least).

“Andrea, you’re early for the first time in.... well, ever…” Lena snarked, rolling her eyes before glancing over to Kara, only to find the blonde had taken a large step away from her and her expression was far more neutral and guarded than it had been only moments before.

“Wait, we weren’t meeting at 4?” Andrea frowned, still not bothering to look up.

“Ah, so you’re not early, you’re over an hour late.” Lena remarked.

“God, you’re such a drama queen…” Andrea sighed, finally lifting her gaze from her phone, her eyes immediately alighting on Kara with undisguised interest. “And who is this?”

“Andrea, this is Kara the model for our life drawing classes.” Lena introduced taking a protective step in front of the blonde, an action that did not go unnoticed by the other two occupants in the room. “Kara, this is my supposed best friend who is regularly trying to lose that title.”

“Oh, best friend?” Kara repeated; the familiar brightness from before returning to her expression as she looked excitedly between the two friends.

“Yes.” Lena answered, smiling shyly at Kara and immediately forgetting Andrea’s existence, let alone presence in the room.

“That’s great.” Kara grinned, blushing a light pink a second later as her hands fidgeted with her keys, “I mean… ummm…. That you have a best friend. My sister is my best friend, though I have other friends. I just mean that… friends are cool.” 

Lena laughed lightly at Kara’s ramble, leaning closer towards the blonde without realising until Andrea appeared at her shoulder looking far too pleased with herself.

“Kara,” Andrea greeted, holding out a hand for the blonde to shake (Lena was comforted to see their handshake was quick, almost professional in comparison to the lingering touch Kara and Lena had shared earlier). “The pleasure is all mine.” Andrea declared, winking surreptitiously at the teacher - Lena instantly dreaded the upcoming girl’s night.

“Nice to meet you.” Kara replied friendly and sincere, before smiling softly at Lena and muttering a hopeful, “I’ll see you next week?” 

“I’ll be here.” Lena reassured, watching as Kara nodded farewell to Andrea and departed, waving on her way out.

“Well…” Andrea murmured mischievously.

“Don’t.” Lena said sharply, holding up a finger to deter whatever torment Andrea had brewing. “Not a word. Not a single word.”

“Ooookay.” Andrea lied.

***

“You okay?” Lena asked tentatively, watching as Kara sluggishly slung her bag over her shoulder the pep to her step nowhere near as present as it had been last week. 

They hadn’t had a chance to talk before the class even though Kara arrived much earlier to help set-up - Lena had been helping a student struggling with deadlines and a sudden crisis of confidence which prevented them from interacting. Despite being occupied, Lena had seen the fatigue weighing heavily on the reporter, saw how her impeccable posture dropped and how her students added weary lines to her expression in their artwork. 

“I think you fell asleep on that stool for ten minutes at some point.” Lena murmured, brow creasing in concern.

“Pfft… what?” Kara reassured with a light-hearted wave of her hand. “Impossible.”

Lena arched an unimpressed eyebrow, “You snore. Quite loudly.”

“Oh…” Kara pouted guiltily, rubbing at the back of her neck, “My sister is going through a rough patch and I stayed up late with her last night.”

Lena’s amusement drained away to be replaced with soft, supportive care, “Is she okay?”

“Yeah, she’s doing better.” Kara replied, blue eyes twinkling at Lena’s inquiry that had them both ducking their heads coyly and sharing furtive glances. “I should get going.” Kara coughed out, though she made no move to leave.

“Or…” Lena began hesitantly, heart fluttering in her chest, “we could go for coffee? You should probably have a coffee before driving,” Lena rationalised, nervously stepping back from the blatant romantic line she was toeing, “you know for safety…”

“For safety.” Kara repeated carefully, blue eyes glowing with warmth, “That sounds wonderful.”

***

It didn’t take them long at all to settle into a comfortable routine.

Kara came early to the life model classes, helping set-up the room as they talked about the students' progress and what Lena was going to make the focus of the class. During the class itself, Lena no longer needed to flit as regularly between her students, they had learned the basic techniques enough to practise for themselves, now only requiring light guidance which allowed Lena time to either do some marking or her own art. Kara posed perfectly throughout, though Lena was becoming more and more aware of Kara’s still gaze on her as the weeks passed by. 

After class, it was now custom for them to grab a coffee and go for a long walk around the university campus as they talked about everything and nothing. They would have been building towards a strong friendship if it wasn’t for the lingering touches, blatant flirts, blushes and wandering gazes. 

Lena wasn’t overly sure why they hadn’t crossed that line, made that final move, but she found she didn’t particularly mind the wait. She was convinced that they had both decided that the journey was making the destination all the more desirable.

It became abundantly apparent, though, that Kara thought differently if their conversation after the class midway through the term was anything to go by.

“So do you not like my body?” Kara asked, quick and fearful, eyes looking down at the sketch Lena had done during class of a vase of flowers in the corner rather than of the readily available model.

“What?” Lena muttered in disbelief looking up sharply from her desk to see Kara paling considerably having clearly not intended to ask the question that she had blurted out.

“I… uh…” Kara squeaked, mouth opening and closing rapidly, before lifting her bare wrist up with a jerky motion and whistling in exaggerated surprise, “Wow, look at the time. I’m late for… uh… this thing. Work thing. Interview! That’s a work thing.”

And just like that she was gone - Lena wouldn’t have been surprised if there was a Kara shaped hole in the studio wall with how fast she disappeared - leaving Lena with a sinking, twisty feeling in the pit of her stomach that told her she might have lost more than her regular coffee with Kara over that one interaction.

***

Lena had Kara’s phone number and they had taken to texting throughout the day; however, since Kara’s panicked question - which probably revealed some deep vulnerability in the blonde - there had been complete and total radio silence. No memes, no cute animal pics, no sweet check ins… Lena’s phone remained silent when it once vibrated with life. 

Lena wanted to text or call Kara the second she had left the studio but Lena didn’t feel like this was a conversation they could have over text, so she waited impatiently for them to be face to face again, counting down the days until the next class. 

Lena even took to repeatedly checking in with the admin office to confirm that Kara hadn’t pulled out of modelling; reaching the stage where Jess, the most senior admin in the team, had taken to emailing her every couple of hours to reassure her that Kara still hadn’t cancelled. 

When Kara appeared, nervously stepping into the art room, fingers playing with the hem of her shirt, it was like Lena could finally breathe easy again. The fear and loss eeking away in an instant, giving Lena the necessary courage to stride forward and bare herself in a way that Kara had been doing every week without Lena fully realising.  

“I don’t like drawing people.” Lena announced, shoving her hands into her pockets to resist the temptation to reach out to the other woman as the blonde blinked at her in surprise, listening intently. “It’s kind of a thing with me.” Lena winced, pushing down all the reasons for why that is. “When I draw something I… kind of let whatever it is into me, let it consume me and it… stays with me for a long time after that. It’s why I draw what I draw. I draw my home because it's a part of me already. Drawing someone means carrying them with me and… that’s scary for me.” Lena breathed, glancing at the blonde to see soft understanding in blue eyes. “I just wanted you to know it’s not you.”

Kara nodded, shuffling closer and dipping her head so that she could whisper into the still space between them, “Thank you.” 

“Right,” Lena murmured, swallowing thickly before jerking a thumb over her shoulder, “I should-”

“Do you want to get dinner?” Kara inquired earnestly causing Lena to freeze in hopeful surprise. “After class, that is?”

“Um… Yes.” Lena replied, nodding her head eagerly.

“Awesome.” Kara grinned brightly.

***

Kara took her to a tucked away italian restaurant that was one of National City’s hidden gems. The food was outstanding and the company was even better.

It wasn’t a date, but it wasn’t just friends going out for dinner either. 

Lena would call it a test-run but that would imply that Lena wasn't already one hundred percent certain that she wanted an actual date with Kara. It was more of a date-appetiser if Lena was going to call it anything, a taste to build interest before the real thing. 

Once they had finished their food, Kara didn’t hesitate to interlace their fingers as they went for an evening stroll around a nearby park, both wishing to prolong their time together.

“Can I see your art?” Kara requested; they had been sitting on a bench in front of a lit-up fountain for the last twenty minutes or so in comfortable silence. Lena had expressed an interest in sketching the fountain and Kara hadn’t hesitated to find them a seat and encourage Lena’s desire without complaint, occupying herself with people-watching in the meantime. 

“I’m pretty sure the images are all over the internet.” Lena replied drolly.

“Yeah, I know it’s just…” Lena’s pencil froze in it’s movements finally noticing how hard Kara was trying to act casual, “what you said about it being a part of you, I thought-”

“You want me to show it to you…” Lena inferred, setting her pencil down and closing her handy sketchbook in an instant. 

“It’s stupid, I’ll-” Kara laughed awkwardly, shaking her head in an attempt to brush over the request like it wasn’t a big deal

“I don’t have many pieces here in National City,” Lena said thoughtfully, getting to her feet and holding out a hand for Kara, “but I have some works in progress that I can show you… if you want that is?”  

“I would love that.” Kara beamed, jumping to her feet as Lena tugged her back towards her campus studio, already picking out her favourite pieces in her mind that she wanted to share with the blonde.

***

Lena and Kara’s ‘friendship’ continued to blossom into something neither could have anticipated that day Kara sprinted into the studio all those weeks ago. The weekly class they shared was now always followed by dinner, taking it in turns to share their favourite cuisines and restaurants. They had also grown beyond only seeing each other on their allotted class day, sharing lunches and movie nights and spontaneous coffees as they learned each other's schedule and needs. 

Lena read all of Kara’s articles and spent many an evening asking countless questions about the background to each of them. Likewise, Kara would appear for coffee with one of Lena’s artworks saved in her phone, burning with curiosity about what had inspired it.

Time spent with Kara flew by and, before Lena knew it, it was the final class prior to spring break. Her last class with Kara until the next school year and Lena was finally ready.

She had finally figured it out.

Why she had waited.

Why she had yet to seize the numerous opportunities to transition her relationship with Kara into a romantic one.

It was because she knew. 

She knew from the second that she had taken Kara’s hand in hers when they first met that this was it. That Kara was it.

And that was, and still is, terrifying. 

When they had first met, Lena hadn’t been ready for Kara. Hadn’t been ready for everything that Kara represented and would come to mean. She had needed the time, the time to lower her guard, to trust and hope. 

And now, she was ready and she knew exactly how to let Kara know.

The class came to an end with Lena giving her students a quick speech on how proud of their progress she was and wishing them a good spring break. Kara lingered behind as was now custom, helping Lena tidy up the area before they headed out together.  

“Kara?” Lena called out nervously, sweaty palms rubbing against her black denim covered thighs as her heart beat thunderously in her chest. “I was wondering…” Lena began, clearing her throat as Kara stopped what she was doing to give Lena her undivided attention. “Can I… can I draw you?”

Kara’s brow instantly furrowed in confusion, “I thought-”

“Yeah…” Lena laughed shyly, staring into deep blue eyes, practically begging for Kara to understand what she was really saying. “Can I?” Lena repeated.

Kara pursed her lips thoughtfully as she studied Lena’s expression - it was then Lena realised that Kara understood exactly why they had been waiting. Kara wasn’t replying because she wanted to check that Lena was sure, was giving Lena a chance to delay, was saying - without really saying it - that she could wait longer.

Lena didn’t take the escape Kara offered, instead she lifted her head higher and arched an eyebrow at the blonde.

A thousand-watt smile of excitement took up residence on Kara’s face as she nodded eagerly, “Of course.” 

“Clothes on.” Lena clarified - she had promised herself that the first time she truly studied Kara’s body it would be in a setting where touching would not break any professional standards. 

***

Lena had Kara sit opposite her in her private studio, their knees pressed tightly against one another providing a warm point of contact to keep them grounded. Lena’s gaze flickered from her sketchpad to Kara’s features; occasionally, she would reach out to adjust a lock of golden hair so it caught the light. Kara, meanwhile, had an ever constant soft smile that didn’t diminish for the entirety of the session even as she was forced to rein in her boundless curiosity to stop herself from sneaking a peek at Lena’s sketch until it was ready to be revealed.

Lena only drew Kara’s head because, though, she had spent countless hours in the presence of Kara’s naked body over the course of the last few weeks - when Lena thought of Kara (really thought about her in the way that made her heart skip), it wasn’t her abs or her biceps that Lena pictured (though she did think about them regularly when she was in her bed alone at night). 

It was Kara’s eyes that Lena thought about most. 

How they were so bright and hopeful whilst simultaneously melancholic and lost.

There were whole galaxies in those blue eyes and Lena knew that she could spend the rest of her life drawing them and never get bored, nor get them exactly right.

“What do you think?” Lena asked, slowly turning her sketchbook round for Kara to see.

It wasn’t finished. It was mere line work that would require further detailing but it was a good start and she hoped Kara could see its potential like she did with everything else in the world - like she did with Lena.

“It’s…” Kara began, licking her lips as she pulled the sketchbook closer to her chest like it was something treasured and infinitely rare. “It's incredible.” Kara breathed, the sincerity of her words undeniable due to how they were accompanied by a watery film to her blue eyes.

“I like your body.” Lena whispered, shattering the companionable silence they had drifted into as Kara admired Lena’s artistry.

“W-w-what?” Kara stammered, head jerking up at the out-of-the-blue declaration.

Lena reached out for the sketchbook, lifting it out of Kara’s hand and placing it on the nearby table so that she could take Kara’s hands in hers. 

“You asked if I liked your body a while ago,” Lena reminded the blonde, “and I just thought you should know that I do. I really, really do. I mean really.” Lena emphasised, glancing appreciatively down at Kara’s body prompting the blonde to blush a pleased pink. “But it's more than just that. It’s become more than that. Talking after class, getting coffee, going for dinner… it's the best part of my week. You’re the best part of my week.”

“Lena-” Kara began, her mouth suddenly snapping shut as her jaw clenched and her chin lifted in determination. Blue eyes studied Lena for a long moment and all Lena could do was hold her breath and wait. 

Lena made Kara wait weeks, she could therefore wait the stretched seconds that Kara needed in return without complaint

Kara got confidently to her feet, tugging Lena up with her, squeezing their hands once before releasing her so that she could reach up to tenderly cup Lena’s face. “I’m going to kiss you now.” Kara declared, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Thank fu-” Lena sighed gratefully, cut off from offering up her thanks by Kara’s perfect lips sliding over hers.

#supercorp #supercorp fic #supercorp prompt

[buckyownsmylife]

daddy issues - final chapter

The one where Ransom doesn’t feel ready to become a father, but he should have thought about it before sleeping with a complete stranger.

When Ransom’s latest one night stand lets him know that he’s going to become a father, he finds himself looking for the qualities he never believed to have so he can become the parent he never got to witness as a child.

for general warnings and author’s notes, please go to the fic’s masterlist.

A/N: this is it, everyone! Thank you for following along for the ride. This series is now officially completed, but I will write an epilogue for it eventually (it most likely won’t be coming out next Tuesday). If there’s anything in particular you’d like to see in it, please let me know!

Y/N’s P.O.V.

The gentle sunlight dancing through the sheer curtains woke me up. I did not understand why anyone bought these types of curtains - maybe for the living room, sure. But to place them inside a bedroom?

The aesthetic purposes weren’t as important as the usefulness and as far as drapes go, these were pathetic. I had told Ransom about them before, and all he did was chuckle and agree to call his interior designer to ask for something made of a better fabric.

Yawning, I sat up on the bed and stretched out my arms, moaning softly at the pleasurable pain on my muscles. I was still half-asleep, mind not yet connected to anything when I felt a sweaty hand slip from my stomach to my thigh, and I realized it was naked.

I was naked. All at once, the memories from last night returned and I whipped my head to the side to check on a sleeping Ransom, face turned to me as he snored gently on the pillow.

I remembered everything then. The fight, the insecurities, the reassurances, the physical reassurances… The way he told me he loved me…

I wanted to say it back. I really did because I knew I felt the same way about him, but I hadn’t anticipated it would happen during sex after what was probably one of the worst evenings of our lives.

It felt too real. Too much, too soon. I needed to get out of here.

In my rush to leave the bed, I dipped the mattress too abruptly considering there was someone else slipping on it - someone I didn’t want to wake up. So that’s precisely what happened.

Ransom’s P.O.V.

I inhaled deeply as the slumber slowly left my body, memories of the night before rushing in as I exhaled into a smile. God, that was the best night of my life.

Opening my eyes, I was hoping to find her body right next to mine, close enough that I could reach over, touch her and maybe repeat some of last nights best moments until hunger forced us to leave the bed.

But my fingers didn’t find anything and when I looked up, it was to find her frantically trying to put on some clothes as she fumbled from one side of the room to the other.

“What’s going on?” My voice came out harsher than I intended, throat hoarse from last night’s activities and the sleep that still somewhat dominated my body. Upon hearing it, she froze, keeping her back to me while my mind raced, trying to make sense of what I was seeing.

And then I understood it.

“You’re trying to leave me.” She didn’t deny it, but guilt must have been inside of her, fighting for dominance over her fear because she turned around to face me, a pained look on her expression.

“Ransom…” I knew that tone. I hadn’t even employed on anyone before because I never cared enough about someone to feel bad when I broke things off with them, but this feeling was universal.

I rushed to leave the bed, uncaring of the fact that I was still naked when I crossed the distance between us and took her face in my hands. “Don’t do this,” I pleaded. “Don’t lock me out again.”

Tears dominated her eyes and she blinked them away, forcing them out so they could run over her cheeks. Frustration was clear on her every feature, she shook her head as best as she could considering my hold on her, squeezing her eyes shut for a second like she was trying to think.

“Why the fuck can’t I control myself around you?” She burst out, and immediately the angst I was feeling escaped my body, letting me go now that I knew what was bothering her.

Taking a deep breath, I brushed her hair away from her face, gazing deeply into her eyes so she’d know how much I meant what I had to say.

“Because you like being with me just as much as I enjoy being with you.” She couldn’t counter that, but when she tried to avoid it, I called her out, “It’s true, you can’t deny that!”

She bit on her bottom lip, trying to contain herself, trying to get a hold of her emotions that must have been all over the place. I could understand that, considering… well, everything. Not only her pregnancy and our emotional connection, but the array of feelings we went through last night.

One thing remained true. I loved her and after what she did for me, I knew she loved me too.

“Your head’s trying to talk you out of it,” I recognized, hoping now that I was showing the problem she would acknowledge it too. “But you know this in your heart, just like I know on mine!”

Once again, she didn’t oppose it, and that gave me all the confidence I needed to keep going.

“We’re supposed to be an ‘us’, sweetheart,” I breathed out, hope and longing evident in every single word I uttered, as well as my eyes, that never strayed from hers. “Please, give this a try.”

Silence followed. She was calmer now, more rational. Her breathing was slower but she still looked weary, still looked scared. So I let her go, separating my skin from hers even though it was the exact opposite of what I wanted to do, so I could give her as much room to think as possible.

But I was going to lay all of my arguments because this was the battle of my life.

Y/N’s P.O.V.

I felt cold without his hands on my body, his presence towering over me. Hugging myself, I hesitated between leaving the room or staying there, when he started to talk again, making the decision for me.

“You know it makes sense.” He was talking about him and I, I knew it. And I agreed. There wasn’t a single cell on my body that could deny this - not anymore. Still, my brain persisted, stuck on idiotic reasonings that had no place ruling something so important to my heart. “It makes so much sense.”

The fact that he was willing to fight for this, to fight for me was making this even harder on me. It was clear on the way he spoke - on every word he said - that this mattered to him and I felt comforted in the knowledge, but even more frustrated that my stupid insecurities still haunted me.

“I know I’m not easy,” he acknowledged, leaving me even more frustrated with myself. “And I definitely don’t deserve someone like you. But if you want me, I’ll be here.”

I had to say something. I couldn’t just let him think so low of himself, not when he was being the perfect partner and my only reason to hold back resided exclusively on myself.

“I do want you,” I managed to admit, my voice tentative as I played with my own dress. “I want you Ransom, and you do deserve me but I…”

That was enough to get him near me again, hands once more cradling my face as he dipped my head so I’d look him in the eye. “I know you’re scared,” he recognized, tongue wetting his lower lip as he rushed to try to calm me. “I know you’re scared of loving me, and I was scared too.”

A chuckle escaped his lips, he sounded almost guilty. “I still am, if I’m being entirely honest. But I’m willing to give this a try because the other option… well, the other option is simply unacceptable to me.”

Silence laid heavily in the room as I contemplated what he was saying, thinking about the other option myself. I didn’t want to live it. I didn’t want to go through this alone and love Ransom from a distance.

The fear of losing him brought me the courage I needed to push through and tear down the last wall I was stupidly trying to keep against him and I.

“You’ve done so much for me,” I recognized, trying to keep the shame in my voice to a minimum. “So much to prove to me that you’re worth it.”

The light coming through the curtains made the atmosphere almost romantic somehow, and now I found myself enjoying them because this way, I could see the sparkle of hope that twinkled in Ransom’s deep eyes.

I needed to say it. It was time for me to say it. “You’re the only person I want to be with,” I started, dipping my toes in the water while I prayed that the sea wouldn’t take me. When Ransom smiled, thumbs brushing over my cheeks, I felt comforted that if a wave should swallow me, I’d die happily in its embrace. “Ransom… I love you.”

His lips connected to mine, my heartbeat loud on my ears but I wasn’t anxious anymore. All I could feel was happiness, blinding, hopeful, bright - taking over my entire body when he parted and rubbed his nose against mine, cocky grin on his lips as he teased, “I know.”

Snorting, I allowed him to pull me back to bed, perfectly content on his embrace as I was suddenly reminded of something. “Oh, but if you ever cheat me, I’ll cut off your balls.”

It was my payback for his response to my love confession, but also my way of admitting my biggest insecurity. Ransom knew it, and so he pulled me back to lay against his chest so he could rub my back calmingly.

“You really shouldn’t worry, baby…” I knew from his tone that he was joining in on the light banter, but whatever he was going to say would be a truthful reflection of his feelings on the matter. “I don’t think anyone is more attractive than you.”

That sent me into a fit of giggles, aided by the fact that he took advantage of my distraction to start tickling me. Once he was done and I was trying to catch my breath, I caught him staring at me with those deep, emotion-filled eyes again.

“Besides…” he continued, like he had never even paused. “I’ve never wanted anyone half as much as I want you.”

#my series #ransom drysdale x reader #ransom drysdale reader #ransom drysdale reader insert #ransom drysdale reader inserts

[twstoric]

my all (for you)

𝒂𝒏𝒐𝒏𝒚𝒎𝒐𝒖𝒔 𝒂𝒔𝒌𝒆𝒅: uh hi, can i request leona x gn!reader x malleus, with both of them "fighting" over reader's attention as they have sex? maybe a bit of breeding kink as well? >///<

𝕡𝕒𝕚𝕣𝕚𝕟𝕘: leona kingscholar x gn!reader x malleus draconia 

𝕤𝕦𝕞𝕞𝕒𝕣𝕪: it’s a dangerous game you’re playingーnot only with competitive beasts but also ones driven to stake their claim over you

𝕨𝕒𝕣𝕟𝕚𝕟𝕘(𝕤): rough sex, possessive behaviour, intentions of breeding, biting/marking, powerful beings acting not so powerful ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

𝕨𝕠𝕣𝕕 𝕔𝕠𝕦𝕟𝕥: 2.2k

𝕟𝕠𝕥𝕖: i’m crying i’m supposed to be resting but my brain was like “wehh” and i survived on high sugar to get this done smoothly but-! please enjoy, loves!!

ﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌ

“Mh- lheー” you bite your tongue harshly, breath stuttering in your throat as you stare at your legs, unmoving as if you were paralyzed. You fucked up- or at least you almost did but it’s a futile wish to hope that your minor slip up wouldn’t go unnoticed. Trapped in between two beasts, every word that comes out of your mouth is carefully analyzed; figuring when you’ll scream the name they want to hear. 

Leona breathes a small chuckle, yanking your legs closer to the edge of the bed where he’s kneeling close to. “So quiet suddenly, herbivore? Come on, you can scream my name all you want,” he kisses the inside of your thighs, lips pressing fire against your skin as the brunet settles both your legs over his shoulders; not allowing you to hide anything.

“Hm? I believe the name that was uttered was mine.” Malleus tugs you closer to him, almost pulling you entirely away from the other dorm head if Leona hadn’t been gripping you so tightly. The dark fae settles behind you, holding you up and pressing his torso against your back. His lips trail invisible lines over the expense of your neck, fingers teasing the skin under your shirt as he rides the material up over your chest. “Don’t be shy now, dear. Say my name louder.”

Your face flushes, closing your eyes as if trying to block them out. There’s a building heat in your stomach, coaxed and played around with by the two dorm heads but the problem isn’t that the pleasure they give you can be overwhelming—it’s more as though the silent competition they’ve played when it comes to you is starting to drive you a little insane. 

Whenever Leona would bring you to completion with the slow drag of his tongue against your sensitive nerves is ripped away when Malleus pulls you far away from the Savanna prince and monopolizes your lips with a deep kiss; shoving his tongue down your throat and tasting every inch of your mouth.

Similarly, whenever Malleus pours ecstasy into your mind with the soft curls of his fingers against your good spots, mouthing kisses against the skin of your neck, Leona shoves him away, grabbing you by the wrist and trapping you under him away from the Prince of Thorns and makes it a point to bite deep markings into your neck; the clear indication of his claim on you. 

The cycle repeats for too long and too often that whenever you touch near the height of completion, you’re not surprised that it’ll be ripped away from you soon enough. Children, honestly. You’re dealing with children. 

“Please just- d- do something quick,” you huff, closing your thighs between Leona’s head and tugging at Malleus’ hair to coax him near your mouth. If you don’t come soon, you’ll definitely go insane—in a sense, anyway. But you will rip their heads out. Princes of a country or not, they’ll feel your wrath-

A small gasp leaves your throat, suddenly ripped away from your inner turmoil seems to amplify the shock of being fingered. Leona’s hand drags against your walls in an easy motion, the map of your insides printed inside of his head and he knows just how to push all your buttons. 

You don’t get to focus on the King of Beasts when Malleus' hand settles on your neck, sliding up to cup your jaw and turning your head around to crash his lips to yours. His other hand snakes around to your front, scratching at your skin with his nails lightly until he settles over the hard bud of your nipple. 

The Dark Prince holds your jaw with careful fingers, turning you around to watch Leona who’s already lapping at your greedy hole like a hungry man. He alternates between biting your inner thigh and fucking your insides with his tongue and fingers.

“I have a proposal for you,” Malleus whispers, voice deep with desire and echoing in your mind. He licks the skin behind your ear and you moan at the perfect stimulation to your ears and the curl of Leona’s fingers. “Shall we see who can bring you the most pleasure..?” There’s something mischievous glinting in the bright green of Melleus’ eyes. His smirk is wide and handsome, perfectly shaped lips curled in a way like an impish child. 

Your breath grows heavier, impossibly turned on by the proposal and it takes a small nod of your head before Malleus rips you away from Leona. The latter growls in warning, tearing the bed sheets when his fingers take hold of them. “What the fuck are you doing?” He spits out, following after you and narrowing his eyes dangerously. When Leona’s fingers curl around your ankle, he visibly relaxes—as if touching you momentarily satiates his anger. 

Malleus hugs you to him like a prized doll, chin placed on your shoulder and staring back at Leona head on. “Should you be able to bring pleasure to this beautiful body,” the ravenhead starts, spreading your legs apart and Leona’s eyes trail down at the way you’re presented to him. “Then I admit defeat. You are most suited for my beloved.” Malleus sighs in mock sadness; nuzzling close to you before his smirk returns. “But should I emerge victorious…” he smiles, not needing to finish. 

The bet is easily agreed to without acknowledgment. When the prize is you, then there’s no need for hesitation. 

You’re transferred to Leona’s arms easily, lips instantly captured in a bruising kiss. The brunet pushes you down (you didn’t notice Malleus had already moved away), finally getting rid of the shirt you’re wearing and laying you bare. “If we’re talking about the one who can pleasure you, then it’s definitely me,” Leona growls, flipping you around and pulling your hips flush against his.

Your hands latch onto the bed sheets in anticipation, not having to wait long as Leona eases in easily, the smooth drag of his cock filling you to the brim. You’re moaning loudly, hips held up by Leona’s hands as he savors the way you greedily clench around him. “That’s it,” he encourages, rolling his hips until he’s flush against you and drawing out a moan from the both of you. 

He murmurs something you can’t hear but everything blanks when the brunet pulls out slowly, veins dragging against your walls deliciously and snap back in with a force that makes you collapse. Leona doesn’t mind the way you’re unable to stay up, only clutching at your hips and dragging you back so each thrust meets with a loud smack. 

You’re cruising loudly, frantically searching for something to hold onto before dark-painted nails come into your view and Malleus is intertwining your fingers together. He pulls you upright, settling you over his lap and holding you like you’re a precious child. The way he holds is so contrasting to the bruising grip of your hips that it distracts your mind a little.

That is, before Leona hits that sensitive bundle of nerves and you’re gasping helplessly, falling into Malleus’ lap with each abuse of Leona’s cock against that spot inside. You faintly hear the small chuckle Leona let’s out, his grip adjusting on your hips and angling his thrust to make your brain melt.

Malleus holds your face gently, brushing the sides of your face and coaxing you closer to his cock. Your mouth suddenly feels so empty, drooling at the hard display of the ravenhead’s cock; already calling for your attention. 

Malleus doesn’t tell you to do anything, hands busy tracing the shape of your features and you can see the adoring stare he gives you without having to look. Almost shyly, your tongue traces the underside of his cock, soft moans leaving your mouth when you can feel Malleus shudder. It encourages you to go further, kissing his head lightly before welcoming him into your mouth.

Your body feels like it’s burning. The obscene thought of how you might look—taking two large cocks of perhaps the two most notorious dorm leader’s in NRC. Your mouth sucking and worshipping every rigid vein of the future King of The Valley of Thorns and your hole greedily taking every inch of cock from the Prince of Afterglow Savanna; not only are you taking the cocks of royal lineage but they’re so determined to drown you in pleasure.

The loud smacks of Leona’s pelvis against your ass rings loudly in your ears. His cock stuffs you full—stretching you wide and pumping euphoria with each vigorous thrust. Leona growls dirty words behind you, his voice floating deep in your head with each thrust of his hips.

The room is filled with the smell of sex and the wet sound your mouth makes with every suction on Malleus’ cock; impossibly large and your jaw aches from the sheer size. Stopping seems impossible for you—despite the ache, you’re kissing and tracing every inch of the dick in your mouth, Malleus cooing and praising you for taking him so well.

The two dorm leaders seem to be nearing their limit, evident in the way Leona’s thrusts slows and switches to a more impactful force and the way Malleus’ fingers tighten just the slightest bit on your head, hips bucking up into your mouth. 

Feeling the building coil in your stomach, your hips buck back onto Leona’s whilst your hands massages Malleus’ balls. The two groan loudly, pressing deeper into you and the warm gush of their cum emptied into you makes you reach climax with a loud moan, body convulsing into sensitive twitches. 

It’s after a few moments where you bask in the afterglow that Malleus is the first to pull away; gently maneuvering your head into a more comfortable position and pushing his cum back in your mouth with his thumb. “You did wonderful, my love,” he praises, petting your face and kissing your lips languidly. 

Leona stays buried deep inside you, making sure his come isn’t wasted but he’s collapsed over you and is essentially crushing you. “Leonaa,” you whine, hissing at the way his cock shifts inside you. You’re too sensitive for this. “Get off. You’re heavy.”

The brunet grunts in response, turning around and you yelp when instead of pulling out, Leona settles on dragging you along with him. You’re on top of him in this position; his cock stays plugged inside your hole and you splutter when Leona grabs the back of your knees and spreads your legs apart. 

“Don’t think it’s over yet,” you visibly freeze at his words, the lion smirking in response. “Competitions are really troublesome…How about we just see who’s child you’ll have? There’s a saying where a true man’s strength can be measured by who’s able to knock up their mate.” 

You feel like punching things and screaming what an absurd saying that is and that you doubt the legitimacy of such a saying but you feel a new pair of hands settling on your knees.

Malleus crawls in front of you, a smile on his lips much too amused to be considered kind and you gape at him when his fingers trail over your stomach. 

“I’ve been told that the superior seed will most definitely be able to impregnate a beloved,” his voice grows thicker, face inching closer to yours. You feel Leona mouthing the skin on your neck, fang scrapping lightly in a teasing manner. Malleus slots his mouth against yours, his equally sharp fangs teasing the skin of your bottom lip. When he pulls away, all you can do is blink hazily at his words, “Shall we find out?”

You feel the faint twitch of Leona’s cock inside you, Malleus already teasing your stuffed hole with the tip of his. “I- I don’t think- that- that.. I don’t I can..” The air in your lungs dissipates until it grows harder to breathe, mind numbing with too much thought and too little at the same time. 

Before you can further suffocate yourself in your own thoughts, Leona sits up. His hands stay secured under your legs and keep your spread apart. Your vision is suddenly only filled with the way Malleus is smiling gently at you, hands coming up to gently smooth over your cheeks to ease your worries. You feel Leona give you comforting kisses on your neck and shoulder, easing the tense muscles and coaxing you to relax. 

The gentle ministrations over your body makes you loosen up and Malleus draws your attention back to him when he holds your face. “Then… one at a time, hm?”

Leona laughs at that, marking your neck once again and giving you a shallow thrust, his cock feeling much bigger than it did before somehow. 

Your eyes widen in alarm, mouthing some words that don’t come out of your mouth. Malleus laughs softly, gliding a finger down your jaw and under your chin to level your eyes with his. Green emeralds seem to glow dimly; mischief stretching over his lips. His hand settles over your stomach and you moan softly when he applies soft pressure, emphasising the size of the cock inside you. 

“You may think it would be difficult to.. conceive but,” he kisses your lips, whispering against your skin as if revealing a secret; “In a land filled with creatures of magic… Anything is possible.” 

#leona kingscholar #malleus draconia #savanaclaw #diasomnia #twst n/sfw #twst imagines #twst scenarios #twst x reader #twisted wonderland #gn!reader #request #leona x reader #malleus x reader

[scathecraw]

BBRae Week 2021 - Day 3: Into The Woods

“Summer camp has been so much fun, Rachel. Teether hasn’t cried once since the day after you dropped us off, and Tommy got first place in the obstacle course. You were right, we should have done a camp last year, too.” Melvin chattered excitedly on the office phone while Rachel listened patiently. “They’ve made a bunch of arts and crafts, and the woods here are so cool. They’re really old, and Gar knows so muchabout all the trees and animals and bugs.”

“And who is this Gar, Melvin? A new friendof yours?” Rachel’s emphasis was obvious, and Melvin’s blush was practically audible.

“NO! He’s a counselor. He’s really nice, but he’s really old. Like, 50 or something. You’ll meet him on parent’s day next week.”

Rachel didn’t remember anyone older than the director, a middle aged woman she had spoken to when getting them enrolled and again during drop-off. She suspected Melvin was fibbing to cover her embarrassment, but she brought it on herself by teasing the preteen. “I’m sure I will. Does this mean that you’re going to drag me out into the forest when I come? I thought it was going to be an afternoon of arts and crafts and then some campfire songs, not a forced march.”

“Duh. Arts and crafts are lame. Gar said that next year he’d show us how to whittle, which sounds better than making lanyards.” There was muffled adolescent shouting, and Melvin covered the receiver and yelled back. “I gotta go. We’re going swimming. I’ll call you on Friday. Love you, bye.” She hung up before anything could be said back, and Rachel was left with dead air while Melvin sprinted after her friends, untied shoelaces flailing behind her.

Arriving at the aforementioned “Parent’s Day”, Rachel wasn’t quite sure what to expect. The camp had at first seemed like a good way to get the three adopted children outside instead of rotting their brains, but the sheer noise of a few dozen milling, clamoring kids and groups of socializing parents made her wonder what she had subjected them, and by extension, herself, to. She was late, which probably didn’t help the situation, but she looked around the chaos in an effort to find her own three chaos engines. Instead, she was spotted.

A wild, dirty missile made a high-volume impact with her legs, nearly toppling her and babblingso fast that even Rachel’s practiced ear couldn’t discern what he was saying. She was wobbling and about to fall over when a firm hand caught her upper back and helped her regain her balance. “Teether, dude! I said you could go get her, not try to body slam her.”

Rachel finally planted her feet, acknowledged Teether with a gentle hand on his head, and looked up. And up. They both froze for an instant, but the tanned, blond man recovered first. His slack jaw snapped into a smile, and he said “Hi. You must be Rachel. I’m Gar, one of the counselors here.”

His hand was still on her back and heat radiated from it like afternoon sun. Her face had never fallen into the silly expression his had, but unconscious thought raced before she could regain her composure. ‘Definitely not fifty,’ she thought. “Hello. Yes, I’m Rachel, Teether’s mother.” She peeled Teether from her leg with practiced ease, and he sprang off of her and ran.

Gar realized that his hand still rested behind her, almost possessively, and retreated to a more respectable distance. He chuckled, nervously. “Heh. Um, Melvin and Tommy are with their friends, still, but we should probably get them. Ms. Waller asked me to show you around – she said you had just moved to the area?” It wasn’t a question, but he phrased it like it was. They began walking back towards the milling crowd of parents, children, and quite possibly enough noise to drown out a jet engine.

“Yes, it’s our first summer here. She mentioned that most of the kids made this an annual activity, but I didn’t think we’d be so strange as to warrant a personal detail.”

“Oh it’s nothing like that, it’s just that there’s not really many other summer camps around, and ‘cause we go from K-12, we get pretty much everyone. A lot of the other parents already know everybody. You’re not strange, just… new.” His eyes never left her, even as they began walking.

Back with the crowds, Melvin and a gaggle of similarly aged girls watch the two of them. One of them nodded decisively and turned to Melvin. “Okay. They’re too cute together. Look at how awkward they’re being.”

Anotherhuffed a little. “They’re just staring at each other. They should be holding hands or something, right?”

Melvin’s eyes narrowed critically. “It’s been like 10 minutes and they aren’t kissing yet. Gar’s probably too much of a nerd to do anything. We need to do something to make sure they know how perfect for each other they are.”

“Like what? They aren’t going to start making out in the middle of the crowd.”

An evil smirk crept across Melvin’s face. “Maybe not in the middle of the crowd, but what if they were all alone in the woods? Then they’d have no excuse not to!”

A look of awe crossed her companions’ faces. “That’s evil. I love it.”

But the smirk fell, half-formed plot evaporating. “But how could we get them out there alone? It can’t be anything serious, or else Rachel will ground me forever, and I bet she won’t even go unless we can trick her into it.”

“Could you just tell her you feel sick?”

“No.” Melvin shook her head slowly. “Then she’d either stay with me or just take me home early.”

One, heretofore silent, chimed in. “I think I know what we can do. But Mel, you’re going to have to make a lanyard.” She giggled at the disgusted look, and said “C’mon, we only have like 15 minutes before they start wondering where we are.”

Across the crowd and a million miles away, Garfield and Rachel were, in fact, being tremendously awkward as they watched the kids run and play. Gar fumbled his words and couldn’t decide to stare at her eyes, the curve of her neck, or decidedly anywhere except her. Rachel was the opposite. She answered in short, monosyllabic whispers and swallowed, trying to ease her desperately dry throat.

“So, uh, you said you just moved here! Do you have a job, er, of course you do, unless you don’t! That’s fine, too! Nothing wrong with… that. Yeah.” He trailed off, before gamely trying again. “So what do you do when you’re not, y’know, coming to summer camps?”

Rachel took a deep breath and centered herself. Gar started. “I’m not, like, annoying you, am I? I’m sorry, I tend to blabber -”

“No. I’m just… a little off-kilter. I’m a curator of antiquities at the museum.”

“That is so cool. Gar’s eyes were like dinner plates. “I love the museum! I always wanted to volunteer there, but I never feel like I have time between summers here and planning classes during the year.”

“Oh, you’re a teacher? Grade school or high school?”

“High school and occasionally some classes at the community college. I figured I was already teaching AP and college bio isn’t much different. I’m sure the kids get tired of me after the sixth year, though, heh.” He rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly, uncomfortably warm even for a summer afternoon.

“I suppose they wouldn’t let you teach so many years if you weren’t good at the job. Not that biology is my area of expertise.” She clarified, hearing his unspoken question. “I studied history and preservation, so a natural history museum is certainly a big change.”

“Wow, I bet. Still, nobody does what they expected to when they were in college. I got a bachelor’s in Environmental Science, but it turns out most of those jobs are just telling corporations what they want to hear.”

Rachel leveled him with a newly assessing gaze. “Believe it or not, so are quite a few jobs in archaeology. It’s what put me off of the field.”

“But hey, teaching led me to Jump and to Lake Titan Camp, so I can’t complain.”

While the two nominal adults conversed, a far more intricate conversation was happening in the craft cabin. Kole, a pink haired co-conspirator of Melvin’s, was creating a half finished lanyard in pink and purple while the rest strategized. “Okay, so I need to throw her off so she’ll agree. The pink and purple color scheme is good – pink for me, purple for her, but I need something to knock her off her game.”

“You could tell her something that surprised her, maybe. But what?”

Realization dawned. “Okay. This is a little mean, maybe, but I was planning on talking to her about it anyway. I know just what to say. Kole, how’s the lanyard coming?”

“I’ve got it to the perfect length. Just long enough that you might ‘Need a little while to finish it, pretty please.’” She held up the dangling lengths of string. “Everything ready? We’re running out of time.”

“Now or never. Let’s go.” Melvin took a deep breath and led them to the doorway.

Garfield and Rachel were deep in conversation. The initial awkwardness had faded, and while there were still sparks flying whenever they made eye contact, it was more a static buzz than the almost painful live wire sensation of their first glances. At some point they had migrated closer to where Teether and Tommy’s two groups had merged into a supercrowd of children all making noise, forcing them to stand closer to one another to be heard. They were in this huddle, all focus on each other except for both of their frequent check-in glances to the children. Rachel had dipped her toe into a hint of vulnerability to test the waters, quietly and without fanfare explaining that she had adopted all three of them from the same orphanage she had found herself aging out of.

Gar reciprocated. “That’s really incredible. I was adopted pretty young by some family friends. I know how complicated that sort of relationship can be, but it’s doing something amazing for all three of them.”

Melvin, seeing their closeness, hesitated, just a bit. She was messing with fate, a little. But she was certain it was for a good cause. And it was now or never, they were already cutting it close to “Shared Activity Time” for her age group. “Umm. Rachel.”

“Yes, Melvin?” Rachel saw that Mel was nervous. Melvin was never nervous.

“I want to finish a project for you, but won’t have time later. So, uh, I need you to find something else to do. During the Activity Time, I mean. I just want to finish making this. Please, M-mom?”

Time stopped for Rachel. She had adopted them six years ago, and there had never been a time when Melvin had consciously called her “Mom”. Forms asking for “Mother’s Name”, sure. Mother’s day celebrations, absolutely. Even a few mostly-asleep, teary pleas, but never, never while Melvin was in control of her faculties.

But while time had stopped for Rachel, it marched onward for everyone else. Melvin held her breath and waited for long, tense seconds, but Rachel didn’t seem to be coming back to her senses, so she hurriedly spat out “Okayloveyouseeyousoon,” and fled back to the safety of her friends.

Gar, too, was frozen. Not to the same degree, nor for the same reasons, but he felt like he had intruded on something intimate that he had no business being a part of. He looked around, helplessly as Rachel gaped. After several seconds of silence, he couldn’t not do something. “Uhh. Rachel? You… okay?” More frozen immobility. He waved a hand in front of her face. “Rae? You there? Do I need to get a doctor?”

She seized his hand. “Did… did she just call me “Mom”? Or did I have a stroke?”

“Yeah, ouch. She did. I’m guessing this was new?”

“I… Yes. She’s never… What… what do I do? Was she angry I didn’t answer? Where did she go?” Rachel began looking around for her.

“Whoa, slow down. She’s with her friends. She wasn’t mad, it seemed like she was nervous, but not scared. And what you do is let her come to you and talk to her like you always do, and just make sure she knows you’re okay with it. As long as you are okay with it, right?”

“Of course. I just thought...” Rachel trailed off.

“Then there’s nothing to worry about! She loves you and just told you how she feels. That’s a good thing. Let’s give her a chance to do whatever she’s doing. The rest of the kids are about to go do an activity, so we have time.”

“I think I need to get away from the crowd for a minute. I can’t believe I’m asking this, but is it alright if we just go for a walk?”

“Of course.” Gar’s grip had at some point shifted to be holding her hand back, and he led her down a dirt path towards a grove of trees. “This path is quiet and not too hard.” Her sudden harsh look had him follow up. “You’re not really wearing the shoes for hiking, Rae.”

“Hmf. And since when did I say you could call me Rae, Garfield?”

He looked stricken. “I am so sorry. I dunno what I was thinking, Ra-chel. Rachel.”

She narrowed an eye. “Rae is… acceptable, as far as diminutives go. Just don’t make a habit of it in public.”

“Cross my heart. Hey, at least being a little mad at me put your mind off of Melvin, right?”

“And now it’s right back. So very helpful,” she deadpanned.

“Easy come, easy go, right?” His smile grew a little. “I don’t wanna pry or anything, but is it really that surprising? She said you were her mom like, a dozen times during camp.”

“I suppose not. It caught me very off-guard, though. Teether and Tommy sort of switch between Rachel and Mom, but Melvin’s never really seemed like she even wanted that sort of, I don’t know, ‘Official’ title for me.”

“Listen, the whole ‘mom’ thing isn’t as scary as you’re making it out to be. You’re already giving her the kind of love a mom is supposed to, and she loves you. She talks about all the time with stars in her eyes. Being adopted doesn’t make her less your daughter. Rita Farr isn’t any less my mom for taking me in when I was eight, and Marie Logan isn’t any more or less important to me just because she’s not around.”

Rachel took a breath and sighed it out. “Thank you. That does make it easier.” They walked in silence for a short time. “Wait, Rita Farr, as in the movie star? As in, the philanthropist and art collector, married to Steve Dayton?”

He blushed a little. “Whoops, probably shouldn’ta dropped that so casually, I guess. Yeah. Steve and Rita adopted me when my parents died. It’s not always easy, but I love ‘em.” He watched her reaction carefully, hoping she wouldn’t suddenly start treating him differently for having such well-known parents.

Rachel schooled her face after having that bombshell dropped on her. “Well, if we ever meet we’ll be able to talk about some historic pieces she has that I wrote papers on.”

A beat passed, then Gar’s loud laugh broke relative silence of the forest. “Aw man, she is gonna love you.”

And just like that, the tension was broken. All the concern, the lack of balance, everything fell away, and the static buzz of easy conversation punctuated by something just a little too close to intimate for an average friendship was back.

They wandered together down the shady paths, miles away and only a few trees distant from the campground. Rachel didn’t notice the distance she had walked on the formerly dreaded forest hike, and Garfield forgot to try quite so hard with his jokes and wise cracks. They walked, hand in hand and only somewhat realizing how close they were to one another, shoulders nearly touching.

The spell was eventually broken, as they always are. They rounded a final bend, seeing in the distance the campground they had left, what, less than an hour ago? And the reality that they had left behind when they entered the sun-shafted canopies woke them up, and they found that really, their hands were quite slick. Had they been clasped together the whole time? And Rachel, especially, was starting to sweat from the heat and the walk. Garfield was suddenly nervous, after all, he never talked this much, not without making a fool of himself.

But even after emerging from that hazy dream, they held on, gently rising out of the fog and into the real world so no sudden movements could disrupt the memory, the closeness that two almost strangers that fit together like complementary puzzle pieces had shared.

It wasn’t even fully dispelled when their hands slipped apart to be wiped on cargo shorts or dark jeans, though the almost hidden flight from behind a few low-branched trees of blonde hair and untied shoelaces and quiet giggle quickly sobered them.

Garfield turned. “Was that -?”

“Melvin. Oh, that little brat, she is too damn smart for her own good. I would put money on her scheming to get us alone.” Rachel fumed and her face tightened into a mask of cold anger. “I can’t believe that she would manipulate me like this! How could she – How could she finally call me -” and the mask broke, shifting from anger to near tears in seconds.

Gar panicked. “Whoa, hold on, no. She’s not that cruel, I know it and so do you. We’re probably missing something. You just said you can’t believe she would do this – she probably didn’t. Rae I promise you, there’s got to be an explanation that makes sense.”

Rachel took a deep breath, followed by another, centering herself. “I am going to get to the bottom of this. Where would she be doing this “project” she made up?”

“The craft cabin. I’ll take you there, but I guarantee you it’s not as bad as it might sound.”

It was like the crowd parted for them without even reacting. No one looked at the worried counselor or at the steely featured parent, but nonetheless they found their path almost unimpeded. Gar held up a hand just outside the door. “Let me get you two some privacy. Please.”

“Fine. Do it.” Terse and unhappy, Rachel’s displeasure was apparent in her voice, and it made Garfield wince.

He opened the door to see five preteen girls, huddled and tittering. At least until they saw him and his serious frown. Then their eyes went wide, and they looked to Melvin in a panic. “Out, girls. Clear the room. Not you, Melvin.” He stopped her when she tried to take shelter in the middle of the pack. He turned to follow them, and glanced back almost pityingly, then shook his head and exited.

The girls all ducked their heads when they saw Rachel just outside the cabin and hurried off, racing to be the first around the corner and away from the ticking time bomb.

Garfield simply nodded, and left her to it. Rachel entered the cabin and saw Melvin almost trembling, and it broke her heart. She had worked up a head of steam on the walk and the wait, but seeing her precious daughter actually afraid stopped any real anger and left only a bitter emptiness.

Rachel wasn’t quite sure what to do with her hands. She settled on a vague, open armed shrug gesture. “Why, Mel? Was it just a prank? Just a way to manipulate me?”

Tears brimmed in Melvin’s eyes. “No, I just wanted to give you guys a chance to talk alone. I’m sorry I lied, I really did try on the lanyard, but I’m just bad at them so I had Kole do it. I’m sorry, I am.”

“What? What lanyard? Melvin, I don’t care if you had a friend help with a lanyard! I just can’t believe that you would call me your mom, just to trick me into talking to someone. I can’t tell you how badly that hurts me. I… I love you too much for that.”

“What!No, nononono, Mom, I promise that wasn’t a trick. I promise. I was gonna talk to you about it, but I just – I thought that if I – I thought that maybe if I just did it you’d just let me and maybe you’d talk to him and then it everything would be perfect. I promise. I love you, Mom. I do. And I was just trying to maybe make you not spend all your time watching me and talk to him. He’s really cool, and I could tell you like him, and he’s completely in love with you, and you’re perfect for each other. I was just trying to help you be happy!” She sobbed, breathless.

Rachel froze, then instinctively wrapped her daughter in her arms and let her cry. “Mel, you don’t need to worry about me. I am happy, I promise. I don’t need you to try to trick me into being happy. Hey, it’s okay. I’m not going to say I’m not mad, but I get it. You don’t have to trick me into talking to, what did you call him, “really old, like 50 years old” guys? If we talk, we talk. That’s how adults work.”

“No, it’s not! I’ve never seen you go on a date, and you just ignore people when they try to talk to you. I know it was dumb, but I had to try something ‘cause otherwise you’d just give him that serious face until he ran away, and he’s perfect for you if you’d just give him a chance!”

“Mel. Mel, okay. I promise. I will give him a chance. But you don’t need to be worried about me. I don’t need a twelve year old playing matchmaker. You should be doing kid things, not bad romcom plots.”

“*SNRK*. They’re not bad. They’re sweet. And you like them, otherwise you wouldn’t have so many of them.” She wiped her nose with the back of her hand and glowered.

Rachel internally cursed Kori. “If you say so. Now let’s sit here for a minute, then we can go wash your face and you can go hand out with your friends. And I will have a talk with Garfield, and you will not stick your nose into my dating life. Understand?”

“Yes, mom.”

It still startled Rachel to hear that coming from Melvin, but it also warmed her heart. She hadn’t even known she wanted it until it happened, but it was like a spoken guarantee that she really was doing things right, and her little family really was working.

They sat together and Melvin showed her the lanyard that she had made via Kole. Rachel put it on the silver chain she wore around her neck and let it rest beside her heart promising mostly to herself that it would be kept safe at home. Then, when Mel had calmed down, they headed to the bathroom where Mel cleaned the tear tracks from her dirt-smudged face and rinsed her red rimmed eyes. Rachel gave her a final kiss on the forehead, and sent her off.

Gar found her standing there, staring off into space against the wall of the concrete shack. He leaned against it and slid down to sit around the corner and next to her. “So.”

“So,” she said back.

“Not saying it just to confuse you?” He glanced at her, gauging her reaction.

“No. But she wasn’t against confusing me.”

His eyebrow cocked. “Not mad?”

“Still mad. Still going to be grounded, probably. But she did it out of love.”

“Y’know, I don’t want to say I told you so, but...”

“But you totally want to say ‘I told you so,’” she finished for him.

“Yep. So what now?”

“Now, I guess I do what I was going to do before we had all this to deal with,” she said, the soul of nonchalance.

“What’s that?” he said, and when she didn’t respond, he stood up and looked around the corner. “Rae?”

“This.” with only his head around the corner, she turned and kissed him, gentle and sweet, and far too short for either of them. “I’d like to go out sometime. I want to take you to a behind the scenes at the museum, and I’ll let you choose the restaurant.”

His head spun and his eyes were out of focus. His thoughts were like molasses and he could barely get out the word “Okay.” before she was gone, a little bounce in her step.

AO3 FF.net

#bbraeweek21 #bbrae #fic

[angstyaches]

my fatal flaw is loving fluff more than whump, but i love whumpy nightmare scenarios…? so…what about charlie having a bad nightmare again, either due to being sick or resulting in getting sick, and being so distressed that he has to call shayne? the reverse scenario (shayne calling charlie) would also be so good but i feel like he’d be more hesitant to do that 🤧 i’m imagining lots of shaking and shaky breathing and self-loathing remedied just a little with some physical comfort? like being held idk. ANYWAY this is my request hehe

I spent ages trying to figure out a scenario where Charlie could call Shayne and Shayne could actually get to him, but when they’re apart, it’s hard for Shayne to spontaneously decide to go to Charlie’s. I could have swapped Shayne in for the sickie but I wanted to do Charlie. Sooo, the comfort is mostly verbal, although Charlie recalls physical comfort from the past. I'm sorry if it's not what you had in mind! Feel free to request more nightmare whump anytime, because I adore it.

The events of this fic are referenced (sorry for the first-person POV lol I was trying something out when I started this blog)

CW: nightmare, emeto, crying, anxiety, brief referenced past violence and blood.

___

It was the middle of the night, and the only thing Charlie could hear was the sound of the toilet tank refilling. That, and the tiny gasps that escaped him every now and then as he tried to catch his breath.

His stomach muscles were practically on fire from clenching, and he was still getting his breath back as he leaned against the side of the bath and held his phone to his ear.

The light bounced against the tiles and burned his eyes, but it was better than the dark. The dark had sprouted wings in his dream, along with a set of claws.

Charlie gasped and shook his head, burying it quickly between his knees and trying to get the image out of his head. His spine felt like his skin was crawling all over it.

“Charlie?”

His heart felt like it was going to slip up his throat at the sound of Shayne’s voice on the phone. He had to clamp a hand over his mouth to stop himself from whimpering with sheer relief. He hadn’t quite acknowledged it, but part of him had been terrified that Shayne wouldn’t answer the phone at all.

He’s okay…

“H-hey.” Charlie cringed at how badly his voice was shaking, and it echoed against the empty bathroom shelves just like his retching and coughing had done a few minutes ago. “I’m – I’m sorry.”

“Hmm? What’re you sorry for?” Shayne mumbled on the other end of the phone.

“You were probably sleeping, I – I just…” Charlie rubbed at his eyes, desperate to get them dry. Nausea was still trickling lightly through his stomach, and he wondered if he’d have to rush back to the toilet bowl sometime soon.

“What’s wrong, what happened?”

“I got sick…” Charlie pulled his legs up to his chest, resting his forehead against his bare knees. His voice almost disappeared completely down his throat. “I… don’t feel well.”

“Shit. I thought you were finished with all that.”

It took Charlie a moment to realise that Shayne was referring to the food poisoning Charlie had accidentally given himself (and Rin) the day before yesterday.

He swallowed thickly, pulling a face at the memory. He’d felt so much better before going to bed; in fact, he’d been starving, his body feeling hollow and achy after purging itself for a day and a half. He’d cooked an entire bag of chicken nuggets from the freezer, made himself four slices of toast, finished off a tub of Ben and Jerry’s, and had gone to bed feeling blissfully better.

He struggled to find a way to gently tell Shayne that the problem that had woken him at 4am had less to do with his stomach and more to do with his brain.

Although the amount of heavy food in his belly admittedly may have contributed somewhat.

“Charlie, you okay?”

He started a bit, realising he hadn’t replied in a while. “I’m – no. Not really,” he whispered, a sharp sob jerking his ribs and scraping at his throat.

“Put me on the, um, the video thing.”

The phone jingled beside Charlie’s ear, telling him that Shayne was requesting a video call. Charlie made an attempt to clean his face off with his pyjama top before accepting it, propping the bottom of his phone against his knee.

“You know, you sound sixty when you call it ‘the video thing’,” he said, trying to sound upbeat.

“Really?” Shayne narrowed his eyes into a glare as soon as he appeared on Charlie’s screen. “Would you say that to my face if it was actually this close to you?”

Charlie managed a weak smile. Some of the tension bled out of him just at the sight of his boyfriend and his sleepy brown eyes. His chin wobbled uncontrollably as emotions swelled in his belly and chest. “I wish it was this close to me.”

“Yeah. Me, too.” Shayne folded one arm behind his head and leaned back against his pillow. His room was mostly dark, but he seemed to be lying on his back. “Wait, are you real-crying? Not just throwing-up-crying?”

Charlie sighed shakily, rushing to rub away the tears that had sneaked up on him. He felt his lips quiver as he tried to keep the smile from turning into a grimace.

“Did you have a bad dream?”

Charlie gulped and nodded. “How could you tell?”

“Give me some credit. I feel like I know you pretty well by now.”

Charlie’s eyes were drawn towards the shrunken image of himself in the top-right corner of the screen, and tried to hold back even more tears. In his own – admittedly warped – opinion, he looked about as disgusting as he felt. He hated that he felt trapped in front of the camera, forcing Shayne to look at him in this state.

“Charlie,” Shayne murmured, his eyes softening in the light of his bedside lamp. “Talk to me, yeah?”

“They’re get – they’re getting worse,” Charlie breathed, burying his face in one hand. It felt a little silly to keep his phone held steady in the other, camera trained on himself even as he covered his eyes and wept, but he didn’t want to cast Shayne aside either. He peered out over the top of his hand, still covering his mouth to try to keep the volume under control.

“I know, but they’re just dreams, remember? They’re not real.”

A gag pulled at Charlie’s throat and he had to shut his eyes. But it was real…

“Deep breaths,” Shayne said, his tone in complete contrast to Charlie’s sobs. “You want to count back from ten with me? Sometimes I need some help. I can get to nine, and then I just get confused.”

Charlie almost laughed through the tears. He wondered if he should have been insulted by Shayne’s attempt to use Charlie’s own method on him. He decided to humour him though, rasping out numbers while thinking that it would never work because he was thinking too hard about it, but by the time they got to zero, he was able to take a breath without his chest hitching.

Shayne said nothing for a few seconds, watching to see what Charlie would do next. He frowned when Charlie shuddered harshly, making the picture wobble.

“You cold?”

Charlie nodded.

“Then go get into bed, idiot.”

He did his best to keep his phone elevated as he walked, but in his exhausted state, Charlie probably gave Shayne a prime view of the stubble under his chin as he made his way back to bed. He shakily propped his phone on the nightstand, next to Vincent the teddy bear, and went to grab a fresh t-shirt from the drawer. He’d sweat through the one he’d fallen asleep in, ruining it even before it had vomit and tears on it.

He finally crawled into bed, his stomach letting out a hollow, unhappy groan as it settled into the new position. Charlie groaned too, reaching out to take his phone in his hand again. He hated how the bedside light made his face look haggard and washed-out.

“All good?” Shayne asked.

“All good,” Charlie slurred, his eyes drooping already. “I miss you, though.”

“I miss you too, love.”

Charlie pulled his blanket tightly around himself, keeping one arm outstretched with his phone so that he and Shayne could still see one another. His sheets had cooled down a lot since he’d flung himself out from between them earlier, and after crouching on the tiles for so long, it was nice to be surrounded by something soft and pleasant.

Shayne tilted his head slightly as they both lay in silence for a moment, just looking into each other’s eyes through their cameras. “How’s the nausea?”

“A little better,” Charlie sighed. “My tummy just kind of hurts.”

Shayne clicked his tongue. “Fuck. I wish I was there with you right now.”

“No.” Although his chest panged with longing for the same thing, Charlie shook his head. “You’re better – you’re safer there, and I don’t –”

The whoosh of dark, leathery wings in the night and the splatter across the hardwood flashed in Charlie’s memory. In the dream, the blood had been Shayne’s; Charlie had watched as Watson had torn his heart right out of his chest before dragging the rest of him away into the sky.

In reality, the blood had been mostly Charlie’s; he’d cut his hands on the broken glass left behind by Watson’s exit through the window.

“Lately, I just…” Charlie swallowed sickly. “I can’t stop thinking about that – that night, remember? When Watson came to my room to find you?”

Shayne fell silent for a moment, seemed to shift position slightly. “Mmhmm.”

“I was dreaming about – about that, but… worse.”

“He won’t come for you,” Shayne said. He seemed like he was gritting his teeth. “If he or Madelyn even try to get near that house, they’ll –”

“I know.” Charlie chewed the inside of his lip. He ducked his face below the blanket and quickly dabbed at fresh tears that were starting to form. “But I was so… I was so useless, Shayne, I knew I could have stopped him, but I didn’t, I was frozen solid, I –”

“Ssshhh…” Shayne whispered, the sound crackling gently through the phone’s speaker. “Charlie, love, come out.”

Teeth chattering in his head, Charlie sniffled from under the blanket.

“Please, I want to see you.”

When he crinkled the blanket into his fingers and revealed just the top half of his face to the camera again, Charlie wished he hadn’t gone into detail about the dream at all. Not only did he look like a mess, now he sounded like one, too. He felt himself blush when Shayne’s eyes lit up on the screen, realising Charlie had come out from behind the blanket.

“You know what I think of when I think of that night?”

Charlie swallowed thickly, shaking his head.

“I think about the way you let me fall asleep on your bed, even though I was being an asshole to you.”

He couldn’t help nuzzling his head against the pillow where Shayne’s head had been that night, while Charlie had sat lengthways with Shayne’s legs across his lap. He’d had crazy butterflies in his stomach, barely able to believe that his crush had shown up in the middle of the night, unconsciously looking for comfort from him.

“It was the first night we fell asleep together, too,” Shayne said.

Without realising it, Charlie had slid one hand around the side of his own neck, fingers running lightly through the hair at the back of his head. Shayne had never touched him before that night either, but he’d ran his fingers through his hair as though he’d been doing it for years. Light shivers of pleasure trickled over Charlie’s skin. The panicked pounding in his chest was starting to slow. “That’s true...”

“You’re anything but useless,” Shayne murmured, turning onto his side and adjusting the angle of his phone. His eyes were starting to close. “I think that’s what my point was. I forgot.”

Charlie gave a light, breathy laugh which was cut off by a deep yawn. He hid his face from the camera again, to avoid giving Shayne a view of his tonsils this time. By the time he looked at the screen again, Shayne was struggling to keep his eyes open, but neither of them said anything.

They never found out whose phone dropped out of whose hand first.

#StW Charlie #nightmare mention #emeto #emeto mention #sickfic #emeto sickfic #nightmare whump #whump fic #hurt and comfort #Swallow the World #angst fic #nightmare sickfic #fic length #long fic

[amiwritesthings]

young dean hooking up with older men at truck stops. when john witnesses one of these encounters, he's furious, wants to step in, but doesn't, can't, d. on his knees with a cock in his mouth too much of a turn on, so he just watches in secret, maybe even jerks off to it. feelings of guilt. eventually confronts d. about his hook-ups. anger, drama, angst. d.: it's you, i just want you, i'm thinking about you when they fuck me, please let me suck your cock, dad. what will j. do? you tell me.

i am so so so sorry this took me so long and technically this isn't exactly what you asked for but it's where my brain wanted to go today so hopefully you still like it

link to ao3

_______

It’s dark when Dean walks back the short distance from the truck stop to the adjacent motel. He pulls his jacket tighter around his body against the cold, prays that John is still out somewhere drowning in cheap whiskey.

His jaw aches, his knees are sore, there’s a wet patch in his jeans, but there’s also 50 bucks in his pocket and his mind is pleasantly fuzzy with post-orgasmic endorphins.

He slides the key into the lock as quietly as he can, eases the door open carefully to keep the salt line intact. He feels his heart skip, pure rush of adrenaline, when he sees it’s not just Sammy in the room; John’s passed out in the ratty loveseat in the sitting area. It’s the next best thing to John not being here at all. If Dean’s lucky, John was too out of it to remember Dean not being here when he got back.

He closes the door behind him with a soft click, takes a second to make sure the salt line is indeed intact. Sammy snuffles softly in his sleep, turns over to his other side, and Dean shrugs out of his jacket, lays it down at the foot of his bed, before tip toeing to the bathroom, thankful for the small window, the moonlight from outside illuminating the room just enough that he doesn’t need to hit the light.

He leans on the sink, doesn’t dare to look at his own reflection in the tiny mirror that’s already gone half blind. He reaches for the mouthwash, takes a swig, lets the liquid sting his mouth and get rid off the taste of dick. He spits into the sink, blue remnants of mouthwash running into the cracks in the porcelain, rinses with water and spits again.

He freezes when there’s a rustling sound behind him, and he knows it’s John, just from the prickle of heat where John’s gaze rests heavily on the back of his neck. Fuck. Dean forces himself to look up into the mirror, to acknowledge his father’s presence. A cloud passes over the moon outside, making the room darker for a moment, casting John’s face in shadows.

John takes a step forward, eerily silent, and with how small the room is, it only takes another half-step for John to be close enough to him that his body tenses with awareness. There’s a moment of silence, unbearable seconds of uncertainty, and Dean averts his eyes, lets his head drop forward, hands bracing against the sink.

A soft puff of air against the back of his neck, warm whiskey breath, is his only warning before John’s hands come down next to his on the sink, his father’s body hot and looming behind him. ‘What’re you playing at, boy?’ John asks gruffly, voice low and dangerously quiet, and Dean swallows against the dryness in his throat, that raw sting just behind his tongue.

‘Sir?’ he asks, voice raspy and wrecked. Best to let John tell him which transgression he’s angry about before Dean accidentally adds more fuel to the fire.

‘Saw you. Out there, on your knees.’

Fuck. Dean feels like is heart is about to beat out of his chest, pulse echoing loudly in his own ears. ‘I can expl-‘, he starts but stops the moment he sees John’s hand moving, body bracing for the inevitable blow.

It never comes.

John runs a hand up Dean’s arm, a barely-there touch, hovering just close enough to give the illusion of contact while still keeping Dean acutely aware of the underlying threat. He shivers when the hand comes back down to cage him in and John leans in closer, stubble brushing his cheek, the ghost sensation of lips right up against the shell of his ear.

‘God, boy, looked so good,' John breathes, words just the tiniest bit slurred, tongue heavy with whiskey. ‘Wanted to kill that asshole for taking advantage of you like that. Old enough to be your father, that guy.’ There’s a trace of anger to the words, that sharp edge that usually has Dean bracing for a verbal lashing.

Dean exhales shakily, dares to press back just a bit into the weight of John’s body behind him. Whatever he had expected to happen if John ever found out sure wasn’t this. ‘Why didn't you?’ he asks quietly, and John drops his head forward with a sigh that fans hotly over Dean’s skin.

‘Too pretty, your lips stretched wide like that. Fuckin’ hot. Could just imagine-,' he trails off, pushes his hips forward into Dean instead, and oh. For the first time tonight, Dean wishes John was less drunk, that there was a chance this was real and not just some drunken mistake John would pretend had never happened the next morning, if he even remembered.

‘Wished it was you,’ he confesses, quietly, and behind him John draws in a sharp breath that shudders out of him in a tortured groan only a few seconds later. ‘Always wish it was you.’

At his sides, John’s knuckles go white against the sink, fingers flexing once, twice, before resettling on the cold porcelain. ‘Don’t say shit like that. Don’t know what you’re talking about.’ There’s no heat to the words, no reprimand, and Dean presses back, into John’s body, until they are flush, until he can feel the bulge in John’s jeans riding high against his ass, John’s lips dragging messily, uncoordinated, down his cheek.

‘’s all I think about. ‘s why I started doing it in the first place.’ It’s not entirely true but Dean sure as shit isn’t going to fess up about needing the money to buy food for him and Sammy when John had been gone way longer than planned a couple of years ago.

Dean tilts his head to the side when John mouths down his neck, on purpose this time, wet-hot, tongue teasing against the sensitive skin. ‘Always pretend it’s you,’ he continues, moves his hand to cover John’s, drags it to the front of his jeans where there’s still a wet spot from when he’d come in his pants earlier while sucking off some faceless stranger.

John growls, a sound that’s rumbling up from so deep in his chest, Dean can feel the vibration of it against his back. ‘Gonna let me have the real thing?’ Dean asks as he uses what little space he has to turn, face John, and he isn’t prepared for the look of sheer hunger in John’s eyes, pupils blown wide in the darkness of the room.

He drops his hands to John’s belt, fingers the buckle, waits for John to stop him, but he doesn’t. His voice is raw, low and raspy when he says, ‘Goddammit, baby, gonna be the death of me,’ and Dean can feel the flush spreading up his chest, crawling up his neck, making his cheeks pink. He deftly undoes the belt, thumbs open the button, draws the zipper down, watches as John’s eyes flutter shut, mouth dropping open in a soft pant. It’s even better than he could ever imagine.

He tugs, fingers on each side, shimmies the jeans off John’s hips, takes the boxers underneath right with it as he drops to his knees, one fluid motion, perfected with years of practice. It stings a bit, his knees still sore from kneeling in gravel earlier but he breathes through it, focuses on what’s right in front of him. And boy, when he wraps his hand around John’s dick, his mouth fucking waters. He knows that John is big, they’ve been living in each other’s pockets all of Dean’s life, he knows, but from down here, on his knees, even only half-hard, it’s impressive and his jaw already aches with the anticipation of what’s to come.

Above him, John white-knuckles the sink with one hand, the other dropping to cup Dean’s jaw, thumb brushing his cheekbone and down to drag over his lower lip, dark eyes watching his face intently. Dean tongues at the digit, just a tease, hand softly squeezing on John’s dick, a slow stroke up to the crown, and John breathes a soft ‘fuck’ as he closes his eyes, eyelashes fluttering darkly in the shadows.

The hand leaves and John takes a half-step forward, trapping Dean between his body and the sink as he braces against the wall, the mirror, and Dean takes it as the invitation it is, opens his mouth wide to take John in. He closes his lips around the head, takes it flat onto his tongue and Dean can’t stop the groan at the feeling of John’s dick finally in his mouth, at the salty-sour taste.

This is nothing like all those strangers, he thinks, this is what he’s been waiting for all along. John keeps chubbing up in his mouth and it stretches his lips, wide. He sinks down a little deeper, gets John wet, then pulls off to slick his spit down the length with his fingers. John’s breathing is heavy above him, body tense, curled tight, like he’s preparing for a fight.

Dean strokes him, once, twice, before licking around the head, wicked curl of tongue, and taking him back in, spit slicking the way as John pushes deeper with a slight flex of his hips, rubbing over the soft palate of Dean’s mouth. And fuck, Dean wishes his throat wasn’t so raw already, the drag of John’s dick almost too much when he takes a deep breath through his noses and pushes down further.

John’s hips stutter forward at the sensation and Dean pulls away with a choked cough, tries to catch his breath, as John mutters softly ‘sorry, baby, sorry’ but then his hips hitch forward again, into the loose fist Dean has curled around him. He keeps his fingers around the base this time as he sinks down, relaxes his jaw, to let John fuck into him with impatient little thrusts.

The noise his wet mouth makes is obscene in the quiet of the small room and he drops his free hand into his lap to where he’s already hard again in his jeans. He gives himself a squeeze, hums softly at the spark of pleasure, and John’s breath hitches as he flexes forward, pushing right at Dean’s throat again. Dean lets him this time, gets his own dick free, still sticky from before, and jacks himself in sync with John’s movements.

John curses under his breath, dick jumping in Dean’s mouth, and Dean redoubles his efforts, slides his mouth, wet and open, down as far as he can go, focusing on breathing through his nose. John stills on his next downstroke and the first pulse of come on his tongue almost makes Dean choke.

He pulls back, mouth open, John’s dick on his tongue, jacking him through his orgasm and he holds it there for a moment before swallowing, the hand stripping his own dick almost a blur. He hunches forward, rests his forehead against John’s hip, nuzzling at the juncture of his thigh, as he chases his own high.

When he finally comes, it’s with a high, breathy whine and a ‘fuckin’ Christ, Dean’ from John who cradles his skull, holding him close.

It takes a moment for his breathing to slow, for his heart to stop racing and when he finally pulls away, John takes a step back, the look in his eyes unreadable as he looks down to Dean. The hand slides around to cup his face, and the thumb traces his lip again, slowly, reverently, before John releases him with a pat to his cheek.

‘Get cleaned up, it’s late,’ he says, voice rough, before he steps back, away, swaying gently, leaving Dean on his knees and suddenly feeling cold.

By the time he’s cleaned up and dressed in a sleep shirt and fresh underwear, John is passed out on the bed, jeans still undone, snoring the way he only ever does when he drinks. Dean grabs a bottle of water, takes little sips – it burns to swallow – before sitting down on the edge of the other bed. He nudges Sam, all long lanky limbs sprawled out, taking up all the space, and his brother huffs in his sleep but shifts over anyway, making just enough room for him to slip into the bed beside him.

When Dean wakes the next morning, it’s to Sam already bitching about something or other and John at the table, nursing a cup of coffee, brows furrowed as he tries to make sense of something. The last night feels like a fever dream now and as Dean sits up on the bed, he tries to make eye contact with John, get some kind of acknowledgement, but he has no such luck. John pointedly avoids looking at him, busying himself with squinting at the newspaper with bleary eyes as he takes another sip of coffee.

‘You want coffee?’

Dean blinks at the question, at Sam who’s holding up an empty cup at him in question. ‘Yeah,’ he croaks, voice breaking on the just the one syllable and across the room he can see John stiffen in his seat, while Sam just looks at him funny. ‘You coming down with something?’

Dean clears his throat, tries to ignore the burn as he swallows. ‘Nah, I’m fine.’ He doesn’t sound much better, voice still all scratchy and raw, and his jaw still aches dully, and his knees protest when he pushes to stand. He excuses himself to the bathroom, taking the coffee cup Sam hands him with him. He sets the cup down on the sink, lets his eyes come up to look at his reflection in the mirror.

And there it is, the proof it was real, the smeared handprint on the mirror. Dean touches a finger to it before bringing his hand to his throat, feeling the bob of his Adam’s apple as he swallows, chasing the sense memory of the night before.

#prompt ask #ami answers #ami writes #deanjohn #daddycest #johndean #i did a thing

[moonlit-jeno]

donghyuck + jeno + jaemin + voyeurism | part 2

It feels like there’s not enough oxygen left in the world as Jaemin desperately tries to breathe, his lungs ceasing to function as he watches Jeno’s hands move over your body. Donghyuck is right behind him, his sentence stuttering off as he registers the sight in front of him.

They should move. They should leave, should close the door behind them, should respect your alone time. Jeno hasn’t seen you in almost a month and it’s clear that he’s missed you, judging by how tightly you cling onto each other, how deeply he groans as he kisses down your neck.

You whimper and throw your head back, legs tightening around Jeno’s hand to keep him in place as you plead for him to add another finger, to move faster, harder, right there, fuck, please don’t stop. A loud moan leaves you and you pull Jeno’s mouth to yours, mumbling an “I love you” against his lips. They should move.

They don’t.

Donghyuck whispers a fuck under his breath, breathing out harshly as he palms himself over his pants. There’s a noticeable tent in the fabric, though Jaemin’s in the same boat so he isn’t really one to judge. He can tell that Donghyuck had only meant for the touch to provide a little bit of relief, but his hips twitch and then he’s grabbing himself a bit more roughly, eyelids growing heavy with the pleasure.

Jaemin aches to do the same, but his stomach is twisting and he thinks about how fucked up this is. Here he is, watching his best friend fuck his girlfriend. And yet, he can’t get himself to move.

“I’m gonna come.” You let out your loudest moan yet, grabbing desperately at Jeno’s forearm. “Fuck, Jeno-”

“Yeah? Gonna come all over my fingers, baby?” Jeno leaves a wet kiss under your ear, moving up to nibble on your ear lobe. You let out a garbled noise of agreement, your free hand fisting in his hair. “Then you’ll be my good little girl and gonna come all over my cock, right?”

Jaemin’s knees nearly give out as he watches the scene unfold and he leans heavily against Donghyuck. “Yes, fuck, I’m your good girl, ohshit-”

Jeno barely lets you come down before he’s rising up on his knees and sliding his cock into you. “Oh fuck. Shit baby, you’re so fucking tight.” Jeno slides his fingers past your lips, humming appreciatively as you lick your arousal off of his fingers. “Guess I’m gonna have to loosen you up.”

You all but sob, clawing at his back as he starts to properly fuck you. It’s the hottest thing Jaemin’s ever seen in his life, even though he knows that it’s wrong. Next to him, he notices Donghyuck slip his hand past the waistband of his sweatpants.

Jaemin means to grab hold of Donghyuck’s wrist, tell him that they need to get the fuck out, that this is wrong. That doesn’t exactly happen.

His eyes are glued to you and Jeno and he’s a little flustered, so naturally he misses Hyuck’s wrist and grabs his dick instead. And Donghyuck moans, hips shooting forward into Jaemin’s grip at the unexpected pleasure. It’s a fatal mistake.

Jeno hears them and looks over, eyes widening slightly as he sees two of his best friends watching from the doorway as he fucks his girlfriend. Jaemin holds his breath, standing frozen, and watches as Jeno processes everything. His eyes move from their faces down to where they’re both hard in their pants, eyes lingering on where Jaemin’s hand is still on Donghyuck’s dick.

Jaemin expects Jeno to yell at him, to try to cover you up, to do something. But all the guy does is smirk, and Jaemin swears that Jeno starts fucking you harder, driving his hips into you at a brutal speed. His head dips down and he must whisper something to you because then you’re also looking over, a fucked out grin appearing on your face when you see them.

“Enjoying the show?” You ask, amusement clear in your voice. “C’mere. The views better from the bed.” Your voice holds a surprising amount of power, despite how you practically moan the words, your voice breathless as Jeno pounds into you.

Jaemin finally moves his hand off of Donghyuck’s cock, drawing a whine from the other boy. He hadn’t even realized that Hyuck was grinding against his palm, but now he watches as the other boy humps the air for a moment before managing to gain control of himself. Almost in a daze, Jaemin makes his way over to you and Jeno.

He sits down, Donghyuck crawling half on top of him. Jeno pulls out of you so, so slowly, and his eyes are glued to the sight. You’re absolutely soaked, Jeno’s cock glistening with your arousal. Jaemin can’t hold back his moan.

“Wanna ride me?” Jeno asks, petting over your cheek with his thumb. “Put on a show for my friends?”

“No.” You giggle, pushing at Jeno’s chest so that he backs up a little and then flipping yourself over. You position yourself on your hands and knees, back arched to push your ass high in the air. “Want you to fuck me like this.”

Jeno grabs your ass, kneading at the flesh, pulling your cheeks apart. “So lazy, baby.” He clicks his tongue, shaking his head. “Making me do all the work.”

You pout at him, swiveling your ass in the air. Jaemin’s eyes are locked on the movement. “Oh come on, I’ll make it up to you later. I know you love it when you wake up and I’m bouncing on your big cock.”

Jeno hums in acknowledgment and Jaemin nearly combusts as the image his mind suddenly conjures up. You, so needy and turned on that you don’t even bother waking Jeno up, just desperately bouncing on his cock and making yourself come. Fuck, he would pay to see that.

Donghyuck whimpers as Jeno finally slides into you, your tiny hole stretching to take his cock. His thigh twitches against Jaemin’s and Jaemin reaches over to soothe him, rubbing his palm over his friends dick. Hyuck moans and presses his face into Jaemin’s neck.

Jaemin desperately wants to touch himself but he can’t manage to get his brain to work. He feels lost as he watches Jeno pound into you, wet sounds filling the room as he speeds up. There’s a pit forming in the bottom of his stomach as he imagines how good you feel, how wet and tight you must be. He imagines you feel amazing if Jeno’s reactions are anything to go by.

Jeno slaps your ass, letting his hand linger on the area and squeezing the flesh in his palms. “Fuck baby, you feel so good.” He pants out, burying himself deep in your cunt and grinding his hips in small circles. You moan, trying to rut your hips back against him.

“My good girl.” Jeno coos, stroking his palm down the center of your back. “Fuck, you’re gonna make me come.”

He presses down harshly , shoving your chest to the mattress. You cry out as your elbows give out, Jeno suddenly pounding into you even harder than before. Jaemin’s cock throbs and his legs squeeze together, trying subtly to get some form of relief. There’s a sudden pressure against his dick and he keens, throwing his head back against the headboard.

The stars clear enough for Jaemin to look down and see that Hyuck’s stroking his dick, looking up at him through heavy eyes. “Figured I’d return the favor.” Is all Donghyuck says, and Jaemin wants to point out that he’s not really doing anything, he‘s just letting Donghyuck grind against his hand, but then Donghyuck’s slipping his hand past Jaemin’s sweatpants and his mind stops working.

Jeno’s close, if the way his rhythm starts to grow sloppy says anything. He wraps your hair around his hand and yanks, drawing a pained whine from you as you’re forced up. You turn your head to the side and Jeno doesn’t waste anytime before smashing your mouths together in a kiss that’s more tongue and teeth than anything else.

“M gonna come.” You whimper, hands scrambling along the mattress. Your eyes roll back and you ball the sheets in your hands, holding on for dear life.

“Do it.” Jeno groans, pulling away from your lips only to let his spit fall into your mouth. “Fuck, scream my name baby. Let them know who you belong to.”

He lets go of your hair and pulls your back flush against his chest, one hand grabbing onto your breast and the other reaching down to rub at your clit. Wet kisses are pressed to your neck, and the sheer amount of hickeys you’re sporting are enough to have Jaemin questioning whether or not Jeno has some sort of kink. Or, he would be questioning it if his brain was functioning properly.

Donghyuck’s cock twitches under Jaemin’s hand and he lets out an absolutely shameless moan, grinding forward into his touch. Jaemin feels a little proud when it’s his name that Donghyuck moans, though that feeling doesn’t last long because then Hyuck’s hand squeezes around his cock, the sudden pressure too much for him and he comes, white spilling over Hyuck’s knuckles and up his stomach.

You’re absolutely limp against the mattress when Jaemin comes to, Jeno’s eyes locked on your pussy as he pulls out of you. Jaemin’s eyes widen when he sees how much come is dripping out of your abused hole, his cock twitching weakly.

“Isn’t she pretty?” Jeno sighs, tracing his fingertips along your swollen folds. You whimper and squirm away from him. He looks over at the two boys, waiting for a response. Jaemin manages to nod. “Why don’t you come show her how pretty?”

Jaemin stares at him in confusion. “What?”

“Come on. Clean her up.” Jaemin’s still confused. Donghyuck doesn’t look any better. “Show her your appreciation for letting you watch. I promise she tastes really good.”

It finally clicks in Jaemin’s head and he moans at how filthy it is. You grin at his reaction, turning yourself over onto your back.

Jaemin and Donghyuck grab a leg each, Jaemin the first to lean down to get a taste. Donghyuck busies himself with sucking hickeys into your thighs while Jaemin licks up your slit, dipping his tongue into your entrance before lapping at your clit. And you must be beyond sensitive by this point because the bare minimum has you moaning out desperately, your hips tilting up to try and get even more friction.

Donghyuck nudges Jaemin, making room for himself in between your thighs. He fucks his tongue into your hole, lapping at your pussy alongside Jaemin. Their tongues brush and his cock jumps, hardening despite the fact the he just came.

You writhe against the mattress, crying out their names along with every curse under the sun, screaming about how good it feels. Jeno slips his fingers past your lips and lets you suck on them, both of your hands grabbing onto his wrist for dear life.

It doesn’t take much more for you to come, not with both Jaemin and Donghyuck lapping at your pussy, Jeno mouthing at your breasts. Jaemin thinks you might cry when you come, but that’s okay. He thinks he might cry from how hot this all is, too.

They pull away from you when you push at their heads. Donghyuck has a mixture of yours and Jeno’s release on his face, and Jaemin doesn’t know what comes over him but he’s leaning forward and licking at the other boys lips, moaning at the taste and the feel of his plump lips. His cock is definitely hard again but he’s too embarrassed to jerk off.

Both you and Jeno are watching the other two make out and Jaemin flushes when he pulls away. “This was fun.” You moan sleepily, flailing your arm until you find a pillow. “Let’s do it again soon.”

Jeno laughs as you pretty much immediately pass out. “It was fun.” He comments, brushing the hair out of your face fondly before turning his attention to the other two boys. “Now get out of my room so that I can sleep.”

Jaemin and Donghyuck scurry off, hesitating for only a second before running into Jaemin’s room. And if they decide to jerk each other off while they’re in there, well, no one needs to know.

#nct dream smut #00 line smut #nct smut #jeno smut #jaemin smut #donghyuck smut #haechan smut #x reader smut

[chaseatinydream]

sly san who sacrifices (ii) || c.s (atz)

➳ pairing: reader x choi san (ateez)

➳ word count: 2396

➳ genre: badboy au; fluff; angst

➳ synopsis: to the school, he may be a bad boy, the worst of the worst, but to you, he’s choi san, father of three cats, your best friend and ultimately, the boy you’re in love with.

>>>

The second you step out of the car, you can already hear the mewing of cats.

“Yobu!” You laugh as the tiny grey ragdoll leaps into your arms, fingers brushing its fur back. The tiny feline lets out a content mew and you press a kiss to its adorable nose. You love all of San’s cats, having helped him in taking care of each and every one of them, but you have a soft spot for Yobu in particular. After all, he’s the cat that had allowed you and Seonghwa, one of San's friends, to meet.

San looms up behind your shoulder.

“Yah, Yobu, that’s my friend, not yours.” He scolds the kitten sternly and you give San a flat look of exasperation. He doesn’t look intimidating in the slightest, not when he looks like he’s about to topple over any moment. Concern wells up in you once again and you call over your shoulder to Claude, who’s still at the car.

“I’ll bring him up, Claude!”

The chauffeur nods acknowledgement and before San can protest, you’re already pulling him into the mansion after you.

You don’t think you’ll ever get used to the grandeur and luxury of San’s home. A sprawling, lavish mansion made nearly entirely out of white and grey marble, and designed by a famous architect whose name you can’t quite pronounce, this place screams luxury and wealth. Built all for the sake of your best friend Choi San, only son to a globally successful business mogul and fashion entrepreneur, you sometimes wonder how cheap money is to people like them. San tries his best to make you forget the gap between the two of you, but other times, it’s near overwhelming for you.

You remember him asking you once, “Why would people buy knock-off goods when they can just get the real ones?”

You had never been so tempted to slap him.

The floor is cool against your bare feet and the helper bows to you as you drag San up the stairs to his bedroom. You’ve been here so many times you could your way around this mansion blindfolded, and the mansion is huge. Your best friend trails after you silently aside from the odd cough, and when the two of you emerge into his room, he merely flops onto his king sized bed with a tired groan.

He must have been really exhausted.

“I’ll go get some warm water and medicine for you!” You chirp and San merely lets out a tired noise of agreement, the sound muffled in the soft, downy pillows on his bed.

When you return with the essentials to make your best friend comfortable, San is curled up in his bed with his face buried underneath his Shiber toy plush, specially customized and hand sewn to look like Shiber. Tapping on his shoulder, you rouse him from his fever induced slumber.

“Hey, San, you need to drink some water and take your meds before you go to sleep.”

He grumbles a little but still complies, sitting up in the bed to face you with a pout, hair mussed from tossing about on the bed. You press the glass of warm water to his dry lips and he tilts his head back to drink, Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows it all greedily. Concern wells up in your chest as you look at his pallid face.

He’s probably a lot more sick than he’s letting on.

But that’s just like San, you sigh under your breath as you watch him drink thirstily, rubbing at the bags under his eyes. You wonder why he hasn’t been sleeping enough. Has he been out clubbing again?

You don’t really want to think about the answer.

When that’s done, you grab the pills and tear out two tablets for San, holding them out for him to take. “For your fever. You should be fine when you wake up if you just take a couple of these.” You tell him as you set the now empty glass on his bedside table, but you don’t feel him take the pills from your hand, so you turn around to glance at him.

He stares at you expectantly.

You stare back, befuddled.

“What?”

“Well, aren’t you supposed to put them in your mouth and kiss me like in those movies?” San’s wearing a shit eating grin so wide that you’re not sure whether his brain has really been fried or if he’s just plain crazy. You stare at him in horrified disbelief for a second longer and he merely continues grinning at you like a cat that just got the canary, seemingly pleased with how red your face is becoming. “I’m not eating those on my own, they’re bitter, you know.”

Your mouth falls open at the sheer audacity of his words. Where on earth had they come from?

Then you shriek and clobber him hard over the head with a pillow.

“Ow! Ow! Yeowch! Stop hitting me, woman!” San yelps, scrambling away from you as fast as he can with the blankets tangled around his legs. You chase him with the heavy pillow held high above your head, bringing it down on his head again and again, intent on beating out the stupidity in him. He’s not nearly fast enough in this ill state and before he can reach any relative safety, you’ve already grabbed him by the ankles and are dragging him back to you.

“No! Spare me!” San thrashes about comically, trying to wriggle his way out of your grasp much like an actual cat, but you sit on his back, firmly trapping his flailing arms under your legs and then proceed to attack his sides with an assault of furious tickles.

“Aieeeee! Mercy! Have mercy on me!” Screeches fill the air, San’s voice getting increasingly high pitched when your fingers move to his armpits. Only when he’s crying and shouting and laughing weakly through tears all at once do you finally pull off him, smacking him over the head one more time for good measure.

“That’s for saying all those stupid comments!” You shout at him breathlessly, still flushed from a combination of exertion and embarrassment. San sits up next to you, still choking on a few final exhausted giggles, red streaked hair thoroughly mussed from the little roughhousing the two of you just had and the biggest, fondest grin on his face.

You hate how your heart just melts at the sight.

To distract yourself, you shove the pills into his mouth with one hand and San obediently crunches them down this time, watching you intently as you wring out a few damp towels next to him, gesturing for him to lie down. His heart warms in his chest at the sight, and when he closes his eyes, sometimes he just wishes that he could be the right one for you instead–

He purges the thought from his mind before it can go too far.

“Here you go, San.” Your voice is gentle for him, soft, sweet, innocent, a polar opposite to everything he is, so familiar and warm.

He counts it a blessing that you still remain at his side despite everything he’s done, no matter how many tears you shed over him and the times your heart has been rent in two because of his misdoings and fights.

He lays back down on the pillows, eyes shut tight against the sight of your face hovering above his. But as if you’re trying to tempt him unconsciously, you move his head into your lap and he nearly goes rigid in a panic.

“I’ve been talking to Seonghwa a lot recently, you know. He’s a great friend.” You tell him absentmindedly as your soft fingers brush the hair on his forehead back. Something in him twists, a sense of satisfaction that his carefully laid plan is falling into place, but also something darker, something more selfish, a certain sort of gut wrenching emptiness that he doesn’t want to think too much about.

San is still your best friend.

And that’s all he’ll ever be to you.

The cool cloth rests against his forehead and he sighs at how good it feels against his heated skin, but it probably has to do more with how your hands are gently kneading against his temples rather than the actual cloth itself. Upon hearing his little exhale of comfort, you glance at his face with a content smile, shaking your head with some kind of exasperation and warmth settling deep in your chest.

“Are you close to Seonghwa-oppa, San?” You ask as your fingers thread through his hair and he presses into your touch, for some reason desperately craving the feeling of your skin on his. He wants to treasure every last time he gets to be close to you like this, because it might come to an end all too soon.

Why does it hurt?

“He’s a nice guy. Boyfriend material.” San has never had to force a smile around you and it feels wrong on his lips, brittle like cracked glass against his skin. You are the one person he would never want to lie to, but if it’s for the sake of you and Seonghwa’s happiness, who is he to stand in the way?

“Yeah! He’s nothing like you.” You laugh cheerfully, teasingly bopping his nose with a finger and San barely manages to hold back a flinch at your words, his expression twisting in pain as if you’ve just shoved a knife into his chest straight. Honestly, he’d rather you just do that instead, it’d probably hurt a lot less.

“San? San, are you alright?” You frown in concern, bending down to glance at his face. The tips of your hair tickle his face gently and he can feel your breath against his cheeks, and maybe, just maybe, he wants to reach up and just pull you down to him–

“Yeah, I’m fine.” He lies again through his teeth. Maybe if he lies enough times, the pain in his chest will go away. Some part of him wants you to call him out on his deception, but you’ve always been too innocent for the things of this world and San is perhaps just a little too good at hiding his true feelings behind a carefully painted mask. “So, what were you saying again about Seonghwa?”

And he watches your face light up as you chatter animatedly to him about one of his best friends, Park Seonghwa, wondering why his chest hurts so much even when your eyes shine with excitement and joy.

He’s a selfish bastard, and he hates it.

He really needs to get the two of you together before he does something he regrets.

#ateez #ateez fanfic #ateez san #ateez fanfiction #san fanfic #san fanfiction #w; san #w; fanfiction

[fedtothenight]

this competition asked to write a short story in the dystopian genre and my entry's below - don't rb!

the sweetest fruit

The boy gasped, straining against the padded frame of the jeep just as the vehicle slowly came to a halt. ‘Look!’ he shouted, pointing at a spot about a hundred feet from the group. ‘Look, Mum! That’s so cool!’

Half-instinctively, his mother had already grabbed a fistful of his tank-top, ready to yank him back. She had spent the entirety of the trip sitting as still as possible, facing forward, eyes stubbornly fixed on the self-cooling top of the car in a pointless effort to fight her motion sickness: her patience was already wearing very thin without her eight-year-old personal safety hazard trying to get himself killed.

‘Ethan, for the love of God,’ she snapped. ‘I already told you to stop leaning over the frame! Do you realise how dangerous that is?’

‘No, Mum, you’ve got to look!’

‘Emma, darling,’ her husband whispered, a gentle hand on her shoulder. ‘You should really look at this. It’s magnificent.’

Whatever it was, even her fifteen-year-old daughter - who had spent the last thirty minutes texting her friends back home without so much as a glance at the scenery - was jaw-slacked, so she slowly got up on her wobbly knees and peered over her shoulders.

In the shadow of a tree, protected from the sweltering heat, two lions were feasting on a zebra. Perhaps belatedly, as it’d taken her a second to drink the sight in, she realised that the poor thing was still alive: writhing as blood, red and hot and pulsing, gushed out from where the bigger lion - the male - had bitten into its back.

The smaller one, the female, soundlessly sank its teeth into the dying animal’s neck, and the latter gave one last weak kick, finally falling limp. When the lioness stood again, it was almost impossible, from this distance, to see her eyes amidst the bloodied mess on her face.

‘Oh, my God, Matt,’ Emma said. ‘This is beautiful. Nature truly is beautiful.’

‘You don’t really get to see this kind of show anywhere else today,’ their guide said from the driver’s seat. He sounded proud, as if he’d hunted and fed the zebra to the lions himself.

Alberto wasn’t wrong, Emma reasoned. Given that they were parked in the middle of the privately-owned biggest North American savanna, he - or rather, his employer - was the one effectively feeding the lions. Like feeding mice to cats. She glanced at her children, glad they could have a window on a reality that was long gone. To think it would have taken a trip around the world to watch this spectacle - imagine the motion sickness then! If only, she considered wistfully, there could be a way of replicating glaciers just as accurately.

‘Honestly, it seems a bit unfair that they get to eat real meat,’ Ethan said at the dinner table a few hours later. He was picking at his plate, moving the fried grasshoppers they’d been served for dinner around, but not really eating any. ‘While we are stuck with insects and microprotein or whatever.’

Emma pinched the bridge of her nose. She was tired and sunburnt, her sensitive pale skin suffering under the blistering sun of the region, so different from the temperate weather back home North. She had a splitting headache, too. She was, yet again, at the so-called end of her tether. ‘Ethan…’

‘You should be glad you get to eat at all,’ her daughter said at the same time. ‘There’s a reason it’s illegal to eat meat. These animals are here for show, anyway. They were originally from Africa.’

‘Shut up, Becca,’ Ethan mumbled. ‘Everybody knows there are no animals in Africa. There’s nothing there.’

Becca’s cheeks were tinted pink, eyebrows furrowed. ‘Of course there were animals. There were animals everywhere before the Climate Crunch.’

‘Both of you, stop it,’ Matt interjected. ‘Ethan, your sister is right. You should be grateful that we are here in the first place. That said…’ He leant forward, voice down to a whisper: ‘I have a surprise for you. Or, well, Richard has a surprise for us. When he arrives tomorrow, he’ll bring us real meat. Bovine meat.’

‘But it’s illegal,’ said Becca.

‘It’s technically illegal,’ Matt acknowledged. ‘It’s not if you know how to get some and no one from Animal Conservation finds out. Do you think our president only eats insects? Please, Becca. Use that big brain of yours.’

‘Yes,’ Ethan snickered. ‘Use your brain, Becca.’

‘That is too generous,’ Emma said. ‘Inviting us here in the first place was, when even he hasn’t gotten here yet. Now this. I wouldn’t know how to repay him.’

Truly, all she felt was jealousy. Her guts twisted with the sheer force of it. Yes, she had known that Richard was comfortable. The gated, heavily guarded estate spanned for thousands of acres, comprised the 5000sqt villa they were staying at (five bedrooms, seven bathrooms, a cinema, marble floors and solar panels on the rooftop), an indoor swimming pool inspired by vintage photos of Amalfi, two indoor tennis courts, and the savanna they’d explored earlier in the day. ‘The biggest conservation area in North America since they repurposed the Midwest,’ he’d bragged in a video call, two weeks before. ‘You will love it. The holiday you deserve. Make yourselves at home.’

But meat? He could get meat?

Matt’s family had designed DeNuketify, which was basically the only effective way of purifying ocean water from whatever nuclear waste Japan kept spewing so that it could be used and, most importantly, drunk. They had managed to flee the continent with the last handful of greencards about the time her family did, too, taking their precious Queen’s accent with them to found Nova London. She was the governor of Nova London now, for God’s sake. The bloody queen herself was long dead but she was alive, and yet, yet - they had never had meat.

‘We don’t have to, Emma,’ Matt said. ‘We just need to remember how lucky we are to enjoy this meal, this house, this holiday. Look at that,’ and he nodded towards the TV screen again. ‘Actually, Alexa!, volume up!, I think the Italians have finally surrendered.’

The war correspondent’s voice grew louder. She - they, Emma reminded herself: Becca always told her not to assume anyone’s gender - was wearing a dust mask and reading from a bundle of documents. ‘The last military hospital in the island of Palermo was destroyed four days ago by a Canadian airstrike,’ they were saying. ‘The rebels surrendered soon after, followed by the group of extremists in the Nebrodi island. Etna had already surrendered last year.’

‘It’s important to remember that these actions were necessary to finally put a rest on the instability of the region,’ they added. ‘Canada will fund a complete restoration of the Southern archipelago. The remaining civilians will be provided with a shelter and then, when the time comes, a suitable job. Nova Italia will be the sixteenth Canadian state, the fourth offshore. There are also hopes to extract petroleum from the seabed of the sunken city of Gela.’

‘Watch them make it into a holiday hotspot,’ Matt commented. ‘The weather is still nice there.’

‘Ooh, I heard about this.’ Becca picked her phone back up and started furiously typing away. ‘There’s this journal entry soldiers found over there, under the rubble, that’s gone viral. It was translated into English. Wait, I’ll pull it up. Alexa, volume down.’

‘I’m not sure I want to hear it,’ Emma said, uneasy. ‘We’re on holiday. Should we not watch a movie? Something funny?’

Becca waved her away, as if she was an annoying fly. ‘It’ll be good practice for my drama class.’

Matt didn’t help—he simply shrugged, half-apologetic, as if to say: Let her do her thing.

Becca made a show of clearing her throat, too, before she started reading from her phone—her high voice now grave, studied, as if she were speaking to a larger audience: ‘I wonder what peas taste like.’

Right then, the scene on screen changed to footage of what looked like a destroyed village, something out of an apocalyptic movie. Emma found herself unable to look away.

‘Nonna used to say that her own great-grandmother grew them in her garden. Figs, too,’ Becca read. ‘They say they were the sweetest fruit.’

Emma wondered if this journal was actually written by a child or a teenager. It didn’t sound like an adult at all. She couldn’t help but picture a girl, a brunette, not much older than Becca, perhaps a rebel, or a trainee nurse on the sweet cusp of adulthood, holding this journal of hers, or perhaps a gun. It violently reminded her that her own daughter, too, would have to serve her time in the Forces in three years.

On screen, the Canadian soldiers walked among the ruins, zigzagging between torn up clothes and discarded weapons, surely looking for surviving rebels under the rubbles.

‘Isn’t it silly that we can hear the fighters overhead and that all I can do is think about food?’ said Becca. ‘I wish we could also eat figs and be happy.’

On screen, the camera zoomed in on a long-forgotten man's shoe, some crumpled photographs, on a pile of bodies in black bin bags.

‘Grandma - I miss her - left me a poetry book, too, from T.S. Eliot. I hope the book is with me when I die, so I can give it back to her when we meet again, afterwards. So I can tell her that T.S. Eliot was wrong.’

On screen, one of the soldiers approached and showed a little trinket to the camera: a bloody, heart-shaped locket that must’ve once been golden, hiding the miniature pictures of two brunette children that would never have a name.

‘That’s enough,’ Emma said. She closed her eyes, taking a deep breath. ‘Stop reading.’

‘The world may have not ended with a bang, but it didn’t end with a whimper, either: the world didn’t end at all. Sometimes,’ Becca finished reading, ‘I wish it had.’

‘What a load of rubbish,’ Matt scoffed. ‘Everyone should feel lucky to be alive. I bet this journal is a fake. Alexa, turn the TV off.’

As the screen faded to black, Ethan finally popped a grasshopper in his mouth. ‘I can’t wait to have meat tomorrow.’

#my writing #honestly dystopia is not a genre i'm interested in #lol #this was lazy and i wrote it in one morning while i was hungover on negroni

[kill-the-feels]

Brings Me Close to You

a/n: I’m a sucker for a good trope, and I was feeling soft for the clones tonight, so enjoy some shameless Rex/mechanic!reader fluff.

word count: 1.3k

Mechanics, much like clones find sleep whenever it finds them. Or, at least, this is the conclusion you come to, as you wedge yourself in between a supply crate and a busted astromech.

The 501st has been campaigning for what feels like an eternity now, and still, there has been no real progress. It’s starting to wear on everyone, and it shows in the exchanges between men, ranging from snippy to downright cruel.

You get to deal with all this, as a civilian mechanic brought in to help cull the sheer number of repairs that are necessary in order to make another attempt at advancing. But even with the mechanically inclined clones pitching in, there is... a lot. Especially because people tend to get angry when things aren’t fixed. But droids and blasters are really only meant to last for so long, and you can only coax so many engines into working for just a little bit longer, so they’ll just have to get over it.

But hey, the pay is good (getting shot at means a pretty credit in hazard pay), and you get to see the galaxy.

Now if you can just catch a break. You close your eyes and listen to the light rain on the roof of the supply tent, enjoying the rhythmic sound. It’s a nice change up from the near-constant yelling and distance firefight sounds you’ve become used to.

“Hiding out, are we?” The voice jars you awake, right before you drift all the way off. Your eyes stay closed, but a smile curves your lips.

An additional bonus to going from a civil mechanic to one employed by the Republic was CT-7567, or Rex. The clone captain met you in the midst of a particularly tough offensive, when you resorted to actually begging the transport ship engine to hang in there. (And yes, it manifested in you singing under your breath about the joys of oil. It was a way to cope with stress, ok?)

It was a... memorable first impression to say the least.

Regardless, you must have done something right, because after that, you two ended up becoming what you would consider good friends.

And now here he stands, waiting on you to acknowledge his presence.

“You’re pestering,” you respond, shifting slightly and wedging yourself further back in an attempt to get more comfortable. Instead, your head bumps into the corner of the crate, eliciting a wince. Finally, you have no choice but to open your eyes and look up at him.

“And you’re hiding away while the rest of us work,” he says. There’s a gleam in his eyes that tells you he’s joking with you.

You register this directly after registering his appearance. There are dark emerges under his eyes, and a few days worth of stubble on his jaw. He’s soaking wet and making a puddle near your feet. His armor has seen better days; at this point more mud than anything else.

“Gross,” you whine. “Do you know how hard it was to find somewhere that wasn’t wet or muddy?”

“I can imagine.” His tone is acrid, and it sends you into a fit of laughter. A sure sign you’re exhausted. He props himself up on the crate, exaggerating his exasperated expression for your benefit.

You’re not exactly sure how or why this little friendship happened. Rex, at his core, is dedicated to fighting for the cause, something you had been quick to realize. He will never be one to be content with settling down. Having a family.

But maker, here he is, bantering and flirting with you in between all the fighting and surviving and giving you a look that makes you wonder.

“I just needed to catch a quick nap,” you say, suddenly desperate to steer your mind away from those lines of thought. “So I wouldn’t kill Fives.” Rex snorts, then moves to sit down beside you, bringing his muddy water with him.

“If that isn’t the summary of my life,” he mutters. You choke back another laugh, and he takes the opportunity to rub some of the water out of his short, blond hair.

“You’re getting me wet,” you complain when he rubs more vigorously than necessary, sending droplets flying all over you.

“Tough, kid.” You lean up enough to sock him in the shoulder, then wince when you hit the armor instead.

“I just wanted some quick shut eye, and instead, I’m sitting here being abused,” you gripe. “And don’t call me kid.” Rex leans back against the supply crate, tilting his chin up so his head is all the way back. His eyes close.

“So sleep,” he says, not bothering to look at you again. You watch him for a minute, then decide it cannot be a comfortable angle.

“Do you want to come back here with me? It’s a lot warmer, and you’re less likely to be spotted by well-meaning subordinates.” It’s out before you can really process what you just said.

Kriff. No, agh, you did not just suggest cuddling with Rex. It would be an innocent suggestion, except for him to “come back here” it means he’ll have to wedge in between the droid and crate and you. It’ll certainly be nice and cozy.

And while that’s not wholly unappealing to you, it makes things very, very awkward.

He tilts his head up, pinning you with an unreadable gaze. You can feel your cheeks heat, and you look away, fast, before he sees something you aren’t ready to let him see.

“Cross that. Don’t answer that,” you’re quick to say. “Just... go back to sleep.” He’s still quiet, and you wish you could just like, die, right here. Or maybe turn into one of the cute creatures that keeps getting underfoot. Or, y’know, die. You’re not picky.

“I wouldn’t mind that,” he says finally, and it’s your turn to stare. Jaw stays closed, you remind yourself.

“I... O-ok.” He wriggles himself closer, and you realize it’s not going to be very comfy, because he’s still wearing wet armor which also happens to be very hard. Good for keeping men alive, bad for sleeping. (Read: cuddling.)

Rex seems to realize this at the same time you do, because his hands fly to the clasps, as if on instinct. He stops, then, and looks at you.

“I can leave it on if it will bother you. I’m used to sleeping in it.” It’s suddenly uncomfortably hot; wedged there in between the astromech and crate.

“I don’t fancy getting all wet and muddy,” you say after a beat, pretending to have a lot more bravado than you actually do.

The armor comes off.

Silence settles heavy in the tent, and you two just sort of look at each other.

“What if I-”

“How about we-”

The two of you speak at the same time, and you’re starting to question whether or not this whole thing is all worth it.

“You go first,” Rex says, even as you open your mouth to tell him to go first.

“What if you lie down,” you say slowly, “then I’ll use you as a pillow?” There’s a look that passes over his expression, and it’s gone in an instant, but it leaves you with a tingling feeling somewhere deep inside.

“Alright.” You move out of his way, and he settles himself down. Counting to three, you move forward, and end up curled into him, head resting on his chest.

This is a wonderful position, not only because it’s warm and soft, but also because now your misbehaving brain can’t get distracted by the way Rex looks in his form-fitting Republic-issued blacks.

You can hear his heartbeat. It’s a little fast, much like yours feels, and you can feel the rise and fall of his chest.

It’s a heady feeling; this position. Intoxicating. Rex stays silent, and you force yourself to close your eyes.

“You make a good pillow,” you finally mumbled, nearly asleep. Rex laughs softly, and it stirs the hair on top of your head. You snuggle up closer, vaguely aware of Rex tightening his arms around you. The pleasant warm feeling spreads to all around you.

Hours later, when you wake up to the distant sound of the 501st calling for their leader, you’re forced out of the pleasant little cocoon, and back into the real world.

But the warm feeling stays, even when you venture back out into the rain.

#i’ve been soft for the clones lately #so i’m sure there will be more #captain rex x reader #rex x you #captain rex x you #rex x reader #star wars #captain rex

[goindownshipping]

‘ focus on my voice. ’ - will you please do Stucky where Steve and Bucky don't go to Wakanda after Civil War?

And time's forever frozen still

Pairing: Steve Rogers/Bucky Barnes (Stucky)

Rating: Teen (T)

Notes: Yet again, thanks for your patience with this one, @ohwereusingourmadeupnames​! This canon divergence was tough, but I so loved writing it!

Warnings: Stucky fluff and rediscovering their love post Civil War. Let’s just pretend Bucky didn’t lose his metal arm in the fight in Siberia and neither of them are too injured :)

Word count: 6.5k

Summary:

Bucky goes home with Steve after the fight in Siberia. Even though Bucky doesn't quite trust himself, something tells him to trust Steve. They learn a lot together and Bucky discovers parts of his past he never knew existed.

Leaving Tony on the cold, hard ground in Siberia was one of the most difficult things Steve Rogers had faced in recent years, but it was certainly not the worst he’d faced. The worst was when he thought Bucky had been killed in Azzano; then it was watching Bucky fall from the train and not being able to save him; then it was coming face to face with Bucky decades later only to find out he had no idea who Steve Rogers was. So yes, fighting Tony and leaving him in Siberia wasn’t his finest moment, but he was sure as hell not about to let Bucky slip through his fingers again.

 Both men had been quiet upon boarding the quinjet, still shaken from the fight at the airport and then in Siberia. Bucky sat still, trying to differentiate among a plethora of memories and images flashing behind his eyes. Being back in that facility sent him deep within his own mind, flashes of atrocities reminding him of who he was. What he was. 

 “Where are you taking me?” Bucky asked quietly. His head was vibrating, he needed something to focus on besides the scene they left behind.

 Steve hesitated. “Fury helped me set up a safe house a few years back. I haven’t needed it until now, but it’ll be a good place for us to settle down for a bit.”

 “Steve,” Bucky started.

 “No, don’t,” Steve said firmly.

 Bucky stopped, knowing how stubborn Steve could be. That realization surprised Bucky a bit. Over the past couple of years, he’d come to trust himself little by little, but his memories were still foreign. Most of them felt like dreams that he could just barely remember the premise of. At that moment, he knew not to argue with Steve. He didn’t know exactly why, but somewhere deep in the recesses of his mind, he knew the argument wouldn’t be worth it.

 The realization was somewhat comforting, but he knew how easily his mind could betray him, how quickly the switch could flip on him. He let out a long sigh, knowing nothing productive would come from a fight on the jet. Bucky settled back, closing his eyes and wishing for sleep for the long flight to wherever Steve’s safe house was. 

 With the autopilot engaged, Steve looked over his shoulder to where Bucky was dozing behind him. He covered his mouth when a sob threatened to escape from his chest, wracking his entire body where he sat. Just seeing Bucky safe in front of him was enough to send him into a full spiral, thinking back to the number of times Bucky had protected him when they were kids. Bucky may not remember everything, hell he might not remember anything, but Steve did. Steve couldn’t, wouldn’t, forget anything.

 He wouldn’t let Bucky down this time. He couldn’t fail him again. Steve finally had a chance to take care of the person that meant more to him than anyone in the world and he wouldn’t squander it. He tried not to think about all the memories that had surely been burned out of Bucky’s brain by this point. He knew his resolve would crumble the second he let himself relive those moments.

 He shook his head, hoping to physically dislodge the images swirling in his head, and instead focused on how to stay under the radar when the whole world was supposedly on the lookout for Captain America and his no-longer-dead best friend. He thought about Tony and the look in his eye when Steve dropped his shield. He knew he had to fix it, he had to fix everything. 

 But right now, right now he had to take care of Bucky. That was it. That was his mission, and come hell or high water, he would do right by him.

 Bucky managed to sleep for most of the long flight, only waking when the quinjet hit a couple unexpected bumps.

 “We almost there, Stevie?” he asked sleepily.

 Steve’s breath caught in his throat at the nickname and softness in Bucky’s tone.

 “We still have a long way to go. You can go back to sleep Buck,” Steve managed to choke out.

 When Steve glanced back, Bucky was already fast asleep again, a small smile on his face. Steve hadn’t heard that nickname in decades, and he certainly didn’t expect to hear it from Bucky ever again. Ignoring the inkling of hope in his gut, Steve refocused on their flight path, noting the several hours until their final approach. At that, he decided to get some sleep himself before landing at the house. 

 A while later, Steve awoke to a soft beeping from the controls, alerting him that they were approaching their landing. Quickly wiping the sleep from his eyes, Steve switched off autopilot to guide the jet down toward the massive field adjacent to the house. By the time the jet came to rest, and the engines had come to a stop, Bucky was awake and trying to get a glimpse of their surroundings.

 “Where are we?”

 “Home, for the time being. But specifically, we’re somewhere in Kansas. Come on, let’s get inside.”

Steve and Bucky exited the jet and made their way to a modest looking farmhouse. Steve entered a lengthy pin on the keypad at the front door before gesturing for Bucky to step inside. Bucky made his way inside, glancing around as he made his way down the front hall. For a house that had supposedly never been used, it was awfully homey. Steve seemed to notice the appraisal.

 “I wanted it to feel like home if I ever came here. Besides, where else was I going to keep my things?” Steve shrugged.

 Most of Steve’s personal belongings were long gone after he put the Valkyrie in the ice, but the few boxes that SHIELD managed to hang on to now lived here. He had a few family photos hanging, several of which contained Bucky. Neither man acknowledged it, but Steve noticed Bucky’s gaze lingering on a few select photos.

 “Ma always wanted you in the family photos,” Steve admitted.

 Bucky smiled but it didn’t quite meet his eyes.

 “Steve, are you sure this is a good idea? I’m putting you in more danger just being here.”

 “Bucky,” Steve said slowly, stepping toward him. “Where else are you gonna go?”

“I don’t know,” Bucky admitted. “The Wakandan prince said something about his sister knowing what to do, maybe it would be best if I went out there. They can get my mind back.”

 Steve shook his head violently. “No, I can’t let you do that Bucky.”

 “Steve this is a terrible idea, I’m just gonna hurt you if we stay here.”

 “Bucky, you’re not going to hurt me. I’m not letting you go out in the world and try to deal with this on your own again, I can’t do that.”

 “I don’t want to hurt you.”

 Steve took one final step toward Bucky, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder, hoping he wouldn’t spook him. “I know you don’t believe me yet, but we’re gonna be okay. Alright? You always took care of me when we were kids and now it’s my turn. You hear me?”

 “But Steve, I don’t, I could-”

 “No Buck, don’t go there. I’m not letting you go through this on your own,” Steve said firmly.

 Bucky paused, looking up at Steve’s face directly in front of him. Steve’s face was hard, determined. But his eyes were wide with fear and the slightest bit of hurt. Taking in Steve’s expression, Bucky took a deep breath and closed his eyes.

 “Listening to you helps. I don’t know how to explain it. It’s not like I just remember things all of a sudden, but hearing you talk is safe, it blocks out the bad stuff. It was what gave me a hint that I knew you on the bridge, and then again on the helicarrier. I don’t know how, but I just knew. Even when I can’t trust my own mind, something tells me to trust you.”

 “We can handle that. You just tell me when it’s getting bad and focus on my voice. Think you can do that?”

 “I can try.”

 “Good. Then we’re good.”

 Steve gave Bucky’s shoulder one final squeeze before taking a step back.

 “It’s late Buck, let me show you where the guest room is and get you settled.”

 Bucky nodded and trailed after Steve like a puppy. Once again, Bucky was surprised by the sheer amount of belongings Steve had in the house. Steve got him situated with some clothes, toiletries, and towels and showed him his room with an attached bathroom. Once Steve had shown Bucky to his room, he paused in the doorway.

 “My room is just down the hall,” Steve gestured to a doorway to his left. “You can always come get me if you need anything, Buck,” Steve said softly.

 Steve looked conflicted, as if he was considering saying something else. His eyes flitted around, settling anywhere but Bucky’s face.

 “Thank you, Steve.”

 Steve’s eyes snapped up to Bucky’s. “You don’t have to thank me. This is what you do for someone you-”

 Steve and Bucky just blinked at each other. 

 “This is what you do for someone important to you,” Steve finished quietly.

 Bucky just nodded, the faintest hint of a smile on his face. “Goodnight, Steve.”

 “Goodnight Bucky.”

 If Bucky didn’t close the door until after he saw Steve disappear into his own room, no one had to know. When Steve pulled his own door shut, he smiled softly at the click he heard from down the hall.

 What could have been minutes or hours later, Bucky awoke with a start, his throat raw, and his entire body tremoring. It took him a moment to register the hands on his shoulders, shaking him awake. Instinctively he shoved the attacker in chest, his metal arm causing enough force to create plenty of distance between them.

 “Buck, Bucky it’s me, it’s Steve,” he heard through the darkness.

 He took a shuddering breath, quickly remembering his surroundings and current circumstances. Steve. Steve is good, Steve helps.

 “Steve,” he wheezed.

 He sat up in bed, his back pressed against the headboard as he watched Steve carefully approach from the other side of the room, where his shove had thrown him.

 “Can I sit next to you?” Steve asked carefully.

 With his eyes now pressed shut, Bucky just nodded, trying to focus on Steve’s voice and the memories he knew were real. He thought about Steve taking him to Siberia, their trip here in the quinjet, Steve getting him settled. It was all real. He held on to those little bits of certainty with everything he had.

 He felt the bed dip and assumed Steve had sat down on the edge of the bed. He didn’t dare open his eyes yet.

 “I’m sorry I scared you Buck, I heard you yelling from down the hall and it scared the shit outta me,” Steve said soothingly. “I just wanted to come and make sure you’re alright, I’m sorry I scared you,” he repeated. 

 “It’s okay,” Bucky said tightly. “Just keep talking, please. Anything.”

 “Alright, Buck, it’s alright.” Steve placed a tentative hand on Bucky’s knee through the blankets and squeezed, hoping the minimal physical contact wouldn’t be too much for Bucky.

 “When we were kids, I stayed the night at your house a lot, especially if my Ma was working the night shift. Sometimes, your Ma would let us pull all the couch cushions down onto the floor and we’d make our own little fort with blankets and chairs and stuff.” Steve smiled at the memory, remembering their muffled laughter and whispered conversations into the wee hours of the morning.

 “This one time in high school though, it’d been years since we’d done that, and in the middle of the night, we decided to set up camp on the floor. I guess we didn’t realize how uncomfortable couch cushions were when they were on the floor when we were in grade school, because, God, I don’t think either of us got a wink of sleep that night. At some point, we just gave up and put the cushions back on the couch and just fell straight to sleep. Your Ma came out in the morning and found us knocked out on the sofa, blankets and chairs all over the room.”

 Steve looked up to find Bucky watching him with a familiar smile. 

 “I think I remember that,” Bucky said slowly.

 “It’s okay if you don’t, Buck” Steve reminded.

 Bucky shook his head and furrowed his brow, clearly focusing on something in the recesses of his mind.

 “I remember that night. After we went to sleep on the couch, you shoved me on the floor at some point. I remember waking up and you were sprawled across the whole damn sofa. I must have shoved you right back so I could lay back down.”

 The faraway look in Bucky’s eyes had lifted, leaving him with clear, bright, blue eyes and a determined look on his face. His lips twitched a bit, fighting a smile at the memory.

 “I told you your voice helps.”

 Steve smiled, grateful that he’d been able to help Bucky through whatever nightmare he faced. He thought back to that night, his face breaking into a grin. He’d never forget Mrs. Barnes’ face when she emerged that morning to find Steve and Bucky wrapped around each other on the couch. Her smile said everything when Steve and Bucky eventually roused from their slumber. They didn’t know it yet, but she did.

 “I’m glad I can help, Buck. You wanna try to get some more sleep?”

 Bucky nodded, “Yeah, I’ll be okay.”

 “Okay,” Steve hesitated.

 “You alright Steve?”

 “Is it okay that I came in here when I heard you?” Steve whispered.

 Bucky paused. Instinctively, he wanted to say no, to hide his pain from Steve, the one person who actually believed there was still good in him. But he also knew that he couldn’t do this by himself. If Steve was insisting on helping him through this, he had to let him.

 “Yeah, Steve, it’s just fine. Just maybe don’t shake me next time? I don’t want to put you through a wall,” Bucky chuckled.

 “Alright, good,” Steve sighed. “I don’t think I could’ve left you in here when I woke up.”

 There was an awkward pause then, neither man quite knowing what to say. Steve wanted to say so much, reveal the cracked remnants of his heart and memories of him and Bucky. But he couldn’t do that, it wasn’t fair to Bucky to lay everything out there. So he sat and took a few deep breaths before slowly rising to his feet.

 “I’ll be in my room if you need anything.”

 “Thank you, Steve. I’ll see you in the morning,” Bucky said gratefully.

 Steve nodded and shut the door softly before he padded down the hallway, willing the tears not to fall yet. He shut his bedroom door behind him and immediately sank to the floor, his back against the door. With his head in his hands, he let the tears fall silently, hoping his shuddering breath couldn’t be heard down the hall. The fear he’d heard in Bucky’s cries and seen in his eyes was burned into his eyes. He couldn’t bear the thought of how bad Bucky’s episodes must have been just a few years prior. 

 When he finally looked toward his nightstand, the alarm clock alerted him that it was still the middle of the night, no time to be awake. Dragging himself back to his bed, Steve eventually fell asleep to images of the past flashing in his mind. 

 Bucky woke up with a jump the next morning, startled by the unfamiliar surroundings and the softness of the bed. He took in the room and memories flooded back to him. He was at Steve’s safehouse, where Steve insisted they go after escaping Siberia. He glanced at the bedroom door, surprised to see it cracked instead of firmly shut, which he distinctly remembered doing the night before.

 Suddenly, he remembered the nightmare, which must have had him screaming if Steve’s reaction was anything to go by. He took stock of everything, pleased to feel like his head wasn’t splitting down the middle, like he didn’t have another consciousness fighting to come to the surface. He sat in bed for a moment, expecting to hear Steve moving about the house somewhere, but all was quiet. Bucky wasn’t sure whether it was comforting or disheartening to think that Steve had left him home alone on the first morning.

 Shaking those thoughts away, Bucky slid out of bed, the need for coffee overtaking his concern for the moment. Following the hallway to the open living room and kitchen, Bucky was again confronted with all things Steve. Photos, candles, pillows, it all screamed Steve Rogers. Bucky wasn’t sure how exactly he knew that, but he did. He could feel it.

 He meandered into the kitchen, his nose leading him toward the strong coffee he could smell from his room. On the counter next to the coffee pot he found a large mug and a note from Steve.

 Went into town for some groceries, I should be back in the early afternoon. There’s some food in the freezer, but not much. If you need any clothes or anything, there’s extras in my closet. Home phone is on the side table next to the couch, my cell is on speed dial if you need me.

-Steve

 With a large cup of coffee in hand, Bucky headed back to the living room where a large plush sofa was calling his name. He was surprised to find that it was already almost noon, so Steve would likely be back soon. Once settled, he looked around. The cozy room was comforting, nothing like the holding facilities he was used to or the crappy apartments he’d been crashing in for the last few years. This was different. His instincts had him checking for sightlines and mapping out exit strategies, but he tried to push those away and focus on the photos surrounding him. 

 He supposed he shouldn’t be surprised to see himself in so many of the photos given how close he and Steve had been before the fall. Even so, he’d never come face to face with so many reminders of a life he couldn’t remember living. He wondered how many of his own photos and memories would have Steve in them if he ever got his hands on them. 

 Wrapping a blanket around himself, he reached for the television remote, hoping something could distract him from the sudden sadness washing over him. After scrolling through the entire guide several times, Bucky gave up, settling on drinking his coffee in silence. Once he reached the bottom of his mug, he figured it was time for a shower. He quickly realized just how much grime had settled into his skin since Siberia and he was itching for water just hot enough to burn a bit.

 Upon entering his room, he realized Steve had given him towels and toiletries, but only one set of clothes. He hesitated, nervous to snoop through Steve’s space even though his note made it clear he could look for anything he needed. Glancing down at his now dirt and sweat covered clothes, he knew he didn’t have much of a choice.

 Reluctantly, Bucky made his way toward Steve’s room. Upon entering, he was overcome with a sense of comfort. The whole room smelled like coming home after a long day. Bucky always knew that smells could trigger memories that he didn’t know he had, but this was different. This wasn’t a specific memory; it was this innate gut feeling that this was home. That Steve was home.

 Bucky took a deep breath, soaking in the comfort, feeling the safety wrap around him. Call him crazy, but he finally found something that felt right, that felt like it belonged to the version of himself that he was still clawing his way back toward. It didn’t matter that he couldn’t connect all the dots or recall all the specific memories. All that mattered was that he finally had something to latch on to. All that mattered was that Steve trusted him enough to bring him here. All that mattered was Steve.

 He shook that last thought out of his head, unsure of where exactly it came from and headed for the closet on the far side of the bedroom. Sliding the door open, he was faced with what seemed to be Steve’s entire civilian wardrobe. The shelves and hangers were full of everything from soft sweaters and henleys to fitted button-downs and khakis. The very top shelf was what caught Bucky’s attention though.

 The top shelf had several stacks of thick, cable knit sweaters that looked cozy enough for Bucky to bundle up in for the next several weeks. They looked homey and warm - perfect. He reached up, his heart set on a deep blue piece, and his fingers scrabbled to secure the fabric. When he finally grabbed it and yanked it down, the angle brought down several sweaters along with the blue one he was aiming for.

 Bucky shook his head at his clumsiness, knowing that was something that would never leave him. He quickly grabbed the sweaters to refold them and hoist them back up on the shelf. He was on the second to last one, a light sky-blue colored sweater when he felt something stiff inside the fabric. He reached into the sleeve to move whatever had gotten stuck when it fell and came out with a small stack of old photos, clearly printed before Steve went into the ice.

 Bucky looked down and felt all the air rush out of him. He immediately fell to his knees, his entire being knocked off balance by what he saw in the photos. His eyes filled with tears against his will, but through the blur, he could still clearly make out the images.

 The first one in the stack was a photo of him and Steve, clearly taken without them knowing. A young Steve, probably just a matter of months before the serum, was perched on Bucky’s knee with one of Bucky’s arms firmly around his waist. Steve’s head was resting against Bucky’s shoulder, love drunk smiles pasted across both of their faces. Steve was looking up at Bucky, Bucky glancing down at Steve and it was impossible to miss the love evident in their eyes. 

 Bucky collapsed down from his knees, hitting the floor with a thud, but paid no mind to the discomfort as he pulled up the next picture in the stack. The next photo was in a similar vein as the first one but must have been taken during their time as part of the Howling Commandos. How that was possible, Bucky didn’t know. All he knew was that this photo showed Steve in his Captain American uniform, covered in dirt, with his arms wrapped tightly around Bucky in what must have been a bone crushing hug. Bucky’s face was tucked into the crook of Steve’s neck while Steve pressed a kiss to the top of his head.

 Bucky spread out the dozen or so photos on the floor in front of him, each of them indicating just how in love he and Steve must have been back then. In every single photo, they were touching in some way; an arm around the other person, hands held between them, a kiss on the cheek. Even in photos that included their friends or family, it was evident that Steve and Bucky were drawn to each other like magnets, always revolving around each other and finding their way into contact. It appeared that was still true to this day, given that the universe had somehow kept them both alive despite believing the other must be long dead or simply not knowing the other existed, in Bucky’s case.

 He sat on the floor of Steve’s closet just staring at the photos, willing himself to remember just one of these instances. Hating himself for forgetting something so vastly important in his life and for ripping this way from Steve. God, Steve. How could Bucky ever forgive himself for depriving Steve of the love he so clearly deserved. Deserves.

 Sitting there on the floor, for god knows how long, Bucky came to a startling realization. He may not be able to play back these memories like movies in his head, but he damn well knew that he could trust Steve, that he knew him when everything else was foreign and terrifying. That had to mean something right? His mind and heart hadn’t completely betrayed him if he knew that Steve felt like home, that he smelled familiar, that something within him just knew.

 As Bucky crouched there, lost in thought and emotion, his well-trained instincts didn’t alert him to Steve’s arrival. He missed the loud thud of the car door, the minor tremor of the house when Steve shut the front door, and even the loud shuffling as Steve entered the kitchen.

 “Buck?” Steve called loudly.

 Bucky couldn’t bring himself to answer and he certainly couldn't bring himself to move from his place on the floor. He didn’t even have a moment to panic before Steve came through the door and was suddenly standing across the room, eyes fixed on the photos on the floor. 

 “Shit, Buck,” Steve breathed out. He quickly crossed the room, dropping to his knees next to Bucky.

 “I’m so sorry, Steve,” Bucky sobbed.

 “What? Bucky, no, this isn’t your fault at all. Dammit I-,” Steve took a shuddering breath in, his emotions coming to boil seeing those photos and knowing what Bucky had figured out.

 “These past few years, I didn’t know, Steve.”

 “I know you didn’t, and I never wanted you to find out like this.”

 Bucky was still staring at the photos, unable to look up at the man next to him. He didn’t know what he’d do if he saw that same love in the photos directed at him now.

 “Bucky, please, can we talk about this?”

 “What is there to talk about? I ruined everything for you, I took it all away,” Bucky sobbed.

 “No! God, Buck, please just come here.”

 Bucky looked over to Steve, surprised to see the sheer vulnerability reflected in his grey-blue eyes. There wasn’t a hint of anger or resentment there, but maybe just a touch of fear.

 Without thinking, Bucky scooted over just enough to collapse into Steve’s arms, his entire body breaking down into shuddering sobs.

 “Why can’t I just remember?” he cried, desperate for relief from the constant reminders that his mind wasn’t his own.

 Steve wrapped him up in a tight hug and pulled him closer, rearranging their limbs until they were in a more comfortable position on the floor.

 “Shh, it’s okay Buck, it’s gonna be okay, I promise. That’s why we’re here, right? To do this together,” Steve murmured into his ear.

 Bucky just continued to cry, years (decades) of emotion boiling over at that moment. Steve just held him close and continued whispering in his ear, reassuring him, letting him know it would all be okay.

 “I’m not letting you do this alone, Buck, I promise,” Steve said firmly.

 When Bucky finally felt like he had himself under control, he pulled back from Steve’s grip but didn’t dare move any further away. No matter what had been burned out of his head by HYDRA, his heart needed to be close to Steve. Everything from the last few years started to make more sense when he realized that.

 “Why didn’t you tell me?” Bucky asked quietly.

 “And when exactly was I supposed to do that?” Steve asked with a chuckle.

 “Fair enough,” Bucky sighed.

 “Let’s go into the kitchen. We should eat before we do this.”

 Bucky hesitated but nodded when he felt his stomach knotting in on itself. When Steve stood and reached a hand out for Bucky, he didn’t hesitate to take it. He didn’t think twice when neither of them let go until they were in the kitchen plating up the takeout Steve had brought back.

 They ate their sandwiches and chips in silence, mostly due to how hungry they quickly realized they were. Bucky was grateful that Steve also had the appetite of a super soldier and brought close to a dozen sandwiches back for them. By the time they finished stuffing their faces and Steve had cleared away the scattered wrappers, Bucky knew they were faced with a difficult conversation.

 “Want to get comfy in the living room for this?” Steve asked.

 Bucky nodded, “Sure.”

 Steve let Bucky lead the way to the living room and waited for him to pick a spot first, not wanting to crowd his space too much. Bucky’s face pulled into a confused frown when Steve settled in the chair across from him, rather than on the couch cushion at his side. Bucky glanced at the empty seat next to him and Steve took the hint, quickly moving close enough that their thighs pressed together.

 Steve’s gaze was fixed on the carpet. He could feel Bucky’s eyes boring into the side of his head, but he couldn’t bring himself to meet his gaze. The guilt was already eating away at him, making his lunch sit uneasily in his stomach. After too much silence, he took a deep breath, steeling himself for the conversation at hand.

 “I can’t tell you how sorry I am, Bucky. It was so wrong for me to-”

 “Steve, don’t. This isn’t your fault, there’s no reason for you to apologize,” Bucky interrupted.

 Steve shook his head, still staring down at his feet.

 “But Buck, I-”

 “Dammit Steve, will you look at me please?”

 Steve lifted his head and turned slightly to face Bucky. He was met with open, curious eyes with just a hint of anger.

 “You have every right to be angry,” Steve whispered.

 “Yeah,” Bucky nodded. “But not at you. This isn’t your fault,” he repeated. His face softened a bit, the hard edge disappearing as he watched for Steve’s reaction.

 “I just don’t know what to say.”

 “Let’s start from the beginning. Can I ask a question?”

 “Of course.”

 “How long?” Bucky asked simply.

 “What do you-”

 “How long, Steve?” he repeated.

 Steve sighed, his gaze quickly drifting to the several photos littering the living room walls. “Since I was sixteen, you were seventeen. That’s when things changed.”

 “What do you mean, changed?”

 “That’s when we finally realized that best friends don’t normally cuddle on the couch and sleep in the same bed during sleepovers,” Steve laughed.

 Bucky smiled at the distant, hazy memories of tangled limbs and sleep warm touches. It wasn’t in focus, but the memory was there. Somewhere deep in his heart and mind, he knew what Steve was saying; it almost felt like his own memories.

 “So, all that time? When I left for the war, when you came and found me? All of that?”

 “Yeah, Buck, the whole time.” Steve had a small smile on his face, the happy memories overtaking their current situation for just a split second. “I’m sorry,” Steve continued. “It’s not fair for me to dump this on you and I really didn’t mean for you to find out. At least not like this.”

 “And what do you want?” Bucky questioned.

 “What do you mean?” Steve was surprised by the question, his gaze immediately snapped back to Bucky’s inquisitive face.

 “Exactly what I said, Steve. What do you want to happen now?”

 “I want you to be okay. I was us to be okay,” Steve murmured so quietly, Bucky nearly missed it. “I know I can’t ask you to pretend to remember it all, I know that. But selfishly, god Buck, I would give anything, everything to have it all back.”

 Steve’s eyes were fixed so intently on Bucky’s, he couldn’t tear his gaze away. Hesitantly, Bucky reached for Steve’s thigh and squeezed tightly as he smiled up at him. 

 “You’re right. I can’t pretend to remember everything. But I do know that these distant, fuzzy memories are mine. They all involve you. All of them Steve. I know I loved you. Love you, really. I can feel it. I might not have the same memories and things certainly aren’t normal, but I can feel it Stevie, I really can. I don’t want to lose that again,” Bucky admitted.

 Steve stayed silent, partially to let Bucky continue but mostly in disbelief.

 “Like I said, I can feel it. The pictures, the memories, those times in high school. It’s all still there. If you want to give this a shot, give me a shot, I think that’s really all I want.”

 “If I want- Buck,” Steve trailed off. He carefully placed his hand over Bucky’s on his own thigh, barely squeezing for fear of startling him. He held Bucky’s gaze, unable to look away from those eyes that held so much and yet revealed nothing. When Bucky didn’t interject, Steve continued on.

 “Bucky, not a single day has gone by that I haven’t wanted you. Not once, I swear,” Steve resounded. “If this is what you want, I’m right here.”

 “You’re the only thing that feels familiar, Steve.”

 “I don’t want you to want this just because you think it’s what I want, Buck. I’ll be here no matter what, I promise you that.”

 Bucky shook his head vehemently, immediately cutting Steve off. “No,” Bucky said firmly. “It’s not that and it’s not just because you’re safe. I just- I know we were each other’s everything and we can’t just jump back into that, but I’d really like to take it one day at a time. With you,” Bucky finished softly.

 Steve raised a gentle hand to Bucky’s cheek, unable to keep himself from touching at this point. He couldn’t help the way his chin trembled or the tears that welled up in his eyes as he looked at the man he’d loved and lost so many times. Steve needed the reassurance that Bucky was actually there, that he could reach out and touch him, feel his warmth and security while keeping him safe.

 “You want this?” Steve confirmed.

 “Steve, I swear, if you ask me that one more time, I might change my mind,” Bucky sassed.

 “Alright alright, there you are,” Steve laughed.

 They sat in silence for a moment longer. Bucky’s hand still squeezing Steve’s thigh with Steve’s hand pressed over his own. Steve’s opposite hand held Bucky’s cheek as he let his eyes wander over Bucky’s face. It was the same face that Steve came home to in high school, the same one he found staring up at him in Azanno, and the same one that haunted his dreams for the years after the war. He never imagined he’d see it again; not as the Winter Solider and not as the love of his life.

 Eventually, Steve let go of Bucky and slumped back against the couch, spreading his arms for Bucky to settle into. Bucky quirked an eyebrow for a split-second before folding himself into Steve’s grip, his back pressed to Steve’s front. The strong arms that wrapped around him felt like coming home. Bucky never thought he could feel like that again, he didn’t know he had a home to come back to. But this, this was it.

 “When did you know?” Steve whispered against his neck.

 Bucky paused for a minute, trying to comb through the jagged memories and mismatched pictures in his head. At this point, he had enough of his own mind back that he could see so many of his own experiences but didn’t quite know where they fit into his life. It was hard to differentiate among all the years that swirled in his head.

 “When was the bridge?” Bucky asked.

 “You knew on the bridge?”

 “Yeah. Well, no, not really. But after. I started getting these flashes of what I now realize are memories. The moment I fell was just on replay in my head, I just kept hearing you yell for me.”

 Steve squeezed him tightly and buried his nose in Bucky’s long hair, willing himself to stay strong for Bucky.

 “I told them I knew you, but, you know,” Bucky trailed off.

 “I know, Buck. I’m so sorry.”

 Bucky shifted in Steve’s arms, rolling over to face him. They were nose to nose, their breath immediately mingling between them.

 “Not your fault, Stevie. We’re here now, yeah?”

 “Yeah, we are. But we can always talk about that stuff, whenever you need to. That’s why we’re here, remember?”

 “As long as you’re here with me to figure it all out, Steve. I know I can’t do it without you.”

 As Steve nodded in agreement, his nose bumped against Bucky’s causing them both to gasp at how close they hadn’t realized they were. Steve’s gaze dropped to Bucky’s lips out of habit and Bucky’s tongue swiped over his plump bottom lip on impulse.

 “Buck,” Steve breathed, unable to stop himself.

 Bucky stared back at Steve for what should have been an awkward length of time, but neither man noticed. After a few long breaths, Bucky nodded, signaling for Steve to go ahead. One of Steve’s hands crept up from his waist to cradle his face, his thumb dragging along his cheekbone as Bucky’s eyes fluttered shut.

 Steve barely had to move with how close they already were. He merely angled his face to the right and immediately felt Bucky’s warm breath directly against his lips. Before he could do anything, Bucky closed the final hint of space between them and captured Steve’s lips in a feather-light kiss. Steve couldn’t help the rush of emotion that filled his heart the moment he felt those all-too-familiar lips against his again. 

 He let his lips lead him in rediscovering Bucky, pleased that the same flick of his tongue and caress of his neck brought out the softest whimpers, just like when they were in another life. When he felt tears fall from his eyes, he pulled back ever so slightly. 

 “Wow,” Bucky murmured.

 Steve sniffled quietly but knew he couldn’t hide his emotion from the man in his arms.

 “Yeah, wow is right.”

 “So, we’ll figure this out?”

 “Yeah,” Steve agreed. “Just like we always have, baby.” 

 Bucky couldn’t help the way he burrowed into Steve’s chest, and Steve couldn’t stop the smile on his face as he felt Bucky press a kiss to his chest. 

 “Did you know you always used to do that before you fell asleep?” Steve whispered.

 When he looked down, Bucky’s eyes were closed and his breathing was even, his face squished against Steve’s shirt. Steve shook his head fondly, and pulled Bucky even closer, silently vowing to never let him go again.

#stucky #steve rogers x bucky barnes #stucky fic #mine

[wilhelmjfink]

Daryl Dixon Drabble #6 - pt 2

Sorry I can’t “read more” on my phone and it’s long! Will these two make up? Daryl, an emotional tightass? Prob not. We’ll see.

—

You’d never minded confrontation before. You couldn’t afford to fear it, really, with how frequently you’d opened your mouth and manage to say all the wrong things — case and point — and almost always found yourself too stubborn to apologize and instead would escalate the situation until you and whomever you’d been arguing with were toe to toe in a shouting match, only to be broken up by a third party usually before it got physical. Usually.

But then, you’d only ever been the one to throw the first punch. This whole scenario was new — being on the receiving end of someone’s anger and escalating them until they snapped first. You’d always known to simply hit back, right? What did that mean for you then and there, still laying on the cold grass perched up on your elbows, watching as Daryl disappeared into the night?

You were shaking — you usually did when things got heated. Didn’t particularly matter who it was with, either, but this time felt different. It felt wrong.

Pulling yourself to your feet you brushed the dirt off of your jeans, wiping your sweaty palms against the fabric on your thighs, and gently prodded at the newly tender spot around your tailbone that was sure to bruise. Not horribly, but enough to remind you about this night for at least the coming week.

Daryl had disappeared completely. All you could hear was the crackling of the fire and some spring peepers in the distance; formerly a peaceful and reassuring sound. Not now, though — not as long as you stood there stupidly staring into the distance, fighting the anxiety that was filling your chest. Where had he gone? The moon was high in the sky, a glowing silver crescent that gave you little natural light, but you knew Daryl didn’t really even need it. He would navigate the terrain with skill and precision as if he’d lived his whole entire life on this god damn farm.

Your machete was strapped to your thigh in its rightful spot, as it always was, and it would be better to keep quiet anyway. Certainly your shouting had alerted your presence to any walker on the property, and even with the wine still in your blood and the adrenaline that was still threatening to kill your buzz, you were on high alert as you jogged to the tree line with a newly found sense of determination. Hopefully the makeshift fencing along the outskirts of the property served its purpose in keeping any stragglers out.

In the darkness you’d have to rely on your ears and go with your gut feelings, and then simply hope that would be enough. You’d found yourself in similar situations before — even recently, searching for the little girl sun up to sun down, but at least you’d had Daryl to follow then. The first stretch of woods wasn’t as deep as it was narrow, so hopefully you would be able to sneak through it and come out on the field without issue. Outside of that we’re the traps and electrical fence that lined the perimeter of the farm, and Daryl wasn’t stupid enough to venture further than that.

The foliage was high this time of year, thick with green leaves and fallen sticks that crunched beneath your feet. As far as you could tell with each step that lead you further and further into the woods, you were unsettlingly alone in the thick darkness, which was somehow both a comfort and a concern that threatened to nag you until you either found Daryl or hung around long enough to see the sun begin to rise. You had no idea how long either option would take, so you pressed on with a hope that maybe your eyes would adjust better and you’d maybe even be able to impress Daryl with your nocturnal tracking skills... if you could find him.

Even in the near-pitch-black of night you could feel your head swimming slightly, the lingering effects of alcohol disorienting you, threatening to dull your senses even more. As the adrenaline wore off, the more your buzz returned. If you could see, your world would certainly be teetering slightly beneath your feet, rocking you like a rowboat.

It was eerily silent, the fire now a faded ball of flickering light in the far distance and the peepers and crickets having silenced their chirping upon your presence. Of course, Daryl was so skilled that he strode through the brush with a hunters tread so silent that not even the insects beneath his boots had noticed him. He would have that advantage on you, surely, but even if he heard you coming, you knew that he was far too adept to mistake you for a walker and shoot you.

Although, you thought to yourself, that didn’t necessarily mean that he wouldn’t try to hurt you, did it?

The idea of Daryl laying his hands on you in that way had never once crossed your mind — admittedly, it had under vastly different circumstances — but to give as far as shove you was something you’d never even considered. He’d only ever touched you with a harsh grip when he threw you behind himself protectively in the face of danger, or when he cleaned and dressed a wound you’d sustained with lingering fear and adrenaline in his system. It was only ever with good intentions; his ferocity contradicting the way his touch was surpringly gentle and warm. It wasn’t like that this time. And it was that realization that had you stopping in your tracks and trying to withstand the sheer force that the sudden guilt hit you with.

You had crossed a line. Fuck that — you had gotten a running start and leapt over that line like it was the long jump test in high school gym class. The worst part? You’d known that was a low blow. In your head, you’d briefly acknowledged that your words were going to hurt him in some way and you’d spat them out anyway. Just like you always did, and undoubtedly would continue to do as long as walked the earth, you’d said just the right wrong thing and driven the other person to crack. And, yeah — you’d both been drinking and both had loose tongues to begin with, but it was irrefutable that you’d gone too far this time if his initial response was to physically shove you away from him.

Exhaling a a long breath and trying to steady yourself you needed to gather your bearings before pressing on. The quick snapping of a twig somewhere nearby had you planting your boot back down firmly onto the ground, and your hand instinctively going to the handle of your machete. You listened intently, holding your breath, eyes striving to see in the darkness around you for any sign of movement, but everything even felt still. Dark, silent, and still.

You swallowed hard. “Daryl?” There was absolutely no way he could’ve heard you squeak his name out — you hardly heard it yourself. You cleared your throat and opened your mouth to try again just as you were thrown off your feet and down to the ground on your hands and knees, a heavy mass pinning you down from behind.

Now, with your adrenaline once again soaring and your senses heightened in panic, you could hear the low growling of the walker on your back. You thrashed beneath it and briefly wondered if you were thrown into water with how heavy your limbs felt and how muffled it’s groaning sounded despite being so close to your ears. While you summoned all your strength to hoist yourself back upright, straightening your arms in an attempt to shake him off like a bucking bronco would a cowboy, it occurred to you that you’d dropped your machete in the fall.

At least now you’d managed to get onto your knees instead of sprawled face down helplessly in the dirt, but the walker was relentless, it’s bony fingers already intertwined into your ponytail and yanking painfully as it tried to right itself. It’s jaw snapped hungrily, what remained of its rotted teeth clicking against eachother as it tried once again to throw its body weight at you.

You’d manage to spin around just as it tumbled forward into you, knocking you from your knees on to your back with the walker now hugging you, a clear view of its grey skin and yellow eyes. Straddling you, leaning into your forearm that trembled weakly while supporting its weight above you, sheer panic and adrenaline keeping it pressed against its decayed chest and its mouth away from your neck. Tears blurred your vision. Your mind reeled desperately, screaming at you to find your knife, to get your shit together, to overcome this walker that latched onto any piece of you it could grasp despite you throwing elbows at it and shoving your shoulders into it and kicking your legs out to absolutely no prevail and you’re going to die here, you’re going to fucking die here, you’re going to —

It collapsed on you, dead weight, and everything was suddenly still and silent once again.

All you could hear was the pounding of your heart in your ears as it mocked your racing pulse, struggling to breathe easy with your chest crushed beneath some combination of the corpse and panic. It didn’t move, it didn’t make a sound — but you lay still in fear of stirring it awake or somehow bringing it back to life while your brain sluggishly tried to catch up with the events that had just happened.

However long it was that you laid there on the ground, paralyzed in fear, you would never be able to tell — minutes, hours, seconds you were sure — it both somehow drug by agonizingly slow yet when you blinked next the weight had rolled off of you and you shot upright with a gasping breath, taking in oxygen you hadn’t even been aware had been withheld from you.

Your mouth was dry and you panted like a dog and your brain was shouting at you to run, but another pair of disembodied hands from within the darkness reached out and grasped onto your shoulders, drawing a terrified scream from your own lips that echoed through the night, against your better judgment to keep quiet. It had you held in place before you could even get to your feet.

“Hey, hey! Hey!”

You froze.

We’re you that drunk? Or, did you maybe die? And this was some sort of hell where walkers could speak while they ate you alive?

“S’just me. Calm down.”

Of course it was Daryl. Of course, he’d managed to come rescue you like a knight in shining armor after you managed to get yourself in a stupid situation that could’ve been easily avoided if you’d just stopped to think every once in awhile. And though your cheeks flooded with embarrassment and shame, you couldn’t deny the relief that filled your veins like a drug, because technically, you had found him. Which was all you wanted in the first place anyway, right?

“Shit,” you exhaled breathlessly, allowing yourself to relax again while you struggled to straighten your thoughts out. “Daryl, I—“

“What in the hell’s the matter with ya?” He whispered harshly, voice still sharp enough to make you flinch with each syllable. “Runnin’ around in the fuckin’ woods in the middle of the night. You gotta fuckin’ death wish or somethin’?”

You blinked. “I... I needed to find you—“

“No,” he cut you off furiously and you swore you could feel the heat of his anger radiating off of his body; somehow still enticing despite his demeanor. “Ya don’t ever fuckin’ come after me, ya hear me?”

“But I—“

“But nothin’! Ya don’t ever put yourself in danger, ‘specially not for me. What if I hadn’t been nearby? What if —“

“Daryl!” Between the two of you, you supposed you’d already made enough noise that you shouting wouldn’t make much of a difference anymore. “Let me talk!”

He stiffened, but shut his mouth. And even through the darkness of night you could still sense how worked up he was, how rapidly he was breathing, how warmth still radiated from his sweat-coated skin that was so unnaturally close to your own body that, between that and the fact that you’d never really even resolved your internal conflict and rehearsed some choreographed apology like you normally would have, you found that words had failed you completely. And you were silent.

Averting your gaze you sighed, hands absentmindedly playing with the grass beneath your fingertips until Daryl stood and, grabbing you by those hands, hoisted you to your feet. With a surprisingly gentle shove between your shoulders, he got you walking toward the camp, defeated.

Although you remained on high alert, adrenaline just started to ebb away slowly, you couldn’t help but watch Daryl from your peripherals throughout the short trek back. You knew that he would be aware of any walkers or potential threats that you obviously couldn’t see or hear yourself in the environment that you were in; not to mention you were already at a disadvantage. You tried so hard to read him, to feel what he was feeling and gauge his behavior and actions but he was, as always, shut away. An exciting cliffhanger that still managed to engulf your entire world within a chapter of a book you’d already read a hundred times. And you weren’t sure if you would ever figure him out — but damn if you weren’t going to try.

#daryl dixon fanfiction #the walking dead fanfiction #daryl dixon imagine #daryl x reader #the walking dead imagine #the walking dead drabble #daryl dixon drabble #daryl dixon x reader #the walking dead #daryl dixon

[a-lil-perspective]

Hunter x Reader

A/N: What nobody asked for. I didn’t think a title would be appropriate for this particular piece of work. It really doesn’t coincide with any Star Wars themes, save for everybody’s favorite Sergeant making his debut within. It’s more of a Lil perspective. (Lol I’m sorry my last two brain cells have no sense of humor) For context: I have been absolutely suffocating lately, in every sense of the word. It’s almost indescribably oppressive, so I wrote this in desperately seeking comfort and therapy. Just a fragmented depiction, addresses underlying mental health issues and sensory disorders—in carrying my own subtle semblance of it, I love exploring those complexities with Hunter. It turns out soft. I think. Also, if you squint hard enough, you will see some song lyrics scattered throughout the fic in the form of thoughts. I wrote this in the format of Reader, though it’s practically a self-insert, I’m just not brave enough for those particular pronouns. :) Sorry in advance if this doesn’t apply to you...

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Isn’t anyone trying to find me... Won’t somebody come take me home...

The silence was prodding. Hunter’s gaze darted to your tense form numerous times over the span of several painfully long, anticipating minutes. Each time, your lips remained pulled into a tight line while your extremities fidgeted in repetition. Agitation hung thick in the air. A terse statement of Y/N’s mystics echoed off the walls, to no-one in particular.

“I think... I’ve been gone for a long time.”

Hunter’s eyes incredulously searched you. “What do you mean?”

You see me standing, but I’m dying on the floor...

Your fists reflexively clench in grabbing at any semblance of weight to prevent your form from being dragged down into the mental abyss. You could feel it’s foreboding pull. It’s impending chaos.

It’s coming.

“Talk to me, Y/N...”

Your grip slackens, and you slip right over the edge. Hunter is too late to grab you.

I only want to die alive...

Your broken, unbridled guttural cries in response to the months of overwhelming emotional suppression caused Hunter to wince, and his own sensory receptors gain enough momentum to inwardly complain. He instinctively stuffs it down before kicking into action.

“Hey, Y/N, I’m here—”

Electric. The touch. His touch. It pricked, and the very fine hairs adorning the skin along your arms instantly retaliated to the calloused padding of Hunter’s fingertips caressing. It exacerbated your state of distress and just like that, your neurons overloaded. Sharp, stale air seeped in between your grit teeth and inhalation of insecurity.

Your sudden intake of breath and harsh flinch caused Hunter to cease in brushing up and down the outer region of your upper arms. His eyes narrowed slightly and quickly picked apart your stance. It greeted him like an old adversary with the remnants of a longstanding history, and a discomfiture swirled around Hunter at it’s painful familiarity.

“I can’t do this...” You breathe out despair.

The existing in general? The physical connection itself?

The latter wasn’t your fault. But it sure as hell felt like it. It certainly wasn’t his fault. Thankfully, somehow, the glint in Hunter’s shifting irises reassured you that he was privy to your suffering, to some degree; he knew. He understood.

Of course he did.

For who to better understand heightened tactile sensitivity than Sergeant Hunter of Clone Force 99? He was neither confounded nor dissuaded by your particularity in the slightest.

It had always been an inherence of yours; a rather obnoxious caricature within the conundrum, some obscure accessory buried in your already heavily packed bags. An extra ingredient that completely screwed up the recipe. Constituted as awkward, plain and simple; the dramatized detail never became easier to address with age, and the thick lump of disdain in your throat only grew.

You set your jaw in frustration. How to even begin picking up and putting together the pieces of a person who’s constantly missing one, or several. You were never satiated, equanimity never extended it’s stay for long; simply just renting. There was always something, someone, leaving a smoking hole in your chest, forcing every euphoric guest out.

I seek to cure what’s deep inside... frightened of this thing that I’ve become...

Your features twisted in agony and discomfort that accompanied the stoked episodes. It made you bitter. It threw you to the streets and dubbed you a martyr before satirically exposing, taunting at the misfortune of your dealt deck of cards. It was downright embarrassing, obtruding. Trepidations instantaneously trampled your meager, sensory overloaded form each and every time. Your bitter, corrosive laugh was all the evidence in that moment; a feeble reminder of your hypocrisy.

Because how, pray tell, does one’s physicality simultaneously experience both a revulsion for tactility and desperate craving for touch itself? You never understood exactly the way the two collided and contradicted themselves. Your teeth clamped your tongue in quelling the deprivation and plea for more rising in your throat, while your neurons worked to whisk your form as far away from the man as possible—away to the repetition of obsolete emptiness and desolation awaiting to greet you. As always.

“Let me help, cyare.” Begging... the man was hurting for you.

Don’t want to say yes, don’t want to say no...

Your mind ached. You can’t stop the pendulum in your head. Forced to look through a kaleidoscope of melancholy. Pleas echoed in a cavernous empty shell, but fell on deaf ears. Tears cancelled their appointment, and the well currently ran dry. There was... nothingness. And you fought the growing complaisance with the notion. Numbness was terrifying, and being terrified was numbing. You didn’t do well with attitudinal changes, seeking restitution more than ever while you wholly acknowledged the aspect of a ginger touch; the literal power within one’s fingertips to effectively mitigate your suffering. An opportune moment standing before you, his brows furrowed in sympathy and the corner of his lips angled in assuring you of his patience.

But the sharp pang and quick successions of staccato rhythm reverberated deep in your chest and only exaggerated your pain. Curse your heavy heart. A huff of breath incited subtle movement in the loose strands hanging over your profile, to which Hunter borrowed a moment in reaching out to sweep the curtain back.

Your head was under water, yet... you were breathing just fine. You just had yet to find the damned drain to expel the pernicious and suffocating sea of psychological terror into.

I just need to clear my head... don’t let it go to your head...

You quiver under Hunter’s intense appraisal, and shame swirls thickly. “I’m so sorry—”

“Don’t be. Please.” He immediately interjects, his palm turns upright and opens invitingly. “I’m here. Tell me what you need.”

Just tell him what you need.

“I... I don’t know.” Your admission speaks in a whisper of loss and uncertainty. You roll the flesh of your bottom lip between your teeth, the lump returns to your throat, and it’s crawling. Your gaze flickers.

“Just focus on me, cyare.”

Another catch: you can’t maintain eye contact to save your life. Kriff your soul. “That won’t work.” Your eyes anchor to the cold floor as sheer panic and the sturdy walls themself began to rise around your trembling self.

I can’t come alive... I want the room to take me under... Feel myself fading away...

“Okay—it’s okay,” he soothes. Hunter fervently wracks his brain—the way he decompresses and approaches his own form of stimming is slightly different; it’s different for everybody with a hyperactive response to stimuli. It took the Sergeant years to cultivate those particular penchants and even longer to tailor and perfect them to his predilection. If anything, he felt slightly apprehensive in the success of his methods.

Your hands that now wrap tightly around your rigid form are currently the only familiar pair of hands granted permission to access the area. You give a brief squeeze and teeter on the balls of your feet.

Hunter didn’t require a sniper’s nonpareil eyesight to see right through your peculiarity, even if he was briefly taken aback at it’s sudden effervescing. Truthfully, he should’ve picked up on it days ago: at your fierce denial and subtle panic over Hunter’s harmless offer of a massage after you had worked out a particularly stubborn knot kinking his lower back—a simple requite of mutuality, or so he thought. At the time, the Sergeant found himself shrouded in enigma over your reaction; seriously, who—other than him who barely tolerates it—doesn’t enjoy massages? It now made perfect sense. He fought the urge to self-deprecate over his ignorance.

“I’m suffocating, Hunter.” You choke, and the cadence of your voice is like a knife twisting into his heart; he gleans vicarious pain from your own.

Clarity suddenly lights up the Sergeant’s features, and you’re briefly hyper-fixated with the way the inky but slightly faded outline of his shadowy tattoo fluctuates in natural contortion with his many facial expressions. Just behind his eyes he beholds his brothers—

‘I’m suffocating, ori’vod’...

Hunter remembers...

Of the exact way he presses against Tech in order to smother his vod’ika’s fleeting bouts of anxiousness—the pressure nearly breaking the kid’s goggles on more than one occasion, and the way he compresses Crosshair’s shoulders in squeezing out the pent up anger to placate amidst the sniper’s wavering, and the position of which Hunter managed to encompass his brawny brother in a comforting embrace whenever the big guy experienced despondency—that is until Wrecker quickly outgrew his ori’vod and began flaunting his own prowess of overpowering hugs.

The difference between the scenarios was minimal. Hunter knew exactly what to do. Like second-nature to him, his nurturing instincts fully kicked in and determination spread through every fiber of his being, quashing the previous buzz of his own nerves.

Hunter didn’t know how well he could alleviate your emotional pain, but there was something he could do for the neurological aspect, and hopefully, one could ease the other...

Hunter ambles up to you and in one swift motion, secures the length of his arms around your upper back, noting the delineate contour of toned muscles and shoulder blades poking into his forearms that now drape across before his hands encircle and come to firmly rest on each shoulder. Firmness. Pressure—for your state, this depiction is key. He determinedly pulls you to him, unrelenting in a tight grip. The position of the crown of your head settled neatly under his chin, and stray hair peppered his textured features with tickling kisses as Hunter dips his head to softly press his lips to your roots.

I wish that I could bring you back to me...

With your face suddenly buried in the man’s chest, you come to distinctly acknowledge two immediate sensations. One; the man is warm. Not the muggy, stuffy warmth of Tatooine that is unpleasantly abrasive and dry; but a soft warmth that permeates, stoking memories of baked goods within the cushion of a heated oven warmly enveloping you each time it’s doors open, and seeking to melt the hardened encasing that is your tense muscles. It eases you towards a serenity. You have a ways to go before you can make out the sign in the distance, but Hunter himself is one step forward along the path.

Two; he smells amazing. A faint smoky sultry, an obscurely mesquite scent, slightly tangy and reminiscent of raw timber that is both luxurious and intoxicating; a sweet smell you’d classify as anything but cloying. Like he bathes with suds of fresh mountain air and luscious forests. It’s soothing, and your mind immediately associates the tangibility with a daydream and mercifully blesses you with the glimpse; of your husband having just entered your cozy homestead from a day of hard but fruitful labor in his intricate works of carpentry within the serene seclusion of temperate countryside enveloping your favorite planet—

Handle with care... say you’ll be there...

“Whatcha thinkin’ about, cyare—is this okay?” Hunter momentarily shifts and the rich baritone of the Sergeant’s voice resounding through his broad chest reels you back while he briefly tenses at your pending answer.

It was okay—your head was still swimming in an infinitely deep ocean of thoughts, but the way his hand slips from it’s position on your shoulder to cradle the back of your head before curling around the soft locks equates to the physical manifestation of a life preserver cast to your drowning form.

Your muffled confirmation and sheepish thanks warmly enveloped Hunter, as did your hands shifting to wrap around his broad frame in reciprocation. His grip tightened, and he patiently waits for you.

Hold.... Hold on... Hold on to me, ‘cause I’m a little unsteady...

Hunter refrains from trailing to stroke further along your back; the sneaking suspicion that the sensation might further tip off your nerves. So he remained stationary, and deciphered the way you seemingly favored a firm, weighted grasp and a grounding touch over ghosting fingertips and light, feathery textures. He could relate to that.

But Hunter couldn’t stop the hum of contentment that escaped his lips at your fingers having absentmindedly wandered up to twirl at his ebony tresses. He, personally, loved your soft, well-placed strokes full of deliberation and meaning, and only you were allowed to grace him with them.

Hunter could feel your heart hammering against the veil of his blacks, and his ears hearkened to the rhythm of your burdened breaths. He shifted his weight and began to gently sway with you, unsure of the words to say.

“I should’ve told you earlier,” your conscience suddenly prods.

A snort fills the air. “Oh, I would’ve figured it out soon enough. I’m kinda smart like that,” Hunter cringes at his corny sense of humor, but he swore the faintest of chortles rumbled beneath him.

He grants a final squeeze to your shoulders, careful to avoid the sensitive areas along your arms, before pulling back to address your face. Trouble and distress still graced you, and Hunter laced his fingers with your own. He thumbed at the worn flesh encasing your defined knuckles, a relic indicative of steadfast manual labor. You slowly exhaled at the touch; pressure along the palms and backside of your hands was soothing to you. You often wrung them to keep preoccupied when there was no warmth to solidify the muscle, fingertips drummed erratic tempos along your thighs whenever the mood struck, and loud cracking of the stiff joints in transient tics was a regularly becoming thing.

Take me by the hand, take me somewhere new...

Hunter tugged lightly in ushering you to the cot, firmly planting himself on the worn, creaking edge before his gaze met yours in awaiting approval. If he blinked, he would’ve missed the barely perceptible nod of your head in confirmation. Hunter leaned back on his full weight in gesturing you with him, and your form followed suit as you found yourself abruptly layered directly atop the rugged plains of his chest. The quirk of his lips told you he didn’t mind being used as a body pillow. Hunter’s arms suddenly turned up empty to rest above his head.

“I want you to be comfortable. No brushing. Just tell me where to put my hands.” He clarified, and appreciation bubbled in your chest. You contemplated for a moment.

“Just... hold me close.” You began to guide his hands to the exact position. “Please.”

His limbs obeyed by wrapping snugly as a hand found rest at the small of your back, and the other nestled itself slightly higher up the expanse, fingers splayed. Hunter solidified the closed space, and not even a muted ray of light could pass between the two forms.

You found solace within the cage of well-endowed muscle, slowly suppressing your nerves on each side and physically shielding you from the works of mental oppression. But his touch left you hyperaware; from an overtly suffocating insecurity towards every part of your body now lingering against his own, to the precise and tranquil thrum of his heartbeat in contrast with your racing one. Your stimuli sparks again in response to the stress.

“Y/N.” Hunter cuts through your tension, his voice laced with concern—you cannot calm yourself down, and you’re certain your mind absolutely loathes you. “Everything will be alright, I promise—don’t tense up, baby. Relax against me.” You angle your head so that one side of your face plants to his chest; you wish to better hear his sturdy heartbeat. You suddenly remember your own. It’s still beating. Resounding; indicative of purpose. Your breaths; symbolizing life.

Just keep breathing... my air...

“That’s it. Just breathe.” Hunter encourages. He reaches up to press against your temple in stroking at the hairline. Unbound locks cascaded around each other, a mixture of two colors softly tangled on either sides of the furniture. You lost count of your numbered breaths in the midst of solitude when a question unveils from your thoughts.

“How do you do it?” Your words trump the stagnant silence, a desperate inquiry that peaks through the fibers. You tilt your chin to better regard the man.

Confusion tugs at the corner of Hunter’s lips. “Do, what?”

“Anything...” you unload, and there’s a crackle to your voice. “The stress, the sensory... how do you manage? What’s your anchor in this wretched, kriffing life?”

A smile creeps up Hunter’s features, and his deep, reflective pools burn through you. “I’m looking at my anchor. And she helps me manage just fine.”

Your eyes blow protuberant and you manage to stare at him, dumbfounded. “What?”

“Honey, you are it.” His satisfied smirk grows wider, digging into his cheeks.

Something twitches at the corners of your lip and pulls into an upward curve; the feeling is tight, foreign. Your cheek muscles are unsure of how to compensate for the expression. You can’t remember the last time a smile has naturally graced your features. Now, it’s genuine. It’s... nice, and the hot rivulets currently streaming down your face are in a unanimous agreement.

Hunter moves to cup your face and thumb below your eyes, and his lips kiss the salt away. You grab hold of his forearms and shut your eyes.

“You want to know how I manage?” He croons in determination, “When my visual is overstimulated, I close my eyes and focus on the features of your face ingrained in my memory. When certain auditory has me weak at the knees, I remember the lull of your voice, comforting. When my nerves are on fire and I want nothing more than to be physically desensitized, it’s your soft touch that acts as a blanket, covering, making it easier for me. You make it better. Me better. Life better.” Hunter finishes his declaration in lovingly swiping at your face once more, expunging your pain. Words make a prompt exit along with it.

Your lips find purchase at the stubble along his jaw, in response. You love being able to fully make out the intricacy of his irises, now that you’re lovingly gazing into them. When you exit your captivated trance—his eyes are beautiful—you vaguely note with a twinge of pride that the encounter was indefinitely your longest standing record for maintaining eye contact. Another gentle smile fills your features. You remove your weight from him.

“Take this off?” You shyly tug at the collar of his blacks, seeking his consent, respectful of his own sensory receptors and their boundaries.

“Thought you’d never ask,” Hunter sits to quickly shed the upper article of clothing. He pulls you on top once again, and you are relishing in his bare skin. Your fingers map out a path of their own volition along the various textures and scars dotting the pectoral flesh.

“You never told me what you were thinking about earlier,” Hunter nonchalantly called you out. Your brows furrow in confusion. “There was something different on your face when I first held you. Just a flicker. But you looked... happy. Content, even.” Hunter smirked. “Hope you’re not planning to keep all that happiness to yourself.”

You certainly weren’t planning to. You recalled the picturesque and beckoned it forth... there was your sign of serenity. Just the shape of it, but solid, and clear. Hopeful, and promising, just on the horizon. It made your chest flutter, and ebbed away at the heartache. You realized Hunter’s brow arched in anticipation.

“How would you feel about working in carpentry?” A chuckle. Hunter was thoroughly humored, and surprisal was briefly evident on his features.

“So I can build you and I a house? To fill a bunch of babies with? Gladly.” He chased the daydream alongside you, and it was your turn to borrow the surprise; your mouth hung agape as heat crept through the apples of your cheeks. Hunter’s laugh boomed as a hand fit under your chin to close your parted lips. He wished to use his own to do the trick, but, another time.

“I’m with you.”

#The Bad Batch #Hunter #Hunter X Self #I don’t know what to tag this as. #I just want to be comforted by Hunter #oop I may be sobbing now #but it... feels better #it’s a Lil thing

[whydoyouwantmyname]

Imagine being present for Klaus’s Benders....

You stumbled down the stairs, the scent of vodka still wafting off of your clothes as you turned towards the kitchen. Luther was seated at the table, the sight of you with smeared makeup and messy hair not phasing him as you walked towards the fridge.

“You know you are just enabling his behaviors, not helping.” He stated before sipping his protein shake, your only response was the sound of the fridge opening and closing as you grabbed the open container of orange juice and removed the cap, bringing the container to your mouth as he continued, “One of these days, you’re going to watch him die from these stupid sprees you always do.”

“Doubt it.” You snapped, before recapping the juice and returning it to the fridge.

“Honestly [Y/N], how can you even condone this? You and I both know this is only gonna end one way.”

“Did you ever think Luther, that you are the reason he even needs the drugs? Or the alcohol? Or the parties? You, and your father, and this fucked up superhero lifestyle Reginald had you all living was no way for any of you to be raised. The way he treated you all was awful, the things he did... that is why he does what he does, and for you to judge him for coping the only way he knows...”

“Most guys bury the feeling, not fill it with coke and Jack.” Luther snapped

“Well Klaus isn’t most guys, and for him the only way to get the voices to stop is to numb himself. So sorry that not everyone can be like you and hide under a trench coat, and turtle neck on the moon.” You snapped before storming off.

————————

He was seated on the stairs of the parlor, knives in hands as he watched the door. Something in the house felt off, but he wasn’t sure what it could have been until he heard the door knob jiggle. As far as he knew all his siblings were tucked away in their rooms, his breathing held as the door slowly opened.

“Jesus D, why the fuck did you do that?” You asked as the knife landed in the doorframe, your face a meet two inches to the right of where it landed, and a clearly out of it Klaus to the right of you as you guided him into the house.

“Because as far as I knew you two were in his room. The real question is why you and my brother are stumbling home at 5 in the morning?”

“Because your brother wanted to get something.”

“And you just happened to stumble into a bar?”

“No. We stumbled into a strip joint, way more exciting.” Klaus’s response was mumbled, his words slightly slurring as he wiped his nose with his right hand, and then stated, “And then we went to visit a dear friend I made in rehab.”

“Any friend you made in rehab should not be a person you visit at an ungodly hour, unless rehab didn’t work.”

“Now Diego, I was well taken care of... my beautiful darling here made sure of that.” He slurred as he leaned over and placed a sloppy kiss upon your cheek.

“D, if you would be so kind and move the fuck over, I need to get Klaus to bed.” You instructed as he slowly moved aside, but before he let you pass he grabbed your free arm, “You and I both know he has to stop one time.”

“He is fine D.” You replied

“He won’t be forever though, and if you really loved him....”

“Goodnight Diego.” You hissed before dragging Klaus up the rest of the stairs.

——————

You were in the attic when she stumbled upon you, tears in your eyes as you looked out over the city scape. The lights flashed in the windows of the surrounding houses, as the natural noises of the night life drifted through the frosted air.

“What are you doing up here? I figured you and Klaus would be dancing in one of the clubs by now.”

“We were suppose to have a date night actually.” You whispered, “A nice dinner, and then a movie back here in his room.”

“So then why are you here?”

“I took a nap, slept through my alarm I guess, or he shut it off, who knows. All I know is that he wasn’t here when I woke up, he just left a note, saying the voices were getting too loud again.”

She slowly approached you, your knees drawn up to your chest as your arms draped over them protectively. She sat with ease in front of you as looked to the side, away from her.

“Did you try his cell?”

“Yes. And I called all the normal spots, and his normal crowd. No one has seen him.”

“Do you want us to...”

“No, it would honestly upset him if I alerted you all. He... he does this because of you all so I would hate for him to feel like we are ruining the fun if I ask for help finding him.”

“Do you...”

“I think I am going to go back to bed now. Have a wonderful evening Allison.” You forced a smile before cautiously raising, and leaving the space. Her eyes following you out the door as she started, “I heard a rum...”

You cut her off though by slamming the door.

The next morning she was seated in the parlor with Five and Luther, a book in hand as she heard the front door open, a clearly inebriated Klaus stumbling in from a night of fun.

“Oh here we go again.” Five sighed, his eyes rolling as he looked at Dolores, Luther shaking his head already as Allison looked up from her book. When she did she saw something that the others missed, as soon as he was about to climb the stairs, his body was knocked back slightly by the sheer force of another colluding into his, your arms wrapped tightly around his neck as you buried your head into his shoulder. She noticed how Klaus’s demeanor changed slightly, before you could tell he was drunk, or high, or both, his soft laughter drifting from his mouth as he stumbled slightly to the stairs. As soon as he was in your embrace though he straightened, his laughter dying down completely as he whispered into your ear, probably reassuring you he wouldn’t leave you behind again. His arms engulfed your waist as he squeezed. With that, you quickly were off the ground, his hands leaving your back where they overlapped, and going to your thigh area as he effortlessly picked you up and carried you upstairs as you clung to his front. A smile pulled on the corner of her mouth as she watched from afar, because she never saw this side of her brother.

——————

“You both are ridiculous.” Five started before bringing the coffee mug to his lips, as you and Klaus laid out in the extremely long table and stared at the ceiling.

“Are we now Five, or are you just too sober to understand our fun?” You asked, as Klaus blew out a steady cloud of smoke.

“You both are saying that there are colors moving across the ceiling?” He asked as your head slightly rolled over, looking at him in wonder as you replied, “Now if you tried...”

“I have more pressing matters to attend to, like the end of the world.”

“Always the end of the world with you! I miss when you used to be fun Five.” Klaus moaned as you smiled.

“Five used to be fun?”

“I don’t have time for this shit. If you need me I will be in the parlor.” He snapped, before exiting and taking a seat at the bar, Dolores was set up behind it on the window sill, a martini glass sat before her.

“Now darling, don’t you start to. I know my brother is battling his own demons, but honestly I can’t fathom why he is more concerned with drugs then he is with saving the world?”

“He isn’t more concerned with taking drugs.” You whispered, your body leaning against the doorframe as Five’s eyes snapped towards you, “After you left.... some shit happened. It really messed with his head.”

“What do you mean....”

“Like your father locking him in a Maza Liam in hopes that it would help him master his abilities, or making him try to channel dead people 24/7, or everyone in the family being favored over him or Vanya.”

“Yet Vanya is not a junkie.” Five pointed out

“Yet Vanya is not haunted by thousand of ghost when sober.” You rebuttaled, “Trust me, I hate it just as much as the rest of you, but I have seen what being sober does to him. It destroys me every night I have to watch him numb his brain, but it shattered me to see him driven to insanity while sober.”

“You really do care about him, don’t you?”

“More then anything.”

“Then help me figure out how to save him, and the rest of the world.”

—————————

“Bye Klaus, bye Benny boy.” You smiled as you went to leave the bedroom, the door handle in hand as Klaus replied, “Shut up Ben, at least your existence was acknowledged.”

“Listen Benji, I can call you whatever I want, I am screwing your interpreter.” You replied before shutting the door.

“Did she really have to bring your sex life into it?” Ben groaned as he flattened on the floor, his arms going out to the sides as he looked at the ceiling.

“So I was thinking maybe the two of us have a little party tonight. My main man...”

“Don’t you get tired of it?”

“Of what?”

“All the drugs, the parties, drinking yourself to the point of blacking out?”

“Ben, we have talked about this.”

“I know, a long time ago though. This time is different though. You have [Y/N], you are happy with them, and I know they are in love with you.”

“And support my lifestyle choices, so drop it.”

“You know it is killing them though to see you throw yourself at death’s door every day, they are just waiting for the day they wake up, or come home, or you two go out and you just don’t wake up. Do you know how shitty of a feeling that is?”

“No, and I will be fine.”

“Yeah, well I do know that feeling, cause I feel the same as them, and take it from the dead guy, it fucking sucks.” He snapped, before he hid himself from Klaus.

“Come one Ben, don’t do that.” Klaus groaned, knowing his stubborn brother was calling it a night. Leaning his head back against the head board he closed his eyes and sighed, the silence surrounding him in a comforting blanket as he exhaled slowly.

‘Maybe Ben is right’ he thought to himself, as he slowly opened his eyes and looked at the blank ceiling, wanting nothing more then to be with you, or Ben. He knew though deep down that Ben was right, but admitting it was the hard part.

When you got home, and safely into his room you saw him laid out on the sheets, a bottle in his hand that was draped off the side of the bed, his legs spread apart as his soft snores filled the space. A sad smile pulled at your lips as you slowly lowered your backpack to the floor and advanced towards him. Lightly placing a hand on his back, you leaned over and removed the empty bottle from his hand and placed it on the night stand before you shrugged off your clothes, revealing your undergarments, and slowly climbed over his spread out body and into the bed. As you laid there and looked at him you whispered, “What are we gonna do with him Ben?”

“I have no idea anymore.” Ben whispered back, wishing he could talk back to you as you slowly feel asleep.

— - ————

“What the fuck are you doing here?” You snapped

“He was my father too [Y\N]. The better question is why are...”

“Because I am the enabling, snotty, mentally manipulating, gold digger who only is with Klaus so that I can say I banged number four of the Umbrella Academy asshole who is still with your brother who has what you called, “terrible coping skills with the trauma your father caused all of you as children”. So do to that I have every right to be here.”

“I didn’t mean for it to sound like that when I wrote the book.” She seemed apologetic, but you could never trust her again, especially after seeing what her words did to Klaus.

“Yeah but it did, so what are you here to collect data for the sequel?” You snapped before storming off, however it didn’t stop her from shouting, “Is he better?”

“No actually after he read your book in rehab he had a complete fucking breakdown and got kicked out of the facility for sneaking out and having such a bad episode that he was legally dead for 3 minutes before he came back.” You didn’t meet her eyes as you spoke, tears brimming your eyes as you looked at the wall, “But I have to thank you for opening my eyes, because now because of you, I go to almost ever binge he has now.” And with that you were gone, leaving her to stand there in shock, never thinking her words would do that to any of her siblings.

#tua fanfic #tua imagine #tua imagines #tua oneshot #tua oneshots #tua one shot #tua one shots #the umbrella academy imagine #the umbrella academy imagines #the umbrella academy oneshot #the umbrella academy oneshots #the umbrella academy one shot #the umbrella academy one shots #the umbrella academy fanfic #the umbrella academy fanfiction