#sighs and dreams about being in a cool human pack where we all take care of eachother and live in the same house like a family

[asmoteeth]

Omegaverse is such a cool concept bc it took wolf packs dynamics and said "Humans should have this too" until you guys decided to make it a loophole to avoid acknowledging trans men, let alone those who decide to get pregnant, specifically.

#asmo.txt #sighs and dreams about being in a cool human pack where we all take care of eachother and live in the same house like a family

[stylistiquements]

The Sorcerer pt. 3

Corpse Husband x gn!reader

Reincarnation AU | Summary :

The same candle lights up on Corpse’s desk every time you are reborn and turn 23. He has been looking for you during centuries but this time you might be closer than anticipated.  {Playlist}

𝘾𝙝𝙖𝙥𝙩𝙚𝙧 𝟯 : 𝙏𝙝𝙚 𝙘𝙖𝙩 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙢𝙤𝙪𝙨𝙚

An eagerness for a special sense of belonging brings you to a lot of unexplored roads. 

☾ Words : 6159.

☾ Warnings : swearing

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George has barely spoken a word since he started diving into the golden pages of the book Dream brought home. He doesn’t even notice his presence by his side, too absorbed by the perfect calligraphy inked on the paper, curled up on the rocking chair which swings back and forth at a tireless pace.

Dream leans toward his familiar, slowly unfolding his arm so his fingers could get closer to George’s one. His long fingers are curled around the book and it feels as though the contact would be enough to make sure George is okay.

Dream leans toward his familiar, slowly unfolding his arm so his fingers could get closer to George’s one. His long fingers are curled around the book and it feels as though the contact would be enough to make sure George is okay.

When George exhales deeply and rapidly leafs through the golden paper one last time before closing the book, Dream flinches and sits up while clearing his throat.

“You said it was supposed to help y/n but I’m afraid to ask how,” he says as he lifts his head while shaking it in confusion. “I feel like a voyeur after reading all of … this.”

“You don’t have to ask,” Dream mumbles, hoping that it would be enough for George to brush the matter away.

“I have another question that needs an honest answer.”

Dream hums. He hates the way George is looking at him, as if the wrong question was about to come out of his mouth.

“Did you get that book or did you steal it?”

Yeah, wrong fucking question.

“The book contains too much crucial information it to be given to anyone. Even I can feel that," George pushes and he’s so right Dream can’t bring himself to lie, only cover sugarcoat the truth as much as he can.

“It’s ours. I didn’t steal it, I took it back,” he mutters and George sighs exasperatedly.

“So you got us into trouble,” he concludes.

Dream’s lips part but the words get lost in George’s incriminating eyes. He reaches for his hand and grabs it, one last attempt to reassure him as much as he can.

“It’s okay,” Dream finally breathes. “I’ll make sure everything is okay, you don’t have to worry about that.”

“You better because if this goes wrong a human will get involved.”

Sitting in your car in an empty parking lot, you find yourself staring at the object you just bought with a puzzled expression while taking another bite of your bagel. The clueless item, which sits so perfectly still on the passenger seat, seems to be setting a silence you’re not sure how to handle. It’s an awkwardly clear stone in a conical shape attached to a chain reflecting the rays of the sun into iridescent light that spreads above your head and turns the grayish ceiling of the car into something vivid. You take another bite of your food, the only excuse you found to break eye contact for a second, hoping that it would ease the tension that has been growing since you started feeling like the object observed you as much as you observed him. In a long exhale, you end up covering it with your jacket.

You’re not even sure why you bought the pendulum in the first place. Probably a mind busy with a sense of curiosity and the remains of eerie stories you’ve been narrating all morning that still creeped upon you, leaving you feeling a lot more mystic than usual. You just stopped to describe that cryptic looking shop and your steps were leading you inside before you could realize it, the door tinkling as you pushed it open.

The shelves were brimming with crystals and herbs and things you couldn’t identify. From potion ingredients to candles and incense, it looked like the perfect witch den and you hated that it felt so close to home even though it could never be. It was a strange feeling; a sense of belonging as illegitimate as helpless.

Maybe that’s why you wandered around as you did, sight getting filled with questions and a hint of confusion as you analyzed every display meticulously. As if learning more about their world could give you the illusion of being an active part of it. What an irony to hate something you’re so irremediably drawn to.

When you met the object, your attention stopped and you described it with a careful eye. The owner found her way to you; a young lady with faded purple hair and winged liner that made her eyes look like cat’s eyes. She spoke in a funny accent that left you wondering where it could come from. There was something about it -or her- that felt so peculiarly familiar,

“This is a fascinating pendulum, isn’t it?” The woman said, more of a statement than it was a real question. You brushed the impression away and gently smiled at her, not sure what to answer nor even what a pendulum was.

The lady opened the glass cabinet. The chain intertwined with her long fingers and the thing looked more like a jewel when held so delicately and dangling as it was. It swung from back and forth, movements perfectly calibrated. It was inquisitive, a little mesmerizing and, before you knew it, you both were standing on each side of the counter and the lady carefully covered the pendulum with tissue paper.

The way her hair fell behind her ears, the constant smile that was tattooed on her lips, the way the paper crinkled under her fingers, it all grew together to create this one and so lucid déjà vu. The presence felt so intimate, leaving an odd and indelible aftertastes in your throat.

“I’m sorry but haven’t we met before?” You dared to ask as your mind pressured you to.

“Maybe we have,” she simply answered with a soft smile, eyes still locked on the wrapped pendulum. What a weird way to answer a simple question, neither a validation nor a denial.

“I feel like I know you,” you insisted, narrowing your eyes as if you knew there was something more, something that would make everything make sense.

She didn’t say a word, only handed you the small bag she just packed while leading you toward the exit with a hand on your lower back. It wasn’t pressuring but it was firm, an obvious invitation to leave. Maybe you were just being too annoying with the matter and she wouldn’t have been the first one to think so.

“Take care of the pendulum. It’s very special,” she demanded and, just like that, she closed the door of the shop behind you and flipped the card from “open” to “closed”.

You stood puzzled on the pavement for a minute, not too sure how to feel about all of this. Everyday keeps getting weirder and weirder.

The whole experience was odd, really, and maybe that’s why the purchase feels a little wrong, a little off. Like something that was never meant to happen in the first place.

Now, you place an index and a middle finger around the chain. The pendulum dangles, untamed movements that send vibrations against your skin. Your eyes are trying to focus on the stone, to forget about the people walking down the street you still see in your peripheral vision but, as much as you wish for something magical to happen, it’s nothing but a stone that sways aimlessly in the air. You scoff, it just makes the whole thing even more ridiculous. So, you intuitively take a picture of the thing and send it to Corpse before placing it back on the passenger seat.

[Look what I bought,] you type before clicking on the send button.

[Nice pendulum, didn’t know you were interested in that kind of stuff,] Corpse responds

[Me neither but it’s pretty cool, right? I don’t know how to use it though.]

[Why would you buy a pendulum if you don’t know how to use one?]

Thank you Mr Sorcerer, good talk, you mouth with a fake smile that, realistically, looks more like a wince. He always has a way to make you feel so stupid. You don’t feel like responding, too annoyed to give him the credit of asking an interesting question. Yet, your fingers are telling another story.

[Do you wanna teach me, maybe?]

You twist the key inside the ignition. Is this conversation even of any use? It feels like rhetoric at this point; you already know he won’t answer such a question. Yet the phone lights up in your palms before you’re able to put it out of sight. A two letter response that makes you regret hoping he would answer in the first place.

[No.]

There’s this deep exhale as you rub the exasperation out of your face. Why does he always have to be so ungracious? As if bitterness was the only thing he had left. In the end, this is nothing but a reminder that it’s just your friendship with Corpse in a nutshell; shallow and endless exchanges of fuck yous and you toos and that’s just as deep as it can get. You’re stuck inside this infernal game of cat and mouse, looking for a way to approach the real Corpse without him flinching away. This really isn’t of any use. Why would you even try to crawl inside his mind in the first place?

You push the gas pedal, trying not to stare too long at the shop that gets further and further away through the rear-view because, soon enough, you’ll forget about that odd encounter, about that even odder attempt to feel like belonging in a world you could almost think you despise.

You find yourself thinking about Corpse’s harshness, about the expression he probably wears on a face you know nothing about. Can the coldness be seen on his expression every time he chooses the crudest answer? The city scrolls before your eyes and you don’t pay much attention to it. Does he always consider the options or does his mind automatically go to that place where you’re not allowed?

It feels like every response serves a purpose to draw a line you’re so tempted to cross. You sigh heavily. Leaning closer in the purpose of a touch that can never lead anywhere is one weary way to live a friendship. You’re stuck between the wish to get closer and the wish to let go, neither one of the two being a possible thing.

By the time you reach your apartment, it feels like you’re more confused than you usually are. It’s usually so easy to brush it off, to shrug and think that it’s just Corpse being Corpse. Not today, today you're trying to understand an existence that can’t be put into words.

Why can’t I let it go? It’s with that question that you spent the rest of the day answering emails and reading more gruesome stories and now lay restless on your bed. You press the cold pillow against your face as if it would’ve been enough to stifle the question that spreads in your mind like mold. Maybe, at the end of the day, it’s not that you don’t want to let Corpse go, but simply don’t know how to.

The light of the full moon is growing electric, shining so bright that you doubt even being able to sleep.

You fall asleep, eventually, and when you do, you get woken up by the irrepressible necessity to snatch what tickles your nose with an irritating vigor.

Huh?

Your vision gets clearer as you become aware of your surroundings; vastness of meadow and cottony clouds passing fast in a blue sky. Your body rolls on what feels like a picnic blanket under your touch. You sit up abruptly, meeting the eyes of the one who sits cross legged in front of you.

Dream?

Your lips part to talk but you find yourself unable to let a word escape your grip. The energy that emanates from Dream is familiar but this face is new. He never showed it. A secret he wasn’t ready to share before.

Quite the irony if you think too much about it; the man granted you a secret that probably could have ruined his life but has never been comfortable enough to show his face.

You describe his face; green eyes that show confidence, a good amount of pride and wrinkle under a rooted smile as dirty blond hair frame the whole living painting.

If it wasn’t for the feeling that agitated your heart, you would’ve believed to be in front of a complete stranger. Warmth agitated your heart. The leap of faith he took months ago reflects on the softness he never fails to perform. Warmth and relief to have the confirmation that, after all, Dream is still here.

You try to talk again but no breath dares to fall out of your mouth as relief gets caught in your knotted throat. You wish you could wrap your arms around him, you wish you could cry from worrying so much.

It’s with the same gentleness he radiates that he raises a kettle to pour steaming water in a tea cup that sits in front of you.

“Why aren’t you wearing your mask, Dream?” You say, head leaning on the side with a confusion that is starting to grow more and more intense.

“Do I really need to hide my face any longer?” He answers as he hands you a slice of fruit pie on a golden detailed plate. The wind gently ruffles his hair and you find yourself deep diving inside your own mind in search of an answer to a question that really is more rhetorical than anything.

The meadow is as endless as essentially peaceful but there’s something so bittersweet about it. Maybe it’s the silence that makes the wind’s whistle so clear and the lack of human contact even more obvious, maybe it’s Dream’s unexpected presence. In any case, there’s something about those stirring eyes that makes your mind wander near the ghost of a presentiment you’ve been willing to forget this whole time; am I dreaming?

“This place isn’t real, is it?” You ask and Dream’s eyes lower to his tea cup, only proof that he heard the question since he doesn’t acknowledge it verbally. The light gets softer as a cloud obscures the sun and you wonder; if you were to touch him right now, would you even be able to? It’s a tempting wish for a confirmation that Dream isn’t only a chimera, something that would’ve been meant to ease a bit of disorientation.

“It is real but-”

“-but we’re not really here,” you complete the answer as you nod. It’s just a dream. “How do I know that you’re real and not only the fruit of my imagination?”

“Because I know this place and you don’t,” Dream answers and it’s as obvious as deprived of any sense.

You bring a spoon of pie to your mouth, doubting that this would be enough to prove anything. The sourness of the fruits awaken your tongue and he mimics your movements. There’s something so fundamentally confusing about doing something so domestic when it feels like you’re missing the whole point of it. The quietness being more of a hindrance than an actual help. You’re willing to brush the doubts away and believe that Dream is really here.

“Is this where you’ve been all this time?” You ask. The chances of an answer are thin but you simply can’t help it. Dream shakes his head and pinches his lips together. You hold eye contact, hoping to be able to get an intelligible message in those emerald irises.

“Well, have you been safe at least?”

And now he scrunches his nose as he can never be fully honest yet never dares to lie. Maybe that’s the issue. Maybe you wish he could lie from time to time and you could persuade yourself that it’s the truth as you did with his presence inside your dream.

You’re about to continue the interrogation when he interrupts you, “I’ll answer one more question.”

You huff, as if his facial expressions were actual answers.

“You said you knew this place and I believe you didn’t choose it randomly which means you wanted to show it to me … so where are we?”

And now there’s a full wince on his face. You roll your eyes and throw your hands in the air. You just love Dream’s way of answering questions, don’t you? The annoyance is throbbing, the simplest question becomes the most complex puzzle. You look away, plucking some grass mechanically to release the tension that is growing in your fingers.

“My turn. So you tried to use a spell and bought a pendulum,” Dream says before brushing the cup against his lips. “Bold move for someone who hates magic,” and your attention gets back on him; eyes sparkling and proud grin as if he finally proved a point he tried to make a long time ago. He probably did in a way but you won’t let him hear the whole story as it’s more embarrassing than anything.

“So that’s what you wizards do, huh,” you scoff as you raise an eyebrow. “You text each other to make fun of me?”

Dream doesn’t answer, lashes fluttering slowly as to let you steep in your own question but it only pushes you to talk more, “I have to handle this on my own since you're apparently not willing to help me with my issues.”

“Y/n,” he sighs to bring you back to a reality he thinks you’re too far from. “You don’t wanna get rid of the issues.”

You raise an eyebrow to the audacity, “Why not?”

“The spell didn’t work because neither one of you is ready to let go of the other, so what do you want me to do? There’s nothing I can do if you’re not willing to let go,” Dream explains, “and it’s pretty obvious that you’re not.”

Is it? Your mind hisses. Dream’s voice rings with a confidence that is as irritating as unwelcomed but, maybe, it’s just the way you react when he gets too close to an unwarranted truth. He isn’t as wrong as you wish he was. Why can’t you just let it go?

“Oh come on now, was I ever wrong before?” He continues while the words tangle in your brain for too long. You can clearly picture the wide and oh so proud grin that adorns his lips and you mumble something under your breath that is either related to a cuss or a request for the bragging to stop.

“I don’t want to get rid of him. I just hate that our paths always end up intertwining,” you admit in a deep exhale.

“Of course they do,” Dream murmurs. The words linger before fading away. It’s so gentle that, by the time you realize the breath was a whisper, it’s already too late to ask him to repeat himself. You remain silent, eyes fixed on the steam that escapes from your tea cup as you reconsider saying out loud the words that are hitching your throat so badly.

“It’s not as if a relationship with a sorcerer would be something fruitful or anything anyway.”

Shit.

Dream chokes on his tea he almost spit. You wish you could apologize and say that you didn’t mean the harsh words that left your mouth but it’s nothing but a truth that has to be owned.

“Pretty sure you shouldn’t see a relationship by its loss and benefits.”

“You know it’s not what I meant,” you retort. “I would never be able to be with someone who is so secretive about their life. I mean, to the point where they can’t even answer a simple question like ‘where have you been’.”

“I know,” Dream mumbles, quiet and whispery voice that almost melts into the wind that brushes against the tall grass, “but some things are just better left unsaid.”

It shatters the last glimpse of patience you have left. You can already feel your eyes going wide, ready to roll to the back of your head. You’ve heard this sentence too many times for it to be acceptable.

“See? This fruitless conversation is literally my point,” you complain while throwing a hand in the air.

The silence returns. It’s more irritating than any word could be. It feels like the conversation is about to get too heavy to be endured and you know it can never go that way with Dream. The arguments are always sterile, filled with forbidden words that never work at anyone’s advantage. That’s why you exhale deeply and force yourself to move to a lighter subject, “beside, if I were to decide which sorcerer I’d want to be with, I’m pretty sure I’d choose you.”

“That’s why you’re my favorite human,” Dream sings cheerfully and you can’t repress a smile from creeping on your lips.

“No I’m not. I’m just the only human you talk to on a daily basis,” you snort, “and I would only choose you because you’re the less secretive out of the two I know- which speaks volumes about the level of ignorance I’m on.”

“But you can’t choose, can you?” He trails in a low voice and the thought echoes inside your brain for a long time. His lashes flutter slowly, matching a soft smile that seems too compassionate for the situation, almost a little filled with pity.

“No, I can’t,” you finally conclude after thinking about it for a second and there’s something about that conclusion that almost rings as a confession you’re not sure you should be making in the first place. Spoon rattles against the plates and the sun seems to be back, shining to its fullest capacity. The rest of the tasting in silence, trying to brush every matter out of your sleeves to enjoy a time you’ve been waiting for so long.

“I have to go,” Dream informs you and you raise an eyebrow.

“What, now?” You ask, confused. “We haven’t even finished our picnic.”

“I know, peaches, but I don’t have much time left in here. Call me when you wake up and I promise we’ll catch up.”

Dream gets up and walks through the grass away from you. His silhouette gets smaller and smaller and just as he’s about to make one with the horizon, he turns around, “You were the one who brought up the whole ‘being in a relationship’ thingy. I never implied that.”

And just like that, he’s gone.

[Join the Discord VC,] Dream orders.

Corpse drops the phone on the side table as he lies down, eyes wandering around the crowded room where shelves are filled with books that haven't been read in decades and items he collected from his travels. The white light of the moon mirrors onto every shiny objects. Fatigue burns his eyes and even though it feels like a poker shot, he feels ready to try and get some sleep.

[Stop playing hard to get and join the VC, there’s y/n too,] Dream pushes.

He huffs. Even though he tries his best to keep you at a reasonable distance, you still appear everywhere his eyes lay, do you? He won’t answer, he knows he won’t. His body aches for some earned rest he hasn’t been able to wrap around in a shameful amount of weeks. Corpse exhales heavily, turning left and right on his bed to find the ultimate position he doesn’t seem to find. There’s always a bother he can’t get out of his shoulders. You keep creeping upon his mind as if you had the right to.

He won’t get involved, he knows he won't, but the night rings differently and maybe Corpse is longing to share it with someone a little more than expected. His attention falls upon the plant on a shelf, a distraction from a silence that is almost tempting. It looks miserable and the issue hitches his brain. He gets up, one touch and the plant looks alive again.

In another heavy sigh that drains all the air out of his lungs, Corpse stretches his sore limbs and tense back. He drags his feet to the desk and the computer illuminates the room as much as it hurts his tired eyes. He sits, soulless, for a couple of seconds while still debating whether he should join the call or not before ultimately giving in.

“-stupid. You don’t deserve any apology, Dream,” you roar and Corpse is blown away by a high energy that violently contrasts his.

He has no idea why he joined. It feels like he shouldn’t be here -and he probably really shouldn’t-. You blind him with an enthusiasm he doesn’t know how to handle and surely would never be able to match. He remains silent as voices and wheezes chime too loudly for a disoriented mind like his.

The mouse gets dragged across the screen, he’s so ready to end it before it even had the chance to really start. There’s no point in him being here and he feels like a fool for thinking there was one at some point. Yet, Dream greets him before he is able to.

Fuck.

“What are you doing up so late, you freaks?” Corpse grunts before swallowing a breath. His voice is thundering in a place where the echo is too clear for him to ignore how intense he sounds, too intense for the light mood he felt seconds ago. He doesn’t belong here, he shouldn’t have joined that damn call.

“Why, hello emo Howl, Dream here agreed to teach me how to use a pendulum because he actually cares,” you taunt maliciously as if you didn’t care, as if he never killed a mood he shouldn’t even have bothered to kill.

And now, he realizes there’s no use pushing you away as it only makes him look like the bad guy and doesn’t actually do the requested job. Now that it’s so clear, he almost feels a little guilty, mostly stupid.

“That’s not what I said,” Dream retorts but your voice is already flooding everyone’s headphones with quotes he never stated in the first place and he eventually has to give up.

Your laugh is so candid as you and Dream bicker, so organic and contagious Corpse can’t help but pinch his lips not to smile too. But he gets it now; you just don’t know how to take no for an answer. It’s what makes you so overly annoying but maybe that’s also why he always ends up obliging to whatever request you have to make.

The conversation drifts on and off. Corpse discovers a bond he would have never expected. It’s deep and oh so pretty and it feels like whatever it is, you and Dream are made of the same thing. There comes a point where Corpse wishes he could stop feeling like the outcast and join a conversation he’s somehow scared to interrupt. How nice could it be to be so close to someone? How nice could it be having someone who is there no matter what? He forbids himself to explore the idea. He used to know and now he only has to look through the mirror to really see how nice it is. It’s an illegitimate sense of envy that pinches his heart and tastes helplessly bittersweet.

“Anyway,” you say as the chuckles fall breathless. “Corpse, did you know it was the full moon tonight?”

“Oh really?” He breathes before wincing. He’s well aware that it’s the full moon; he’s a goddamn sorcerer. One glance around him and he can see its reflection into thousands of pieces across the room.

“See?” Dream triumphs

“Yeah, yeah,” you sigh heavily, throwing a side eye to your screen in which Dream and Corpse’s drawn icons are displayed. “I thought you guys would like … dance naked in circles in a forest or something.”

Dream’s confusion is loud in his tone and Corpse surprises himself to laugh at the theatrical tone you chose to deliver the words How cute. Humans are so naive, believing everything they hear and see on TV.

“So, you guys don’t do anything particular on the full moon,” you conclude, seemingly a little upset.

“I do, but that doesn’t imply … t-that,” Dream answers with a tone that blends discomfort and amusement.

Maybe it is as nice as he thought it would be; being able to share a peaceful night and a glimpse of joy with people who seem to care.

That’s why you’re so dangerous; you’re so spontaneous you make him wish he were too. It’s one thing to play with fire. It’s another to play with your own life; too risky to be worth it. Yet, everybody who has experienced l’appel du vide would recognize that thrilling sensation inside their chest. As much as Corpse wants to keep you as far away as possible, you keep reminding him that you’re the tingling sensation on the back of his shoulder.

“What about you, Corpse?” You ask.

“I-I don’t really actively practice magic anymore,” he stutters as if he wasn’t expecting to be given a voice.

“Oh, why not?”

The question echoes inside his mind. Why not? He knows there’s a good explanation but right now it feels like his mind can’t wrap itself around it. He knows there is one yet it feels as though he has forgotten. It confuses him as he parts his lips with a frown, expecting an answer to come out but the words tangle with each other and won’t leave his tongue.

“Well I gotta go,” Dream interrupts the train of his thoughts and it’s almost comforting for Corpse to know that he doesn’t have to further torture his own mind. “You two be nice to each other," he orders and you’re already whining and complaining about his sudden escape.

“What do you wanna do, Corpse, do you wanna go to bed?” You ask.

Behind the loudness and vulgarity you’re always performing, Corpse understands now that there’s a certain elegance in the way you interact with him. A delicacy that resides in the tone of your voice. As if you cared, really cared about what he has to say. How could you still think of him as a friend when he keeps treating you so poorly? He doesn’t deserve it, deprived of a sense of empathy they took away from him too long ago.

“I’m not really tired,” he lies as if you didn’t already know that fatigue was his trademark. He’s surprised you don’t point out the fact that he keeps lying for obscure reasons.

It’s not like he would complain about it. The silence the night brings along is contemplative. He wishes there would be more night like this, when time would almost stop to let him catch his breath. Somehow, he feels like it could be filled with something good, something worth it.

“What are you thinking about?” Corpse asks in an attempt to explore that peaceful quietness.

“I wonder what magic could look like,” you answer with what you deem to be an useless honesty.

The question is stupid but he doesn’t seem to find it funny, considering it with a gentle seriousness before saying,“Do you want me to show you?”

A grin grows on your lips, heart beating with anticipation, “Would you really do that?”

Corpse hums and you lift your head as requested. You stare at the ceiling where shadows move when headlights are projected on the windows. There’s a long pause -too long for your impatient mind- before multiple sparkles of light spread on your ceiling. They twinkle and crakle like fairylights and multiply in front of your amazed eyes. Soon they gather and turn the dark ceiling into a starry night.

Your breath gets caught in your throat as you admire the stars that seem to be floating above your head as if they have always been here, as if they belonged to you.

“Is it working ?” Corpse asks nervously when you’re too silent for his liking.

“What do you mean ‘is it working’? This is fucking amazing, Corpse,” you choke out as you giggle as frenetically until your belly hurts. There’s no human words fitted to describe this state of perplexity and admiration. There's no such beautiful and clear sky in the city, that's why it's so special.

Corpse laughs with you. It’s nothing new but, somehow, in the quietness of the night, it vibrates differently. It doesn’t sound like the kind of forced chuckle he makes when he feels like people are expecting him to laugh but rather genuine and oh so endearing.

You thought you could never enjoy anything related to magic but now you realize that maybe it’s more likely that you never learned how to grow fond of it. When a shootingstar crosses the crafted sky, you both exclaim a "oh" before faintly chuckling. You let your back rest on the chair, imagining that Corpse is probably doing the same and looking at the same sky you’re looking at.

“It feels like you’re sitting next to me right now,” you murmur and it feels so special to be able to share a moment that seems so intimate that it makes your heart warm from a proximity you never knew could be possible.

“You’re cute,” Corpse breathes before he can realize it and once he does, it’s too late to take it back.

“No I’m not,” you grumble between your teeth.

“Sure, if you say so,” he finally shrugs in a battle he knows he can’t win.

Somehow, it feels like a turning point you can sense in a feeling nested inside your chest; a sense of novelty that makes you a little nervous as you don’t know if it’s for the best or the worst. Yet, this new beginning feels like it’s about honesty.

“Are you happy, y/n?” Corpse whispers and it’s so faint you wonder if it’s meant for you to hear.

“I am,” you still answer with a soft smile. “Are you happy?”

“I try to be,” he says after considering the question for a while. A confirmation that you wish you never had to deal with. It sends you back to every conversation that ended up in half bitten words and a concerning amount of melancholia that almost choked you even though it wasn’t yours.

It clicks. Bitterness is not the only thing Corpse has left in him. It’s a protection.

“Why are you so sad, Corpse?”

When the words linger for too long and he can no longer stare at the stars above his head, his throat gets sore, lips trembling as he bites them firmly. He feels seen in a way he thought he was safe from. It’s discomforting, unnerving and a spike that threats to burst into his heart. He takes a moment to remember that he has to breathe. He always seems to forget.

“Because when you live for so long, you live through everything,” Corpse mutters and that’s as honest as he can be.

“And everyone,” you conclude and he hums dryly.

“Can I give you a piece of advice?” You ask, knowing damn well that the amount of deep conversation has passed a long time ago and that the loan you’re deciding to take will have some sort of consequence. “If you keep hoping for the people who haunt you to come back, you’ll never be able to cherish the ones who are actually in front of you.”

The words tinkle in Corpse’s head in an odd way like a call for an awakening. He remembers that Sykkuno used to tell him the same thing; it’s time to let it go. It rises inside his lung like a sea of anguish he’s not ready for and it’s so overwhelming it’s animating him with emotions that are too violent for him to think.

“So what?” he scoffs, “are you saying that you’re the one in front of me?”

“I’m not the one who should answer that question,” you simply answer. It’s not enough, it’s not enough for him to make up his mind. Is that a yes or a no? He can’t think and the words are crumbling, too eager to get out.

“I’m gonna stop you right there,” he says with an unexpectedly strong voice that spreads shivers on your arm. “There’s no place for a human in my life.”

“Good because I don’t like sorcerers,” you thunder before ending the call abruptly.

You sit on your chair puzzled for a second. What the fuck was that?

☾ A/N : WOOOOOW I can't believe I finally finished this chapter it's surreal. I can't even begin to tell you how much I wrote and rewrote this I just COULDNT DO IT!!! Thank you for your patience it has been the wildest ride (I feel like I say that every time but hehe) Anyway thanks for reading I feel like shit is finally about to get started in here and I'm so damn excited!! As always let me know what you think and Until next time (ɔˆ ³(ˆ⌣ˆc)

☾ 𝑻𝑨𝑮𝑳𝑰𝑺𝑻 *OPEN* dm me or ask me to get tagged :

@open-minded-chip-101​ ; @lochness-butmakeitsexy​ ; @bizarrebibitch​ ; @bellomi-clarke​ ; @ladybismuth​ ; @katyasrussianaccent​ ; @satanhauntedourcats​ ; @owl-llie​ ; @teenloves​ ; @notannis​ ; @mcntsee​ ; @rottenroyalebooks​​ ; @peachdoppi​ ; @mirahg​ ; @foxxtrot-116​ ; @koi-soi​ ; @lupinpetersclearwaterodairparker​ ; @butterfly-skinnylegend​ ; @fanworrior​ ; @stickystrawberrysyrup​ ; @imsuchtrashhelp​ ; @clubfairy​ ; @boiled-onionrings​ ; @thatlonelyalto​ ; @thatsouthernblondewiththeass​ ; @tiaamberxx​ ; @thesecretwriterblog​ ; @takoyakiuchiha ; @majasophieanna​

#the sorcerer #corpse husband #corpse husband x you #corpse husband x reader #corpse husband x y/n #corpse x reader #corpse x you #corpse x y/n #corpse imagine #corpse fanfic #reincarnation au

[nerdypanda3126]

Playing with Fire

Hope you had a Happy Valentine's Day, @bloody-no-kissu! I stepped in as your @lovebugs-and-snakecharmers secret admirer 😁💖

The prompt I chose to go with was: fantasy, the princess falls for the dragon instead – marinette is a princess and bc of a curse she is locked in a tower with a dragon (luka). while she waits for the destined knight to save her from her curse she spends more and more time with luka. they fall in love.

So I did take a few liberties on this to weave it together, but I really hope you like it! Huge thanks to @writtenbyrain for the beta read on this!  

Read on Ao3 

First Chapter | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

Marinette had been told the story of her curse so many times she could recite it by heart. 

“You were a baby,” her dad would tell her. “A tiny little thing, still all wrapped up in diapers. And that… thing—” he always growled at that, as if the dragon she’d been found curled up with had personally insulted him. He would shake his head, and give her a pitying look. “—It stole you from us. And by the time we found you, you were already cursed… already...” he would gesture to her at that point, indicating the way she was every night as soon as the moon slipped above the horizon.

Every night she was engulfed in a blue flame that made it impossible for anyone to come near. Impossible for her to be touched. 

What she was never able to find out, though, was why. Why the dragon had apparently chosen her to curse, why it hadn’t killed her outright when she was barely out of diapers. Why she kept dreaming of sleeping safely within its coils, her fire cooled as if that was where she had always belonged. 

She knew where it lived now. Everyone knew. It had taken up residence in a lonely tower high up on the mountain. Everyone said it was guarding a valuable secret; why else would it be there? Of course, people had tried to find out, although they often came back singed and babbling. Something about a dark sorcerer or a beautiful prince or a shapeshifter or… the stories always varied. 

Finally, a reward was offered. The dragon had been a menace for far too long, the writ proclaimed. Anyone able to bring back its head would be handsomely compensated.

More people flocked to the cause: soldiers from far away places wearing shiny armor and bearing sharp, glinting swords, sorcerers with staffs and books claiming they had this method or another to calm the beast. None of them returned. 

Night after night, Marinette’s flame burned hotter, brighter. And night after night she dreamed of the dragon. She couldn’t tell anymore what was memory and what was a dream. She thought she remembered the dragon plucking her from the river she’d fallen into, breathing life and fire into her lungs, curling up around her to keep her warm until her parents found her. But that couldn’t have been true. The dragon was dangerous, everyone said so. And it had left her with this unbearable curse. 

“I’m going after it,” she proclaimed to her parents after the worst night she'd had in all of her eighteen years of bearing the curse. 

Her dreams had been strong that night. She had awoken to her mom shaking her, screaming, desperately pleading with her to wake up. Her hands and arms up to the elbows had been irreparably burned in the process. It wasn't until Marinette had struggled into consciousness that she realized she’d been burning their house down in her sleep. 

Her parents shared a look after her declaration. One of, “We shouldn’t let her, but what else can we do?” 

Marinette winced as she caught a glimpse of her mom’s burned forearms, still wrapped in bandages and salves to soothe the shiny, blistered skin underneath. Her eyes slid over to the corner where she slept, with only her silhouette outlined in the charcoal her fire had left behind. 

“I have to do this,” she said resolutely. “If there’s one good thing to come of this—” she gestured to herself and to the flames that spit and crackled around her “—it means I can’t be burned if I go at night. With the money, you can fix what happened. I'll stay in the stone tower after the dragon's gone where I can't hurt anyone else. Everyone wins," she finished glumly. 

Her dad sighed in resignation and wrapped an arm around her mom’s shoulders.

So the next day just before dusk, they packed a meal for her to take with her, kissed her fondly on both her cheeks, and waved goodbye as she started up the path. 

For it was goodbye. A sacrifice Marinette was more than willing to make. 

As she trudged up the mountain path, the forest grew darker and more foreboding. The only saving grace was that as the light faded, her flame started burning, providing her with light to see by, although she did catch a branch or two on fire as she went. She poured her water out carefully on each one, putting it out without wasting her own resources. If she ran out before she made it to the stone tower, it was entirely possible she’d burn the entire forest down, and it would spread back to her village, back to her parents’ house. 

She soldiered on, even as brambles tore at her skirt and arms, as she grew weary of walking, as she ran lower and lower on life-saving water. 

It was the dead of night when she finally reached the tower, and the dragon wasn’t anywhere in sight. She walked up to the tower using the flagstone path, admiring the well-manicured garden from afar. The tower was quiet, almost as if it was slumbering along with the dragon.

She ran her hand along the cool stone wall as she mounted the steps one by one, dreading what she might find when she got to the top. 

Halfway up, though, she ran into—well, if there was a beautiful prince trapped here, then it must be him. He was tall and pale, with a shock of dark hair and enthralling blue eyes framed by deep purple circles, as if he never slept. He seemed startled to see her at first, though she was used to that. A girl on fire was a startling sight.

But then he reached out a hand, smiling. She flinched away from him. His kind smile shifted to sympathy and he dropped his hand. 

“That’s quite a power you’ve got,” he noted easily. 

She shifted uncomfortably away from him. He didn’t seem affected by the heat she always emanated, but she was still careful not to get too close to anyone. 

“The dragon cursed me with it when I was a small child,” she said.

His head quirked sideways, as if he were appraising her or trying to remember something. When he didn’t respond, Marinette tried again. 

“I’ve come for the reward. Is it asleep?” 

“He,” the man said stiffly. “And he’s gone for now. He disappears at night. You’re welcome to come back in the morning to try your luck.”

There was a note of despondency in his tone, and he scooted past her in the narrow stairwell to continue on his way down. 

She considered continuing up the stairs, but if the dragon was gone, there was no point to it. She hesitated before she followed him—the prince, he had to be—down and back outside. 

There was a pool of moonlight in the very center of the garden, and he walked over to it and lay down as if basking in it. The sigh he let out was at once content and terribly lonely. For some reason, it pulled at her heart. She knew that feeling. She had come to terms with her curse, with her lot in life. But that didn’t make it any better when she was unable to sleep soundly without worrying about her flames burning out of control.

She came as close to him as she dared and sat cross-legged on the flagstone path. 

“You’re not… trapped here?” she asked. Every story she’d ever heard of the handsome young prince was that he was trapped, doomed, kept prisoner by the monster. 

He didn’t open his eyes, but he smiled again. “Oh, I am.” 

“But…” she glanced around. There were no fences, no guards, no magical barriers. She had walked right in, after all. “Can’t you just… leave?” 

He did open an eye at that. “Can’t you just… put that fire out?” He smirked before he closed his eyes again and settled with his face towards the moon. “I’ve been trapped here for longer than I care to remember and now…” He looked over at her again, his blue eyes glinting in the moonlight. “So are you.” 

She looked around again. Still, nothing that would prevent her, or him for that matter, from leaving. He sighed. 

“The dragon, he’s been waiting for you. That… well, some probably call it a curse, but it's more like a bond.” 

“A bond?” 

“You were a small child, you said? When it happened?” 

She nodded, and he nodded back in answer. 

“The dragon was young, too. A child in his own right. He wouldn’t have known…” He sighed and closed his eyes again. “He wouldn’t have known that if he shared his breath with a human, he’d be claiming them. Bonded with them for the rest of his life, tethered to them. Cursed to share a half-life with them.” 

“I’m… sorry... “ She struggled to comprehend what he was telling her. “You’re saying… I’ve been claimed?” 

“If I had to guess, I'd say your fire only burns at night, right? As soon as the sun sets? Maybe only while you slept at first, but it's gotten worse lately?” 

She blinked at him. Her mother’s burned arms floated back to the forefront of her memory. 

“You have a fire burning in you that’s never been yours to control. If you had stayed away from him any longer, you would’ve burnt out of control until everyone you knew and loved was dead. You’re his and he’s yours, for better or worse.” 

“I… wait… you’re saying…”

“You’re intended to be either the dragon's bride or his killer,” he finished bitterly, turning his head away from her. “Not that he has much say in the matter, either, if it’s any consolation.” 

“But if I do… kill him…” she started, grimacing at the thought, “do you think that would lift my curse?” 

“Yours and mine, too.”

“You don’t look very cursed to me,” she muttered. Other than being trapped, as he’d claimed, he seemed perfectly normal. Every bit the beautiful prince she’d heard tales of. With the moonlight falling over him, he was paler still and he looked like a marble statue that had fallen on the ground. His shaggy dark hair flopped over his ears in ragged lines, and even resting he looked tense.

To her surprise, he started chuckling, although there wasn’t any mirth to it. 

“What’s funny?” 

“Nothing,” he said, although he sat up and faced her. “I just wonder if you’ll still think that in the morning.” 

“What happens in the morning?” 

“The dragon comes back,” he said simply, and he pushed himself up to stand. “If you’ll excuse me, I think I’ll turn in. I have a feeling I’ll sleep better knowing my savior has come at last.”

He quirked his lips in a funny sideways smile, then offered her a hand again. She shook her head at him and he rolled his eyes.

“It’s okay,” he said. “I promise.” 

She hesitated. The fear of hurting him flared strong and her fire started flickering and sputtering along with her anxiety. His eyes softened, and he reached forward, into her aura of flames. To her complete and utter surprise, his hand came through unscathed. 

“I told you, it’s okay,” he said. 

Stunned, Marinette  laid her hand in his and he helped her stand up. Her fire raced along his arm and arced over his body until he was just as engulfed as she was. But rather than being harmed by it, it seemed he was helping her with it, sharing some of the burden. In fact, when he released her, she looked down at her hands and was shocked to find that the moonlight was the only thing illuminating them. 

She looked back up at him and he smiled, although it was still tinged with sadness, and he gestured with his head to the spot of moonlight that still spilled across the grass.

She ran, giddy to be released from her curse for the first night in her entire life and fearful that it would come back before she could race back to the safety of the stone path. As she rolled in the cool grass, she couldn't help the giggles that escaped her, the pure bliss of being safe under the stars overtaking her. When she finally stilled, she sighed as she looked up at the bright, twinkling lights, unobscured for the first time. They were so clear, all the way up there, like she could reach out and touch one. She lifted her hand up and pretended she could, cupping the full moon between her hands as if she held it close.

She’d gotten so used to the flames crackling around her that without them the world seemed deathly silent. Peaceful, but eerie. 

When she sat back up and turned to look back at the path, she found that the prince had disappeared. To turn in, as he’d said, although he hadn’t told her where she might sleep.

She looked at her hands again, so foreign to her without the bright blue flames. They looked smaller. More fragile. 

Suddenly, she realized that was the one thing protecting her from the dragon. The reason she’d felt so confident in coming up here. She couldn’t be burned at night because she was already engulfed in flames. But he’d taken her flames away. He’d gifted her the ability to roll in the grass without burning anything down, sure, but he’d also stolen her protection. 

Even though her flames weren’t snapping around her, she felt the panic rise up in her chest. What if he was a dark sorcerer after all? What if it was his job to lure people here and steal their power? What if this had all been a trap? 

She stumbled to her feet and clenched her fists. He’d seemed so kind. She’d trusted him. She hadn’t thought he would steal from her.

She marched back inside, uncaring if the grass sizzled under her feet or not. The tower stairs only went up, so she followed them, winding her way up to the top, unsure of what she might say or do if she found him, but certain that she had to find him regardless.

The sound of heavy, deep breathing hit her first. It wasn’t human, that was for sure. It was something much bigger. 

She tiptoed around the last bend, her fear climbing with each step.

She held her breath as a large room at the top came into view. One wall was completely open, and there was a huge, sleek, black, serpentine figure wound tightly around itself in the moonlight that spilled into the corner. One wing was draped over its head, like a curtain.

She held her breath as she backed out of the room. 

Hadn’t he said the dragon wouldn’t come back until morning? Hadn’t he said it disappeared at night? Hadn’t he said—

She cursed the dark sorcerer, the beautiful prince, whoever he was, under her breath as she turned and tripped her way back down the stairs. He had also said she couldn’t leave, but based on the way he’d lied about everything else, that’s exactly what she would do. She would run, all the way back to her parents, to her village, even if it meant sleeping on a stone bed the rest of her life. 

As she ran towards the forest, her steps started sizzling underneath her again, and her hands started to flame up before she could stop them. Her tears dissipated before they even had a chance to fall. 

From the top of the tower, she heard a strangled cry, still inhuman, but closer to it, and filled with pain. It spurred her on, although the fire was starting to burn white around her hands, stinging her painfully, and she shook her hands, trying to put it out. The farther she ran, the more the fire seeped into her skin, making her cry out. 

There was a great whoosh of wind behind her, then footsteps, matching her pace, although more spread out. The pain was blinding, but still she pushed on against whatever unknown barrier was causing it. She cradled her hands to her chest and struggled as each step forward was now a shooting, searing, white-hot bolt of pain through her. 

Strong hands caught her from behind and pulled her backwards—the hands of the dark, beautiful sorcerer. She kicked against him, trying to pull away, but he held fast. The pain behind her eyes cleared and she realized he was taking the fire away from her again. 

“You… can’t… leave…” he huffed as he dragged her backwards. She tried to claw away from him every step of the way.

Finally, though, he’d pulled her back to the clearing and dropped her on the stone path unceremoniously. She bolted back up to her feet and he caught her around her middle and shoved her back down, moving at the same time to stand in front of her and block her path. 

“You can’t leave,” he panted again. “Or we both die.” 

“I’m supposed to believe you’re kidnapping me for my own good?” she spat and scrambled back to her feet. “And who the hell are you, anyway?” 

“Sorry. Luka. I’m Luka.” He held his hand out for her and she smacked it away. He winced. “You have every right to be upset. But listen to me. I’m just trying to protect you. You can’t leave this tower without me.” 

He was still trying to catch his breath, and she noticed for the first time that his eyes had changed to serpentine slits and there was a distinct black sheen on the backs of his hands that worked its way up his forearms.

As she watched, he grabbed her hand and shivered as she was once again engulfed in blue flames and he returned to normal. 

"We're connected," he explained softly. "We share the fire. It's mine in the morning and yours at night. Now that you've come here, you can't leave unless you're either with me or there's no fire to share, or it rips us both apart. So for your own sake, you either stay put or you kill me, do you understand?"

He released her hand, and she looked at them incredulously. That he'd taken her fire away and given it back was proof enough of what he was saying. 

"Kill you?" she asked, his words sinking in through the remnants of pain behind her eyes. "As in… you're the…the...?"

"Yes."

"But you're…" she gestured to him, to his humanness, and he shifted uncomfortably under her bewildered gaze. 

"I know. Like I said, it's yours at night. That was the first time in 18 years I've had the moonlight on my scales." 

She gasped for breath as her fire started spitting around her, casting off sparks that came dangerously close to the grass. "I can't… you're human, or half-human or… I can't… I can't do this!" 

"That's okay. Hey. It's okay." His hands hovered over hers, not quite touching her, leaving her fire with her. "What's your name? Can you tell me your name?" 

"Ma-Ma-Marinette…" she stuttered as she attempted to keep breathing. 

"Okay, Ma-Ma-Marinette." He smiled, trying to put her at ease. "Let's just take this slow, okay? Would you be willing to stay here tonight with me? We can talk more in the morning." 

"You're a dragon in the morning," she said, then a hysteric giggle burst out of her at how ridiculous that sounded. 

He chuckled with her and laid the back of his hand against hers. As her fire arced across to him, his eyes turned into slits again and his scales slid over his arm. "I don't have to be anymore." 

She gaped at him as he pulled his hand away again and slid back to humanity. 

"One night. That's all I'm asking." 

Her dream popped back in her head and she blushed even before the question was out of her mouth. "If I sleep… you know, touching you, or like, against you… would that…?" She gestured to the fire still burning around her and then to him. 

He smiled again and chuckled nervously. "Yeah, I think so. But everything's stone, so you won't burn anything down if you'd… you know, if you'd rather not." 

She considered for a moment until her curiosity got the better of her.

"One night," she agreed.

He let out a sigh of relief and gestured for her to lead the way. 

As she mounted the stone steps again, her fire—his fire, she corrected herself, he'd shared it with her—bounced off the smooth stone and flickered along with her nerves. This time at the top of the stairs, she paused to look at the room Luka had called his own for 18 years.

There was a nest of pillows piled in the corner, a stack of books with open pages fluttering in the breeze that flowed through the wide opening, a lyre leaning against the smooth wall, and bits and pieces of armor lined up along the wall like trophies. She recognized a few here and there and gulped. No wonder they hadn't returned. 

She half-turned to him, her question dying in her throat, and he pressed his lips together in a thin line.

"Tomorrow," he said, gesturing for her to continue past everything. She did, but paused before her flames touched the pillows. 

"Here," he said, and threw out a hand for her to take. Tentatively, she took hold of him and watched as he shivered and his transformation took hold. 

He kept eye contact with her as scales slithered over his arms, his hands turned to claws, wings erupted from somewhere around his shoulders, and his body elongated until it was a solid length of powerful muscle.

She slid her hand to what was about his neck and he blinked slowly at her before lowering himself to the pillows and coiling his body tightly around itself, tucking his legs in what seemed to be a familiar position. 

It was a bit awkward to maneuver herself into his coils without taking her hand off him, but they managed and he draped his wing over her, for warmth she assumed, because the breeze that was drifting in was nipping at her exposed skin. And he was warm, she realized, like having his fire returned to him made him a living furnace.

She could see it, when she twisted to look at him: a deep blue illuminating the thinner skin at the base of his neck and flaring brighter in his chest as he breathed. 

She curled into him and fell asleep with his deep, heavy breathing in her ears and his sleek scales shifting under her hands.  

#miraculous ladybug #ml fic #mlb fic #LBSC Exchange 2021 #lukanette #lukanette endgame #marinette dupain cheng #luka couffaine #dragon!luka #cursed!marinette #fic title: playing with fire

[lady-divine-writes]

Kurtbastian - “Always and Forever” Chapter 2

After the death of their daughter Grace, Kurt and Sebastian drift apart. Kurt wraps himself up in his grief so tightly he starts to push Sebastian away, and Sebastian, feeling himself shoved aside when he needs Kurt most, cheats. They make the decision to start over, to leave New York City and their pain behind, and start over again in a house Upstate. Sebastian buys Kurt a "fixer upper" and gives him free reign. While redecorating the room that will be his studio, Kurt comes across something interesting underneath the wallpaper. It starts to become an obsession for Kurt - an obsession that begins to replace Kurt's love for his husband, which Sebastian is holding on to by a thread. Can Kurt and Sebastian break through the pain and the hurt and find a way to fall in love again?

Read on AO3

Chapter 2 (5061 words)

The first evening in their new house becomes a long, exhaustive dance of unpacking and cleaning in preparation for the movers to arrive in the morning. What, in the past, would have been an upbeat two-step of flirting in the hallways while lugging in suitcases, punctuated by the occasional stop, dip, and smooch, is now a formal, boxy waltz, with Sebastian giving Kurt a wide-berth whenever he hears his husband coming, and Kurt pausing in doorways, eyes darting elsewhere when Sebastian passes by.

The rush to clear the dirt away and make things suitable for the furniture they chose to bring with them affords Kurt ample opportunities to send Sebastian on a host of errands, ensuring him stretches of time that he can spend alone to reflect and think.

Consider the past and plan for the future.

Even after the furniture arrives, they should have tons of space left. They had decided not to bring everything they own with them. They aren’t selling their penthouse. Keeping it furnished for the odd trip back seems like the practical thing to do. So, they only packed those things that they absolutely could not live without. 

They didn’t bring any of the furniture from Grace's room. That Kurt donated to the Salvation Army with the exception of one item – a Winnie the Pooh lamp that he had found in mint condition, ironically, at the Salvation Army, on the day he and Sebastian found out their surrogate was pregnant. It's ceramic, hand-painted, with Christopher Robin and Winnie the Pooh sitting back to back as the base, each holding a handful of balloons. One red balloon, larger than the rest, contains the bulb, the colored plastic lending a rosy tint to its glow. Along the bottom edge are written the words: “If there ever comes a day when we can’t be together, keep me in your heart, I’ll stay there forever.”

Kurt’s mother had read him Winnie the Pooh books his entire childhood. He could recite most of A. A. Milne’s writings by the time he turned eight.

The year his mother passed away.

He'd read those same books to his daughter. She’d had them mostly memorized, too.

Seven hours of scrubbing, sanitizing, and (for Sebastian) racing around town wipe the two of them out, to the point where falling asleep is simply a matter of inflating an air mattress and putting heads down on pillows. They had picked up a Queen size one at a JCPenney along the way. It’s nowhere near as luxurious as the custom-made King size bed currently stuck in the back of an Allied Moving Truck, waiting to take a journey on the 495. This mattress is a tighter fit than they’re used to. It doesn’t help that the thing sinks in the middle whenever one of them rolls over. With the both of them measuring six-foot-plus tall, they have to lie in the fetal position to fit comfortably, which would require them to spoon. But Kurt finds a way to keep himself out of his husband’s arms.

The material the mattress is made out of seems perpetually ice-cold, not warming up a touch with their combined body heat, which Kurt didn’t anticipate. They have the gas and electricity switched on, but there’s something wrong with the central heating. They don’t have the requisite amount of blankets to keep from freezing, which adds to the misery. Despite being pissed at Sebastian, Kurt doesn’t have the heart to send him out at one a.m. to the 24-hour Walmart, so he closes his eyes and resigns himself to suffering until dawn.

For the next five hours, Kurt’s mind stays blank. No noise, no dreams, and no flashbacks, thank God. It’s not restful, but it’s the best he could have hoped for. The last half a year has not been conducive to dreaming. The nightmares keep coming, one after the other, the next one worse than the last, shaking him to his core until he jars awake with a pain in his chest like someone had tried, in steel boots, to stomp him into the dirt. But waking up doesn’t solve the problem. He doesn’t know what he hates worse – waking up weeping in his husband’s arms or waking up weeping alone.

Kurt’s feelings for Sebastian are complicated when he thinks they shouldn’t be. Kurt should either love him and forgive him or hate him and move on. But he loves him and hates him. His hands itch to hold him, but a second later, he wants to shove him away. He wants to go, but he can’t imagine leaving.

As much as it sucks, Kurt can’t imagine living without him.

He would prefer to go back to being shamelessly and hopelessly in love with him. Hating him has become a crutch. But it’s enough to get him through. Regardless of that fact, which should tie up the loose ends, mend the hurts and cool the hate, it doesn’t, because Kurt can’t find a way to forgive him.

A well-meaning Facebook friend had told Kurt over Messenger that the problem was Kurt’s pride had been hurt by Sebastian cheating. Push the pride aside and get over it. Ultimately, the marriage is more important. Then he said something about Kurt putting on his “big boy” pants, mentioned God, and quoted the Bible.

A minute later, Kurt blocked him.

That’s another blessing of moving - leaving behind the get over it already crowd. He hates them more than the forever sorry folks. The people who tell him to move on, to get over it, to put it behind him, don’t really care about him. They want him to stop complaining, as if they’re obligated to follow him on social media, and that puts the burden on him, in turn, to make them feel comfortable.

Maybe some of them do care, but not enough to put themselves in his shoes and understand that it’s just not that easy. Being on the outside of the swamp and looking in at a man who’s drowning, yelling at him to grab a branch and pull himself free, is different than being the man stuck hip-deep in mud that feels like cement and losing a fight that’s beyond his control.

Sometimes, as a matter of self-preservation, you simply give up.

Kurt doesn’t know who Sebastian slept with. He has his suspicions, but he doesn’t know for sure, and Sebastian won’t confirm. He says it’s because he wants to put it behind him, forget it ever happened, and that infuriates Kurt. If sleeping with another man was something Sebastian would need to put behind him, why even do it? Or (and Kurt hates himself for thinking like this), if Sebastian didn’t want Kurt to dwell on it, why not take steps to ensure that Kurt wouldn’t find out? Sebastian, of all people, should have known that this would eat Kurt up inside. It’s the kind of thing he’d never let go of. Yes, Kurt would be devastated if he discovered the cheating and the cover-up years after the fact, but he’d be in a better place to mourn his marriage apart from mourning his daughter.

What Sebastian did was selfish on so many levels.

Kurt knows that sex isn’t love, but he can't help wondering – was there a moment in the middle of all of it, caught up in the kissing and the fucking, where it felt like love?

Kurt met Sebastian in high school. Kurt wasn’t just a virgin back then. Oh, no. He had created his own category of virgin for which he could have had a cape and costume custom made – Captain Super Prude. Sex was a taboo topic for him, so much so that his high school’s chastity club hated him. 

Apparently, he set the bar too high, made them look loose in comparison. 

As much as he had fantasized about finding a special someone who would sweep him off his feet, gently usher him into manhood by making soulful but passionate love to him, he preferred not to think about it too often or too in-depth. The "talk” between him and his father was a mortifying experience.

There were pamphlets involved. 

He still has some of them.

When it came to finding a boyfriend, Sebastian wasn’t what Kurt had planned on at all. Where Kurt was attracted to debonair, old-school, gentlemanly types a few years older than himself, Sebastian was crass, rude, explicit, and a year younger. On top of that, he was (to coin a phrase stolen from one of Kurt’s best friends, Quinn) the biggest French whore of them all. Sebastian didn’t care for romance and he didn’t attach emotions to sex, but he definitely had a way of making men fall in love with him. Kurt Hummel and Sebastian Smythe were the two people in the world least likely to fall in love with one another. But according to Sebastian, he fell in love with Kurt long before Kurt fell in love with him.

Sebastian claimed that Kurt was the first man he had ever fallen in love with, and at first sight, no less.

He whispered those words in Kurt’s ear the first time they made love.

He said those exact words during his toast at their wedding.

He wrote them in every birthday, Christmas, and anniversary card he ever gave to Kurt.

He said them over Grace’s crib the night they brought her home.

“Look at this little thing, Kurt,” Sebastian had sighed, reaching out to stroke Grace’s cheek. “Our daughter. Is it ridiculous that I’ve only known her for two days and I’m already in love with her?

“Technically, nine months and two days. But, no. It’s not ridiculous.”

“I never thought I could fall so fast in love with another human being before I met you.”

“Really?” 

“A-ha.” Sebastian smiled when Grace yawned, her whole mouth moving in a complete circle before she settled down again. “I fell in love with you the second I laid eyes on you. And then, well, it was all over for me.”

Those words, the memory of that happiness, breaks Kurt’s heart. Could it be possible that, after close to twenty years of marriage, after reciting those words so many times, they didn’t mean anything anymore? Had Sebastian found someone else he could fall in love with?

Kurt has asked, but Sebastian won’t answer that question. He says it’s insulting.

Whatever the answer, he probably thinks he’s doing his husband a kindness. What he’s really doing is prolonging the torture, not giving Kurt the information he needs to make a decision that he can stand behind. Every time Kurt looks at his husband, he sees touches on his skin that don’t belong to him, kisses on his lips that he didn’t put there.

Kurt doesn’t know how to make himself see past them.

Instead, he looks away.

The second Kurt feels sunlight on his face, he’s out of bed. He grabs his messenger bag and pads down the hall to his studio before Sebastian can stir.

The room looks different with blurry morning sunlight bleeding through the windows. Kurt didn’t put black-out curtains up, and the sheer curtains that came with the house let fingers of light poke through, bouncing off the wallpaper and brightening the floor. 

Yikes.

Kurt examines the floor now that he sees it clearly. It’s a mess - the wood warped as if someone had paced it incessantly. It had been varnished at one time. Spots of resin dot the boards like oily puddles. The wood itself (some variety of walnut, Kurt suspects) has blackened to a morbid pitch with age. It sucks up the light and gives little back.

“Oh, yeah,” Kurt murmurs, pressing around the brittle edge of one spot with his toe, watching it crackle into shards. “This has to be completely redone.”

He gets stuck on the idea that this room could have been his daughter’s if she were still alive. He and Sebastian had talked about raising Grace in a suburban environment, and as much as he regrets not giving her a house with a yard and room to grow, Kurt leaned heavily on the side of staying in the city. Some of his motives were selfish. He loved Manhattan. It had been his lifelong dream to end up there. He wanted his daughter to grow up with all of the things he didn’t – culture, diversity, theaters and libraries and museums a train ride away. He didn’t want her raised around the closed, narrow minds of small-town folk. He wanted her to be an independent thinker – liberated, rational, intelligent. But he also wanted her to be compassionate and kind. He wanted her to know the world, its wonders and its failings, the way it truly was, not the way it looked on a movie screen, and long to change it for the better. They participated in fundraisers, gathered donations for the homeless, and volunteered in soup kitchens.

Grace was a pure light, a driving force that, at her age, Kurt didn’t get the chance to be.

So in honor of her, he wants his workroom to be bright and colorful - a mixture of his vintage aesthetic and her fun-loving personality. He’ll paint the walls her favorite colors, put homages to her in the details, choose the furnishings she would have preferred.

Since this will be the room he spends most of his time in, he wants it to be everything about his daughter that he adored.

He opens his bag and pulls out his phone, checking the time. 6:08. The movers are supposed to arrive between eight a.m. and ten. But movers, electricians, plumbers, and cable guys never arrive on time. He fishes out his sketchbook, sits on the floor, and gets to work jotting down a layout. First things first, he decides where his drafting table will go, where he’ll store his bolts, where he’ll put his sewing machine, a spot for a work chair, marking places here and there for personal touches like his mother’s vanity, his first-ever dress form, a few of his awards...

And photographs. Lots and lots of photographs.

He didn’t keep photographs in his studio at Vogue. He had an obsession with keeping his private life private, which he doesn’t apologize for. Since he met clients there, he liked to keep that space impersonal. Nothing to get in the way, spark a conversation that might derail the job at hand. 

Unlike Sebastian, who hung candids galore. He stuffed the most Godawful photographs from their high school and college years into collage frames and nailed them to every wall of his office, squeezing things like his degrees and diplomas into far corners so that those pictures could be prominently displayed. He said that people knew the Smythes by name and reputation. If anyone wanted to see his credentials, they could Google them. But when people walked into his office, he wanted them to know that first and foremost, he was a family man.

Sebastian knew from childhood that he would become a lawyer. He never dreamed he would be a father. 

Or a husband.

Those were the two accomplishments he seemed the proudest of.

Kurt regrets not having more pictures of Grace hanging on his studio walls, her smiling face to look at every hour of every day, watching his meetings, overseeing his layouts. She was his good-luck charm, his missing puzzle piece. She deserved a place of honor.

Now, he’ll give her one.

His stomach growls as he works. A smell from somewhere tickles his nose, and he groans. Just a few more seconds of sketching on the hard ground, and he’ll grab a bite to eat… maybe. With his ass numb, he doesn’t see a reason to get up, and bedsides, he’s on a roll. Car doors closing and constant banging echo in, and he winces, his head throbbing from lack of sleep. Dammit! If it would just stop till he finishes! It’s hard enough to concentrate as is! He hopes this is a one-time-only thing. He’d hate to wake up to that cacophony every morning. If he ever decides to go outside and meet the neighbors, he’ll have to find a polite way of asking them not to do whatever that is before he has his morning coffee.

Of course, soundproofing is also an option.

“Kurt? Kurt, are you… ?”

Kurt shifts his legs underneath him. He lifts a hand to massage his shoulders. That mattress must have killed his back. His arms ache something fierce. Sitting on this floor doesn’t help, the uneven boards digging into his legs, but it’s not an impetus for him to stop.

Just one more minute.

One more minute of sketching out this room, and he’ll join the world. One more minute to get his thoughts straight. One more minute to brush aside the things that like to torture him. Forget that his mother died when he was eight, his stepbrother when he was eighteen. Forget that his father passed away three years ago and his daughter six months ago.

Not too long after, his husband cheated.

Five.

That’s how many things he had loved in this world more than himself.

Those are the things that he’d lost.

They were the things he needed to forget in order to make it through till the evening.

He’ll replace the insulation and the drywall, smother everything in a noise-proofing compound, then paint the walls in swirls of pink and gold. He’ll do the ceiling in shades of blue, indigo, and violet, like the sky at night, and cover it in crystals to represent stars the way Grace had wanted to do with her bedroom. Kurt had promised her he would the second everything was over, when they could risk her being around the debris and the fumes.

He has never broken a promise to Grace. He isn’t about to start.

He scribbles those notes in sloppy script in the margin of his paper, wipes tears with the back of his shaking hand. He tries to focus on specifics to bring himself back from the brink of a breakdown. He needs a good cry, but he doesn’t want the comforting that will go with it if Sebastian hears him. He can’t right now. Sebastian comforting Kurt turns into Kurt comforting him back, and Kurt only has the strength to handle one outburst.

“Kurt? Did you want to… ?”

Kurt waves a hand to shoo away the buzzing beside his ear, relieved when it doesn’t take much more than that.

In order to paint the walls, he’ll have to take the wallpaper down.

That brings to mind the corner of torn paper over by the window and the word written underneath.

Darling.

That corner offends him. Kurt keeps entertaining the thought that that word has nothing to do with Sebastian, that there is another layer of wallpaper underneath festooned with line art of flowers, along with quotes from various love poems sprinkled throughout, circa 1800s. But then that would make that one tear and that one word an incredible coincidence since darling is the pet name Sebastian has called Kurt since day one. When he started doing it, every time he said it, Kurt had an urge to sock him on the jaw.

He was a pain in the ass, even back then.

Did Sebastian actually think Kurt would fall for writing darling on the wall? After the things he said? After what he did?

Kurt’s hand trembles so badly, he smudges the ink on his page. He stops writing, takes a deep breath, and counts to ten. He closes his eyes and concentrates on the sun warming his face. It’s gone now when it was there a second ago, which is disconcerting, but he has to ignore that and calm down.

He has to relax.

He promised he’d give this marriage a chance, that he’d try to make this work. Sebastian, so far, has held up his part of the bargain. He’s given Kurt space. He’s listened to him vent uncontested. He’s let Kurt keep tabs on him – where he goes, when he’ll be back, with photo texts in between to prove that he is where he said he would be. Kurt has to give him the benefit of the doubt. If Sebastian extends an olive branch, Kurt should take it.

But did he want to?

“I didn’t hear you when you got up this morning.” Sebastian’s voice starts Kurt’s hand up again. He wants to look busy. He doesn’t want to be caught in a position where he has to give his husband his full attention.

He hasn’t forgotten everything yet.

“Well, you were dead to the world,” Kurt replies, distracted.

“I’m just saying, see? You won’t disturb me. You don’t need to put a bed in here.”

Kurt bobs his head back and forth, adding a place in his layout for a foldout out of spite. “We’ll see. It’s only been the one day.”

“That’s true.” The way Sebastian says it, it sounds like a challenge. A tired challenge. Like Sebastian knows he’s already lost. “So, you like the room?”

“Yeah. I think I do.”

“And what about the rest of the house?”

He doesn’t know why Sebastian sounds like he’s asking. It’s a done deal. They both agreed on a new house. Sebastian found one he thought Kurt would like and bought it. What? Are they going to back out now and magically move somewhere else?

Will moving around from house to house solve what’s wrong between them?

“It’s fine, I guess. I don’t know. I think it’s hard for me to visualize without taking the grand tour. I’ll be able to tell better when I get started decorating.”

“Are you gonna hire that guru guy to help you with the yin and yang stuff?” Sebastian jokes cautiously. “That Kung Fu guy… what’s his name… ?” Sebastian snaps his fingers as if he’s seriously trying to remember.

“He’s a Feng shui practitioner, and his name is Carl.”

“His name's Carl?” Sebastian laughs. “No no no, his name is not Carl. Carl is the name of a dentist. He’s not a guy you call to Wang Chung your house.”

“Feng shui,” Kurt corrects again. “I hired him to help me create balance in our home.” He chuckles despite the fact he doesn’t want to find Sebastian funny. He doesn’t want Sebastian to affect him. But he’s right. The man’s name irked Kurt, too, when Isabelle referred him. “Ridiculous name or not, he seemed like a knowledgeable guy.”

“Do you think that Shaolin stuff could work here?”

Kurt pauses to give the matter some thought, and that kills the moment. The levity becomes saturated by the pain hanging in the room, and Kurt coils further into his sketch.

“That remains to be seen. But I think I’m going to try doing it for myself this time. Of course, the overall effect is going to be completely thrown to heck when you hire whoever never to decorate your office.” Kurt throws a derisive scowl over his shoulder. It misses its mark when Kurt won’t look Sebastian in the eyes.

Sebastian swallows Kurt’s scowl without thinking of a comeback. They’ve had that argument before when Kurt redecorated their penthouse. Kurt felt the need to redecorate whenever something big happened in their lives, but Sebastian’s office was off-limits, so it stayed the same. Kurt tried to find one or two things to put into his design scheme that would bring a theme from Sebastian’s office out so that the penthouse would blend, but whatever the thing he chose was – a print, a vase, an ottoman, or a coffee table – it stuck out like a sore thumb, until Kurt tried less and less.

“Can’t fight City Hall,” he’d say, returning to the business of finishing the rest of the space. Things changed around them, and yet, in Sebastian’s carefully curated world, life stood still. The last time Kurt redecorated was before Grace was born. Nothing in the penthouse matched Sebastian’s office after that.

“I want you to do it.”

Kurt stops scribbling. “Me?”

“Yeah.”

Kurt almost looks back to see if Sebastian is serious. He stares at the paper in front of him, the surface more ink than white. “Are you… are you sure? You always said that we need our separate spaces.”

“That’s only because you’re a little heavy-handed with the pastels. I trust you. Just don’t go making it all shabby chic.”

Kurt is speechless. This is the opportunity he has been waiting for their entire marriage – to decorate Sebastian’s office. Once upon a time, he saw it as the ultimate gesture of trust.

Back when he was naïve and fairly stupid.

“Don’t worry. I won’t.” Kurt debates standing up and giving Sebastian a hug or a handshake. This seems like a time that would warrant it. But when he rolls an inch to his knees, his entire body screams with pain. God, he feels old. How can he be this stiff after just half an hour?

Kurt returns to his planning. Even though he doesn’t feel prepared to leave his sanctuary, he fixes on that solid mask he’s been wearing for weeks around Sebastian. Just one more minute. One more minute, and he’ll go downstairs. He thinks he says it out loud. He expects Sebastian to go back to their room and get ready for the day, but he stays in place like a statue, watching Kurt draw, huddled over his sketchbook with his back turned to him and the door.

Kurt waits to hear the sound of footsteps retreat the way they came, but they don’t. His pencil stops above a square drawn in the corner meant to represent his stereo. He can’t continue his drawing with his husband watching, so he bites the bullet.

“Was there something else you needed?” he asks.

“They’ve… uh… got the bed in,” Sebastian says. “And the TV.”

Kurt scrunches his nose and lifts his head. What does he mean? The bed and the TV are on the moving truck. Kurt looks at his phone, resting on the floor by his knee.

“What are you talking about?” Kurt scoffs. “The movers haven’t even arrived yet. It’s only 7:15.”

“That’s right.” Sebastian speaks slowly, the way he does when he’s explaining something to Kurt that he thinks Kurt might explode over. He leans forward like he wants to come in but doesn’t without an invitation. “It is 7:15. In the evening.”

Kurt's head snaps up, eyes rolling because Sebastian is crazy.

There’s no way.

He's ready to object, but with his gaze away from his page, he notices something different about the light in the room. Instead of a soft, diffused blue, it has become a thicker yellow. Shadows stretch across the floor that weren’t there before. The room is warmer than he remembers, and the skin of his left shin, folded over his right, feels hot and irritated, like he might have gotten a sunburn.

“Evening?” Kurt shakes his head. “How can it… ? But… why didn’t you tell me? Why didn’t you come get me?”

“I tried. I told you when the movers arrived. I asked you what you wanted for lunch. I brought you the portable heater and put a lamp in here when it started to get dark.”

Kurt looks around. In the emptiness of the room, they’re easy to see - a plug-in heater behind him, and, in the corner of the room to the left of the door, standing straight and tall like a structural support beam, a brass lamp without a shade, filling the room with artificial light.

The first two pieces of furniture in his new studio, and Sebastian put them there.

Kurt doesn’t want them. He’d rather be cold and alone in the dark.

“We don’t have WiFi or cable yet, but I set up the Blu-ray player,” Sebastian continues. “I thought I could go get some take-out, and we could have a picnic dinner on the bed. Maybe watch a movie?”

Kurt does a 180 on his sore ass and looks at his husband (which is to say he looks at a spot over Sebastian’s head) with a mildly confused expression. He’s not really thinking about the bed or the movie or dinner at all. Even though he was hungry earlier, apparently hours earlier, he’s not hungry now. He couldn’t be less hungry. His desire to eat simply evaporated. It's been waning for weeks. Sometimes he forgets to eat until Sebastian sticks a sandwich in his face. Sebastian has become devoted to keeping Kurt's stomach full. He knows better than to comment on his weight loss, but he keeps a stock of temptable foods on hand.

He’s keeping Kurt on life support.

Sebastian stuck a spear into the heart of what they had together. Now he’s keeping Kurt alive to help him fix it.

Kurt hates that he didn’t see it that way until just now.

“Kurt? Please?”

Here’s the olive branch, Kurt thinks. He has to decide whether he’s going to take it or toss it aside.

He had promised Sebastian he’d try, and Kurt has never broken a promise to Sebastian.

No matter how much he hurts, he’s not going to start tonight.

His father always said that a man is only as good as his word.

Kurt closes his sketchbook. “Alright. I’m coming.” He tries to unfold his legs, but his knees lock up on him, and he rushes to massage the beginnings of a cramp. Sebastian looks like he’s about to spring in and help, but Kurt puts up a hand. “I’ll be a minute.”

Nodding, Sebastian takes a step back. Even with that rejection, he looks happier, more hopeful. He takes his phone out of his pocket and leaves the room. The grateful smile on his lips should fill Kurt with warmth. It used to.

But it doesn’t.

After a meal of Szechuan from a questionable establishment (not questionably clean, just questionably Chinese) and The Devil Wears Prada (a movie Sebastian swore up and down he’d never watch again), Sebastian falls asleep with his head on Kurt’s chest. And Kurt lets him, even if he himself barely gets a minute of peace.

#kurtbastian #sebkurt #sekurt #sebastian smythe #Kurt Hummel

[mermaidxatxheart]

A Beautiful Lie

Pairing: Bucky x Reader

Word Count: 12k

Warnings: This one is rough, guys. Trauma, torture, blackmail, Bucky being dangerously charming. If torture isn’t for you, please don’t read. 

Prompt: The truth is, I was only using you. (will be in bold)

Summary: You’re forced to do something terrible, something you would give your soul not to have to do. 

A/N: Y’all, it’s been a hot minute since I posted anything, almost all year. I’ve really been struggling to find the inspiration to write and I really appreciate everyone who has stuck with me and followed me through this dry spell. Hopefully, I’m reaching the end of it. This is for @coffee-with-bucky‘s 2k writing challenge. I am beyond late, and I am so very sorry. Congratulations on your milestone, and I hope you reach many more. 

“You didn’t have to walk me home, Bucky. It’s in the complete opposite direction of where you need to be.” You tell him as he dutifully walks you up the steps to your apartment building. 

 “Are you kidding? My mother would be rolling in her grave if I let my date walk home by herself. She raised me better than that.” He defends, raising a big hand to his chest. “And I’m right where I need to be, making sure my girl gets home safe.” He nudges your arm playfully. “Besides, I get to spend more time with you this way.”

 “Those are all very good points.”

 He pulls open the heavy door for you and you step inside. You’ve only been dating Bucky a couple of months, but so far, he’s the most amazing person you’ve ever met. Old world charm without being a creepy serial killer; a gentleman without assuming you need to give him something in return. 

 It’s nice to be doted on just because. 

 He pushes the button for your floor and watches the numbers. You watch him. His long eyelashes, his perfectly sculpted profile, strong jaw, pouty lips. They twitch at the corners, but he doesn’t take his eyes off the numbers. The creaking of the elevator stretches out the silence as it descends. 

 “You’re staring.” He points out. 

 “Am I? Oops.” You shrug, still looking at him.

 “Do I have something on my face?” He sighs.

 “Why does there have to be anything wrong? Maybe I’m just watching so you don’t disappear.” You turn to face him.

 Slowly, he twists his head to look at you, a frown tugging at his mouth now. “Disappear? And where exactly would I go?” 

 “Wherever it is that perfect men go when the dream ends.” You lean against him with a smile. 

 “Y/N, I’m far from perfect.” He shakes his head and you capture his face in your hands, having to rise up on your tiptoes. 

 “You have been everything I could have ever wished for. You’re perfect for me.”

 He dips forward to kiss you softly and the doors ding open. He wraps his big arms around you and lifts you up, carrying you into the small box. You yelp in surprise and cling to his shoulders. He grins and sets you back against the wall, leaning down to kiss you again. 

 He’s soft. So very soft and gentle with you. The cool metal of his left hand brushes down your cheek and his eyes search yours, the smile on his face growing with each passing second. 

 “What?” You ask quietly. “Do I have something on my face?”

 He laughs quietly. “You’re beautiful.” He shakes his head. “No, I was just thinking about something.” He says so casually. 

 “Care to share with the class, Barnes?” You tease. 

 “Well, I was just thinking that I love you.” He says, turning around to face the doors. 

 Your heart tumbles in your chest as you look at his shit eating grin. “You do?” 

 “Why wouldn’t I? You’re perfect for me.” He shrugs and you smack his arm. He laughs, capturing your hand and bringing it to his lips.

 “I love you, too.” 

 He pulls you against him and picks you up, kissing you hungrily. You rake your fingers through his hair, moving with him in perfect harmony. 

 The doors open on your floor and he carries you out and down the hallway, stopping just outside your door. He kisses down your neck and you tip your head back, breathing heavily. He presses you against the wall, finding all your sensitive spots. You let out a breathy moan and he pulls away with a small chuckle. 

 “Do you want to come in?” You ask as he sets you back down on wobbly legs. 

 “I think one milestone is enough for tonight.” He smiles, brushing your hair back behind your ears. 

 “Nope, not enough.” You shake your head. He has you in a state of frenzy now. 

 He grins. “Another time.” He promises. “Goodnight, Y/N.”

 He waits until you’re inside your apartment to leave. But that’s when you could have used him the most. 

 Hands grab you from behind, a strong arm curling around your waist and the other covering your mouth. You still scream, try to wriggle out of the strong hold they have on you. But it’s no good. A large figure clad in all black appears in front of you, arm raised and then everything goes black.

 ***

 The aroma of delicious smelling food wafts through the entire building. It permeates into every room and causes several heads to poke out their doors. You smile sheepishly, knocking on Bucky’s door. 

 He pulls it open, sweat pants low on his hips as he towels his hair dry. “Y/N.” He says in surprise. 

 “I thought you might be hungry.” You hold up the bags of takeout. “But I didn’t know what you liked, so I got some of everything.”

 “Did I hear there was extra food?” A voice says behind you and Bucky groans with a roll of his eyes. 

 “No one invited you, Wilson. Go away.” 

 “No, it’s okay, Bucky. Honestly, there’s so much-we can share.” You smile back at his friend. 

 Inside, your stomach is roiling with nerves. 

 It takes you a long time to wake up, your pulse pounds in your ears, giving you a headache. Or maybe it was the chemical they used to knock you out.

 “Finally. We don’t have a lot of time, so we’ll get right to the point.” A man’s voice says roughly, grabbing your chin.

 Your eyes flutter closed as you fight the effects of whatever they gave you.

 “I hope you’re paying attention because I definitely don’t like to repeat myself.” He warns.

 “But I don’t like to share.” Bucky protests.

 “Great, it’s settled.” His friend grins, taking the bags from you and leading you away from Bucky. “I’m Sam. I’m sure he doesn’t mention me much. He wouldn’t want you to come to your senses and leave him for someone smarter, handsomer, superior in every way-really.” Sam smirks and you give a chuckle. 

 “You’ll have to let me know when someone like that arrives.” You return and he groans. Bucky laughs, kissing the top of your head. 

 “That’s my girl.”

 More of the Avengers file into the kitchen and you back up out of the way. Unfortunately, you bump right into Tony Stark. He squints down at you suspiciously. 

 “And where do you think you’re going?” He asks, draping an arm around your shoulders and pulling you back into the crowd. 

 “Oh, I was just moving out of the way.” You say awkwardly. 

 “Relax, kid. I’m messing with you.” He says easily. He opens a cabinet and turns to you. “Hands up.” He says and you hold your hands out automatically. He gets down a bunch of plates and sets them in your grasp. “Table. Go.” He turns you around and points to the large dining table. 

 You set out the plates while everyone brings the food over and it feels so surreal, sitting at a table surrounded by the most powerful humans on the planet and they’re just talking and laughing like one big family. 

 Bucky squeezes your hand as everyone starts helping themselves to food. Bowls get passed around and you only take small amounts of food, your nerves ratcheting high with every passing second. 

 “Not hungry?” Sam asks, looking at you.

 “No, we had a big catering thing at work and I overate. I really just brought food as an excuse to see Bucky.” You shrug with a glance at the man next to you. He gives you a cheeky smile in reply, his perfect eyes crinkling in the corner, a genuine smile full of affection that you wish you could return. 

 “Well, you can use that excuse any time. Natasha grins, biting into an egg roll. 

 You chuckle, taking a sip of your water. They start asking you questions, what you do, where you’re from, how’d you meet Bucky. 

 They’re easy enough to answer and for a moment, you’re distracted. But then you remember your situation and you sit back from your plate. Bucky takes your hand under the table, his thumb rubbing gentle circles on the back. 

 Everyone eats until the food is gone, even tiny little Natasha Romanoff packs away the lo mein. 

 “You can stay for a movie, right?” Sam narrows his eyes at you. 

 “Depends. What movie is it?” You ask. 

 “Bucky’s never seen James Bond, so we’re starting with the first one.” Wanda says, pushing herself up and carrying her plate to the sink. 

 “I’ll stay.” You nod, standing and grabbing yours and Bucky’s plates. 

 “Just pile them in the sink, Y/N. They can wait.” Tony calls and everyone files into the living room, settling on the comfortable couches. 

 You slide down next to Bucky and he shifts you against his side comfortably. “I missed you.” He whispers, pressing a kiss to your hairline. 

 “I missed you, too.” You mumble. 

 “Long day?” He asks, his hand rubbing your arm gently. 

 You nod, faking a yawn. “And I have to be up early tomorrow. Stupid budget meeting.” You roll your eyes as Tony starts the movie. 

 “You don’t have to stay long. I’m just glad you came.” He smiles. 

 Instead of replying, you rest your head on his shoulder. Wanda starts the movie and you don’t have to wait long. About ten minutes into the movie, Sam starts to snore, his head tilted back awkwardly against the headrest. They all fall like dominoes shortly after that. 

 Bucky’s fighting it, his eyes drop closed before flying open again. You look up at him, feeling each time he jerks himself awake. 

 “Bucky? You okay?” You whisper, heart breaking in your chest for him. 

 “Mhm.” He hums, rubbing his eyes.

 “If you’re tired, it’s okay. You guys had a long mission.” You mumble, brushing his hair back gently. 

 “Feel like a jerk.” He manages and you kiss his shoulder.

 “Don’t worry about it.” 

 His eyes drift close and his head drops back onto the love seat cushion. You grab a pillow and carefully lift his head to support it better. His eyes flutter again and you pause, watching him carefully. But they stay closed and you sigh in relief. 

 Easing yourself up and away from him, you grab another pillow and prop it under Sam’s head so that he doesn’t get a neck ache in the morning. Natasha and Wanda have shared the couch, laying at opposite ends, both soundly asleep. You pull the blanket off the back and drape it over them, tucking them in. 

 Tony is in an armchair, not much you can do for him there, but you cover him with a soft blanket, your stomach twisting into knots. 

 You wash the dishes quickly, getting rid of any evidence, placing them back in the cabinet. You gather up all the trash back into the delivery bag and set it on the counter. 

 Turning to Bucky, you wipe away at the tears that are collecting in your eyes. You really love this man. It hasn’t been long, but he’s treated you better than anyone else in your life. And if something could be both the hardest, and the easiest-it would be this. 

 You make your way back over, carefully sliding your hand into his pocket for his wallet. You find Tony’s lab card and make your way to the hallway.

 “Your boyfriend is going on a mission tomorrow with the rest of the freaks. When he gets back, you’re going to show up, the loving girlfriend, with enough food for all of them.” The man in black instructs. He grips your chin roughly, forcing you to look at him. “This goes in the food. It’ll knock them all out so you won’t be disturbed. Even your super freak boyfriend can’t fight it.” He grins, holding up a vial of liquid.

 “You’re crazy.” You snap, twisting your chin out of his tight grasp. 

 He sighs loudly. “I can see we’re gonna have to do this the hard way, then.” He shakes his head and opens a laptop screen. “I was hoping we wouldn’t have to use this option.” He turns the screen around and your eyes widen. 

 “No.” You gasp.

 The building is so quiet, eerily silent with everyone being passed out in the living room. You’ve memorized the layout, you know which way you’re supposed to go. But your feet drag. You don’t want to do this. Every cell in your body is fighting against it, against betraying him. 

 The glass doors slide open noiselessly and you step inside. You almost wish one of them would catch you. It would be a relief to not be able to finish, but you know they won’t. 

 You find the right terminal and plug in the external hard drive. Tapping away at the keyboard, it doesn’t take you long to find the right file. You make a copy of it, doing what you can to ease your conscience before leaving. 

 You’re tempted to stop in and see Bucky, just to look at him one last time, as though that would stop your heart from breaking. But you don’t. 

 You can’t. 

 You leave the building in a hurry, anxious to be done with this whole thing. A part of you believes that you won’t be seeing the sunrise. But they aren’t kind enough for that. As you pass one, you toss the trash in a dumpster, further obliterating the evidence. 

 The coffee shop is unfamiliar to you. It’s far from your apartment, so the anonymity is a bonus. 

 You slide into a booth, tipping your cup right side up. The waitress comes over, filling the cup. “Can I get you anything?” She asks in a bored tone. 

 “Not yet. I’m waiting for someone.” You answer automatically. You tongue is like cotton, your stomach churning with guilt and anxiety. There’s no way you could eat, even if you wanted to. 

 You don’t have to wait long, your hands have barely started to warm from the cup when a big man eases into the seat across from you. 

 “You’ve done well.” He praises. 

 You can feel your face twist in disgust. A compliment from him is about to make you sick. “I’ve got your stupid thing. I’m free to go now?” You ask hotly. 

 “Sure. Not like we don’t know where to find you if we need you again.” He grins wickedly at you. A wolf looking at a sheep. 

 You set the flash drive on the table and launch yourself out of your seat, rushing for the door. You need to escape, get out of the city. 

 A stop at the ATM empties your bank account, and then you’re a whirlwind, throwing clothes into your suitcases. There’s only one thought in your head: escape. 

 Escape those awful men. Escape your betrayal. Escape the hurt you’ve just caused to Bucky, his wrath when he finds out. But you deserve those things, his hatred and anger. You could take that because you deserve it. 

 But those men, they’re only out to cause more pain, to make you cause pain. And you can’t put up with that.

 You hail a cab, planning on never returning to your apartment again. You’ll become a shadow if you have to. Somehow. 

 Your chest aches, but you have to do it. You have to say goodbye.

 Bucky

 He paces the length of his quarters, listening to the ringing phone on the other end. You must be at work or something. He hangs up with a sigh. 

 He can’t believe they all passed out on you last night. What you must think of them. 

 “Sergeant Barnes, Mr. Stark would like to see you in his lab.” FRIDAY comes on the overhead. 

 “Sure. I’ll be right down.” He leaves his room and heads for the third floor entrance. 

 Stark is pacing, sharp pivots and staccato heel to toe steps. His face is turning various shades of red. He’s pissed. 

 “Tony?” Bucky starts. 

 “What do you think you were doing?” He asks instantly. 

 “I’m lost. What are you talking about?” Bucky frowns. 

 “Last night, you came into my lab and accessed the Dresden File.” He snaps. 

 “Last night? We were all together last night. I don’t even know what that file is.”

 “Oh right. And I’m just supposed to believe that you also didn’t make a copy of it and take it out of this building?” He crosses his arms defensively. 

 “Tony, I haven’t left the grounds since we got home yesterday afternoon. And why would I take one of your stupid files anywhere?” Bucky fires back. 

 “Well, explain how your access card was used to get in here, then. Hmm?” He demands. 

 “I dunno, genius. Have you tried pulling up the surveillance cameras?” 

 “I... I was just waiting for them to download.” He huffs, turning his back on the former soldier. 

 Bucky rolls his eyes. He might not be caught up on everything modern, but he sure as shit knows that you don’t have to download security footage.

 They both peer at the screen as you enter the lab. Bucky’s blood freezes in his veins as he watches you steal from Stark. 

 “What’s in the file that she took?” Bucky asks through clenched teeth. 

 “A weapon. Or at the very least, it can be used as a weapon if modified correctly.” Tony looks up at him. “If she sells it,” he trails off unnecessarily. 

 Bucky knows exactly what will happen. You better hope he can’t find you.

 Bucky marches out of the lab and straight for the front door. He heads straight for you apartment, which isn’t smart; if you had any brains at all you wouldn’t be there. How can you do this to him? There has to be some kind of mistake, or misunderstanding. 

 You love him, you wouldn’t do this to him. Or maybe after 80 years in captivity, he’s forgotten how to read people. You were just a lie, a beautiful lie. 

 He pounds on your front door, nearly kicking it down but you don’t answer. He easily picks the lock, his anger and desperation warring inside him. He needs there to be some logic reason that you’ve done this. 

 Maybe it wasn’t really you. Maybe it’s like what Wanda does, an illusion. Someone making them think that it’s you.

 The door swings open as his phone rings. He steps inside, answering it. “What, Stark?” 

 Your apartment is a mess. Chairs tipped over, dishes broken on the floor. The cushions on the couch have been tossed. 

 “She emptied her bank account late last night. She’s gone.” 

 “See if you can follow her on security cameras when she leaves the building. Find out where she went.” He says with a sigh. 

 How can a guy be so wrong?

 ***

 The knock on your motel room door nearly sends you into a heart attack. You rise silently from the chair and creep to the door. If it’s those guys again, you don’t know how you’re going to get away. You’ve already refused maid service, no one knows you’re here.

 You look out the peep hole and your heart somersaults in your chest. You should have been expecting this, you should have known he wouldn’t let it go. Doesn’t make what you’re about to do any easier. 

 You square your shoulders, take a deep breath. Its for his own good. You swing open the door, your face cold and detached. “What do you want?” You mutter.

 “Are you kidding me?” He pushes his way into your room, taking in the dingy walls and ugly carpet. “Where is it?” He rounds on you, his handsome face contorted in pain. Maybe rage?

 “Where is what?” You sigh. 

 He surges forward, grabbing your arms and shaking you. “Don’t play stupid. The flash drive, Y/N. I want it back.” He snaps. 

 “I don’t have it anymore.” You reply dully. 

 “Bullshit.”

 “You think I’m gonna hold onto that? Got rid of it the first chance I got.” You snap back.

 “And now you’re just hiding in a shit motel in Jersey? Of all places-fucking Jersey.” He rolls his eyes. 

 “First stop on my farewell tour.” You mutter. “If that’s all, I’d like my arms back now.”

 He shoves you away from him and you bump into the wall with more force than you were expecting. “Just... tell me why. I thought...” he trails off and your resolve nearly breaks. 

 “I know what you thought. That’s what made it so easy. But the truth is, I was only using you.” You say, the words managing not to break. 

 His face crumples and he steps away from you. “None of it was real?”

 “Sorry.” You say flatly, but inside you’re shredded. 

 He leaves mutely, climbing onto his motorcycle and you worry about him driving home. But you can’t break now. You shut the door, cutting off your view of him and you sink to the floor. 

 Tony

 “Boss. Sergeant Barnes has returned.” FRIDAY announces over the lab speaker. “He’s headed for his quarters.” 

 “Is he alone?” Tony asks, his eyes drifting to the computer screen. 

 “Yes.”

 “When he gets there, put me through.” Tony says, spinning in his chair. Barnes had one direction. Bring back the girl, or at the very least, the stolen property. 

 Should’ve known he’d let his emotions get in the way. He’s just like Rogers.

 The screen to his left lights up and he can see Barnes tense in the entry way. He doesn’t wanna talk. 

 “Where is she, Barnes?” Tony asks, digging through the computer. 

 “I let her go.” He mutters blankly. 

 “I’m sorry? You let my thief go? You better have the files, then.” He retorts. 

 “She didn’t have them.” He sounds sick. 

 “So, now both are gone in the wind. That’s perfect. I suppose it’s too much to hope that you pulled your head out of your ass long enough to get the name of the terrorist group she sold it to!” 

 “Nope. Maybe this will teach you to stop making weapons.” The video clicks off and Tony shakes his fists, strangling the air, pretending unsatisfactorily that it was Bucky Barnes in his grasp. 

 “Dick. Prince Douche.” Tony mutters under his breath. “King Asshat.” He turns his favorite playlist on high, hoping to crush out his frustrations. The soothing tones of Black Sabbath pulses through the sound system and he gets to work, searching for whatever else Bucky’s girlfriend did to his system. 

 While he works, his thoughts wander. 

 You’re good. For someone who has never even been in this building before, you knew exactly where the lab was and what terminal to go to. You knew what you were looking for, almost like... 

 His Twizzler falls out of his mouth as a thought occurs to him. 

 Shit. He almost hopes he’s wrong. 

 He scrubs the rest of the files, finding just one anomaly. He backtracks the keystrokes and recreates it. 

 Finished, he sits back with a slump. 

 Oh. You’re very, very good. He bolts out of the lab and practically sprints to Bucky’s quarters, pounding on the door. Doubled over, gasping for breath-he pounds again. 

 “What?” Bucky snaps, yanking open his door, looking all kinds of disheveled. “Stark, do you even know what time it is?” He rubs his eyes. 

 “It doesn’t matter. We have a problem.” Tony gasps, trying to catch his breath. He’s getting too old for this shit. 

 “Yeah, you need to cut back on the caffeine.” Barnes sighs. 

 “No. I think your super secret spy girlfriend was put up to this.” 

 “Tony, I don’t wanna talk about it.”

 “Even if she’s in danger? Even if the people who did this to her come after her again?” Tony challenges. 

 “Stark, if she really was being put on, or blackmailed, or coerced-why wouldn’t she come to us? We’re a bunch of super freaks. We could have protected her. Think about it. She did this on her own.”

 “Not necessarily. We don’t know what they blackmailed her with. Maybe she thought the threat was too much of a risk. Where is she?”

 “Some piece of shit motel in Jersey. But she made it clear that she was only... that she did it on her own.” He clears his throat. 

 “Let me guess, while you were looking at her with those big puppy dog eyes? Yeah, no wonder she made you leave.” Tony changes direction. “Get dressed. We’re taking a trip.” He heads for Wilson’s quarters, knowing he’ll need the big bird brain as backup. 

 An hour later they pull up outside the motel just as you leave your room. It’s still dark outside, you should be sleeping, not leaving in the middle of the night. But here you are, bags in hand as you load them into a rental. You glance around nervously as you climb in. 

 “What’s she doing?” Sam leans forward, squinting. 

 “Looks like Barnes spooked her. If this pea brain can find her here, anyone can.” Tony reasons. 

 Bucky punches him in the arm, but doesn’t disagree. Tony tries not to let it show just how much it hurts. 

 “What do we do when we actually get her?” Sam asks. 

 “Get her to tell us who she gave it to. Then take them out.” Tony says simply. 

 “You never really said what makes you think she was blackmailed.” Bucky sighs, shifting in his seat. 

 “I found the file she copied. She made a copy of it on the computer first, then she removed key components. Things you have to have to make it work. Without them, these guys have scraps of paper-not enough to complete one for themselves. She transferred that second copy and that alone to the flash drive. She did everything she could to make sure they didn’t get what they wanted.” Tony half smiles. He should hire you. 

 “How do you know she didn’t write it down? Just to throw us off.” Barnes huffs as Tony follows you out of the parking lot. 

 “Cameras, Barnes. She didn’t. She deleted key sections. If she had just deleted a line or a random number, they could have figured it out with a mild genius. But she deleted pages. They have no way of knowing what was on those pages. She deleted half the design, code instructions, equations-huge chunks of vitally important information. It’s useless to them now. But I’d certainly feel better knowing who they are in case they try again.” 

 They follow you from a distance, confused as you leave New Jersey going south. You should have been going back to the city, not away from it. 

 ***

 It’s hard. Hard to remember that you need to drive the speed limit, hard to forget Bucky’s face as you lied to him. That look will haunt you until you die. Maybe one day you’ll have a chance to tell him the truth. 

 Maybe it won’t matter if you do. 

 Your eyes itch. It’s been a long three days. But you can’t close them yet. No rest for the wicked. 

 You pull into another gas station, heading inside. Cash only, and you could use about five more Red Bull’s. You grab a variety of energy drinks; Monsters, Red Bull’s, Jolts, Nos. The guy behind the counter stares at you as he rings you up. 

 “Too much of these ain’t good for ya, sweetheart. Make your heart give out.” He says conversationally. 

 “That’s the plan. Gimme thirty on pump four.” You add, sliding the cash over. 

 He hands you your bag and you pop the top on one of the heart attacks in a can as you start the pump. You chug half the drink while your tank fills. You climb back in the safety of your car, slapping your face roughly. 

 Flipping the visor down, you glare at your haggard reflection. “Wake up. You have a fucking job to do.” You point your finger. 

 You turn your music back on, blasting it loud enough to rattle the windows and you pull out of the lot, heading back for the highway. 

 Christ, your eyes itch. They feel like sand is in them every time you blink. You can’t stop, can’t slow down. You might already be too late-no. You can’t think like that. Bucky can’t lose anyone else. 

 It’s dark by the time you finally pull into the nursing home lot. You pull into a spot near the door, taking a moment to check your appearance. 

 Death warmed up. Perfect. You smooth out your hair before giving up. After two days of solid travel, there was no fixing this. You twist slowly in your seat, looking at every car in the lot, searching for people in them, something to hint at being watched. 

 Nothing, empty. You climb out and head inside the quiet lobby. 

 It’s almost empty, the desk clerk and one other person, sitting nervously off to the side.

 “Chuck?” You ask, turning toward him. 

 He looks up and nods. “Y/N?” 

 You take a brief second to think about all the faces you’ve seen, but he wasn’t one. And looking closer, you can see Bucky’s eyes, the statuesque angle of his nose. 

 Yes, this is who you’re looking for. 

 “Thanks for agreeing to meet me. I know this is strange.” You sigh, stepping forward.

 “You said something about danger.”

 “I would feel better if we could speak in your grandmother’s room. It’s a little more private.” You say pointedly. 

 “Right.” 

 He leads you to the elevator and presses the button. “Are you okay, Y/N? You look exhausted.” Chuck comments. 

 “I’ll be alright.” You wave him off as the doors open. 

 “I’m surprised you know who this is.” The man chuckles. “Barnes’ sister. She lives in a home in Savannah. Abandoned by her family, left unprotected. So easily eliminated. She sits in front of this window day and night, reading. One well placed bullet if you don’t do what we say, well, it’s goodnight, Vienna.” He grins wickedly. “You don’t want this old lady’s death on your conscience, do you?” 

 “You’re a monster.” You curse, spitting at his feet. The men around him laugh. 

 “Maybe you have no feelings about dear old Becky. That’s alright, there’s always plan B, or is it part 2? Who’s to say we won’t kill both of them?” He changes the picture and your eyes fill with tears. 

 No.

 “I can see we have a deal.” He smirks, caressing your cheek. 

 Chuck pushes open the door and enters comfortably. You slide against the wall, keeping clear of the windows. 

 “Charles?” Rebecca looks up, a beautiful smile crossing her face for her grandson. 

 “Hey, nana. How are you feeling?” He asks, bending down to kiss her cheek. 

 “Ready to run a marathon.” She grins. “Visiting hours are over, sweetheart. What are you doing here so late?”

 “Nana, this is Y/N. She’s a friend of Uncle James’. She thinks you might be in danger.” He says, gesturing to you. 

 “Danger? From who? Surely you don’t think my brother-“

 “No, ma’am. Your brother doesn’t know I’m here.” You say. “He’s, well, he doesn’t really know about this. I couldn’t tell him before I left.” You wrinkle your forehead in hopeless frustration. 

 How to explain this?

 “Charles, give me a minute with her.” Rebecca says, shooing him out the door.

 “Alright, I’ll be outside.” He smiles fondly at her before leaving. 

 “Have a seat, dear.” She gestures to the bed, but you avoid crossing the window, instead sitting at the small table. “Tell me what happened, from the beginning.” She urges, taking your hand. 

 “I’ve done something terrible. Your brother trusted me and I had to betray it. There were these men, they wanted something from your brother’s job and they forced me to get it. If I didn’t, they would have killed you, and someone else. I couldn’t do that to Bucky, not when he just got you back.”

 “And why are you here now?” She asks.

 “To warn you. To make sure you’re protected. I don’t want anything bad to happen to you. He loves you too much and he has so little good in his life. And after what I did... he’s going to need you.” You say, a thick lump of emotions choking your throat. 

 You know Bucky is lost to you. But she doesn’t have to be lost to him. “If I can give him this, it will make it a little easier to bear.”

 She studies your face for a long minute in silence. “You love him.” She states finally. 

 “Yes. But it doesn’t matter anymore. I had to ruin it, to make him hate me. For his own protection. Now they can’t use me again.” 

 She’s quiet again, thoughtful. “Alright. What do you need me to do?” She asks, leaning forward in her chair. 

 “Go with your family. Stay safe. Call Bucky and tell him you think people have been watching you, you’ve seen suspicious men around the building. He’ll come keep you safe.” Your voice cracks and a tear slips down your cheek. 

 “And if he doesn’t? I’m an old woman. I’ve lived my life.” She raises her chin a fraction of an inch. 

 “A life without your brother. Now you have a chance to share memories with him. To help him heal from all that time and trauma. You’re his family Rebecca. He talks about you all the time, shares stories about your family-his family. He’s so happy knowing he can just talk to you whenever. He thought that would never be possible. His whole face lights up when he mentions you. He’ll be there. He’ll protect you, I know it like I know my own name.” You promise. “Please? Stay safe for him?” 

 She squeezes your hand, surprisingly strong for a woman in her nineties. “I promise, darling. What about this other person you mentioned?” 

 “I’m going to him next. But I had to make sure you were safe first.”

 “I hope you can fix things with my brother. He’s lucky to have someone so strong.” 

 “Hardly. I don’t think it’s possible to fix this. Thank you for listening. It’s an honor to meet you.” You stand up and press a soft kiss to her weathered cheek. “I’ll send Charles back in.” You head for the door, opening it gently. 

 “She agree?” He asks. 

 You nod with a sigh. “Thanks for listening and not thinking I’m crazy.”

 “Good luck. There’s a motel down the road if you wanna catch some sleep.” He says and you shake your head. 

 “Thanks. But I gotta keep moving. I have another appointment to keep.”

 He bends down and kisses your cheek, surprising you. “Be safe. Thanks for looking out for us.”

 You squeeze his hand and turn away. At least they can be safe. 

 The window is rolled down as you pull back onto the highway. It feels good on your face and you crank the music to help you stay awake. 

 Savannah isn’t that far from FSU, your next destination. Just a couple more hours. You can do it. 

 You pop the top on your last Red Bull and chug half of it, hoping it’s enough. 

 The sunlight creeps over the horizon just as you reach the outer most limits of Tallahassee. You’ll reach campus just in time for classes. 

 You feel a sense of calm, despite your new energy drink addiction-the light at the end of the tunnel is in sight, so to speak. 

 You find the campus easily, pulling through to the main building. Christ, you hope you can catch him in time. As you reach to unbuckle your seatbelt, you spot him. 

 That beautiful, annoying boy that you’ll never complain about again. 

 “Your brother, he’s in his final year at Florida State University, isn’t he? Captain of the football team, maintaining a perfect 4.0 gpa. I believe his favorite teacher is Mrs. Yaira Morrison. She teaches his history class at one o’clock on Tuesday and Thursday.” The man says with a twisted smile. 

 Your chest heaves, watching your baby brother on the screen. They have you and they know it. 

 “What do you want me to do?” You mutter, wishing Death by a Thousand Cuts on him and his party of villains. 

 “See? I knew we could count on her!” He claps his hands enthusiastically. 

 You lurch out of your car, legs wobbly from lack of sleep, proper food, and being immobile for too long. You rush towards him, shouting his name. He’s too far away to hear you, but you know you can catch him, you have to warn him. 

 A body steps in front of you, blocking your way between the cars. You move to step around them, thinking for half a second that it’s just a student getting out of their vehicle. They block you again and you take a second look, recognizing his face in horror. 

 “Don’t make me chase you.” He warns, but you’re already taking off between the cars, trying to find a way back to yours. 

 But no, that wouldn’t be safe either. They had to have followed you here. Before you can think further on it, arms grab you from behind and your head is bashed against the hood of a truck, everything going black.

 Bucky

 There is absolutely nothing worse than listening to two grown men bicker like school boys. 

 “I can’t believe you lost her.” Sam snaps at Tony. 

 “Me? You were supposed to be watching her car! I was focusing on not dying in Florida traffic. How do people live this way?”

 “I told you not to take 75.” Sam retorts. Bucky can almost recite this argument word for word now. 

 “Don’t take 75? She took 75! What was I supposed to do? Take a different highway and hope we end up in the same place?”

 “Or don’t drive like a damn grandma! I see why Happy drives you everywhere.” Sam shoots back and Tony’s face gets beet red.

 “Take it back.” He demands.

 “No.” Sam crosses his arms. 

 “Take. It. Back.”

 “Make me, grandma.”

 “Take this exit, Stark.” Bucky mutters. That puts a brief pause to their squabbling. You’ve had them driving for days on end and they’re all exhausted. How you haven’t passed out yet is a miracle. 

 “Why?” 

 “Because I know where she’s going and if you drive the actual speed limit, we can make it there before tomorrow.” Bucky fires and Tony glares at him. 

 “Where’s she going?” Sam asks, leaning back in his seat, thrilled that someone else was taking shots at Tony, too. 

 “FSU. Her brother goes there. If she’s being blackmailed, chances are it’s with his life.” He sighs. He wishes, not for the first time, that you had just confided in him. He would have found a way to make your brother safe, to make you safe. 

 His phone rings in his pocket and he pulls it out to see his sister’s picture smiling up at him. His heart tugs fondly at the photo. “Becky?” He starts. Something’s wrong. He sensed it when he realized you drove directly past his sister’s assisted living building. That was no coincidence. 

 “Bucky, I met a friend of yours last night. Lovely girl.” She starts off casually, no sense of concern in her weathered voice. 

 “Y/N? You met her?” He asks with a frown. Why would you have gone to see his sister?

 “I did. She came to warn me about this danger that I seem to be in.” He’s alert in his seat now, all sense of weariness gone. 

 “Danger? Rebecca! Why didn’t you call me immediately?” He demands. 

 “Well, because I’ve thought about it, and I’ll do what she says-go on a trip with my kids. But I won’t do the second bit.” She says stubbornly and he presses his metal fingers to his forehead.

 “What second bit?” He sighs.

 “She said that I should tell you I’m being followed, that I’m in danger so that you’ll come here. But,”

 “I will!” He insists. 

 “But I think she’s in more danger than I am. She mentioned someone else was being threatened, someone she cares about.”

 “Her brother. We’re already aware.”

 “Oh, good. Then, you’re also aware that she loves you?” Rebecca says and he can just picture her squinting at him suspiciously, like she might hit him with her slipper if he gets the answer wrong. Just like his ma used to. 

 “Not according to her.”

 “Ah, my brother, the idiot.” She sighs wistfully and he cracks a small smile. 

 “What else did she tell you?” He asks. 

 “That she wanted to keep me safe and protected for you. She didn’t want you to lose anyone else. That she had to make you hate her for your own protection. And she doesn’t think she’ll be able to fix things with you.” She’s quiet for a minute. “But if the circumstances were different, Bucky. If she did what she did out of fear, out of loyalty and wanting to protect a complete stranger just to make one man happy-doesn’t that change things, big brother? She’s not entirely lost to you.” She finishes and he can’t force the lump in his throat to move enough to choke out words. “Just, just think about it, alright? I promised her I would keep myself safe for you. Now I need you to promise to keep her safe.”

 He clears his throat roughly. “Promise.”

 “Call me when it’s done.” She says. “I love you.” She hangs up and Bucky drops the phone into his lap, rubbing his face. 

 “What’s wrong?” Sam asks from the back seat. 

 “They threatened my sister, too. That’s why we were right there last night. Y/N went to go see Rebecca, to warn her. You were right, Stark.” He sighs dejectedly. 

 He thought he was better at reading people. But you lied so easily to him and he fell for it. How had he missed every micro expression telling him that something wasn’t right?

 “So, we really need to find her, then.” Tony says, stepping on the gas. 

 “Finally.” Sam mutters under his breath. 

 The campus is huge. They circle and circle and circle, looking for your car. Twice, they think they spot it, but checking it out further reveals no luggage in the back.

 “Maybe we missed her? Maybe she got to him and left already?” Sam suggests. 

 “Wait, is that it?” Tony points to one of the back rows of cars. 

 “Didn’t we pass that one already?” Sam asks, confused. 

 “Only one way to find out.” Bucky grumbles, already launching himself out of the car. His heart thuds to a stop when he sees your luggage in the back seat, empty energy drink cans littering the floor. He waves them over. 

 “This it?” Tony asks. 

 “Yeah, pull up that fancy camera hacking thing and follow her. See if she’s inside the school so we don’t have to spend hours walking around looking for her.” Bucky says. 

 Tony pulls out his tablet, sets it on the dark hood of the car and types a few command strokes. Bucky hovers over his shoulder, breathing down his neck, really irritating the older man. 

 “Back off, man.” Tony elbows his ribs uselessly as the cameras rewind. He might as well have hit a brick for all the pain it causes him. There are several different angles across the massive parking lots and the interior courtyards. Plus the interior hallways and classrooms. There’s almost too much to watch, but they have to. 

 Tony finds your car pulling in and he slows down to watch where you park. It’s a tense silence as they watch you get out, heading across the lot before someone cuts you off. He blocks out the rest of the screens, making this one camera the focus. 

 Bucky’s stomach seems to fill with lead as you take off running, despite how exhausted you must feel. The man chases you, but Bucky can see what you can’t. You’re not running away, you’re being herded. Another man, massive compared to you, grabs you from behind-a blitz attack-and he smashes your head into the hood of another car. It’s hard enough of a hit to leave a dent in the car. 

 It’s an extremely good thing that Bucky isn’t holding onto anything, or he would have broken it. 

 Before he can even speak, Tony is already working. A car pulls up and you’re loaded inside. Tony captures the license plate and dismisses the camera, opting for another program. 

 Bucky paces behind his friends, knowing anything he would say isn’t going to be helpful. His mind is racing, faster than he can even process what exactly he’s thinking. 

 You should have come to him. You should have trusted him. How can you love him and not trust him? Of all the things he wants to say to you, this thought burns hardest in his throat. 

 What were you thinking?

 “What do you think they want with her?” Sam frowns, glancing at both of them. 

 “Revenge.” Bucky mutters, his skin turning cold at the thought of you being hurt by their hands. 

 “The file.” Tony offers as an alternative. “Maybe they think she has another copy of it, or access to it again. Might buy her some time.” He glanced at Bucky, but he hardly hears him. 

 “Where is she, Stark?” Bucky asks tersely. 

 “Cameras are following their car, and I’m running facial recognition.” Tony says, but it doesn’t really soothe Bucky. 

 “Here. Get in. We can follow the map they’re making and maybe meet them there.” Sam suggests, taking the keys. 

 Tony climbs in the front seat where Bucky had been, Sam drives and Bucky sits in the back, his nerves ratcheting higher with every passing second that he’s not smashing their faces in. 

 “Got them.” Tony comments, typing furiously on his keyboard. The constant clicking is begging to grate on Bucky’s last nerve. 

 Sam follows the route highlighted on the dash screen, and at least he’s driving like a human. You’ve been in their grasp too long and it’s making Bucky irrationally anxious to not be able to see you. It’s strange that just ten hours ago, he never wanted to see you again. Now he can’t wait to get you back in his hands. 

 “There’s an old camera system in the building that they took her to. It’s half an hour away and they have a bit of a head start. I’m back hacking it now.” Tony says. 

 “You know no one says that anymore, right? No one calls it hacking. And back hacking is hacking someone that already hacked you.” Sam squints at him suspiciously. “Do you even know what a computer is?” He asks, swerving around a car going much too slow in the zoom-zoom lane. 

 “Better than you do, Bird Brain.” Tony snaps. “Got it.” The display changes and Bucky stares in horror. Sam inches the needle towards 100. 

 ***

 The thud pulses in your ears as the buzzing sting spreads slowly across your cheek. Another thud, more stinging as the blood surges to the surface of your face. The restraints around your wrists pull roughly as you’re shifted in the metal chair. 

 You don’t make a sound, happy to take this punishment. You deserve this for hurting Bucky, and if they’re this mad-they couldn’t recover the missing parts of the file. Even better. 

 “Where’s the rest of it?” The leader sighs, pacing behind his man. His fingers are steepled against the bridge of his nose as he sighs loudly. “I was told that Stark had a fully functional, working blueprint. What you gave me is useless.”

 His brute swings his open hand again, the force of his slap twisting your head to the side. Your eyes water and your cheek heats up to the point of burning. The man grabs a fistful of your hair and turns your head back to face forward with a low chuckle. Your face feels heavy, sluggish as the excess blood rushes there.

 “Where’s the rest of it?” The leader demands. You remain silent, willing to take the pain. Nothing can be worse than the feeling of being forced to betray Bucky. He sighs loudly, nodding to someone off to your left. “Here’s what you’re gonna do. You’re gonna go back to Stark’s lab. You’re gonna get the full file. You’re gonna promptly deliver it back to me.”

 “No.” You say simply. 

 “No? That’s funny. It sounds like you think you have a choice.” He tilts his head and another man steps forward. This new man, half hidden in shadows, takes a drag off a cigarette, the burning end flaring bright burnt orange in the darkness. With an exhale of smoke, the shadow man presses the cigarette to the fleshy underside of your forearm. 

 You grit back a scream, but as he twists it in the raw wound, it’s too much and the sound rips from your throat. 

 “We’ll give you some time to reconsider your choice.” The leader sneers, nodded to the others.  They exit, leaving you alone with the shadow man. 

 He lights the cigarette again, the smell of your flesh burning floats around you, making you sick. He doesn’t ask you any questions, doesn’t talk to you. He just puts out the cigarette on your skin, any exposed spot he can find. 

 He braces his hands on your burned forearms, squeezing tightly. You scream again, the tears falling freely. You can admit it hurts, but you still won’t give them what they want. 

 You can’t. 

 He chuckles, blowing the smoke in your face as the bright ember flares just inches from your face. Slowly, he removes the cigarette trapped between his lips and floats his hand around, trying to decide where to burn you next. 

 “Ah.” He smiles softly, brushing hair back from your neck carefully, almost tenderly. You try to contain the whimper, but fail miserably. He pulls down the neck of your shirt, exposing your collarbone before pushing the burning point to the flesh just below. 

 You scream, thrashing against your restraints. You sob, trying to breathe against it. Doesn’t matter what they do to you, you won’t do what they want. 

 The door opens behind him and another man steps through. He wrinkles his nose in disgust. “I don’t know how people can be cannibals. The smell is awful.” He laughs, clapping your torturer on the shoulder. “Brought you some more tools.” He places more cigarette cartons in the man’s hand. You whimper involuntarily and he grins, looking down at you. 

 “Ready to make a deal, sweetheart?” He asks lightly. You spit your answer at his feet. “Perfect. I love when they scream.” He shifts your shirt, his eyes turning thoughtful. “Well, she needs to be symmetrical. Every work of art is symmetrical, and you, my friend, are nothing if not an artist.” He smirks, stepping back. 

 The shadow man lights up again, taking a couple puffs before pressing it to your skin again, this time under your opposite collarbone. 

 Another scream tears through your lips as you fight against him with his rough hands and disgusting pleasure at your pain. 

 “Oh, one last one before we call the boss in, huh?” The newcomer suggests, pulling a cigar case out of his pocket. “It’s Cuban.” He teases, holding it out like an offering. 

 The shadow man takes it with a crooked grin and snips the end, smelling it appreciatively. He lights the end and takes a big drag off it. Your heart pounds erratically in your chest. This one is so much bigger than the others, a nickel compared to a pencil eraser. 

 He bites the end between his teeth and motions to his friend for a pair of scissors. His friend pulls out a pocket knife and the fear spikes through you for real this time. You thought they just wanted to torture you into compliance, but if they were planning something worse, you couldn’t fight against them killing you. 

 He bends over in front of you, ashes falling on your thighs. He taps the sharp blade against your right thigh, and then your left, as though unable to decide. He taps your right palm, his eyes widening in mock fear. Then he taps your left palm, nicking the heel of your hand. Then he drags the tip lightly up your arm, inside your elbow, up to your shoulder.

 The blade is next to your thudding pulse and all it would take it just one quick flick and you’d be dead. 

 But instead, he drags the tip along your collarbone and down along your sternum. One thrust and it would puncture your heart. Lights out. No more Y/N. You would never be able to tell Bucky how sorry you are, or how much you love him. 

 But you saved his sister. You can rest in peace with that knowledge. 

 You close your eyes, fixing Bucky’s beautiful face in front of you so he’s the last thing you see. 

 The tip of the blade presses into your sternum, breaking through the fabric of your shirt. But instead of going further, he holds that delicate balance. 

 And then he slides the blade up, slicing through your shirt like a hot knife through butter. He yanks when it gets to the seam at the collar, clipping your chin with the end of it. 

 You yelp in surprise at not being dead and blood drips from your chin. He puffs a few more times on the cigar before spreading your ripped shirt and pressing between the valley of your breasts. 

 You scream through a sob as he burns you, holding the extinguished cigar in your wound. The door opens and the leader steps through, wiping his hands dry. 

 “How’s our guest? Ready to reconsider?” He asks pleasantly. 

 Rage makes you spiteful. You can’t wait to throw anything you can in his face. 

 “Doesn’t matter what I say. You blew your shot.” You laugh, slightly hysterical. “Barnes knows what I did. I’m never getting near that building again. And even if I could, I wouldn’t. Not for you, not for the next scumbag, or the next one. You might as well just kill me. I should have told you that from the beginning.” You slump back in your seat, shivering slightly at the clammy sweat that’s broken out across your skin from the torture. 

 Oh, how you wish you’d been strong enough to tell him to fuck off from the start. You might be a day late and a dollar short, but you’ll be damned if you don’t do the right thing this time. 

 Bucky will know about his sister by now, she’ll be safe and protected, him by her side where he should be. 

 Your brother... your eyes fill reluctantly with tears as you think about your younger brother, just starting his life. He’s smart, hopefully smart enough to stay away from this mess, no matter what happens to you now. 

 “There are plenty of other people to do your job.” He snarls, reaching into his jacket. He pulls out a large silver gun, a revolver as far as you can tell. “See this?” He asks, pointing the barrel right between your eyes. You can feel the cold from the metal, just centimeters from your skin. 

 “Hard not to.” You manage.

 “It’s my favorite. Smith and Wesson’s 460XVR 45 Colt. Gonna leave a hole the size of a potato in the back of your head from this distance.” He hefts the gun experimentally and you try not to flinch, his finger too close to the trigger for comfort. He turns to look at his men. “Feels a little unsportsmanlike to shoot a girl like this, doesn’t it?”

 “A bit, boss.” 

 He turns back to me. “So, let’s play a game. I’m sure you’re familiar.” He releases the cylinder and dumps out the bullets. Your stomach flip flops uncomfortably. 

 He’s gonna drag this out as long as possible. It’s still part of the torture. He holds up one bullet and slides it in, snapping the cylinder shut as he spins it. 

 “How about it? Feel like getting my file now?” He asks, leveling the gun back at your forehead. 

 You close your eyes, picturing Bucky’s face. The way he kissed you before everything went to shit, the smile he’d save just for you. 

 The hammer clicks, but nothing happens. Empty. Tears slip out, stinging the cuts on your cheek, and you have another moment to remember how much you love Bucky Barnes. His beautiful blue eyes, his perfect lopsided smile, his laugh.

 “How about now?” The cruel voice demands. 

 You murmur Bucky’s name. A quiet prayer, something beautiful and bright among the darkness surrounding you. You can almost feel his soft hair under your fingertips as he kissed you against your front door that last night. The night he told you he loved you. 

 Click.

 Another moment spared. The man chuckles, gripping your chin tightly and your entire face throbs in pain. “Your luck is running out, little girl. Make your choice.” He snarls. 

 “I have. You lose.” You sigh, eyes still closed. “Bucky, I love you.” You barely whisper, lips moving just a fraction. You don’t say it for anyone else, just yourself. 

 Bucky will never know. You’ll die here, with him thinking you were a cold hearted bitch. And that’s okay, because you were able to give him his family back. And you can live with that. So to speak. He might never even know you’re dead. Just that you left. 

 And that’s okay, too. Better really for him to move on. 

 The cold muzzle and front sight press roughly against your forehead, tearing at the skin there. 

 “I don’t lose.” He growls. 

 There’s a loud banging noise, making you jump. The gun disappears from your face and it takes you a long second to realize you’re not dead. And then to realize there’s a violent fight progressing in front of you. 

 Slowly you open your eyes to see three familiar men fighting your three torturers. Sam is fighting the shadow man, Tony-his companion. Bucky is fighting the leader, with the gun. 

 Bucky’s metal hand is holding onto the wrist with the gun while his right hand is trying to strike at the man with a long, silver knife. The man backs up quickly, trying to stay out of the reach of the wicked knife, but he trips, falling backward and taking Bucky with him, the gun between them. 

 There’s a muffled boom, like a cannon and both men freeze on the floor. You scream for Bucky, fighting against your restraints, unable to move, unable to check on him, sobbing with fear and frustration. 

 Slowly, unsure, he lifts himself up, glancing down at his chest, hole-free. Carefully, he walks over to you, kneeling in front of you as both Sam and Tony subdue their adversaries. 

 He’s okay. He’s alive. 

 He cups your face gently, like he’s cradling a delicate bubble. Carefully, softly, he brushes away your tears before cutting your wrists free. His eyes linger on the burns, a dozen on each arm and you pull them back from his inspection. The movement hurts, but no worse than seeing his face, knowing what he must think of you. 

 “Why are you here?” You ask quietly. 

 “I thought I made myself pretty clear.” He frowns. “I distinctly remember saying I love you.” He smiles gently. 

 “You’re supposed to be with your sister. She needs you.” You protest. “You’re not... you shouldn’t... not after what I did. I’m not...” you trail off, your throat tight as a tidal wave of emotions crash over you. 

 “Sh, sh, sh. It’s okay. We can talk about this later. We need to get you looked at.” He shakes his head. He holds out his hand for me to take, but you can’t bear it, so you use the arms of the chair to push yourself up. You sway on the spot, your body aching, dizzy with pain. 

 Bucky catches you before you can fall, lifting you gently, holding you against his broad chest. You close your eyes, trying to fight the tears as he carries you out of the building behind his two friends. Sam and Tony are leading our their prisoners, taking a certain amount of pleasure each time they trip. 

 “You needed me more.” He whispers after a minute. 

 “What?” You frown.

 “You said Becky needed me. But you needed me more.” His eyes drop to your neck, the burns there and your split shirt. A growl rumbles low in his chest and he shifts you closer. 

 He sets you carefully in the back seat, climbing in next to you. He pulls you against his side and you resist slightly, feeling guilty. You were cruel to him. He shouldn’t just forgive you, not like that. You betrayed his trust, took his heart and threw it back in his face. You don’t deserve him, his love, his comfort, or his forgiveness. 

 “Y/N?” He starts quietly as Sam and Tony cram the two men into the trunk, lingering behind the car. Probably to give you some privacy. 

 “How can you stand to be near me? After what I said to you... you should’ve just let me...” you squeeze your eyes shut, so you miss him flinch. 

 “At first, I was just gonna pretend you did. But then Tony found out what you did to the file. He’s the one who figured it out, what was really going on. And then Becky called. She really likes you.” He says with a fond smile. “We were already on our way to Florida to get you. I’m sorry we were almost too late.” He whispers, his thumb brushing your cheek again. 

 “How did you find me?” You ask, anything to keep him talking. 

 “Tony found out where they had taken you and got into the camera system. We tuned in just in time to see the cigarettes...” his jaw locks shut for a moment and you can feel him struggling. “I nearly lost my mind when he pulled out the gun.”

 Sam and Tony climb back in,  effectively cutting off your conversation. Bucky tries one more time to hold you, but you can’t let him. The image of his face as he left your motel room haunts you. 

 You don’t deserve him, no matter your reasons for doing what you did. There’s a special place in hell for hurting someone as good as Bucky. 

 “Samuel, to the airport, please.” Tony says pompously. He flips down his visor and catches your eye, smiling. “Do you drive in Florida a lot?” He asks randomly. 

 “I grew up here.”

 “How did you survive? The roads down here are insane.”

 “Says the guy who lives in the city with some of the worst drivers in the world.” You return, your heart not really into the banter. 

 “Your brother’s safe.” Bucky mumbles, his hand twitching towards you. “We alerted the police.”

 You glance back at him and nod before turning to look out the window. You just need a minute alone, to think, to process, to cry. You need to figure out what to say to Bucky so he can see that he needs to leave. 

 ***

 The jet isn’t spacious enough to give you space, and they never leave your side at the airport. 

 Bucky sits next to you on the plane, keeping you far from the two men. That’s easy, you want to be around them just as much as he wants you around them. 

 You can feel him staring at you, the words bubbling up to your memory easily, but you don’t want to say them. 

 The plane lands at JFK and he sighs softly, helping you stand. He leads you out to one of the two waiting cars. You glance back at Tony and Sam, but they’re already getting into the other car with their prisoners. 

 “Guess you’re stuck with me.” Bucky says off-handedly. 

 “Other way around.” You say, climbing in. You start to pull the door closed but he catches it easily. 

 “Y/N. I know why you did what you did. I know it wasn’t your fault, or your choice. I can’t imagine what you went through, being forced to do all that. Because I know how you really feel. And right now, yeah, you feel like shit. It’s understandable. And that’s okay. Because I’m gonna be here to help you through it. When the nightmares start, and the panic attacks, and when you feel like you can’t stand under the weight of it all. I’m gonna be here. Because I do love you. And you might not be ready to forgive yourself yet. But I am.” He cups your face, swiping away your tears. 

 “You can’t.” You manage, trying to catch your breath. “Don’t you understand? If it happened once, it can happen again. I’m a liability to you, to Tony, to what you do.”

 “Bullshit. Because next time, you’re just gonna come to me and trust me to keep everyone safe. Do you even understand the amount of people at my disposal? I can call on fifty men right now to go sit on my sister’s place. And another hundred to protect your brother. And still have plenty to protect you.” His hands trail down your neck and his shoulders visibly tense. “I need to get you checked out. Then I can breathe.” He mutters, backing away and shutting your door. He walks around and climbs in next to you, taking your hand. The car starts moving and you stare at him, feeling a bit of wonder at this man. 

 “What?” He asks, a small smile on his face. 

 “You know it’s not because I didn’t trust you, right? There’s nobody I’d trust more.”

 “So, why not come to me?” He frowns. 

 “I was afraid. I was afraid for my brother, for your sister, for you. Bucky, you’ve tried to hard to shed your past, to stop all the hurt and nightmares that Hydra caused. I didn’t want to start that cycle again. You’re so good, you deserve so much. And I hate myself for what I said to you, I truly do. But I couldn’t put you in that position to be used again.”

 “Sweetheart, I would go through all of that just to have you by me again.”

 “You’re certifiable.” You mutter, turning to lean back against him. He wraps his arm around you, under your arms so he doesn’t hurt you, but otherwise remains silent. 

 ***

 There’s a knock on the med room door, and you look up from your crossword puzzle to see Bucky poke his head in. 

 “Aren’t you sick of me yet?” You sigh, setting your book and pen on the side table. 

 “Nope. So, it looks like you’re free to go.” He says happily, rocking back on his heels.

 “I am?” You ask, surprised. 

 “Yup, they said there’s no infections in your burns, and the hairline fracture in your cheekbone healed just fine.” He smiles, crossing the room. 

 You frown as reality settles over you. “Um,” you drop your gaze to your lap.

 “What is it?” He takes your hand, intertwining his fingers with yours. 

 It’ll be fine. Tony has given you the best security around. Your apartment is safe. “Nothing. Just dawned on me that you won’t be right down the hall anymore.” You shrug. 

 He grins. “You love me.”

 “You’re an idiot.” You roll your eyes. 

 “True.” He lifts your hand to his mouth, kissing it and inhaling deeply. “Whenever you’re ready, I can take you home.” He promises. 

 “Right.” You let his play with your fingers for a little longer, procrastinating to the fullest extent. “How’s your sister?” You ask and he smiles. 

 “She’s good. Demanding that I bring you to dinner.” His grin widens, as his nose skims along the soft flesh of your wrist. “Threatened to disown me if I didn’t. Apparently, you made quite the impression.”

 “I’m happy to go, with or without you.” You tease and he laughs. 

 “I’m not surprised.” He kisses the back of your hand one more time before setting it on your leg. “Go get dressed, doll. I’ll be right here.” He says.

 You sigh dramatically and swing your feet over the edge of the bed. You can do this. It’ll be okay. 

 ***

 The creaking of the elevator sets your nerves on fire. You clench your jaw as the numbers climb. Only Bucky’s hand in yours keeps you from hyperventilating all together. 

 You can do this. You’re an adult. 

 Bucky unlocks your door for you, holding it open for you to step inside. You hesitate for a moment and his smile tightens. He steps inside first, walking through and opening doors. He makes quick work of checking your whole apartment before coming back to you. 

 “Clear.” He promises. 

 Your vision gets blurry, but you fight the tears, forcing yourself to step across the threshold. How can you trust this place? How can this be home ever again?

 “Let me show you the security system. I know Tony explained it, but it’s a lot to take in.” He says, wrapping you in his big arms. 

 “I’ll say.” Your forehead furrows together. 

 “He wanted you to be safe.” He turns you to the front door. “This camera allows you to see who’s outside. But, it has a camera facing inside, too. You can control that from your phone, so you can see if anyone has broken in.” He explains quietly, burying his nose in your hair. “There’s a panic button in each room. You hit that button and help is on the way.” 

 Bucky takes you through the apartment, showing you exactly how safe Tony has made it for you. And it helps... a bit. 

 But really, what you see is the kitchen chair you were tied to while people you care about were threatened. 

 However, Stark went to a lot of effort. And you know if you don’t at least give it a go, he’s going to whine and complain. 

 Bucky finished his tour back at the front door. This doesn’t feel right. You frown. 

 “Did you wanna stay? I can make dinner.” You offer hopefully. 

 “Sorry, doll. We have a mission.” He says, pulling you close. “I’ll come see you when I get back, okay?”

 You nod, heart sinking. “Stay safe.” You mumble and he gently puts his finger under your chin, tilting your face up. 

 “Can I please, pretty please, have a smile? I need to see it.” He begs and despite how hard you want to resist, you can’t. 

 The corners of your mouth tug up and ride even further in response to his own teasing smile. 

 “There she is.” He sighs happily. “I love you so much. I’ll call you later.” He kisses you slowly, pulling you closer until he breaks away, his eyes slightly unfocused. 

 “Sure you can’t stay?” You sigh. 

 He chuckles. “Positive. I can’t miss this one.” He backs up to the door, holding your hand, unwilling to let go. 

 “You’re not leaving.” You remind him, secretly happy that it’s as hard for him as it is for you.

 “I’m not? Feels like I have already.” He grins. 

 “I love you.” You mumble softly, trying to force the tears to stay in the back where they belong, at least until he leaves. 

 “Just what I needed to hear.” He smiles. 

 You roll your watery eyes and push him out into the hallway. “I don’t need Tony any angrier at me than he already is.” You stick your tongue out and shut the door in his face. Otherwise you’d never be able to let him go. 

 He knocks on the door and you press the speaker. “Go away.”

 “I miss you already.” He says.

 “Don’t make me call Sam.” 

 You can hear his answering laugh and then his footsteps retreating down the hallway.

 You can do this. You have Bucky. Everything else will get better with time, and help, and support. 

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[tanakavox]

Look into the multiverse chapter 7

DMC3 chapter! And yes I know that Yang came off as being Lady the next chapter but I decided to go Ruby. Reaction written by my friend Doppel Micheal.

The scene starts off with a door getting kicked aparted, and a shirtless Jaune walking out shirtless carrying his sword in one hand and a red jacket in the other.

Jaune gasped at seeing his image shirtless for all to see. "Augh, Cut that out! I don't want people to… uhm…." his voice faded off in embarrasment. "Aaay someone's been working out!" Yang said in a teasing tone, while Weiss sighed in annoyance. "S-shut up Yang. It's not like I'm Sun.."

"Sun does have very nice abs…" Blake whispered at that. "Pfft, you are fine Muscles boy. Isn't he Rubes?" Yang looked to Ruby, trying to get her sister to join in the teasing only to find her little sister seemed lost in thought; she was simply staring at the Jaune on the screen without saying anything. The blonde knight walked closer to her, waving a hand in front of her to try bringing her back to earth. "..." "...Ruby?" "... HUH-? Oh y-yeah. Right, you're f-.. you're alright Jaune." The short reaper was brought back down suddenly, her cheeks taking on a red shade as she seemed to avoid looking at the tall boy in any way.

A pack of demons were outside waiting for him. Jaune turns to look at the broken remains of his shop

"Damnit!" Jaune moaned. You guys totally ruined my shop! And I haven't even named it!" He snarls and turns back to the demons. "Your gotta pay for that." Jaune throws his sword into the air, doing flips and overtop movement before pulling on the red jacket , and catching the sword posing. He sneezes a bit and rubble falls down. Jaune turns and glares at the demons and points Rebellion at all the demons."I hope you all have enough to cover all this!" He growled. The blonde went to town on the demons, Shooting and blasting them to pieces with ease.

"Is this supposed to be the suicidal one's dream world where he's actually important in a fight?" Cinder snarked at the vision in front of her, sending Emerald into a fit of giggles and Mercury to mock them with delight on his voice "Oooh destroyed."

Jaune growled in annoyance. "Hey-!" "HEY!" His attempt at retorting the insult was cut short by Nora. "SHUT UP before I break your second pair of legs. I'm not afraid to do it." She finished with a glare; meanwhile Jaune felt something press on his shoulder, and turned to see Ren, a pleading look on his eyes that said 'Don't let them get to you.'

And after he was done, the bigger ones flew off, the ground splitting in half as a tower arised from the ground. Jaune looks at the tower with a grin.

"It's been nearly a year since we last met. Where does the time go?" Jaune said still grinning knowing Cinder was on top of the tower. He began to walk towards it clearly excited. "No doubt you've got something fun planned for me. Right Cinder?!"

"It's definitely the suicidal one's dream." Cinder expressed while rolling her eyes, making Emerald giggle even more. "Like I would actually care about such a small fly."

Jaune clenched his teeth and fists in frustration, before his lips curved into a smile as he looked at her "At least I actually get to put my sword through your eye this time!" Now Ruby was the one laughing as she saw all of Cinder's smug get wiped out of her, Nora cheering on from behind with yells of "YEAAAAAH tell her!"

"Y-you- if this barrier didn't exist I would tear off your-!" She couldn't finish her reply before being interrupted by Salem. "Cinder. I suggest you calm down and don't let a child get the better of you." With steam nearly coming out of her ears and a death glare sent in Jaune's direction, everyone went back to watching.

The scene cuts to Cinder looking over the town on top of the tower. Raven walked towards her.

"Raven" Cinder greets without looking back.

"Well? Doesn't it excite you? Raven asks. "The Teme-ni-gru has been revived. The great one who once ruled this earth as the medium between the human world and the demon world." Raven smiled a bit. "Isn't it a magnificent view?" The greatest mind of all their time, those who revered evil, construed this glorious edifice. Now, after two millenniums of confinement, it can at last fulfill the purpose for which it was intended…"

"That's none of my concern." Cinder said interrupting Raven. "Did he have it?"

"Of course. He's taking good care of it. After all, it is the last memento left from your mother you both lost.

"But he has no idea of its true power."

"Ewgh, I still can't believe he's related to me in this nonsense."

"The feeling is mutual" Jaune replied to the maiden, his voice full of venom, before noticing Ruby was grabbing his hand in an attempt to comfort him. "It's okay Jaune. It's not real."

"Indeed it isn't Mr Arc." He turned towards Ozpin, speaking for the first time in a while. "Keep your wits about you, none of this is worth losing your mind over."

The demon that escaped Jaune leap onto the Temen-ni gru behind Cinder and Raven. Cinder began to walk off the demon following her. She stopped and unsheathed her kanata, twirling it a bit before sheathing it. The demon upper torso being sliced in half and sliding off before it went poof! The rest of it remains falling off the Temen-ni gru.

The scene cuts to Ruby on a motorcycle, Bumblebee, with the engine still running as she looks over to Temen-ni-gru.

"I found it." She said. Demons began to slowly walk up behind Ruby. She payed them no mind and rev the engine and set the demons on fire with the exhaust port and jump over a pile of demons falling over dead into the number 3.

Ruby stared wide eyed in giddiness at her counterpart, struggling to find her voice "Is that...me?" "-driving MY bike?!" Yang wasn't so amused though.

"I didn't-I'd never! I don't even have a driver's license Yang!" She tried to calm her sister down, making Qrow chuckle at their antics. "She does rock the aesthetic, you gotta give her that." " …. I guess."

Yang crossed her arms, looking the other way while Ruby whispered in excitement. "Ye! I'm cool." Not low enough for Qrow not to hear her though. "Ha! Yeah." Nor Winter. "Indeed."

Weiss couldn't hide the shock from her face at the elder Schnee's response. "Sister?!" "What can I say, I always wanted a bike when I was your age."

The next cut goes back to Jaune walking through a icey area. He's in front of a Icey statue shake, the ice around it falling to ground. A three headed canine chained to a door, stood before Jaune and roared sending a block of ice flying toward Jaune, which he casually cut with rebellion.

"Leave now mortal!" Ceberus growled. "The likes of you are forbidden in this land! You who are powerless are not worthy here!"

Jaune was sweating bullets at the sight "That's…. A big dog…. Z-Zwei doesn't turn into anything like that right Ruby?" "What!? No! Of course she doesn't…. right Weiss?" The reaper gave her partner a hopeful, but questioning look, irritating the heiress. "Why are you looking at me? Like I would ever hurt your dog." She replied indignant, adding one last part as a whisper. "Also he looks much cuter as it is anyways."

"Wow I've never seen a talking mutt before. You know in a dog show, you'd definitely take first place." Jaune says taunting the caine.

"You, a mere human, make a mockery of me?!" Ceberus breathes a beam of ice toward Jaune, which he easily jumps over. The ice blocking the entrance he had came from.

"Easy, Fido! How about I take you for a walk? Jaune bends his knee and starts clapping and whistling. "Come puppy! Let's go!"

"You'll regret this, you worm!"

"It's showtime" Jaune grinned hopping in place and throwing a few punches in the air before gesturing at the oversized mutt. "C'mon!

A short battle happens ending with Jaune cutting off all but one of the heads of the mutt. It leaps back, in awe.

"You are not human,are you?" It asked in awe.

"Who knows? I'm not even sure myself."

"Regardless, you have proved your strength. I acknowledge your ability. Take my soul and go forth. You have my blessing. A bright light fills the area as the demon canine transforms into nunchucks with chucks, Jaune smirks and begins to test out his new weapon, twisting and twirling it around with ease to the point he twirled it with his feet.

"Ha, not bad at all scrawny. You've been going soft on us haven't you?" Jaune felt Qrow punch his shoulder lightly. "Please. Like I would ever pull something like that."

"That remains to be seen Mr Arc." Ozpin spoke yet again. "You have potential yet untapped, perhaps you should play closer attention to what a you from an alternate reality can do."

He didn't like feeling scolded, but gave some thought to what the old man said.

"Too easy." He boasts as he poses with the new weapon. He puts it away and begins to walk off when a motorcycle crashes through the ice behind him, Ruby riding it, Ruby nearly hits Jaune, him jumping out of the way at the last second. He makes eye contact with Ruby as they pass each other midair, both landing at the same time.

"Are you going to the party?" Jaune asks with a smirk. "What's the hurry, didn't you get an invitation? Ruby doesn't turn to look at Jaune and pulls out a bulkier version of Crescent rose firing a rocket at Jaune who casually duck under it and then jumps on riding it around the room, laughing with pure joy before he hops off and let's it blow a hole in the ceiling chuckling a bit.

Ruby couldn't help herself but to stare in obvious excitement and giddiness at the alternate version of her weapon, which brought some amused chuckles from Yang, before crossing her arms and feigning indifference "Hm, my version of my baby is still the best." She completed the act with sticking her tongue out at Yang.

Ruby eyes are finally show and they are filled with cold rage. She revs up her motorcycle and drives towards Jaune and hops over him, the wheel nearly hitting his face as he looks on unflinchingly. She hopped high enough to go through the new hole in the ceiling leaving Jaune alone. "This just keeps getting better and better!" Jaune smirks again as he began to walk to the next area. The scene cuts back to Cinder and Raven again, standing on top of Teme-ni-gru, the time pasting to night.

"Looks like we have an uninvited guest." Cinder states, looking out to the city below.

"Is that so?" Raven replied, flipping through her book.

"A human. A woman." Raven closes her book and sighs.

"I'm afraid I should ask the uninvited guest to leave." She stands and walks toward Cinder. "That is what you want. Actually I happened to be acquainted with that woman." Raven begans to walk off to deal with the woman. "A storm is approaching."

"Can I point out the fact I would never work with that bitch again?" Cinder pointed out with extreme contempt. "Next time I see Raven, I will kill her for what she did."

Qrow chuckled in amusement at her remark. "Because that worked really well last time huh?"

"YOU-" "Is he wrong dear?" Once again, Cinder's attempt at a retort was cut short by Salem, scowling at her protegee. Cinder simply crossed her arms and choose to stare at the floor beneath her feet in frustration. "Tch."

The scene cuts back to Jaune and a door. He gives the door a push and when that doesn't work, he runs up and kicks it. The door still doesn't budge. Jaune snarls and pulls out his pistols getting ready to shoot.

"Yoo hoo!" A voice behind him calls out merrily. Jaune turns to see a woman with pale skin and wearing a blue jester outfit. "There's no need to use violence Devil boy." Jaune ignores her and twirls his pistol getting ready to shoot anyways."Wait wait wait,better listen to what others say lad." The woman rushs in front of Jaune and points to the door with the specter she was holding. "This tower here is very study, you see." She taps the door to prove her point. "Your tricks will do you no good. No good!" Jaune points one of his pistols in her face pushing it to her nose.

"Zip it."He growled. "Or I'll pierce that big nose."

"That could be a problem" The jester moves to Jaune's side. "You've got nothing to lose,right?"

"...is this the Neon of this world?" said Yang.

Jaune never looks her in the eyes, being very annoyed at her. "My name Jester, and I know a thing or two about this place.

"Guess not." Weiss replied. "Sure gives me the same vibes though."

She points over to an object close to the blonde. "That thing there is a power generator for this entire sector. In order to open the door you need to apply a little SOMETHING to it first. You know what that is kid? Or is that too difficult for you?" Jester begins to laugh maniacally when Jaune finally had enough and started to shoot at her feet, She begins to dance crying in fears as she dodges the hail of bullets.

"Get to the point. Or do you wanna keep on dancing?" Jaune asks before stopping. Jester took a deep breath.

"Actually, I prefer a sword to be my partner. May i have this dance my lady?" She asked, taking a bow. Jaune takes out his sword rebellion and attempts to cut Jester in half, the clown dodging at the last second and instead he hits the generator opening the door. "Bingo!" Jester cheered while standing on the ceiling. "That is what something is! Remember that kid. Write down on your hand if you don't trust your head!" Jester began to laugh and started to dance away while Jaune began to shoot at her again.

"I see…. Thanks. Jaune begans walk into the next room. "You still piss me off though."

Everyone stared in silence after the scene ended. Weiss was the first to attempt speaking up "That was…" "It was something alright." Yang concluded after the heiress found herself at a loss for words. Jaune looked down, feeling very self conscious. "I'm not that cool. Kinda wished I could be.."

Again he felt Ruby's hand tug at his, and his eyes rose to meet her showing him a supportive smile. "Hey. You're plenty cool as is." She told him in a soft voice. It was immediattely followed by Nora not so gently punching his shoulder. "Yeah! You coooould stand to get a grenade launcher though." Giggles came out of him, and eventually they all erupted in laughter.

Emerald groaned at the sight. "Do you have to act so sickly happy all the time? It was enough having to put up with seeing him be such a try-hard."

"Meh, it was kinda funny." Mercury shrugged it off with a smirk. "So, what's it gonna be next?"

The end!

#look into the multiverse #devil may cry au #rwby ruby rose #blake belladonna #yang xiao long #weiss schnee #rwby jaune arc #lie ren #rwby cinder fall #rwby nora valkyrie #rwby salem #oscar pine #rwby raven branwen #rwby qrow branwen

[carryonmywaywardcaptain]

What’s in a Name?

CarryOnCap’s Masterlist

Pairing: Michael!Dean x reader, Dean x reader 

WC: 2,135

Summary: Weeks after Michael disappeared with Dean as his vessel, you decide to take some time away from the bunker. Nothing could have prepared you for the talk you have (or the tearful goodbye) when he pays you an unexpected visit.

Square Filled: Midnight Snack

Warnings: Season 14 spoilers if you haven’t seen it. Some angst. Sort of sappy fluff. Revelation of feelings and implied mutual pining. Minor mentions of injuries. Kind of a corny, abrupt ending. Also this gif by @teamfreewillbettertogether​​ (I mean LOOK AT HIM.) 

A/N: This is my first submission for #spndeanbingo challenge round 1 hosted by @spndeanbingo​​ Inspired by this 14x01 gif and the end dialogue of 14x09. (I do not claim to own the dialogue from those episodes, I just paraphrased for this fic.) This was supposed to be a drabble but it got away from me. lol

You had just finished a case up north-- nothing big, just a few werewolves preying on teenagers who were exploring the woods on the outskirts of town at night for “something to do.” You had tracked down the last of the pack just in time to save a young girl from becoming an unfortunate midnight snack. After driving her home and observing a tear-filled reunion with her parents, you returned to the motel you’d been staying at.

You were exhausted, covered head to toe in cuts and bruises from the hunt, and you knew you needed some rest. But sleep didn’t come easily these days and, when it did, you often found yourself dreaming of Dean. It kept you up at night knowing he was out there somewhere locked away under Michael’s control, and dreaming about him only seemed to make you miss him more.

It was late, but you decided to venture to the gas station up the street to grab a midnight snack of your own, hoping the cool evening air and a little food might help ease your mind. After cleaning up a little, you slipped out of your room and back into the night.

It had been weeks and there'd still been no sign of Dean or Michael. Sam had been working tirelessly trying to find him, but so far he still hadn’t had any leads. In an effort to help with the search, you packed a bag and set out to connect with some of your old contacts.

...At least that’s what you told Sam.

Truthfully, you had decided to leave because you needed a break from it all. The bunker had begun to feel crowded with all of the new inhabitants from Apocalypse World. Sam, Mary, Cas, and Jack checked on you at all hours of the day because they all seemed to know about the feelings you harbored for Dean. You appreciated their concern, but the lack of alone time and space left you feeling suffocated and on edge.

On top of it all, the bunker somehow also felt eerily empty without your favorite green eyed hunter. Reminders and memories of him seemed to haunt every inch of the place. With how overwhelming everything had become, it was liberating to work a case or two while you took some time to grieve and process everything in peace.

After buying a sandwich, a six pack, and a mini pie, you thanked the cashier and began the short trek back to your motel. Still lost in thought, you had taken a shortcut down an alley when a noise from behind stopped you in your tracks. It was subtle and if you hadn’t recognized it immediately, it might’ve gone unnoticed-- drowned out by the bustle of cars, sirens, and drunken bar-goers still enjoying what was left of their night.

The familiar rustle of angel wings.

Realizing you’d left your angel blade in the duffel bag beside your bed, you tried to remain calm. Cas had no way of knowing where you were and you knew the few angels left in existence were doing all they could to keep heaven running. Grappling with the fear and hope you could feel rising in your chest, you wracked your brain for any other possible explanation for who could be behind you. But even before he spoke, you knew it was him.

“Hello Y/N.”

It wasn’t his voice-- not really. Even so, the sound was oddly comforting after so many weeks without it. If you’d kept your back to him, you might’ve been able to let yourself pretend it really was him. That he had managed to break free from the archangel somehow and track you down.

But it was the way he said your name that let you know who it really was. His voice was hollow. Almost formal. 

One thing you’d always loved about Dean--whether he was angry or worried or teasing--was the way he said your name. There was always so much emotion behind it. Always a trace of the unconditional love he gave to everyone he cared about. When he spoke your name, there was always a deeper implication: no matter what he was feeling or what you had done, you knew he would always protect you and have your back. There was never a need for him to say those things outright, because somehow you’d always understood.

But this wasn’t him and those weren’t the feelings you had when your name rolled off of his tongue. Taking a deep breath, you slowly turned to face the man behind you.

“Michael.” 

The corner of his mouth tilted into a smirk. He wore a gray three piece suit, a long coat, and a newsboy style cap. His head was slightly bowed, casting a dark shadow over his eyes. Instead of the relaxed, bow-legged stance you were accustomed to, his posture was stiff and typical of the angels you’d grown familiar with over the years.

“It’s nice to be able to skip the introductions.”

He raised his head and the motion seemed almost robotic. His jade eyes briefly flashed a bright electric blue and the longer you looked at his emotionless face, the more unsettled you began to feel. Everything about him seemed detached and unnatural-- a stark contrast to the man you knew.

“What do you want?”

“What do I want? It’s a little...ironic.” His lips stretched into a wry grin, but there was still an emptiness behind it. “That’s what I’ve been traveling all around this world asking people. ‘What do you want?’ Their answers are always the same: Peace. Power. Revenge. Love.” 

You exhaled upon hearing the final word--recalling the countless number of fantasies you’d had about Dean confessing something similar to you.

“They say the things they think I expect to hear. Give answers they hope will ensure their survival. It’s all so very...weak. Pathetic. Human. But I will admit free will does keep things marginally interesting...how these ‘wants’ seem to motivate you. To give you a cause to fight for.”

You stood motionless, soaking in every bit of the speech he was delivering. The way he spoke was flat and unhurried. You reminded yourself over and over that it wasn’t him, but as his voice washed over you...the hold he had on you was undeniable.  

He took a few steps forward, hands behind his back as he began circling you like a predator stalking its prey. 

“He’s still in here, you know.” He tapped a finger on his temple when he circled in front of you again. “Resisting me. Squirming and trying to claw his way out. To get back to all of you.”

“Is there a point to this monologue?” Your voice wavered, sounding feeble instead of assertive.

“I can sense how vulnerable you are in my presence because of this pretty face. Haven’t you ever wondered what it is that Dean wants most?” He began slowly pacing back and forth in front of you. “I know his thoughts. His desires. His reasons for fighting. I know all that you’ve been through together...”

“He wants the same thing we all do. To take out as many of you douchebags as we can until--”

“You are what he wants.”

You tried to swallow, but your throat had gone dry.

“...what?”

“Why do you think he said yes to me? Why do all of you sacrifice yourselves for each other? Again and again...and again.” He paused and met your eyes when you didn’t say anything. “For love. For the fear of having to live without each other. For the ‘family business’ or whatever. Now, Sam? Mary? His angel pal and even the nephilim-- sure, he loves them. He would die for them. But you…well, there aren’t words for how devastated he would be if anything ever happened to you.”

“You’re...lying,” you whispered.

“I’m just a messenger, sweetheart.”

He spun on his heel and held his hands out to his sides, chuckling as he shook his head. You wanted to believe everything he was saying, but you had no reason to. Michael had lied to Dean-- why wouldn’t he do the same to you?

“Why are you telling me any of this? Why bother finding me at all?”

“Because his squirming is like an incessant gnat that simply won’t go away. So, as a small attempt to put his floundering to rest, I decided to pay you a visit. To say the things he never could. To put an end to his doubts...the worry and the fear and the anger that keeps him fighting. To show him there’s no need to resist me any longer. Lucifer is dead and all of you survived.”

“So you’re pretending to care about his well-being now?” you scoffed. “That’s your play?” 

“He’s angry with himself for saying ‘yes’--but he wanted to save his brother and the boy. To beat Lucifer and, together, that’s what we did. He’s so worried about his family’s safety but, with my help, you were all spared from Lucifer’s wrath. Now, after everything I’ve told you...do you have any idea what Dean’s greatest fear is? His reason for continuing to resist me?”

As the gears turned and every fiber of your being seemed to have a hunch about what he meant, your mind refused to even consider the possibility. There was no way he could possibly mean--

“You,” Michael sighed impatiently. “You’re the one he’s most attached to. The source of his deepest fear and regret. Because what if something happened to his beloved Y/N? What if he never had the chance to tell you that he loves you? That he’s always been too much of a coward to admit it.”

Feeling like the air had been knocked from your lungs, tears began to well in your eyes at his admission. You weren’t sure if he was telling the truth, but if there was any way to reach him...you had to try.

“Dean? If you can hear me--”

“Dean’s not home right now. He’s served his purpose and his mission is complete. Now it’s time for mine.”

You knew you should ask what he meant, but right now you couldn’t care less about Michael’s mission. Taking a measured step forward, you gazed into his eyes and hoped he could hear you, no matter how deep he was buried.

“I love you too, Dean. More than you could ever know… And no matter what happens, none of this is your fault.”

Michael scoffed at your attempt before suddenly hunching over to stare at the ground. His expression quickly grew irritated and he shook his head as he rolled his shoulders back.

“So...very...pathetic,” he mumbled angrily.

“...Dean?”

He stood abruptly, jaw clenched and nostrils flaring as he closed the distance between the two of you. You watched as he curled his lip in disgust and placed two fingers on your forehead. When his pupils flash blue once again, your body went rigid as a warm energy spread from your head to your toes.

As he withdrew his hand, you breathed heavily and rolled your sleeves up to discover the wounds from your hunt had been healed. You glanced back at him with a puzzled expression and let out a small gasp when you noticed how drastically his demeanor had changed.

Instead of blank, dead eyes, you were met with tender emerald ones. He reached a hand out and lightly traced his fingertips along the edge of your jaw.

“Y/N…”

It was nothing more than a whisper; a silent plea for you to hear everything he didn’t have time to say. When the word escaped his lips, he drew his eyebrows together-- all of the raw emotion Michael had kept locked away painted clearly on his face. 

You understood completely, hearing it all in the way he said your name.

“I know, Dean. We’re gonna find a way to get you back. Just hold on.”

He cupped your cheek and a sad, longing smile graced his lips when you leaned into his touch. Without warning, his eyes flashed blue once more.

In the blink of an eye he was gone. 

Clenching the bag of food and beer in one hand, you wiped away a few stray tears and fished your phone from your pocket. After selecting a number from your favorite contacts, you began jogging toward the motel. The line rang several times before going to voicemail, but you quickly hung up and dialed again. 

Arriving at your room, you unlocked the door and began frantically packing your bag. You huffed in frustration when the call went to voicemail again but, on your third attempt, you finally heard Sam’s groggy voice.

“Hello?”

“Sam? It’s Y/N. So, get this--”

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#spndeanbingo challenge round 1 #dean winchester x reader #michael!dean x reader #dean x reader #dean winchester #dean winchester fanfiction #dean winchester fan fiction #dean winchester fanfic #dean winchester fan fic #dean winchester fics #dean winchester fic #supernatural #spn #michael!dean #supernatural reader insert #spn reader insert #dean winchester x y/n #dean x y/n #dean fic #dean fics #dean fanfic #dean fan fic #dean fanfiction #dean fan fiction #michael!dean fanfiction #michael!dean fan fiction #michael!dean fic #michael!dean fics #supernatural fanfiction #spn fanfiction

[artificialqueens]

Grow As We Go (Rosnali) - Athena2

Summary: Denali and Rosé face some ups and downs as they wait for their baby to be born.

A/N: This is another idea that came into my head and just had to be written. It’s pretty much all fluff, and I really hope you enjoy! Please leave some feedback if you like, I really appreciate it! Thank you to Writ for beta-ing!

Title from the song by Ben Platt.

Read on AO3.

“Can you look at it?” Rosé asks fearfully. “I just—maybe if you do it—“

“I got it.” Denali quickly rises off the bathroom floor and grabs the pregnancy test off the counter. She knows Rosé is hoping that if Denali looks at it first this time, it will bring good news. Not like the last two tries.

She resumes her position at Rosé’s side, leaning against the bathtub. Rosé’s legs are pulled up to her chest and she’s chewing her lip to shreds. Denali slides an arm around her shoulders.

“Whatever happens, it’s okay,” Denali says softly.

Rosé gives a stiff nod, squeezing her eyes shut so she can’t peek, and Denali turns the test over, the tiny thing like lead in her hand.

The world is silent except for Denali’s heart pounding in her chest. The air is thick with tension, the knowledge that once she reads what the test says, there’s no unreading it, no changing or undoing the information. Either Rosé is pregnant, or she’s not, and the whole world teeters on the edge of this stick. Denali doesn’t breathe as she stares at the test, trying to make sense of the pale blue lines—they really should’ve picked the test that just tells you if you’re pregnant or not—and matching it to the instructions on the box.

“Rosie,” she gasps, “Rosie, it’s positive!”

Green eyes fly open, not daring to hope just yet. “Are you sure? Should we do another?”

“I’m sure, baby.”

She opens her arms and pulls Rosé into them, everything full of hugs and kisses and excitement because they’re having a baby.

—

Rosé is really sick of starting each morning with her head in the toilet.

She always thought morning sickness was just something that popped up in pregnancy montages in movies, not something that would send her running to the bathroom every day, Denali trailing behind her to keep the hair off her face and rub her back.

Rosé groans as she releases her shaky grip on the sides of the toilet, leaning back and taking a glass of water from a worried Denali.

“Thank you.” Rosé sighs, grimacing at the bitter taste lingering in her mouth. “I’m sorry you have to start every day watching me puke my guts out.”

“Hey, we’re in this together, remember? A little vomit won’t scare me away.” Denali wipes sweat off Rosé’s forehead with a cold washcloth, and Rosé melts into the touch. “The doctor said the morning sickness should go away soon.”

“Fuck, I hope so.” She doesn’t want to complain, because she wanted this, knew she wanted to carry their baby. But she’s really sick of puking.

“I wish I could help you more,” Denali says wistfully. She keeps the washcloth in place, eyes scanning over Rosé’s face, searching for any signs of pain or anything wrong. The love Denali has for her warms Rosé’s heart, even if it’s a little strange to see her so cautious, so careful.

Denali’s no stranger to stress or anxiety or intense focus, to long hours perfecting everything she does. But she also has no trouble climbing on a pile of books, which are in turn piled on top of a chair, to change a lightbulb, or walking around with a self-bandaged broken toe, because ‘I’m at three months without an urgent care visit, Rosie, and why break the streak?’ She’s the reason their medicine cabinet is as well-stocked as a hospital supply closet, the reason ‘we can’t have nice things, Denali,’ after deciding that turning cartwheels was a valid way to test the size of their kitchen and knocking over a row of wine glasses.

Rosé’s the one who reaches for her soup recipe when Denali so much as sniffles, the one who insists on all the urgent care visits, just to be safe. A kind of nervous care she always has for Denali even if she herself is guilty of going to work when she should take a sick day, never wanting anything to stop her. The pregnancy has changed things, and now Denali takes notes at Rosé’s doctor’s appointments and looks at her in worry anytime Rosé has a cramp. Rosé’s just going to let herself be cared for, because there’s no one else she’d rather have care for her.

Rosé manages a smile, squeezing Denali’s hand. “You do help me. So, so much, Denali. Seriously, I don’t know what I’d do without you. I’m just being dramatic.”

Denali opens her mouth in mock surprise. “You being dramatic? I never would have guessed!”

Rosé swats at her gently.

“Really, though, you deserve to be dramatic. I mean, you’re carrying a baby, Rosie. Like, a little human.”

It feels special, to hear it like that. It’s been frustrating for Rosé to move slower than she normally does, to back out of their normal weekend shopping trips because she’s just so tired. Frustrating to feel so useless, barely able to help Denali make dinner without having to go to the bathroom every five minutes or take a break because her legs are sore. Part of her wants to push through, do the things she normally does. But she’s learning to give in, to let herself rest while Denali dotes on her, because it’s not just her anymore. She has a little human inside her.

Their little human.

“I love you,” Rosé says.

“I love you too.”

—

Rosé surveys the walls of the nursery, plotting out the arrangements for the jungle animal decals. Denali had painted the walls a soft pastel yellow last week while Rosé watched, because Denali was afraid of her being around the fumes. ‘I’m not gonna huff the paint, Denali, I just want to help,’ Rosé had insisted, because it wasn’t fair to make Denali do all the work, but she gave in and sat in the hallway without much of a fight. She’s always been cautious, and she can’t let anything happen to the baby.

Even if they’re getting the nursery ready, it still feels a little surreal, a little hard to believe that in a few more months, there’ll be a baby to fill it. Her belly is starting to grow, and she has to lean over it to kiss Denali on the cheek.

“We’re really doing this,” she whispers. There were moments after the negative tests when she thought they’d never get here, that the spare bedroom would forever be a spare bedroom, home to odds and ends and the occasional house guest. But now it’s really happening, and Rosé rests a hand on her stomach for proof.

“I know.” Denali leans her head on Rosé’s shoulder, and they stand there together, looking at the walls and picturing everything that will happen in this room. They’ll read to their baby here every night, each trying to outdo the other with ridiculous voices for the characters. They’ll play in here together, sprawled out on the rug laughing with joy. They’ll—

“Guess who’s here, bitches!” Jan’s voice booms down the hall, killing the moment.

The baby kicks, and Rosé rubs her stomach in sympathy. “Poor thing, not even born yet and Jan’s already giving you a headache.”

Denali thought it would be fun to invite their friends to help, but as Jan, Lagoona, Olivia, Utica, Symone, and Kahmora pack themselves into the nursery, the real fun is going to be seeing how many people they can possibly fit in here.

Olivia asks about a hundred questions; Utica gives long-winded answers to all of said questions; Jan and Lagoona argue about turning screws clockwise as they assemble the crib, the argument reaching its peak when Lagoona storms out of the room and comes back with the clock off the hallway wall to prove her point; Kahmora takes an hour to find a spot for one decal; and Symone is the only one who actually gets anything done, artfully arranging books and stuffed animals in a magazine-worthy spread.

When everyone finally leaves, the hall clock replaced and slightly crooked, Rosé and Denali sink to the floor of their baby’s room and let themselves dream.

—

Rosé’s sisters took their baby shower planning very seriously, and Denali’s eyes keep bouncing around the place, taking in the decorations and balloons and perfect dessert table with perfect pastel cupcakes and perfect pastel macaroons. They even got a freaking chocolate fountain.

Guests rush up to them, nearly trampling Denali in their hurry to kiss and hug Rosé and ask her all about the baby. Denali hangs off to the side, watching and hating the way everyone rubs their hand over Rosé’s baby bump without even asking her. Rosé would say yes anyway—she’s always craving touch and physical affection—but Denali still wishes they would ask. Wishes they wouldn’t treat Rosé like some novelty act, passing her around to each other to touch and commenting on how well she looks at this stage, like it’s any of their business, like her first priority should be how good she looks while seven months pregnant. Denali knows they mean well, but she hates it. And she hates how in public, people’s eyes go right to Rosé and blow past Denali, how often they ask Rosé where her husband is. Like Denali isn’t even there. Like the baby is Rosé’s only. She’s not jealous, not at all—especially not when every part of Rosé’s body aches, when her moods go up and down, when she’s exhausted but struggles to sleep. And Rosé is pregnant, after all—she deserves to have people fussing and fawning over her. But it’s like people don’t see Denali as part of this family, don’t see her as a mom, and it hurts especially now.

“Are you okay?” Rosé asks, and Denali’s heart melts. Even at her own baby shower, she’s still worried about Denali. “Did something make you upset, or uncomfortable?”

“I—“ She doesn’t want to do it here, in front of everyone, but part of her can’t hold back, can’t stop the feelings from running across her face, and Rosé notices, because she always notices.

“Hey, let’s go outside a second, okay? Get you some air?”

Denali nods numbly, letting Rosé lead her outside. The February air is cool on her face, and she didn’t know how hot she was until now.

“You don’t have to talk,” Rosé says gently, “but I’m here.”

She’s always here for Denali, and a rush of affection hits her. “It’s–you’re pregnant,” Denali blurts, every deep emotion betraying her with one of the most obvious statements of the century.

“Wow, really? I had no idea!” Rosé grins, rubbing her stomach, and it eases Denali’s tension, reminds her everything’s okay. “Did I do something?” Rosé asks, serious again.

“No, no!” Denali says quickly. “It’s not you at all.”

It’s not Rosé’s fault, and Denali won’t let her think it for a second. Rosé has been so good about it, always introducing Denali as her wife and telling everyone how excited they both are to be mothers. It’s not her fault she’s the one people direct all their questions to.

Denali takes a breath and continues. “It’s just … you’re pregnant. You’re the one having the baby, and sometimes people just–they make me feel like it’s your baby. Like I’m not part of it.”

Rosé nods intently, gaze turning sad as she listens. “I’m so sorry, Denali.”

Denali shrugs. “It’s fine. I’m not mad, it’s just … hard.” Part of regrets saying it, of putting this extra stress on Rosé when she’s dealing with enough, but another part of her is glad to have it out there, take the weight off her shoulders.

“Let me tell you something.” Rosé’s voice is firm now, and she takes Denali’s hands in a fierce grip. “This is our baby, Denali. Ours. You’re my wife. You’re the one holding my hair back when I puke and coming to all the doctor’s appointments and childbirth classes, and you’re the one who’s gonna be there for this baby and love them their whole life. Don’t ever think you’re not part of this, okay? You’re my wife, and I don’t care what anyone says, you’re our baby’s Mama.”

She lets Rosé hug her then, her arms fighting away all the doubts and fears she has, all the memories of peoples’ questions and stares.

“I love you, Rosie,” Denali breathes into Rosé’s neck. “You’re gonna be such an amazing mom. Seriously. I need to get my motivational speeches on your level,” she adds, pulling out of the hug with a smile.

Rosé grins too. “We’re both gonna be amazing, okay?”

Denali nods, and she believes it. She and Rosé have always balanced each other out perfectly, Denali getting Rosé to loosen up when she’s stressed, Rosé calming the chaos often brewing inside Denali. They could each be firm when the other needed encouragement, soft when they needed comfort. They can do this, and there’s no one else Denali would want to do it with. “Yeah, we are.”

“Good.” Rosé leans over and gives Denali a gentle forehead kiss. “Do you think anyone will notice if I take a cupcake from the dessert table? I really, really want one.”

Denali snorts, taking her hand. “Let’s go back inside, I’ll steal you all the cupcakes you want.”

—

Denali wakes slowly, blinking through the warm layers of sleep. Rosé is still sleeping beside her, and though Denali wants to surprise Rosé with pancakes in bed, she decides to wait. The back aches have been keeping Rosé up lately, Denali staying up with her watching home renovation shows and stroking her hair until she manages to drift off. She didn’t fall asleep until after 1am last night, and Denali wants her to get as much rest as she can.

They’re so close now. Just over a month away. Denali carefully pulls the blankets back up over Rosé, marveling at the swell of her belly. Pretty soon, they’re going to meet their baby, after all these months of waiting and the two tries before this. Denali remembers how awful those days were, how they had sat breathlessly on the bathroom floor, the pregnancy test shaking in Rosé’s hands as she looked at it. How she kept looking from the test to the box, checking and rechecking the results, how her face fell when she realized she hadn’t misread the negative result. The silence that came after, when Rosé couldn’t get the words out but Denali knew anyway. Rosé insisted she must have done something wrong somehow, her eyes filling with tears even though she never cried, and nothing Denali said could convince Rosé that it wasn’t her fault. But the worst part was that she wouldn’t let Denali wipe her tears for her, like she was afraid something was wrong with her and didn’t want Denali to catch that wrongness. Denali stayed at her side, watching Rosé sniffle and struggle to compose herself, until she finally slipped into her arms and let Denali hold her.

But that didn’t happen this time, Denali reminds herself now. She’s firmly in the present, watching Rosé sleep, red hair a tangled sprawl across her pillow. She’s so beautiful, even in her sleep, and Denali wonders if the baby will look like her, with red hair and green eyes and a wide smile. She’d love a little Rosie running around, she really would. But she wonders if the baby will get any of her too. They had picked a donor that they joked could’ve been Denali’s brother—dark hair, brown eyes, tanned skin, even dimples, for crying out loud. Will the baby have any of those traits, pieces of Denali even if Denali didn’t pass them on herself?

This is their baby, no matter how they look, and Denali can’t wait to teach them things, to share all the parts of herself. She wants to teach them to ride a bike, and ice skate, and make perfect chocolate chip cookies. She wants to help them find adventure and be brave and show kindness. She wants to give their baby all the love in the world, no matter what.

“I love you, baby,” she whispers to Rosé’s belly.

Denali stays in bed, cleaning out emails, until the mattress shifts and Rosé’s eyes flutter open, instantly searching for Denali and brightening when they see her.

“Morning, sleepyhead,” Denali teases.

Rosé gives a sleepy smile, snuggling deeper into her pillow and reaching her hands out for Denali to join her. It takes a lot of rearranging, with all the pillows Rosé’s been using to help her back, but they manage, cuddling close together and breathing each other in.

“Let’s have pancakes for breakfast,” Rosé says eagerly.

Denali smiles. “You read my mind.”

—

The first contraction comes like a lightning strike after they’ve put away the dinner dishes one Tuesday night, a bolt that shatters the fragile balance between pregnancy and birth, before and after, and shoves them toward the latter. They’re flying down the drop of a roller coaster after months of climbing to the top, and it’s more real than it’s ever been. Denali wants to panic, frozen at the whimpers Rosé is letting out, but her wife needs her. She pushes away her panic, grabs the bag they packed at the eight-month-mark, and squeezes Rosé’s hand as they head to the car.

She doesn’t let go until the nurses put a brown-haired, green-eyed baby girl in her arms.

—

It’s their first night home with Charlotte, and the air feels fragile. There’s no monitor to scream if anything goes wrong, no nurses just a moment away if they need something. They’re on their own now. On their own, but not alone. Because they have each other.

Rosé wanted to have the crib in their room, just for tonight, to soothe both their minds, and Denali agreed. This way they’re sure to hear her if she cries, and they’re only a half-step away. Rosé knows Charlotte will have to sleep in her room tomorrow, but for tonight, she’s here, and Rosé is perched on the edge of the bed, just watching her sleep. She’s absolutely perfect, with thick, dark hair like Denali and a tiny dimple in her chin like Rosé.

After everything, after all the tests and appointments and waiting, their baby is finally here, and she’s worth absolutely all of it.

“We should sleep, Rosie,” Denali says, sliding next to her.

“I know,” Rosé says. “I just–I just want to watch her a little longer.”

“A little longer,” Denali agrees, and she rests her head on Rosé’s shoulder as they marvel over their baby girl.

#rpdr fanfiction #denali foxx #rosé #rosnali #lesbian au #pregnancy au #fluff #athena2 #concrit welcome #tw vomiting #submission #s13

[sammystep]

No One Lives Forever- CH7

(AO3 link)

Stardust Crusader Wolf Pack AU

[From the beginning- CH1]

<Previous Chapter   Next Chapter>

It took Polnareff some time to cool off from the implications that the mysterious and frankly frightening man he met all those years ago was now behind some other shady business involving wolves, but by the time he reached the vehicles abandoned on the side of the road he was able to focus on the task at hand. Both were unlocked so it was easy to take a look inside the white van first. Opening the back door revealed the cargo area had been partitioned with metal cage sections like those in the backs of police cruisers.

Other gear was scattered around the back near the rear doors for easy access. Some more guns and ammo boxes and an overturned bin of the collar devices that they found on the bodies. Nothing really caught his eye but he took pictures on his phone for future reference. The keys were still in the ignition so he started up the vehicle and moved it off the main road to not draw unwanted attention.

It felt rude to go sniffing through your car, so after a brief look through the windows to confirm the hunters left no surprises, he opened the door and put it in neutral. With a few strong shoves he was able to rescue it from the shallow ditch it had been driven into. Your keys were also still in the ignition and luckily it started, but a few lights on the dash lit up- probably more internal damage than he first assumed from the crash. Driving slow and steady he was able to get it back to the cabin.

The slamming of the car door must have alerted the rest of the pack to his return, he saw Avdol peek through the window as he made his way to the door. Inside he was glad to see you moving about mostly unaided on your own, your wounds must be healing well thanks to Avdol’s expert care. Producing your car keys, he hands them over, “I was able to drive it back, but I don’t think it’s up for any longer distances without repairs. I thought you would want your things back though.”

You sigh as you realize you really are stuck with this pack, not that you mind them but the sudden loss of freedom is disheartening. You thank him as you take back your keys.

“Pol, did you find anything else? Any link to who sent them?” Jotaro asks as everyone stares intently at him, the rest of the pack must have already been brought up to speed on the situation.

“Just more of the same gear. I moved their van off the road so no nosey troopers get involved, at least not right now. Took some pictures of the inside in case you guys see anything I missed.” Polnareff hands over his phone to Jotaro who scrolls through the images before handing it to Avdol. Walking over to the table where the hunters’ things are still laid out Polnareff absently fiddles with the extra ammo before picking one up to examine more closely. “Hmm, that’s odd. There are no makers marks on this?”

“What do you mean?” Joseph scratches his beard as he holds one up as well.

“It’s weird that there’s no markings whatsoever. Silver bullets are always homemade but the quality of these, they look mass produced but have no manufacture marks.” Polnareff’s face is grim as he makes the connection.

“What does that mean? Is that unusual?” You ask as you try to understand the significance.

Jotaro sighs as Polnareff hands him the piece he was holding. “It means this group of hunters is experienced enough not to leave evidence linking to them. And their operation is probably much more complex and much bigger than the group we encountered here. The tech, the mass manufacture of silver ammo…”

“And the van was modified for prisoners.” Polnareff shakes his head and sighs.

“Polnareff, you said before you recognized the smell of one of the hunters.” Jotaro rolls his eyes as Joseph lets out a fake cough that sounds a lot like ‘DIO’. “Ignoring who it may or may not be for now, how do you know that scent?”

“I don’t know how else to describe it other than it smells like magic. It’s like nothing else I’ve ever smelled. There was only one person I’ve ever encountered that smelled like that.” Polnareff sits heavily in the nearest chair as the pack reconvenes at the table. “It was about five years ago now, before I met you Mr. Joestar. I was in New York City for the first time, trying to follow a lead on a case but having no luck. I heard rumors of a man who knew what had really happened to… in the case.” Polnareff gets a little choked up but controls himself and continues. “I was able to set up a meeting, but when I went to the spot, everything kind of… shifted? It felt like I was in a dream: it was hard to move, like weights on my feet. Everything looked just slightly wrong too, hazy like in a fog. I remember there was some sort of party going on, a lot of people everywhere like a medieval banquet or something. That’s where I met him. He introduced himself as Dio and I could tell he wasn’t human but couldn’t place what he actually was. He claimed he had the information I needed, but it would come at a price.”

“What do you mean by ‘investigation?” you tilt your head in confusion as you try to analyze his story so far.

“Ah, you wouldn’t know yet chérie but I’m one of the best private investigators in New York, probably the whole east coast!” Polnareff brags, jabbing his chest with his thumb.

“Focus Pol! What was his ‘price’?” Joseph groans out, exasperated with the younger man’s need to show off. “And why did you even need supernatural help? Not to inflate your ego any more than it is, but you are a good investigator.”

Polnareff looks down to the table, all sense of cheerfulness gone from his face. “The case had gone cold. It’s actually the reason I became a PI in the first place. My family, the whole town… they were murdered!” He slams his fists on the table as he shouts. “And not by just some maniac in the night! It was something inhuman! That’s the reason why I needed his help or whatever info he had on who did such a terrible act.”

You are frozen to your chair in shock with this new information. It seems to have taken the younger members of the pack by surprise too, Joseph and Avdol only nodding along in understanding. “The whole town murdered? You don’t mean…The one north of Quebec City, that was your home?” you say quietly.

Polnareff’s eyes shoot to yours, “Oui! Do you know of it?”

You swallow nervously as all the attention turns on you, “I heard of it, that was about seven or eight years ago right?” Polnareff nods and you continue, “That was about time I left my parent’s territory to try and find or start my own pack. They made me promise to not go that far north to Quebec, they were afraid whatever did that would get me too. They say the whole town was… torn apart.”

Polnareff hangs his head and you can see tears gather in his blue eyes. “Yes. It’s been years now but the pain… I wasn’t there when it happened, I was off in Quebec City partying while my family… When I got back, I was the one who found them. It wasn’t just a burglary gone bad or even ‘normal’ murder. Whatever killed them had used silver to do it. All of them, the whole town,” he chokes on his words trying to get the next ones out, “some of the bodies were eaten. Not by animals, by something almost human. I didn’t rest for days afterward. I swore I would hunt down the thing, the demon that did this to them. Unfortunately, I was not as good a tracker then as I am now, and the trail grew cold fast. So, I became a PI to try and keep looking and hone my skills.”

“That Dio guy, did he help at all? You said his help came at a price.” Jotaro directs the conversation back to the mysterious encounter.

“His price was too steep. He wanted information about other supernatural beings, to keep tabs and report to him directly.”

“Do you think he really did have the information though?” Kakyoin questions as he steeples his fingers together in front of him while he considers the information of Polnareff’s story.

Polnareff shakes his head, “It’s impossible to know now. He was so confident, about everything. I think I surprised him when I refused though. For a moment, it was like I saw his true face through the fog, he was suddenly terrifying and not at all charming. But I figured if he knew something, with all the people he had surrounded himself with someone else was bound to know as well. Whatever secret knowledge he had, it wouldn’t be secret for long. And why pay such a price for something that I could get for free later?”

“Did you ever find out his secret?” Avdol leans in as he asks, enraptured by Polnareff’s tale.

“Non, I don’t even remember leaving the place he brought me to. The next thing I remember after turning down his offer is, I suddenly found myself sitting in my car ready to head back to my motel.” He clasps his hands together and you can see his knuckles turn white from the tension. “I tried to find him again to, I don’t know… stop him? His intentions for the info on other creatures… It couldn’t have been good. And the slip of his façade I saw. The man, that creature is bad news. But he might have well been a ghost. I haven’t seen hide nor hair of him since.”

Polnareff turns to you, “A few years later I got hired by Mr. Joestar to keep an eye on a shady landlord working for him, and I guess the rest is history.” He shakes his head, “Who would have thought joining your pack would lead back to Dio again. Non- this is fate.”

Avdol gives Polnareff a pat on the shoulder before turning to Joseph. “Mr. Joestar, I think you should tell us what you know about Dio, or at least the person you know as Dio. I think it’s time the younger ones hear this.” Avdol says as he leans back in his chair and crosses his arms.

Joseph nods and runs his hand through his hair before he begins, “Right. Ahh, well,” he pauses to gather his thoughts for a second, “I know this is going to sound crazy but I guess there is no way around it. When I was young, I lived with my granny Erina, my parents were either dead or missing and her husband Jonathan had been dead since before my father was even born. Now’s not the time to get into the details of that but Granny used to tell me all kinds of stories from when Jonathan was alive. And most importantly- the majority of them involved an evil man named DIO! My grandfather’s adopted brother!” Joseph doesn’t control his volume in his excitement and ends up shouting his last sentence.

“Being an adopted son in a werewolf pack was strange enough, but Granny could tell there was something ‘other’ about Dio as well. Then one night, his schemes and plans finally came to fruition! There was a massive fight at the house, Granny said Jonathan would not speak of it except that his father George had died saving him from Dio’s magic and in the fight the manor was set on fire and burned down. Jonathan made it his life’s mission to find and destroy Dio, not for revenge but for the safety of England and the world!” Joseph turns his attention to look directly at Jotaro, “Dio was a changeling child. His actions confirmed it that night. He was one of the last remaining Fae on earth. And apparently not of the good and benevolent kind. So, you see why it could be possible that this man may be the same one my grandpa tried to destroy more than a hundred years ago.”

“That… that’s impossible! The Fae, they all disappeared long before that to Avalon.” Kakyoin is wide eyed as he tries to process the information. “I know some humans still believe in them, but…”

“I know! I know! I thought they were just stories from my granny too!” Joseph exclaims and puts his hand to his eyes, “But one time… I don’t think I was supposed to see it, but I found an old photo album. There was a family photo of my grandfather, his father, and Dio.” He turns to Polnareff, “Pol, the man you met. Did he have blond hair, angry eyes and three moles on his left ear?”

It’s Polnareff’s turn to go pale as he slowly nods.

Jotaro growls as he tilts his hat to hide his eyes before snapping his head up to face the pack. “As impossible as this all sounds, it doesn’t change the fact that someone is hunting down wolves. I don’t give a shit if it is Dio or not, or an extinct Fae or not. We are going to put an end to this.” He looks around the table for a second and you can tell his eyes linger on yours longer than the others. “If anyone has an objection to this say it now. There will be no opportunity later.”

Joseph slams his hand to the table palm down, “I’m in! lets show this bastard who he’s messing with!”

Joseph’s enthusiasm is contagious and you and Polnareff slam your hands to the table as well, surprising the group with the fire they can see burning in your eyes. “Hell yeah! They think they can just take me? No way! I’m going to help tear this guy to pieces! I’m with you all the way!” You say as you look directly at Jotaro. You’re not sure but you think that’s a look of pride on his face as you make your declaration.

Avdol and Kakyoin keep their cool but you can see the determination in their eyes as they nod and place their hands on the table as well. Joseph is grinning like a feral maniac and you suddenly believe his stories about saving the world with how excited he looks to do it all over again. “Then it’s settled! I’ll call Caesar and let him know to gather the Zeppeli pack too.” Joseph pauses as he stands and looks at you, “Oh, and (Y/N)?” you tilt your head at him to continue. “Welcome to the Joestar pack.”

 <Previous Chapter  Next Chapter>

Author’s Note:

Sorry for the slow update! Guess who’s not good at regulating her personal time? This gal! I had to change up the process of how I’m writing this cause just trying to type on my computer had too many distractions and next thing I know I’ve been playing Stardew Valley for  3 hours.

Anyway, I have a favor to ask- I need a name for one of the dead bad guys. So leave a comment with a first name for the guy from Jersey, can be a bad ex, terrible boss, friend you want to embarrass by getting their name in a fanfic (first names only please- no doxing!)

#jotaro x y/n #jotaro x reader #jotaro kujo #joseph joestar #jjba polnareff #noriaki kakyoin #muhammad avdol #jojo part 3 fiction #stardust crusaders #jjba fanfic #werewolf #family pack #pack dynamics #fanfic #jjba au

[wowtobio]

Can I request a Kageyama scenario in where he feels like he dosen't deserve his girlfriend. He feels like she deserves better because she's really sweet and kind (he dosen't want to break up with her, he just feels like he's a horrible boyfriend). But then his girlfriend cheers him up and tells him that she loves him for being himself (slight angst with extra fluff) Thank you!

Kageyama feels like he does not deserve his s/o

oo this is such a cool idea, thank you! enjoyy, sorry it turned out so bad ;;;

warnings: fluff, slight angst 

-

Your beautiful, dazzling smile that lights up the whole world. The way your big, (e/c) eyes sparkle at the sight of him. And to match with it your sweet, caring personality that stood out from within. 

You were absolutely perfect

He deemed you to be. Kageyama Tobio has been dating the girl of his dreams, you for about a few months now. 

So, why? Why does he feel unhappier than usual? Why does he feel insignificant upon your presence? Why would you end up with him of all people? He would ask himself these questions endlessly when he thought about you.

He realized that awhile ago he felt that he could never live up to your amazing self no matter how hard he told himself it did not matter. Kageyama believed you deserved someone who could make you smile genuinely, always feel happy, and care for you as much as you did him. 

For the life of him he can barely smile towards others without scaring them. His intimidating, dark aura he accidentally gives off is polar opposite to the warm, sunshiney presence you emit. And for that he can’t help the guilt that crawls his mind and aches away at his insides when he imagines you, better off with someone else. 

On dates, you know he’s trying his hardest but there are times where he’s too stubborn or flustered to show his true emotions and affection towards you. And he wishes you could have someone who could actually express with ease what he normally can’t towards you. 

His convincing has proven successful as of lately he tended to cancel dates on days where he’s usually free stating he has more practice. He would avoid you in the halls and even during lunch sometimes. When you would catch some time with him, he was even more passive and was adamant about wanting to be left alone, which you respected. However, after a week of this you’ve had enough and went to Hinata to rant to him.

“I just don’t get it Hinata! He won’t even look me in the eye anymore..” You puffed out, taking a sip out of your juice box. 

“Ehh, yeah that is weird for Kageyama..” Hinata ponders.

“I know right! I guess with all the extra practice he’s been more tired lately? I dunno..” You said mostly to yourself. Hinata’s ears perk up.

“Extra practice? What do you mean (l/n)-san?” You eyed Hinata oddly.

“Haven’t you guys had more practice lately? Like on days where you normally don’t?” Your face went pale after what came out of the bright-haired colored boy’s mouth.

“Nope! In fact whenever I do pass by the gym we practice in on free days no one’s typically there.” You gasped. Kageyama lied to you? You feel your eyes water feeling a strange mixture of betrayal yet confusion. 

“What did I do wrong? I don’t understand.” You sighed, wiping the corner of your eyes.

“Hmm.. I don’t think it’s you (l/n)-san” You perk up at his words, “I just think that Kageyama’s mind is playing tricks on him again. Yah know, sometimes I wonder what’s going on in that scary head of his” Hinata concludes this by taking a huge chomp of his onigiri. 

“Yeah..” You say almost dreamily,

“.. me too” 

timeskip

“KAGEYAMA TOBIO!” You yelped on the way home, catching blueberry off guard as you practically tackled him. 

“O-oi what are you doin-” You cut him off

“I caught you Tobio!!” Giggles escaped your mouth as he shrugged you off and looked to the side while facing his body towards you. A sad smile dances on your face

“You’re not looking at me again Tobio, what’s wrong?” His slanted eyes grew a bit bigger as he makes eye contact with you for the first time in what feels like forever and you let out a breath of relief knowing the boy still knows you exist. 

“It’s.. it’s nothing don’t worry.” He bluntly forces out. You frown.

“Stop lying to me, about practice and definitely not this.” 

Kageyama didn’t visibly react, but on the inside he was panicking and trying to rack his brain of an excuse to spit out. Nothing came out, just him staring into your eyes. Yours stared back, swirling around within his dark, raven ones begging to seek an answer, curious for what was hidden behind. 

“I just don’t understand why you’re here.” The light breeze passes through, lightly ruffling your skirt and hair, same with his uniform. The glare from the peeking sun as it sets gives off a gorgeous orange shade that decorated your features and heightened them. He couldn’t help but admire you as you breathlessly say

“Because I miss you” 

No words exchanged, the scene unfolds as much as his arms around you tightly. You smile, feeling content with him and his warmth. Burying his face into your shoulder, silence envelops the two of you.

This happened two days ago, Kageyama packs his belongings and sending a quick text message. 

Us human beings, we often seek validation from others too often. We are so used to depending our own self esteem and our values on other people to deem whether we’re worthy or not. At the end of the day, one must realize you live as you and you are the only one who can hear your thoughts, know your feelings, and change who you are. 

Kageyama has realized this. He should’ve way before he found himself in front of your doorstep, engulfing you into welcome arms. Lips meeting yours  immediately after. As he revels in the moment of your soft lips garnering only love and affection for him, he feels happy with not only himself but being with you. 

And he plans to have it that way for awhile. 

-

#kageyama #kageyama x reader #kageyama fluff #angst #haikyuu!! #haikyuu scenarios #haikyuu headcanons #haikyuu #haikyu #fluff #kageyama angst #haikyuu angst #anime #haikyuu scenario #scenarios #hq #hq s4 #hq kageyama

[kiribaku-queen]

Home [3/10]

Pairing: Bakugou x reader, Kirishima x reader

Fluff, angst, werewolf!au

Word count: 2.9k

Warning: cursing, makeout session

A/N: let me know if you want to be tagged in the next part! I will try to update this once every week. I’m just working so much that I barely have free time to write but if you guys are enjoying this so far, let me know!

Summary: Being called the beauty of the clan isn’t as nice as it sounds. The beauty of the clan is supposed to exude confidence, power, and well, beauty. You were quite the opposite, only possessing one of those traits. Yet, the older you got, the more you fit into the role you were given. After your brother and all the boys of age come back from their training period, it was time to find a mate. But who will steal your heart? Is it Bakugou, the rising leader of the pack, or is it Kirishima, the personal guard and the strongest in the pack?

[1] [2] [3] [4] [5] [6] [7] [8] [9] [10]

“What the hell do you mean fiancée?” Bakugou questioned, not giving a care in the world who this girl was in front of him. He then swung his arm around your shoulder, bringing you in close. “Last time I checked, we already discussed who was to be my mate before I left.” His frown getting deeper and deeper, his grip on your shoulder tightened. His father didn’t seem fazed by the aggressive behavior his son was giving.

“Let’s discuss this inside,” his father redirected the conversation and motioned for them to move indoors but Bakugou didn’t move.

“We can talk. Now.” Bakugou was speaking through his teeth. A vein popped on the side of his face, indicating that he was beyond pissed now. You? All you could do was stare at Uraraka with hurt and disbelief written all over your face. She, on the other hand, refused to look at you. You could tell by the way she continued to look at the ground. Bakugou’s father cleared his throat and put his hands behind his back.

“A lot happened when you were gone,” he started out. “No shit.” Bakugou remarked.

“Our pack is getting weaker by the day and I was running out of options. The opportunity came by and the only way for our pack to get stronger is to merge with another. But both packs needed something that could connect us together and…”

“…and you needed me to be that connection?”

“Precisely,” Bakugou’s father didn’t hesitate to say. No matter what the reason was, you can’t go against the clan leader, even if you are his son. But no matter how much Bakugou thought about it, it wasn’t fair. To him or you. He didn’t wait 2 years for you to come back to this being his only outcome. How could they even come to this conclusion without discussing it first? There had to be other ways besides marriage.

“You don’t think I know how weak we got? Do you even know how hard I trained just so that I could lead this pack? I can bring us back to how it was before! If you just give me a few years, we can-”

“When will you understand that you will not be enough!” his father shouted, causing everyone to be silent. Bakugou’s voice got caught in his throat as he looked away from his father. He wanted to retaliate but what could he say? Before his father could continue, Bakugou took your hand and ran. He didn’t know where he was going. All he knew is that he had to get out of there. With you. As long as you were with him at that moment, that’s what all that mattered. Mid run, he pulled you on his back as he transformed into his wolf form. His blonde fur was rough against your skin at first touch, much like his personality when you first meet him. But as you dug your fingers deeper into his fur, it’s as soft as a blanket which comforts you. You were surprised by his sudden actions but you knew his frustration. He tends to do this whenever he faces a problem: walk away. Instead of fighting more, he needed to walk away from the situation just to clear his head. You gripped onto Bakugou’s fur and laid on top of him while he takes you who knows where.

When he finally stops, he lets you off gently despite the pent of frustration and anger he has been holding. You look around and smile softly. It’s the same river from when you two first met. Man, did this site bring back so many memories. But that hurt your heart even more knowing that that could all be over because of this marriage. You turn to Bakugou, seeing him pace around in circles. You know trying to intervene right now would end up badly, so you let him pace around like that until he cools down. In the meantime, you laid down in the shade, under the tree and took a deep breath. You needed to clear your head as well. Too many things were happening at a time and you just needed time to slow down right now. You felt Bakugou walk up behind you and he laid down right next to you, his muzzle snuggling into your neck. You laughed a bit and pet his fur, nuzzling him right back. He slowly transformed back into his human form, his whole body leaning over yours. For a moment, he didn’t say a word. He just looked deep into your eyes like if he looked away for just one second, you would disappear like a dream. You could only look back with sympathetic eyes and your hand came into contact with his cheek. This made him relax into your hand. He took your hand in his and kissed the palm of your hand.

“You know I only want to be with your right?” Bakugou says, giving you the softest eyes. You smiled back.

“I know,” you softly whispered. “What are we going to do?” Bakugou groans and rolls off you. When his back lands on the grass, he hides his eyes with his arm.

“I don’t fucking know,” he lets out a frustrated sigh. “This is not how I was imagining my time back. I just wanted to come home, eat some hella good food, and make out with you until we fall asleep. Not this fucking shit! What the hell do arranged marriages even exist?! We don’t live in the shitty 1800s anymore.” He rolled back on top of you, pulling you in closer and rested his head in the crevasse of your neck once again. You honestly didn’t know what to say. Did you want to convince him to take part of the marriage to benefit the entire pack? Or be selfish and tell him to only be with you?

“Oi, were you listening?” your eyes snapped back towards Bakugou and he was staring down at you intently, a frown appeared on his face.

“Sorry,” You sheepishly smile at him, embarrassed you were daydreaming, “it’s just… everything is happening so fast. You come home and all of a suddenly your engaged? My feelings are just so confused right now,” you admit.

“Then tell me,”

“What?” you questioned.

“Tell me not to marry her. If you don’t want me to marry her, I won’t. We’ll run away together. We can start a family and-” he started to ramble on as he was getting desperate but you stopped him. No matter how much you desperately wanted him to stay by your side, you knew that it was his duty and his responsibility to the pack to protect them at all costs. If you were just going to ruin that just because you wanted him for yourself, then what kind of person were you?

“Bakugou, I think you should do what’s right,” you said without trying to put your own opinions on him. “What is your heart telling you?”

“My heart is saying that I want to be with you.” He said determined.

“I want to be with you too, but… do you want to risk your position as alpha just to be with me? You trained for this all your life. And you’re almost there! I wish there was another way but there isn’t,” you said, dejected.

“Let me mark you,” he said suddenly. A rush of pink went to your cheeks and you suddenly felt really hot.

“W-w-w-what?!”

“If I mark you, we are mates forever. Doesn’t matter if I’m married to someone else or not. Think about it! That’s the only way!” Bakugou was getting excited with just the thought. You, on the other hand, was just getting embarrassed. It’s true that getting marked by someone means you are theirs forever, but getting marked is such an intimate move. How would he mark you if you guys haven’t even had sex yet? Upon seeing your reaction, he knew that you didn’t feel the same. “Is that not what you want?”

“It’s not that! It’s just, it’s so sudden and I’m not ready…” you said shyly, refusing to look directly at him. Bakugou can be really hot tempered sometimes, but when it comes to you, he was always understanding.

“Fuck, sorry. I just… I don’t want to marry someone that’s not you,”

“But if it’s for your people then…” you didn’t dare finish that sentence because if you did, then you felt like you would be letting him go forever. And waterworks would be falling out of your eyes like there’s no tomorrow.

“Fine. I’ll only do it to make the pack stronger. But that doesn’t mean that my feelings for you are going to go away that easily.” Bakugou was upset that you were giving up so easily, but given the situation, he was trying his best to understand where you were coming from. And knowing you, you already looked like you would crying any minute so dragging out this conversation anymore would only make you a mess. He took a minute to look over your features. He loved the way your eyes would disappear when you were completely happy. Or when your brows furrowed when you are either really concentrated on something or when you’re sleeping, it always fascinated him. Or the way your smile brightens his day and can lift any bad mood off his shoulders. Or even when you frown. No matter how upset you were at him, he always found your pout to be cute and he would always have to stop himself from pinching your cute, chubby cheeks until they were red from his grip. But he couldn’t stop staring at your lips. How they were always so soft to the touch. He found himself leaning in until his lips were right on top of yours, slowly leading from a few, passionate kisses to a hungry and steamy make out session. Both of your scents mingled together was intoxicating, only making you guys want each other more. Bakugou’s hands reached your hips and every time your tongues danced against each other, he would tighten his grip to stop himself from moaning. Your finger found its way to his soft, blonde locks, pulling him deeper into the kiss. Unlike Bakugou, whenever he grinded into you or bit your lower lip, you would help but give a small moan. Bakugou would growl in response and flipped your around so that you were straddling his lap. He continues to attack your lips with his as one of his hands slowly creeps up from your hips to caress the curves of your body. When he reaches the back of your head, he takes a handful of hair, gripping at the base which causes your head to fall back a bit, leaving your neck exposed. Bakugou took the chance to slowly kiss from your mouth to your neck, leaving a trail of saliva behind. God, how he wanted to just attack and abuse your neck right now to show everyone that you were his, but he knew when to hold back. Instead, he gently sucked on your skin, enough to build pleasure but not enough to leave a mark.  Before anything steamier could happen, your stomach growled at the wrong moment. You pulled away embarrassed but made Bakugou chuckle.

“Let’s get you home, princess.”

As much as you wanted him to stay, Bakugou didn’t stay for dinner. He didn’t want to impose on the welcome back dinner your parents had made for Sero’s return. And he knew he had to face his father sometime soon. He was going to get even more crap after what he just did earlier. So he took you home, leaving a kiss goodbye before returning back to his place. As soon as he left, you could feel a weight press heavy on your heart. You didn’t technically break up, but it sure felt like it. Even though his heart was with you, he was going to marry someone else. Your friend at that. You bit your lip to prevent the tears already streaming down your face. The feeling of sadness was overtaking your body. The emotion was too overwhelming, you could feel the dark shadow forming behind you, whispering nothing but bad in your ears. The more you hear your shadow talking, the more upset you felt and wondering if they were right.

“Fuck, (y/n),” you could barely hear someone say. The voice of your shadow was taking control of your senses, almost putting you in a daze. A pair of strong hands took hold of your shoulders, gently shaking you. “(y/n), you’re okay. Come back to me,” he said. As soon as one of his hands cupped the side of your face, you snapped out of your daze. Tears were running down your face as you looked at who was in front of you.

“Eiji…” you could barely speak. “What happened?”

“It happened again,” he explained, wiping the tears away. You groaned and grabbed your head. No wonder you feel exhausted and have a headache. You haven’t had one of these episodes in a long time. You cursed at yourself for losing control and letting it take over your body. Whenever you get extremely sad or angry, your quirk activates. Black ghost, you called it. The black ghost would appear out of your body and would act as your subconscious. But because it only activated when you were upset or angry, your subconscious thoughts were always negative which was a danger to you. Your family, especially your older brother, tried so hard to look after you and keep you happy so that your quirk never activates. And even if it does, they are there to stop it. But after being friends with Kirishima and Bakugou for so long, they eventually found out about it and also intervene with your quirk acts up. Kirishima is the one who catches it the most out of everybody so he knows exactly what to do in situations like these, even if they are rare.

“Fuck,” you cry into your hands. You couldn’t believe you were so weak to let this happen. Kirishima could feel his heart break at the site of you break down. Without thinking, he pulled you into a crushing hug, enveloping you in his arms. With how much stronger he’s gotten and how bigger he was, you’d think his embrace would be uncomfortable. But his hugs were just as comforting as before. “I’m sorry you had to see that.”

“Don’t be sorry. A lot happened. Let’s just calm down first, okay?” Kirishima pulled away and got eye level with you. You were breathing pretty heavily but all Kirishima could do was sit by your side. The more he observed you, the more he noticed how much more beautiful you had gotten. But he couldn’t admire your full beauty when your hair was in your face. He couldn’t help but move a strand of hair away from your face and tuck in behind your ear. You looked up at him and was surprised by how close he was. You were surprised yet you didn’t move away.

“Thank you, Eiji,” you thanked him, leaning your face forward so that your foreheads were touching. You’ve been doing this ever since you’ve met him, but this little action made his heart leap. One minute, his heart was aching but now you made his heart skip a beat? Man, what were you doing to him?

“All good now? Did that stupid ghost finally stop bothering you?” he joked. You laughed at his comment, although your energy was still diminished.

“She’s gone now, thanks to you,”

“Good. If she wasn’t gone within the next 2 seconds, I would have strangled her to death using my new, super manly moves I learned during training,” he tried to brag. His words were harsh, yet joking but his tone was still soft. After a few minutes of resting to recover a bit of your energy, you could finally stand. You didn’t need assistance but Kirishima insisted, afraid that you would collapse again if he wasn’t there to hold you up.

“Thank you again, Eiji. What are you doing here anyway?” you questioned. It was odd, you were having an episode and Kirishima happened to be here at the right time? Shouldn’t he be with Bakugou since he is his personal guard? Last time you checked, personal guards were supposed to be with their person at all times.

“I came to check up on you. Bakugou’s orders,” he explained. You nodded your head. He was probably busy fighting with his father so he made Kirishima go on an errand.

“Ah, so you didn’t come check up on me because you were worried for me as a friend? But as an order? I see…” you trailed off, jokingly seeming like you were disappointed. This caused Kirishima to panic which only made you chuckle at his response. Your stomach growled once again and only then did you realize how hungry you were.

“Looks like you better go inside and eat up. I know you’ll be much happier when you have a full stomach,” Kirishima pet your head. “Whether or not it was my job to come check on you, I still would have done it because I’m worried about you as your friend.” That last word was hard to say for him.

“Thank you, anyway. Then I’ll get going?” Kirishima nodded and you headed towards the front door of your house. When he saw you open the door, he turned and walked back to Bakugou’s house. Unexpectedly, you turned around and called out his name. He swiftly turned around, surprised and confused. 

“Would you like to join for dinner?”

Tagged: @superblyspeedydragon @goodpop9

#bakugou x reader #kirishima x reader #bnha bakugou katsuki #bnha kirishima eijirou #katsuki bakugou #kirishima eijirou #bakugou imagine #kirishima imagine #bnha imagines #my hero academia #boku no hero academia

[dumbdotcomm]

lessons in opposites

(a/n) a commission for my pal @fanfic-inator795! enjoy some raph and donnie bonding !

It’s not that Raph really prefers one brother over the other; he’s been blessed with three great brothers and one fantastic sister and Raphael is grateful every day, as sure as he’s got life and breath in him, he’s so grateful that he’s not alone. 

April asks, just for laughs, for a silly documentary on their Lair Games, if Raph had a favorite brother; and off the bat, on instinct, he wants to deny that he does. He loves them all. But then he blurts out Mikey’s name without thinking and then things start to shift, and Raph starts to wonder if he’s a terrible brother for that.

“It’s not a big deal, Raph,” Donnie says, after having seen the clips of how little faith his brothers had in his athleticism, and that one little clip of Raph easily admitting Mikey was his favorite, followed up by Leo, “It’s just a joke…”

But he says it in the way that’s pinched and just a little forced like he does when he takes hard hits and bad falls and just wants to laugh it off because he’s fine. 

Raph swallows, nods, presses a smile that feigns belief in Donnie’s words, but he can’t stop glancing over at his brother’s face the whole rest of the time they watch April’s (incredibly edited) documentary film. 

His brother keeps his eyes downcast and does that thing where he wrings his hands till they get weirdly slick with this mucusy stuff. 

Like when he’s hurt and holding back. 

And Raph makes a silent promise, then, that he’ll definitely make it up to his brother.

---

Life has a funny way of just screwing plans and promises over. Raph trains extra with his father on early mornings, learning to think, to focus, to get his fears under control. Donnie locks himself into work by the time training is over, and then they go patrol and watch something on Netflix and then the day is spent and it’s 4am. 

So it’s not exactly intentional, the way their paths just don’t cross long enough for Raph to really get the chance to make it up to Donnie. But it’s still shitty and Raph knows there’s something he can do- he has to. 

And so he googles a bunch of stuff going on in Manhattan, something that wouldn’t be so obviously intended on compensating for basically saying Don is his least favorite brother. Something Donnie won’t suspect, because if he did- 

“If you asking me is a way of ‘reparations’ for the Lair Games documentary, Raph…”

“It’s not-” Raph raises his arms in innocence, and crosses over his plastron, “Turtle’s honor, Donnie. ‘S just the guys...they’ll be all ‘that’s lame’, and you…”

“Wouldn’t think a teddy bear world is lame?” Donnie quirks his perfectly drawn brow and cocks his head a little at Raph.

This is going abysmally, but not quite in a way that wasn’t expected. Raph bites his own tongue from just spilling his intentions heartfeltly- because he can’t scare his brother off right now. He’s gotta play it cool. 

“Uhhh, I mean, I-”

“Because you’d be pretty accurate,” Donnie interjects, and despite his voice remaining flat, his lips curve into a ghost of a smile, and Raph’s heart stops pounding so hard, “I was wondering when you would finally ask one of us, ugh a dream come true.”

Raph genuinely cannot tell if Donnie is being sarcastic, though roughly fifteen years of training has at least let him gather, from that weird way his brother’s eyes got super overbright when he was excited, that Donnie really, like super straight up, means it. 

“Wow…. well, aight then,” Raph laughs with his words, still not believing how easy it was to simply…ask to spend time with his brother, “Just pick a disguise and we good!”

“Yup, normal disguise. Friday it ‘tis,” Donnie returns the laugh, a touch awkward, before taking his sandwich back to his lab. 

And the slightly manic look that Raph catches in his brother, just as he slips from view, makes a lot of little pieces in Raph’s head come together, like a little, horrifying jigsaw puzzle.

Because Raph has been blessed with having Donnie as a brother for fourteen years, he knows a terrible plan forming when he sees one. 

-----

Donnie takes pride in his intellect, like not in a super cocky way, he’s just glad he’s been gifted with the ability to make a pea shooter in one afternoon that also has the capability to laser off a bastard’s face. 

Still he’s not too prideful to admit that he’s sometimes stupid as hell, in the emotional department, and social department. And while that’s not exactly ideal, Donnie’s got four pretty incredible siblings to lean on for that and so he doesn’t really complain about the impossibility of picking up social cues. 

But sometimes, like when his older brother is standing across from him uncomfortably stiff, babbling on about Teddy Bear Town- well sometimes Donnie kinda wishes he did get it. 

It’s only until he’s stacking his third layer of his sandwich that Donnie really understands what this is all about. Because Raph’s got his ‘I’m nervously trying to make it up to you’ stink, and then Donnie remembers the documentary, and Raph’s commentary, and the really…awful way Donnie pretended not to feel afterwards. 

He doesn’t want Raph to pity invite him, he doesn’t need that. And Donnie’s gonna make sure his brother knows he’s fine- he’s chill and and he’s okay with potentially being Raph’s least favorite. 

So he’s supposed to respond to Raph nonchalantly, to just go with Raph and be cool about it but- 

“Shelldon, download all the info you can find on Teddy Town…”

-----

“Rise and shine, bud!” 

Donnie must’ve drank four extra shots of espresso to be this hype this early, and Raph grips the steering wheel of the Turtle Tank a little harder to try and not smell so nervous. Because there’s no way Donnie could have actually known what Raph’s intentions were, like he had to have just thought that this was a normal thing, and not a ‘I’m so sorry I made you feel less than appreciated, please forgive me’ type of thing. 

And Donnie is definitely onto something, even if he’s not onto Raph. He’s just got that glint in his eyes, and Raph feels just a little bit selfish for wanting this to be a normal day- for his brother to  just be-

“Uh...thanks for taggin’ along,” Raph doesn’t intentionally cut Donnie off, but his brother’s talking a mile a minute about the history of Teddy Bear Town and Raph knows that he’s only doing it because he feels he has to. 

Donnie stops himself, blinks, and puts his hands in the pockets of his hoodie, “It’s no big deal…” he says, in complete contrary to his hyperactive Ted Talk, “Being benched for a sprained ankle was shit, needed to get out anyway…”

He glances over at Raph and looks instantly, incredibly smaller. 

Raph thumbs the steering wheel, drumming against it in thought, in a search for words. 

He doesn’t have to do this kinda stuff with Mikey, and Leo never shuts up- and Donnie is just…

“Bluetooth, connect to my phone,” Donnie says abruptly, before Raph even gets the chance to think of something to say. 

And they stay quiet, listening to music the whole way there.

------

Things feel significantly less awkward in the bigger crowd. Raph is grateful for all the noise and movement that he can shift his focus on, instead of the downcast way Donnie’s been carrying himself since halfway through their ride over here. 

And Raph’s always kinda felt his younger brother had a tough time expressing himself- that they were different that way. That Raph carried his heart on his sleeve and that his brother didn’t. But now he’s starting to see that maybe he’s got some things twisted. That he and Donnie are a lot more alike in these things than Raph thought. 

“Stay close,” he tells his brother, because as aloof as humans are, they’re still humans, and they don’t always accept what’s different.

Raph remembers telling Donnie that, when they first met April, when Donnie surprisingly was the first to reach out and grab her little hand and compare it to his. And Donnie had looked at him weird, and yeah, well humans aren’t the only ones that don’t understand ‘different’. 

The memory hits Raph so suddenly, and almost makes him miss a step. 

He turns to find Donnie staring at him, which must mean Donnie noticed, because of course he did.

And Raph stares back because oh. Holy shit. 

“Uh…” Donnie glances around awkwardly, “Raph, you’re giving off a weird...vibe right now. You good-”

“Can we talk?” Raph blurts out, and surveys their surroundings, for a place to dip, “Like real quick?” 

Donnie looks like he wants to bolt now, which would be ideal in the packed hallway of the mall. But he doesn’t. He just swallows and darts his eyes and nods.

Sure. 

Pros to being trained ninjas is the ability to disappear quickly, and they find a quiet, tucked away spot where Raph finally lets himself breathe. 

“You’re different,” he says it quickly and rushed and Donnie’s eyes briefly widen in some sort of surprise, but Raph presses on despite his sloppy start, “You….you think different, you think, like, way smarter than us, an’ you make different jokes and express differently an’ that doesn’t. It’s not bad, Donnie.” 

His brother keeps his eyes to the ground, kicking gently at nothing, “I don’t care that you said I’m your least favorite, Raph,” he mumbles. 

“But you do,” Raph counters back, and keeps his voice leveled, tries not to talk to Donnie too softly or else he’d feel babied, “And that’s normal, and I wish I could say that what I said wasn’t...I dunno, like a…”

“Reflection of how you feel?” Donnie poses, but his words aren’t angry, even if Raph feels his brother’s got full rights to be.

He sighs, deflating a little, “Yeah...yeah, I guess it’s that. But not because I think...it’s because I get really...weirdly insecure man. You’re a freaking genuis and I know you never try an’ make us feel dumb, but- and then we’re both super bad at words and I just… I dunno Dee.”

Raph takes the extra step to go close the distance between him and Donnie, and Donnie stiffens up- at first, for just a couple of seconds, “But I love you, ‘cause you’re an awesome person, and ya not my least favorite. You’re not. And ya don’t gotta pretend you’re cool with everything.”

Donnie pulls back, a dorky smile on his face, which is infinitely better than the sad way he looked earlier, even better than the way he pretended like everything was good and it wasn’t.

“You don’t have to pretend either,” Donnie says, unlocking their eye contact, and staring back at his feet, “I know you were trying to...to make it up to me, but. You could’ve- you didn’t have to invite me.”

“But I wanted to,” Raph says it and means it with everything he’s got, “Really, Donnie. A-and I wanted to do somethin’ that ya wouldn’t think was me just tryna get on your good side, ya know. Somethin’ we could just...do.”

“And I messed up, the whole info-dumping….” 

He’s doing it again, he’s making himself smaller and Raph’s not allowing that. 

“Okay, half of that stuff, I woulda never known- and ya looked all’a that up just to get to understand me better. I just didn’t want you...t’ think you had to...say all that.”

“And I didn’t want you to think you had to invite me,” Donnie quips back, but ends it with a small smile, “So I guess we’re in the same proverbial boat.”

Raph snorts, “The boat of insecurity…”

And Donnie, stiff and awkward and still full of feeling, takes his turn to hug Raph fully this time, “Screw that boat.”

-----

In the end Donnie makes his bear with a shitton of detail, getting so wrapped up in it that they spend a couple hours there.

And Raph’s bear is simple, not all that complex like his brother’s- but that’s more than okay, actually.

Their differences were more than okay.

#rottmnt #rise of the tmnt #raph #donnie #commissions #fanfic-inator795 #rottmnt donnie #rottmnt raph #tmnt #fic #my writing

[lesetoilesfous]

fenders + "i'm okay. it's all fine." & "it's not okay! you're not fine!" from the angst prompt list 💖

Ooooh delicious delicious angst, anon you know what I like and I appreciate that. Thank you so much!

(If you’d like me to write you a dragon age fic, send me a prompt from here!)

@dadrunkwriting

Pairing: Anders/Fenris

Characters: Anders, Fenris

Tags: established relationship, elf racism, bigoted violence, everything is fine it’s just shitty people being shitty, Anders doesn’t understand why Fenris doesn’t care about this, Fenris’ bar for acceptable treatment is ‘is it slavery’, both of them need to adjust their boundaries, it’s cool they’re working on it

Rating: Mature

“You could have died.” Anders says, fingers glittering with blue light as he prods gingerly at the back of Fenris’ head. Fenris clenches his teeth with the familiarity of habit as the gesture sends a nauseating ache through his skull, and Anders purses his lips. A moment later, cool magic rushes into the wound like spring water, radiating painlessness where it touches Fenris’ skin. Fenris leans back into Anders’ hand, and for a moment Anders’ fingers curl around the back of his head, before he moves to examine Fenris’ shoulder. In the long grass of the field beside them, crickets chirp into the early evening. “I’m serious, Fenris. They could have killed you.”

Fenris sighs, sitting forward to let Anders prod at him, forearms falling loosely between his knees, feet bare and scratched on the track before him. “I had no idea you thought so little of me as a warrior.” Anders’ hand braces on his chest and Fenris stiffens, wincing as Anders relocates his joint. Another pulse of healing magic ripples through his body, taking the pain away almost as soon as it had begun. Fenris tilts his head back to look up at Anders as the other man steps around him to kneel on the dirt track at his side, long fingers deftly poking at his ribs. Fenris feels something shift, and presses his teeth together for a moment before adding, teasingly, “Perhaps we should hire a chaperone.”

Anders scowls, palm pressing against Fenris’ side, tickling with magic that envelopes his skin in eerie blue light. On the other side of the road, a pair of crows leap up out of the wheat field and into the lilac sky in a shout of feathers and a hoarse whisper of dry leaves. “This isn’t funny, Fenris.” There’s a tightness at the corner of Anders’ eyes, and a faint crease on his already faintly wrinkled brow, lines pulling down around the corners of his mouth as he glares at Fenris’ side whilst he coaxes his ribs back together.

Carefully, Fenris sits forward, curling his body to avoid jostling Anders’ hand or his broken ribs. He lifts his hand off the dusty track and presses it, gently, firmly over Anders’ - the one not currently occupied with magic. “I’m alright, mage.” The word curls on his tongue as sweetly as any endearment, and Anders’ lips twitch in an answering smile, though the frown doesn’t leave his expression. Fenris curls his fingers around Anders’, interlacing them. “It’s fine.”

Finally, Anders finishes with his healing, slumping a little as he does so and ignoring Fenris’ concern as he sits back and pushes his hand up through his hair. Blue sparks of magic fall jumping across his head. Fenris breathes, and feels the sudden absence of the bruising ache that had been squeezing his lungs. He presses Anders’ hand, opening his mouth to thank him. Anders gets there first, a light wind pulling his hair across his stubbled jaw and cheek. 

“It’s not alright. It’s not fine. Fenris, if I hadn’t - if they had -” Fenris squeezes Anders’ hand firmly, pulling back from the stuttering spiral of his thoughts before he can drag them both down into it. Further up the road, twelve human bodies lie cooling on the road behind the inn in which they’d been staying, bleeding into the dirt. Above them the first stars of the evening glimmer in the purple sky.

“But it didn’t.” Fenris says, firmly, pulling Anders’ hand into his lap and shuffling closer. “And thus we live to see another day.” He tilts his head, thumbs running over Anders’ knuckles. “This is...not like you, mage. Did they do something to you? Say something?”

Anders’ frown returns with a vengeance, pulling his face into a mess of wrinkles as deep and crooked as crumpled paper. “It’s not about me.” He pulls his hand back, sharply, and Fenris lets it go and tries to ignore the sudden ache in his chest at the absence of it. When Anders leans forward, his expression is fierce. “Doesn’t this bother you? They would have killed you! They were going to beat you to death. For what? Because you’re an elf?”

Anders’ voice is loud in the quiet of the night, and in the stables behind the inn one of the horses huffs, the sound carrying over the empty road. Fenris frowns, checking their surroundings with the quick practice of habit for any eavesdroppers before he replies. Over their heads, the sky has begun to darken, and further up the road the inn spills yellow light onto the fields. 

Fenris shrugs, trying to pull the mage back onto more familiar territory as he smiles. “I believe they said something about my strange tattoos.”

Anders doesn’t smile back. “This isn’t funny, Fenris.”

Further down the road, the trees whisper over the swaying fields. Fenris frowns, and tries to ignore the warm pressure of his own growing frustration, getting easily to his feet and dismissing the burning squeeze of the lyrium in his calves and thighs as he does so. “What do you want me to say, Anders? They were ignorant fools, nothing more.”

Fenris bends to help Anders to his feet as he shits onto his stiff knee with a grimace. The mage weighs more now - with muscle and Fenris’ insistent reminder that he observe anything approaching a regular meal schedule. But Fenris still lifts him with ease. Anders’ hand moves to squeeze his arm in silent thanks before he continues, stooping to pick up his staff from the gravel-strewn dirt. Together, they begin to walk in the direction of the inn.

“Doesn’t it bother you?” 

Fenris shrugs, picking up his sword from further up the road and swinging it back over his back. “The madness of fools? No.” He pauses, turning to where Anders is standing and staring at him, tall and stark against the ocean of wheat at his back that rolls towards the horizon. The wind pulls against the fields, tugging Anders’ hair about his face and bringing with it the sweet smell of the swaying crops. Fenris steps back towards his lover, away from the bodies in the dirt. “Does it bother you?”

Anders frowns, shaking his head, “No. I mean, yes. I don’t know. I just -” Anders stops, and Fenris can barely make out the subtle movement of him working his jaw as they begin to walk again. 

Fenris counts the steps whilst he waits for Anders to continue - one, three, five - when he hits seven he prompts, gently, “You just?” Lightly, Fenris bumps his shoulder against Anders’ arm as they walk, and Anders looks down at him with half a smile before it falls away. 

Anders’ staff thocks lightly against the hard-packed earth as they walk, and he frowns at it as they get closer to the inn, the sound of music bleeding slow and muffled through the thick stone walls. When Anders speaks, he does so so quietly that Fenris has to strain to hear him. “I just hate that people see you like that. That they treat you that way. And I don’t understand why it doesn’t seem to bother you.”

Fenris shrugs. “They’re not slavers.” Anders opens his mouth, but Fenris catches him before he can speak, holding up one hand. The lyrium in his skin glows a dull blue-white in the dark. “Let me finish?” Anders’ mouth clicks shut, and he nods, pursing his lips. Fenris reaches down to take his hand and squeeze it, once. Distantly, over the fields on the other side of the inn, a fat full moon rises silver in the hazy blue sky. 

Fenris stares at it for a moment whilst he tries to collect his thoughts. “I have never known a world in which I was a free or equal citizen. For the majority of the life I remember, freedom was...an abstraction. Equality was not even an impossible dream. It simply did not exist. I had very low expectations when I fled Tevinter. I hoped that I would escape a life of chains and I did, largely. I hoped that I would find a world free of magic and its influence.” Fenris’ hand tightens around Anders’ long, slightly crooked fingers. “I found different corruption.”

Fenris pauses, feeling the light summer breeze slip under his hair and skate across the nape of his neck. “I didn’t...My expectation was nothing. Less than. I remember...” He stops, “I remember, when I first came into Nevarra. There was a woman - human - Anthea, I think her name was. She saw me on the road, and brought me home, gave me a blanket and fresh clothes, cider and rabbit pie. I thought.” Fenris stops, mind filling with the vivid, twisted memory of what he had expected from her, in repayment for such improbable kindness. Anders watches him quietly, eyes almost black and unreadable in the growing dark. Fenris shakes his head, as if that will dislodge the memory from his mind like an unwanted cobweb.

“I don’t know what I thought. But she wanted nothing. She would take no payment or labour. She gave me 20 copper pieces, and directions to the nearest town.” Twenty feet away, the door to the inn swings open, spilling noise and light into the night like a thunderbolt. Both of them fall silent, watching a pair of drunkards stumble laughing onto the track, arms slung over one another’s shoulders as they trip back towards their home. Fenris feels his mouth curl into a smile. He turns back to Anders. “You have to understand. My expectation of people, of humans, is ... less than nothing. Men like them -” Fenris tilts his chin in the direction of the distinctly scorched corpses “- they’re exactly what I expect. They make me angry, but they don’t surprise me.” 

Fenris steps forward then, off the track and onto the grassy dip of the bank on which Anders is standing, between the road and the field. He lifts the backs of his knuckles to the side of Anders’ face, uncurling his fingers against his temple. “But sometimes, improbably, a human surprises me.” Fenris lifts his other hand to cup Anders’ cheek, gently. It’s cool in the night air. “I would rather spend my energy on joy, than fury at an injury I had expected anyway. I have grief enough with humanity to fill a lifetime. I should like to rebalance it with care.”

Far off, in the trees above the fields, the soft hoot of an owl falls like cotton into the night. Anders sighs, and turns to press a kiss to the heel of Fenris’ palm. “Have I mentioned recently that I’m in love with you?”

Fenris laughs, softly, and squeezes Anders’ cheek. “You could stand to do it again.” He grins, “I nearly died, you know.”

Anders rolls his eyes, even as his hands fall to Fenris’ armour and he pulls him closer. “Shut up, Fenris.”

Fenris grins against his lips, and turns his head to brush a kiss against the corner of his mouth, getting on tiptoes to murmur in his ear. “Never.”

Above their heads, a thousand stars fill the glittering sky.

#dadwc #fenders #fenris #anders #da2 #anon #my fic

[agentfreckles]

Operation Holidate | Part 3

Part One, Part Two, Part Four

Rating: General

Word Count: 1,267

Pairing: Felix x Female!Detective (Eris Evergreen)

Prompt: Fangs

Summary: With Eris off planning Christmas parties at the station, baking enough peppermint cookies to give to every citizen in Wayhaven, and organizing toy drives for the less fortunate, Felix fears she may be too busy making the town’s Christmas dreams come true to take time to relax and enjoy the season’s splendors herself. With the help of his fellow Unit Bravo members, Felix is determined to surprise his girlfriend with the best holidate  ever by bringing Christmas to the Warehouse in four easy steps.

Notes: Part three of a four part miniseries serving as a surprise holiday gift for the immensely talented @iristhemessenger. I’d highly recommend reading the previous two installments if you haven’t already, as the series is meant to be enjoyed in chronological order. 

THWACK!

"Hey!" Felix throws Nate a glare as he rubs the back of his hand, the dark skin tingling slightly from the gentle, but firm smack. The large sheet pan of sugar cookies the older vampire had just removed from the oven rests before them on the countertop. "What was that for?"

Nate shakes his head, a wry grin tugging at his lips. "How many times must I tell you to let the cookies cool before you touch them?"

"Okay, Mom. Jeez!"

Felix hops off his perch on the kitchen island and moves further down the large counter space, far out of the reach of Nate's slap-happy hands. An array of delectable treats cut into various winter-themed shapes fill his gaze as he goes, each more brightly colored and expertly decorated than the last. The inside of the spacious kitchen is filled with the rich scents of vanilla, chocolate, and peanut butter, underscored by sharper flavors of peppermint and ginger that linger in the air and make his enhanced senses buzz with excitement.

It's remarkable what a veritable smorgasbord they've managed to come up with in such a short amount of time, thanks in no small part to the wealth of culinary know-how and centuries-old recipes at Nate’s disposal. The man is undoubtedly a culinary master by vampiric standards, maybe even human ones as far as Felix is concerned, so it’s no surprise he’s been able to whip up delicious looking sugar cookies and gingerbread with the precision and finesse of a master baker. And they obviously taste just as good as their appearances suggest, as Nate looks like he's in pure heaven each time he samples one of his creations.

Honestly, Felix has been more than happy to let Nate take the reins on this one, preferring to just sit back and watch the magic happen while being an occasional pain in the neck to keep things interesting. Though that doesn't mean he hasn't been putting his own creative spin on things where he can.

Near the end of the counter lies a group of ten smiling gingerbread men nestled together on a festive ceramic plate. A small plastic piping bag rests beside them with white icing neatly packed inside. Seeing his opportunity, Felix casts a quick glance back to confirm that Nate's distracted before grabbing the piping bag and the plate of cookies and getting started, humming a quiet tune to himself as he works.

"You seem to be in high spirits," Nate comments, his focus trained on the task of transferring the fresh batch of sugar cookies one by one onto the cooling rack with the tenderness and care of a father laying a baby down in its crib. "Looking forward to tonight, I presume?"

"Are you kidding? I don't think I've ever been more excited for anything in my entire life! I can't wait to see what Eris thinks of it all."

"She'll be incredibly touched by everything you've put together for her." Nate says with full confidence. "Eris is lucky to have such a thoughtful partner."

"Believe me, I'm the lucky one. The least I can do is spoil her with an incredible date to remind her how amazing she is."

Footsteps approach until he feels a hand fall on his shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze. His amber eyes follow up the long length of the arm and he raises a brow when his gaze settles on the warm smile on Nate's face.

"What?"

"Nothing," Nate shakes his head, though the smile remains. "I'm just happy to see you've found someone, especially when she clearly means a great deal to you."

Felix laughs. "You do know we've been together for over eight months now, right?"

"I do. But your relationship no longer being new doesn't make me any less proud."

"You're actually proud of me for once?" Felix says in mock disbelief, hand flying up to his chest. A glob of icing from the piping bag in his hand falls onto the counter, Nate dutifully wiping it into non-existence with a nearby dish rag a moment later. "Natey, I'm touched."

Nate rolls his eyes good-naturedly at the nickname and overdramatic declaration before his attention shifts to the tray of cookies Felix had been fiddling with not long before.

“I see you’ve been busy altering my gingerbread men without my knowledge.” He angles closer to get a better look, brow furrowing in confusion, “...By adding fangs?”

"Yeah! Pretty cool, right?" Felix grins as he looks down with pride at the group of gingerbread cookies, each now sporting protrusions of white icing jutting out of their little red grins. Some feature two fangs while a select few have been given Felix’s signature four-fanged bite common of all natural vampires.

He continues. "I figure Eris has probably eaten a ton of these guys over the years, so I wanted ours to stand out. And since this is the first year she's celebrating Christmas with a group of vampires, I thought, hey, why not add a little supernatural element to the mix?"

"The idea is certainly unique. But also very you, which means Eris is sure to love them." Nate sets his hands on his hips and looks  over all the other treats that cover the granite counter top, a twinge of apprehension in his brown eyes. "Though I must ask if I should expect the same fate for all my other creations."

"Nah, I think I'm good with these." Felix pats the taller man on the back. "Relax, Nate. Your precious designs are safe from me."

Nate exhales a sigh in relief, removing his green apron before draping it over a dining chair. "Well, I suppose now is as good a time as any to start getting the kitchen in order."

Felix groans. "Do we have to?"

Nate ignores his protest, instead making his way across the room and disappearing into the pantry. Once he's out of sight, Felix fishes his phone out of his pocket and eyes the time on the screen in the hopes of finding an excuse to back out of cleaning duty.

It’s still a good hour before Eris is scheduled to show up, but there may be some wiggle room there if he really sells his performance to Nate. Then again, it was awfully nice of Nate to spend the back half of his morning and most of his afternoon baking all these cookies, so the least Felix could do is help the guy tidy up. But that generous spirit of his flies right out the window when he takes a quick look around the kitchen and realizes just how much cleaning there is that needs to be done.

Felix quickly backs away from the counter, suddenly feeling a lot more pressed for time than he was before as Nate reemerges from the pantry, a broom and dustpan in hand.  

“Wow, would you look at the time?” he starts, awkwardly rubbing the back of his neck as he slowly begins inching towards the door with about as much subtlety as a freight train. “I’d love to stay and help, but Eris will be here pretty soon and I should probably get ready. Gotta make sure I look good for my date, right? Heh...”

Nate raises a knowing brow, easily connecting the dots as he peers over his shoulder at the baking ingredients scattered all over the counters and the pile of pots and pans filling up the sink.

He rolls his eyes. “Go. I’ll handle cleanup.”

And with one final parting "Thank you!”, Felix races out of the room.

#the wayhaven chronicles #twc #felix hauville #nate sewell #twc detective #Nate is a proud mom #I had some struggles with this one ngl #but hopefully it came out okay #up next is the big finale! #frecklesfic

[starlocked01]

I’ll Stay Awake (because the dark’s not taking prisoners tonight)

AO3

Masterpost- Previous- Next

Summary: Virgil doesn't get to meet his soulmates each night. No, he has nightmares. His roommate decides to stage an intervention.

A/N: I’m not even going to pretend I was close to representing actual therapy. I really probably should have done more research and I’m sorry v-v

Content Warnings: Cussing, Nightmares, Self-harm, Depictions of drowning, Panic, Paralysis, Anxiety Medications

Day 12 Anxceitmus (background Logicality)- You meet your soulmates each night in your dreams

"You can run, but you can't hide, bitch!"

Virgil tore through the broken landscape, avoiding holes in the floor and checking around every corner. The demon with glowing green eyes pursued relentlessly, cackling laughter peeling off the rusted metal surfaces and echoing so that he couldn’t tell where the source was coming from. All Virgil could do was keep running.

He rounded a corner and found himself face to face with a half-man half-snake, the face grotesquely split between each form. The human hand raised up toward him. Virgil backpedaled to escape its grasp.

"Sssstop!" the creature hissed. Virgil pulled his hoodie around his face and screamed.

He bolted upright in bed, still screaming. His roommate groaned and rolled over, turning on a lamp on his nightstand.

"Another nightmare, kiddo?" Patton looked a lot less caring than he sounded.

"Sorry," Virgil whimpered, fidgeting with his bed covers.

"Logan and I are pretty used to being interrupted by now. I just wish you could meet your soulmate instead of having these awful, scary nightmares," Patton yawned, "I'll leave the light on for you, maybe that will help." Patton rolled back over and was snoring in minutes.

Virgil sat in bed, unable and unwilling to fall back asleep. To keep himself awake he blasted music through his headphones and scratched at his skin. 

When the morning alarm rang out, Patton yawned and stretched out of the bed only to find Virgil up and working on homework. The dark bags under his eyes gave him away. Patton frowned and walked over, laying a hand on the boy's shoulder. Virgil jerked back, breathing hard, shaking off Patton's hand and tipping the chair dangerously close to falling back.

"Hey kiddo, how'd you sleep?" Patton smiled but Virgil only growled in response, flipping up his hood to hide his face. "Aww, I'm sorry."

"I'll be fine," Virgil glared at Patton and opened his desk drawer. Inside was filled with energy drinks. He grabbed three, stuffing two in his backpack and cracking open the third.

"Virgil, I'm worried about you."

"Well, don't."

Patton sighed and started getting ready for his day.

Virgil finished his drink before his 8 am calc class. By 8:15 he was already cracking open the second one.

Virgil sat with Logan and Patton during his lunch break, picking at a bowl of soup that was nearly unidentifiable.

"Virgil, Patton told me you didn't sleep again last night," Logan stated matter-of-factly.

"What do you care, wonder nerd?" Virgil bit back.

"We're your friends and we're worried about you, Virge," Patton smiled sadly.

"Honestly you might need professional help. You should look into a therapist to talk with about the nightmares. You can't live on sugary caffeinated drinks forever," Logan reprimanded him. Virgil glared at Logan.

"I know a guy who's really easy to talk to. At least try?" Patton tried to make eye contact but Virgil emphatically ignored him. Patton sighed, "whatever, we just want you to be able to take care of yourself and not scratch yourself raw every night. If you decide to try, here's Dr. Picani's number." Patton slid a slip of paper across the table to a stunned Virgil.

"How did you know?" he asked quietly.

"I just know what I'm looking for when it comes to that kind of stuff," Patton looked uncomfortable and Logan placed a comforting hand on his back.

"Okay.. thanks," Virgil didn’t look up as he gathered his stuff to leave the cafeteria.

Virgil felt locked in his car. All he had to do was get out and walk inside the office building, but he felt paralyzed in the driver's seat. This was such a bad idea. There was no way this would help. He needed to get out of there go home and pack up and get on the next flight out of the country and hope that no one ever tried to talk to him agai-

His phone rang. He didn't recognize the number but answered on autopilot.

"Hello, Virgil Strike speaking."   

"Hello, Virgil! This is Dr. Picani. I'm just calling because our session was scheduled to start at 4 but you're still sitting out in your car-" Virgil looked up and could see a man in the building window on the phone waving to him, "-are you okay? Do you need to reschedule?"

"No, I'm sorry, I-. I'll be in in a minute," Virgil waved back and disconnected the call. After a herculean effort, he made his way inside and was greeted by Dr. Picani who led him back to his office.

"Now, Virgil, I think I'll spare you my normal introduction," Picani grinned at the inside joke with himself, "this is a safe place for you to say anything. Nothing you tell me leaves this room unless you talk with someone else about it. Understand?" Virgil nodded. His pulse was spiking but Picani's calm demeanor helped immensely. 

"Alright, so let's get to know each other a little bit! What's your favorite cartoon?" the doctor grinned widely as though this were a completely normal question to ask.

"Uhhh does anime count? If not I'd have to say 'Happy Tree Friends'," Virgil stared the doctor in the eye as he jotted down the answer.

"Edgy! What about Spongebob?" The smile on his face never broke. They continued to talk until Dr. Picani worked the conversation around to why Virgil decided to come to therapy.

"My roommate and his soulmate think my lifestyle is pretty unhealthy, and it only really got bad when I started having nightmares instead of dreams after my birthday," Virgil scratched the back of his neck. It was hard to admit that he hadn't had a soulmate dream like everyone else did after their 18th birthday. To his surprise, the therapist didn't laugh or scoff.

"And how are the nightmares affecting you?"

"Well, I usually wake up screaming in the middle of the night and can't let myself go back to sleep. I'm lucky if I get 3 hours a night. Which means I'm falling asleep in Calc almost every day, not that I'm behind in class, and I drink a lot of coffee and energy drinks," Virgil paused and took a huge breath, "and this has become kinda a problem." He pulled up the sleeve of his hoodie to show the therapist the scratches and scars on his arm. "It's not like cutting! I just kinda scratch to keep myself from falling back asleep after the nightmares."

"Oh my, your friends were right, Virgil. This is very unhealthy. I'm glad you took their advice and came in," Dr. Picani smiled warmly to reassure Virgil. They spoke for the rest of the hour and just before Virgil left the doctor spoke up again, "Virgil, I'd like you to try an over the counter anxiety medication. We may need to get you a prescription for something that's stronger but I'd like you to try something over the counter first to see if you feel better. I think your anxieties are affecting your dreams. Maybe we can take that edge off so you can get some more sleep, which will have a domino effect on everything else. Maybe with better sleep, you can work on using less caffeine, which will help you feel calmer. Let me know how it works when you come in next week."

Virgil nodded hesitantly but stopped at a pharmacy on the way home anyway. He was ready to try anything at this point. 

Patton was waiting when he got back to the dorm. 

"How'd it go?" he asked with a bright smile.

"Doc's weird… but I think it's going to help," Virgil smiled back, setting his bottle of pills on his desk. 

Virgil popped two of the pills. Patton had gone to sleep already and was happily dreaming. Probably talking with Logan too.  Virgil settled into bed, uncertain of what the night would bring.

Virgil’s legs and feet were bound together with a thick tentacle that pulled him beneath the water before he could cry for help. Dragged underneath, Virgil found his lungs filling with water, but then discovered he could breathe the water without his body screaming for air. The tentacle dragged him deeper and deeper into the murky water.

After what felt like an eternity, Virgil could see a giant pair of green eyes reflecting in the formless dark. He kicked and struggled against the creature.

"I've got you now! Stop struggling, you emo nightmare!" a voice growled from the darkness.

"Let me GO!" Virgil cried out, tearing at the tentacle with his hands. The grip on his legs loosened and he kicked free, swimming towards the surface.

Rising to the surface, Virgil was tossed by the waves onto a sandy beach. He coughed up the seawater and laid on his back, sun burning down on him. Too hot. He couldn't move as the sand baked around him. 

A cool, smooth sensation crept up his foot and leg. Virgil couldn't move to see what it was as it moved up his torso. He heard a soft hissing and opened his eyes to find a yellow snake staring back at him. He tried to scream but had no voice, tried to throw the snake off but couldn't move. 

The snake… shook its head?

"Honessstly, why do you keep avoiding usss?" the snake spoke with a lisping voice.

Virgil found his and replied, "what the hell do you want with me?" His eyes were wide with fear.

"You haven't figured it out? We're your sssoulmatesss."

Virgil sat up in bed in a cold sweat. The bedside clock showed it was much later than he normally woke up in terror. Patton slept undisturbed. Virgil felt almost calm enough to go back to sleep. Not that he wanted to if his soulmates were monsters.

Over the next few weeks, Virgil used over the counter anxiety medication regularly. He felt a lot calmer in class and the nightmares were a lot less terrifying. 

After a few sessions with Dr. Picani, Virgil picked up prescription medication and felt immensely more relaxed.

The landscape was still hellish and broken. Virgil didn’t feel like running. Instead of a demon, a boy his age with gorgeous green eyes and a streak of silver in his brown hair rounded the corner, ready for the chase.

"Alright let's fucking do- wait you aren't running," the boy looked confused and a little disappointed.

"You aren't a demon so why would I run?" Virgil shrugged.

"Oh my god, finally! Let's go find Double D," the boy grabbed Virgil by the wrist and started dragging him down the hall.

"What's your name?" Virgil asked, catching up to the other and twisting his hand so they were holding hands.

"Ooh you're fresh!" he chuckled, "just wait until we find Double D."

"Who's Double D?"

"Our other soulmate."

"Woah two soulmates?"

"Yeah, neat huh?"

"Sure, why 'Double D'?"

The boy stopped walking and turned to face Virgil, "we were waiting for you to tell each other our names and you took your sweet time so we gave each other nicknames. That's why you're Emo Nightmare and he's Double D."

"So what are you called?"

The boy grinned manically, "Fucker."

They continued walking through the twisted halls until they found another boy with one golden brown eye and one dark brown eye smiling at them as they rounded the corner.

"There you are. Did you finally catch him?" He asked in a silky smooth voice.

"Nah, for once the emo didn't want to run," the green-eyed boy grinned.

"Well maybe you two shouldn't have acted like monsters," Virgil smirked, "so, who are you guys?"

The green-eyed boy was practically bouncing out of his shoes, "I'm Remus!" he blurted out.

"My name is Janus," Janus held out a hand to Virgil, "and you are?"

"Not telling you," Virgil laughed at the scowls each of them gave them, "I'm kidding. My name is Virgil. It's good to meet you guys."

"Likewise," Janus grinned as Virgil took his hand.   

Remus picked them both up in a strong vise-like hug and twirled them around. They continued to talk the rest of the night, agreeing just before they woke up to not exchange direct addresses or phone numbers until they all met in person.

Virgil woke up more refreshed than ever, excited to find his soulmates in real life. Occasionally the dreams still started as nightmares but he was able to recognize Janus and Remus in the terrors and they could help talk him down from the fear. Each night they got to know each other better, talking about school and work and hobbies and everything else they could think of.

One day when a stranger with two different colored eyes sat down across from Virgil in the cafeteria, it felt as though Virgil had known him his whole life. 

Tag List: @stoicpanther @ifrickenhatedeverythingaboutthis @tsshipmonth2020

#tsshipmonth2020 #Soulmate September 2020 #dream sharing #soulmate au #nightmares #drowning tw #tw drowning #paralysis tw #tw paralysis #self harm tw #tw self harm #cursing #anxcietmus #logicality

[jabbajambler]

28

Human

The Mandalorian/Din Djarin x f!OC

Word Count: 2,422

*GIF by @ansonmount​*

         I sat up, finding myself alone in the plush bed. This situation felt oddly familiar, but somehow weirder. I didn't peg Din as someone who would voluntarily get up and socialize with people he didn't know too well, but I guess I was wrong.

         I got up and stretched before I left the room, finding everyone gathered at the large dining table. Din sat next to the child, feeding him small pieces of cooked meat. I laughed quietly at the domestic scene, alerting everyone of my presence.

         Ana rushed over and smoothed out my hair with a bright smile. "Sorry, Myrah. Mando said he didn't want to wake you and neither did I." She giggled and led me over to the table where a tall, brunette man sat with a little girl at his side. I assumed that was Shira.

         She had her mother's brown eyes and her father's hair. She was absolutely adorable. The energy she radiated was impeccable as well. It was clear that like her mother, she had a great tie to the Force.

         Ana placed a small plate of fruit and eggs in front of me, hurrying to the seat next to mine. "How did you sleep?" She asked with a beaming grin.

         "It was amazing. I haven't slept that good since-" I stopped and glanced up at Din, a slight blush coating my cheeks. "Well, for a while."

         "I'm glad to hear it! So, do you know what you're going to do today?"

         I shrugged and began shoveling the food into my mouth. The food was also some of the best I've had in a long time. Some of the travel food that Din packed had expired long ago and became nearly unbearable to eat.

         "Not much. We still have to take care of the baby after all."

         Ana gasped and looked over at the child who cooed with a mouth full of food, causing Shira to burst into a fit of giggles.

         "Nonsense! You guys need to go enjoy yourselves. There is so much to do in here, you shouldn't waste this time." She paused, her eyes lighting up. "Didn't you agree to give him a tour of the city?"

         "Ana, no. There's way too much to do and we just got here."

         "Come on! You love this city so much. We'll even watch the baby!" She looked over at her husband for approval. He gave a big smile and nodded as well. I see how they found each other.

         "I don't know... We don't really like to go out much. Besides, with Mando being- well- a Mandalorian, we may catch some unwanted attention."

         "I think it's a great idea."

         We all turned towards the muffled voice that spoke up, hiding behind the shiny beskar helmet.

         "What? You love the city and I don't mind going with you."

         "Then it's settled!" Ana stood and clasped her hands together. "I can even help you with a change of clothes!" She squealed and ran out of the room, stopping to press a quick peck to her husband's cheek.

         I looked up at Din while he cocked his head to the side. He had something planned and I wasn't sure I liked where this was going.

┉┉┉┉┉┉┉┉┉┉┉┉┉┉┉┉┉

         I stood in front of the long mirror in a pair of tight gray pants and a wine-colored tunic that was cinched at the waist with a tight, black belt. The neckline dipped in a slight v-shape but nothing too scandalous and the sleeves fell from my shoulders. Apparently that was how it was supposed to be.

         I'm not sure if it was intentional, but it reminded me of what we would wear as children when we trained.

         Ana worked on braiding two strands on the sides of my head, setting them free to intertwine and dangle with my natural waves.

         "Aw, Myrah. You look beautiful." She smiled and fluffed my hair.

         "You did this on purpose."

         "Maybe. I couldn't help myself!" She sighed and threw her hands up in defeat. "You know, it's one of my mom's old outfits. You're probably always covered head to toe in black, I had to switch it up just a little."

         I knew she had good intentions, she always does. Maybe it wasn't too big of a deal. It was just an outfit. It was nice to pretend like everything was normal. Like nothing had ever changed.

         "Oh! Would you look at the time?" She glanced out the window at the barely setting sun. "Time for you to get going!"

         She pulled me with her as we ran out the door, finding Din standing in the corridor, his relaxed form leaning against the wall.

         "Alright, you two. Have fun! Don't worry about a thing, we have everything under control here." She delivered a quick kiss to my cheek before taking off. I never knew how she had so much energy all the time. Neither one of her parents ever acted the way she did.

        "Ready to go?" I smiled shyly at Din, offering my hand to him as I shifted closer to the door.

         His gaze followed me ever since I stepped in front of him. I almost felt a little insecure. He nodded and instead of taking my hand, hooked his arm beneath mine and led me out the door.

         We didn't say much as we walked, except for when I pointed out a few of the spots where Ana and I got into trouble as teens. We didn't live together in Coruscant very long, but we knew how to make some serious messes.

         "You really love this place." He mumbled. He almost sounded sad.

         "I do." I spoke with a laugh. "We only lived here for a few weeks and while it was nearly hell, we had each other."

         "You fit in well."

         "Do I? I always thought I stuck out around here. It's not what it used to be. The stories Ana's parents told us painted it as something magical."

         "Who were they by the way?" He questioned with a gentle tilt of his head.

         I snickered. "Oh, I can't say their names out here. But they were more powerful than you could possibly imagine."

         The sun set quickly as we walked around a bit longer, leaving us with the sparkling night sky of Coruscant. I couldn't tell what was a speeder and what was a star at this point.

         "I bet we could sneak back into the apartment. We can always see more tomorrow when Ana won't try to play dress up with me."

         "I think you look..." He paused. "Nice."

         I let out a laugh at his nervous compliment. He never seemed to struggle with those before. Coruscant was bringing out a new side of Din that I never expected to see.

         It certainly wasn't the longest night out, but that didn't matter. The walk back was comfortable and as the cool breeze picked up, Din had pulled me even closer to his body. We were lucky to sneak back inside without Ana noticing and quickly made our way to the guest room.

         If she had found out that we had returned so quickly, I was sure she would have thrown a fit. Or she would have just been really sad. Either one.

         I flopped backwards on the bed in the dark room, choosing to keep the lights off to avoid alerting Ana of our presence. Din chuckled and watched, having the lucky night vision feature of his helmet to actually see anything around us.

         "I forgot how much I missed Ana. I know she can be a pain in the ass, but she's all I have left of a family." I whispered with a sigh and slipped off my shoes.

         I felt the bed dip next to me as Din sat down. "All you have left?"

         I nodded and sat up, finding the shadow of his helmet in the dark. "My parents left me when I was a little older than Shira. Her family found me, took me in, trained me and loved me like I was their own. I'll never be able to tell them how much they meant to me."

         A silence settled around us as I searched for his hand, grasping it tightly once I found it.

         "What about you?"

         I knew the question was stupid as soon as it rolled out of my mouth, but it was too late.

         "My family?"

         I hummed, waiting for him to tell me that it was none of my business and that I was being incredibly intrusive. But that didn't happen.

         "They were killed when I was young. I vaguely remember their faces and sometimes I fear that I'm starting to forget." His grip on my hand tightened. "The Mandalorians saved me, they gave me a safe place, a home. I owe them everything."

         "Din..." I whispered and raised his hand to my lips, placing a gentle kiss on the leather. "Thank you for telling me."

         He fidgeted around for a moment before I felt his body face towards me. "Myrah?" He asked quietly.

         "Yes?"

         "Do you trust me?"

         I felt like that was sort of a silly question. Of course I trusted him. Who else would I tell about my life and pour all of my secrets too? Those aren't the sort of things you tell just anyone.

         "With my life."

         I could feel him stand from the bed and walk towards the other side of the room, searching for something before coming back to stand over me. It was a few awkward seconds before I felt something pull over my eyes, shielding me from even the subtle shadows in the dark room. It was soft, almost silky. It took me a few moments before I realized that he had blindfolded me.

         But for what?

         "What's this for?" I giggled quietly, trying to keep my voice low. "I could hardly see anything as is."

         "I know..." He paused. There was a familiar hiss and the clink of metal resting on the wooden end tables. My heart suddenly felt like it could beat from my chest. He heard it thumping against my ribs, I was sure. I know that I could. "I just wanted to make sure."

         "Sure of-"

         "I don't trust often." He interrupted. I heard another piece of metal softly land on the floor, followed by another. His voice was addictive and I hadn't realized how much I missed it.

         "Or at all." He continued, his hands grasping mine and pulling me close to the edge of the bed where he stood.

         "But you-" He chuckled. "You came in my life swinging- literally." He dropped his gloves to the ground and brought his hand to my face. They were soft, just like I remembered. I took a deep breath, the smell of pine and leather filling my senses just as it had on Sorgan.

         "And you're strong and brave and compassionate... You're a true mystery, Princess, and you've got me hooked."

         I could hardly breathe. It felt like I was dreaming, I couldn't comprehend what was happening. I had to pinch my leg to convince myself I hadn't just passed out.

         "And I trust you more than I ever thought possible." His thumb grazed over my lips as he spoke, igniting a spark in my stomach that warmed my body.

         "Din?" I'm surprised I managed to get the word out with my trembling.

          "What is it?" He asked quietly. I didn't even know his voice could be so quiet.

         "Would you shut up and just kiss me?"

         It felt like it hit me like a truck. Not Din, no, he was actually so slow that it was almost teasing. But all of the feelings that I had tried to bury deep inside hit me hard.

         And I loved it.

         His lips slowly clashed with mine. It was so unbelievably gentle that I couldn't understand how this same man had wiped out tens of bounty hunters, stormtroopers, droids, you name it. His kiss was nothing like that.

         His lips were soft, actually, albeit a bit chapped, but he hardly takes off the helmet so I couldn't blame him for that.

         After a blissful moment that I wished would last forever, he pulled away. For what, I wasn't sure. All I truly remember is that he started to say my name and then I didn't give him the chance to finish it.

         I tangled my fingers in his hair and pulled his face back towards mine in a fervorous kiss that gradually slowed as his body moved over mine. The sensation was like nothing I had ever felt before. It made me delirious and needy.

         His hands trailed from my waist to my hair, leaving a fiery wake in their path. When he tugged on the strands, I failed to keep back the gentle gasp that escaped my mouth. An embarrassed blush filled my face, but once I felt his lips tug into a smile against mine, I knew that he didn't mind. In fact, he liked it.

         I gripped his shoulders as I tried desperately to pull him closer to me. My teeth dragged against his bottom lip, tugging it back ever so slightly and earning a low groan from him before he captured my lips with his once again. The blissful noise brought goosebumps to my skin.

         His mouth began to journey down my jaw, but a gentle knock on the door froze us in place.

         Then there was another.

         Once I knew Din had hidden himself in the shadows somewhere within the room, I pulled the blindfold down to rest on my collarbone. I swung the door open, desperately hoping that I didn't look as disheveled as I felt.

         "Hey, Ana, what's up?" I tried to sound nonchalant and leaned against the doorway.

         Her eyes shifted over me, a smirk pulling up the corners of her mouth. "Oh... I was just checking. Didn't know you two came back and we thought we heard something."

         "Oh, that was uh- um-"

         "You'll try to keep it down?"

         Of course she knew.

          I nodded and quickly shut the door, letting out a sigh of relief. A pair of hands rested on my shoulders, raising the blindfold back over my eyes dauntingly.

         I felt his lips near my ear, leaving a soft kiss before whispering.

         "Where were we?"

#the mandalorian #the mandalorian x oc #mandalorian #mandalorian x oc #din djarin #din djarin x oc #dyn jarren #jedi #oc #star wars #pedro pascal #pedro pascal characters #babyyoda